spools over there that you people have done your best to bury? Well,
those have been requisitioned from the Telephone Company by the U. S.
army. Here's the order. Now I want you to get busy with your drill gang
and cut 'em loose."

"But--but see here, boss," sputters Mike, "'tis a private contract
they're workin' on and I couldn't be after----"

"Couldn't, eh?" says I. "Lemme tell you something. That wire has to go
on a transport that's due to sail the first thing in the morning. It's
for the Signal Corps and they need it to stretch a headquarters' line
into Berlin."

"Sorry, boss," said Mike, "but I wouldn't dast to----"

"Sergeant," says I, "do your duty."

Uh-huh! That got Mike all right. And when we'd yanked him up off his
knees and convinced him that he wouldn't be shot for an hour or so yet
he's so thankful that he gets those drills to work in record time.

It was a first-class hunch, if I do have to admit it myself. You should
have seen how neat them rapid fire machines begun unbuttonin' those big
wooden spools, specially after a couple of our doughboy squad, who'd
worked pneumatic riveters back home, took hold of the drills. Others
fished some hand sledges and crowbars out of a tool shed and helped the
work along, while Mike encourages his gang with a fluent line of foreman
repartee.

Course, I didn't have the whole thing doped out at the start, but
gettin' away with this first stab only showed me how easy it was if you
wasn't bashful about callin' for help. From then on I didn't let much
assistance get away from me, either. Yankin' the spools out to the
street level by hookin' on the steam roller was my next play, but
commandeerin' a sand blast outfit that was at work halfway down the
block was all Mike's idea.

"They need smoothin' up a bit, boss," says he.

And inside of half an hour we had all five of them spools lookin' new
and bright, like they'd just come from the mill.

"What next, sir?" asks the sergeant.

"Why," says I, "the fussy old major who's so hot for getting these
things is waiting at the Plutoria, about ten blocks down. Maybe he wants
'em there. I wonder if we could----"

"Sure!" says the sergeant. "This heavy gun bunch can move anything.
Here! I'll show 'em how."

With that he runs a crowbar through the center of one of the spools,
puts a man on either side to push, and rolls it along as easy as
wheelin' a baby carriage.

"Swell tactics, sergeant," says I. "And just for that