hole, the shovel was abandoned for a
bayonet and he pushed the dirt back with his hands to others, who threw
it aside. After an hour's work, he had the dead man out. Another hour,
and he had burrowed molelike, to the side of the other man, who still
was conscious.

"Do you want to take a chance? It'll be torture getting out," he said to
the truck driver.

"Anything to get from here to die outside," the man gasped.

A rope was shoved in and the American tied it around the man's legs.
Slowly, while he guided the battered body of the now unconscious man,
comrades pulled them both back through the narrow tunnel.

"I'll see that you're mentioned in regimental orders for your efforts,"
said the officer to the exhausted "Yank," and he did.

The truck driver had an arm broken, a shoulder crushed and a fractured
skull. He was rushed to a hospital on a chance that his life might be
saved after so much effort. The work was not in vain, for a few days ago
a letter was received from him, well again at his home in England,
saying to the former movie star:

"The latch string of this home in Leicester is always hanging out for
you."

----
"WELL, I'LL BE--!"
----
THEY'RE ALL HERE.
----

"Fat Casey!"

"Well, I'll be--!"

After seven years Gabby and Fat Casey came face to face on a
snow-covered country hillside in France. Gabby played right tackle on
the football team out in Chicago in his sophomore year. Casey, a senior,
was center and a bother to the trainer because he would surround two
bits' worth of chocolate caramels every day, adding to the dimension
that won him his nickname.

Somewhere in France Gabby swung his right mitt and clasped Casey's. They
hung on in a kind of reminiscent grip, searching one another's face for
changes.

Casey wore a smudge on his upper lip. Gabby's face was still un-hairy,
but a little lined by the last few years of bucking the business line
for a living. Casey has no cause for wrinkles, having a wealthy Dad.
And, anyway, Fat's disposition proofed his map against the corrugations
of money problems.

We find them shaking hands again.

Casey is driving a touring car over from Divisional Headquarters to call
for the major of the Third Battalion. He stalls on the hill from dirty
distributor points and gets out to sand-paper them. That red-headed