ed babies at
Headquarters have to get all their thrills secondhand, and this thing of
yours is about as thrillin' as the minutes of a Sunday School Meeting."

At that moment Mullins, the peppery little Operations Officer, entered
the room, his face a mass of wrinkling smiles. He walked over to the
desk where McGee was seated and from his pockets dumped out a double
handful of articles, such as army men had learned to list under the
broad heading--"Souvenirs." There was a wrist watch, a German automatic
pistol, a silver match box, a leather cigarette case, a belt buckle
bearing the famous "Gott Mit Uns" and a number of German paper marks.

For a moment McGee sat staring at them, then slowly pushed his chair
back from the table as he looked up at the smiling Mullins.

"What's this--stuff?" he asked.

"Souvenirs, of course! From your latest victory. Cowan and I decided to
go over to the hospital and run through the chap's pockets to see if we
could find anything that should be sent back to Intelligence. Darned if
Siddons wasn't there ahead of us, getting ready to fill his pockets with
_your_ souvenirs. I told him to wait until he bagged his own game.
So there you are--cups, belts and badges!"

McGee gathered up the articles, one by one, and handed them back to
Mullins.

"Take them back," he ordered, somewhat firmly.

"What!" Mullins' jaw dropped. "You don't want 'em?"

"No."

"Not even _one_--for luck?"

"No. I've never carried anything that belonged to the _other_
fellow, for luck. Take them back."

Yancey stepped forward, but he was still behind the soft-voiced Edouard
Fouche, who said:

"I'll take them, then. I'm not so high-minded about it."

Tex Yancey pawed Fouche aside as a bear might sweep aside an annoying
puppy. "Out of the way, little fellow. We'll divide these spoils of
war--or we'll draw for 'em. Everyone to draw straws."

"Wait!" McGee interposed himself between Mullins, Yancey, and the
indignant Fouche. "If you boys want souvenirs, go out and get them for
yourself. Mullins told Siddons to wait until he bagged his own game.
That goes here, too. Take 'em back, Mullins. A man of courage has a
right to his personal belongings--even after he is dead. Take them back
and let them be buried with him. By the way," he turned back to the desk
and picked up his report, "I want a confirmation from Major Cowan. Where
is he?"

"Oh, I forgot to tell you," Mullins replied. "He just jumped in a side
car an