Torchy and Vee | Page 7

until 10:30."
"Hah!" says he, like bitin' off a piece of glass. "And who are you,
lieutenant!"
"Special detail from the Ordnance Department, sir," says I.
"Oh, you are, eh?" he snorts. "Another bomb-proofer! Well, tell Mr.
Ellins I shall be back at 11:15--if this sector hasn't been captured in the
meantime," and as he double-quicks out he near runs down Mr. Piddie,

our rubber-stamp office manager, who has towed him in.
As for me, I stands there swallowin' air bubbles until my red-haired
disposition got below the boiling point once more. Then I turns to
Piddie.
"You heard, didn't you?" says I.
Piddie nods. "But I don't quite understand," says he. "What did he mean
by--er--bomb-proofer?"
"Just rank flattery, Piddie," says I. "The rankest kind. It's his way of
indicatin' that I'm a yellow dog hidin' under a roll-top desk for fear
someone'll kick me out where a parlor Pomeranian will look cross at
me. Excuse me if I don't seem to work up a blush. Fact is, though, I'm
gettin' kind of used to it."
"Oh, I say, though!" protests Piddie. "Why, everyone knows that
you----"
"That's where you're dead wrong, Piddie," I breaks in. "What
everybody really knows is that while most of the young hicks who've
been Plattsburged into uniforms are already across Periscope Pond
helpin' swat the Hun, I'm still floatin' around here with nothing worse
than car dust on my tailor-built khaki. Why, even them bold Liberty
bond patriots who commute on the 8:03 are tired of asking me when
I'm going to be sent over to tell Pershing how it ought to be done. But
when it comes to an old crab of a swivel chair major chuckin'
'bomb-proofer' in my teeth--well, I guess that'll be about all. Here's
where I get a revise or quit. Right here."
And it was sentiments like that, only maybe worded not quite so brash,
that I passed out to Old Hickory a little later on. He listens about as
sympathetic as a traffic cop hearin' why you tried to rush the stop
signal.
"I think we have discussed all that before, young man," says he. "The
War Department has recognized that, as the head of an essential

industry, I am entitled to a private secretary; also that you might prove
more useful with a commission than without one. And I rather think
you have. So there you are."
"Excuse me, Mr. Ellins," says I, "but I can't see it that way. I don't
know whether I'm private seccing or getting ready for a masquerade
ball. Any one-legged man could do what I'm doing. I'm ready to chuck
the commission and enlist."
"Really!" says he. "Well, in the first place, my son, a war-time
commission is something one doesn't chuck back at the United States
government because of any personal whim. It isn't being done. And
then again, you tried enlisting once, didn't you, and were turned
down?"
"But that was early in the game," says I, "when the recruiting officers
weren't passing any but young Sandows. I could get by now. Have a
heart, Mr. Ellins. Lemme make a try."
He chews his cigar a minute, drums thoughtful on the mahogany desk,
and then seems to have a bright little idea.
"Very well, Torchy," says he, "we'll see what my friend, Major Wellby,
can do for you when he comes in."
"Him!" says I. "Why, he'd do anything for me that the law didn't stop
him from."
And sure enough, when the major drifts in again them two was shut in
the private office for more'n half an hour before I'm called in. I could
guess just by the way the major glares fond at me that if he could work
it he'd get me a nice, easy job mowin' the grass in No Man's Land, or
some snap like that.
"Huh!" says he, givin' me the night court up and down. "Wants an
active command, does he? And his training has been what? Four years
as office boy, three as private secretary! It's no use, Ellins. We're not
fighting this war with waste baskets or typewriters, you know."

"Oh, come, major!" puts in Old Hickory. "Why be unreasonable about
this? I will admit that you may be right, so far as it's being folly to send
this young man to the front. But I do insist that as a lieutenant he is
rather useful just where he is."
"Bah!" snorts the major. "So is the farmer who's raising hogs and corn.
He's useful. But we don't put shoulder straps on him, or send him to
France in command of a company. For jobs like that we try to find
youngsters who've been trained to handle men; who know how to get
things done. What we don't want is--eh?