that the
mess-hall seats less than five hundred, the way they got the tables
fixed; that there's no room for a stage without breakin' through one end
and tackin' it on; and that the camp cooks will have the range ovens
full of bread and the tops covered with oatmeal in double boilers as
usual. Outside of that and a few other things, the arrangements was
lovely.

Miss Jane ain't a bit disturbed when I makes my report.

"There!" says she. "Didn't I say you were just the assistant I needed?
Now, please tell all those things to the Brigadier. He will know exactly
what to do. Then you'd best be out here early Monday morning to see that
they're done properly. And I think, Torchy, I shall make you my general
manager for this occasion. Yes, I'll do it. Everyone will report first
to you, and you will tell them exactly where to go and what to do."

"You--you mean," says I, gaspin' a bit, "all the hired help?"

"And the volunteers too," says Miss Jane. "Everyone."

Maybe I grinned. I didn't know just how it was goin' to work out, but I
could feel something comin'. Forsythe was goin' to get his. He stood to
get it good, too. Not all on account of what I owed Mr. Robert for the
friendly turns he'd done me. Some of it would be on my own hook, to pay
up for the yawny half hours I'd had to sit through listenin' while
Forsythe discoursed about himself. You should have seen the satisfied
look on Mr. Robert's face when I hinted how Forsythe might be in line
for new sensations.

"If I could only be there to watch!" says he. "You must tell me all
about it afterwards. They'll enjoy hearing of it at the club."

But, at that, Forsythe wasn't the one to walk right into trouble. He's a
shifty party, and he ain't been duckin' work all these years without
gettin' expert at it. Accordin' to schedule he was to show up at the
camp about nine-thirty Monday morning; but it's nearer noon when he
rolls up in his car. And I don't hesitate a bit about givin' him the
call.

"You know it's this week, not next," says I, "that this dinner is comin'
off. And there's four bolts of buntin' waitin' to be hung up."

"Quite so," says Forsythe. "We must get to work right away."

I had to chase down to the station again then, to see that the chef's
outfit was bein' loaded on the trucks; but I was cheered up by the
thought of Forsythe balanced on top of a tall step-ladder with his mouth
full of tacks and his collar gettin' wilty.

It's near an hour before