"Really!" says he. "Well, in the first place, my son, a war-time
commission is something one doesn't chuck back at the United States
government because of any personal whim. It isn't being done. And then
again, you tried enlisting once, didn't you, and were turned down?"

"But that was early in the game," says I, "when the recruiting officers
weren't passing any but young Sandows. I could get by now. Have a heart,
Mr. Ellins. Lemme make a try."

He chews his cigar a minute, drums thoughtful on the mahogany desk, and
then seems to have a bright little idea.

"Very well, Torchy," says he, "we'll see what my friend, Major Wellby,
can do for you when he comes in."

"Him!" says I. "Why, he'd do anything for me that the law didn't stop
him from."

And sure enough, when the major drifts in again them two was shut in the
private office for more'n half an hour before I'm called in. I could
guess just by the way the major glares fond at me that if he could work
it he'd get me a nice, easy job mowin' the grass in No Man's Land, or
some snap like that.

"Huh!" says he, givin' me the night court up and down. "Wants an active
command, does he? And his training has been what? Four years as office
boy, three as private secretary! It's no use, Ellins. We're not fighting
this war with waste baskets or typewriters, you know."

"Oh, come, major!" puts in Old Hickory. "Why be unreasonable about this?
I will admit that you may be right, so far as it's being folly to send
this young man to the front. But I do insist that as a lieutenant he is
rather useful just where he is."

"Bah!" snorts the major. "So is the farmer who's raising hogs and corn.
He's useful. But we don't put shoulder straps on him, or send him to
France in command of a company. For jobs like that we try to find
youngsters who've been trained to handle men; who know how to get things
done. What we don't want is--eh? Someone calling me on the 'phone? All
right. Yes, this is Major Wellby. What? Oh, it can't be done today! Yes,
yes! I understand all that. But see here, captain, that transport is due
to sail at--hey, central! I say, central! Oh, what's the use?"

And as the major bangs up the receiver his face looks like a strawb'ry
shortcake just ready to serve. Somehow Mr. Ellins seems to be enjoyin'
the major's rush of temperament to the ears. Anyhow, there's a familiar
flicker under them bushy eyebrows of his and I ain't at all surprised
when he remarks soothin':