But he rejected this trend of thought and brought his attention back
to Sam Soligen.

"Perhaps you're right," he admitted. "Some Low-Lower jerk, impressed
by what he considers high pay and adventure, doesn't stand much of a
chance against an old pro."

The gawky tee-ager broke into a toothy smile. "Gee, I wasn't arguing
with you, major. I don't know anything about it. How about telling me
about one of your fracases, eh? You know, some time you really got in
the dill."

Joe snorted. He seldom met someone not of Category Military who didn't
want a special detailed description of some gory action in which Joe
had participated. And like all veterans of combat, there was nothing
he liked less to do. Combat was something which, when done, you wished
to leave behind you. Were brain washing really practicable, it was
this you would wish to wash away.

But Joe, like others before him, down through the ages, had found a
way out. He had a store of a dozen or so humorous episodes with which
he could regale listeners. That time his horse's cinch had loosened
when he was on a scouting mission and he had galloped around and
around amidst a large company of enemy skirmishers, most of them
running after him and trying to drag him from the horse's back, while
he hung on for dear life.

But it occurred to him that the boy might better appreciate a tale
which involved his father, the Telly reporter, and some act of daring
the small man had performed the better to serve his fracas-buff
audience.

He was well launched into the tale, boosting Freddy Soligen's part
beyond reality, but not impossibly so, when that worthy entered the
room, breaking it off.

While Freddy was shaking hands with his visitor, Sam said, "Hey, Papa,
you never told me about that time you were surrounded by all the field
artillery, and only you and Major Mauser and three other men got out."

Freddy grinned fondly at the boy and then looked his reproach at Joe.
"What're you trying to do, make the life of a Telly reporter sound
romantic to the kid? Stick to the priesthood, son, there's more
chicken dinners involved." He saw Joe was impatient to talk to him.
"How about leaving us alone for a while, Sam? We've got some
business."

"Sure, Papa. I've got to memorize some Greek chants, anyway. How come
they don't have all these rituals and all in some language everybody
can understand?"

"Then everybody might understand them," Freddy said sourly. "Then
what'