s an act as
anybody could go through and come out whole. It lasts until all hands
seem to be pretty well out of breath and someone blows a whistle. Then a
couple of 'em drags Hartley up in front of Brother Beans and salutes.

"Well, right worthy Buddies," says he, "what have you to report
concerning the candidate?"

"Sorry, sir," says one, "but we caught him tryin' to run the guard."

"Ah!" says Beans. "Did he get away with it?"

"He did not," says the Buddie. "We suspect he's a dud, too."

"Very serious," says Beans, shakin' his head. "Candidate, what have you
to say for yourself?"

To judge by the hectic tint on Hartley's neck and ears he had a whole
heap he wanted to say, but for a minute or so all he can do is breathe
hard and glare. He's a good deal of a sight, too. The cutaway coat has
lost one of its tails; his hair is rumpled up like feathers, and his
collar has parted its front moorin's. As soon as he gets his wind
though, he tries to state what's on his mind.

"You--you young rough-necks!" says he. "I--I'll make you sweat for this.
You'll see!"

"Harken, fellow Gogs!" says Beans. "The candidate presumes to address
your Grand Worthy in terms unbecoming an officer and a gentleman. I
would suggest that we suspend the ritual until by some means he can be
brought to his better senses. Can anyone think of a way?"

"Sure!" someone sings out. "Let's give him Days Gone By."

The vote seems to be unanimous and the proceedin's open with Brother
Beans waggin' his finger under Hartley's nose. "Kindly recall November
22, 1917," says he. "It was Saturday, and my leave ticket read from 11
a. m. of that date until 11 p. m. of the 23rd. You knew who was waiting
for me at the Matron's House, too. And just because I'd changed to
leather leggins inside the gate you called me back and put me to
scrubbing the barracks floor, making me miss my last chance at a matinee
and otherwise queering a perfectly good day. Next!"

"My turn!" sings out half a dozen others, but out of the push that
surges toward Hartley steps a light-haired, neat dressed young gent, who
walks with a slight limp. "I trust you'll remember me, lieutenant," says
he. "I was Private Nelson, guilty of the awful crime of appearing at
inspection with two grease spots on my tunic because you'd kept me on
mess sergeant detail for two weeks and the issues of extra uniforms
hadn't been made. So you gave me double guard duty the day my folks came
all the way down