epartment and Alex says we better
straighten up ourselves and the overcoats before callin' on Colonel
Williams. At that, the mechanic falls off the seat and dives into a
restaurant and we go back to look at the coats.

"If any of us had any brains," says Alex, jerkin' a coat off the pile,
"we would all of worn one of these here things and kept nice and
dry--_Sufferin mackerel_!" he winds up all of a sudden.

Me and the lovely Wilkinson swings around and there's Alex holdin' up
the coat.

Oh, boy!!!!!

This here storm-proof army coat, which Wilkinson hoped to unload on the
U. S. army, just simply fell apart in his hands! He grabbed another
and another--and they're all alike. The rain has took all the color
outa them, they have shrunk till they is hardly enough cloth to
accommodate the buttons and the linin's, which was supposed to be
leather, has fell right to shreds from the water. All in all, they was
nothin' but a mess of soggy, muddy rags which no self-respectin' junk
dealer would of took for a gift!

The lovely Wilkinson's face is a picture. He's as pale as the mornin'
cream and I thought for a minute he was gonna bust out cryin'. I
couldn't help feelin' sorry for the kid, but when I thought of that
wild night ride through the rain and mud to bring this bunch of garbage
to Washington, I wanted to laugh out loud! And then I remember Alex
bettin' me Wilkinson would take the order, and I haw-hawed myself
silly, right there in the street.

"Shut up!" barks Alex, swingin' around on me. "This here is far from a
laughin' matter. It's pretty serious business!" He turns to Wilkinson
and shakes him by the shoulder. "Young man," he snaps, "is that the
kind of stuff you were goin' to put on our boys which fought for you in
France?"

Wilkinson is lookin' at the coats like they fascinated him.

"Why--why this is terrible!" he stammers, fin'ly. "They told
me--why--Good Heavens, you don't think _I_ knew these things were made
up like this, do you?"

Alex studies him for a minute.

"No," he says, "I don't! You don't look like you'd do that, anyways.
What's the name of your firm?"

"Gerhardt and Schmidt," says Wilkinson. "I know it sounds German, but
both members of the firm have been naturalized and--"

"Never mind that," says Alex. "Even if it wasn't no worse than a
scheme to clean up on a government contract, I think the Secret Service
will be interested in seein' them coats!"

The lovely Wilkinson