"Oh, yes," he says, very pleasant. "Just step inside, Mister Wilkinson. I'll see you in my office. You are very prompt. You must have been caught in the downpour--you're soaking wet." "Yes, sir," says Wilkinson. "I--ah--Colonel, I don't think there's any use of me stepping into your office." "Eh--why not?" says the Colonel. Wilkinson turns several of the popular colors. "I--ah--the fact is," he says, "our coat is not what the United States government wants, Colonel. I didn't know it at the time I solicited the contract--I--I've just found it out. We brought the required number of coats down here by auto truck, not being able to get them here on time by freight or express. The trip was made in yesterday's storm and"--he points to the mess on the truck--"there's the coats!" The Colonel examines a couple of them soggy rags and he gets very severe. I heard him say somethin' that sounded like "Damn!" a couple of times, and then he turns to Wilkinson. "This is a matter for the Department of Justice," he says. "You will leave the truck and its load right here, Mister Wilkinson, and I'll personally see that it's taken care of. Your action in coming direct to me with this evidence is commendable. You may telegraph your firm that the United States government is holding this shipment for investigation. I'm sorry for your sake that this happened, as I had all but made up my mind to give you the contract. If you desire to see me further, I'll be in my office until six." With that he stamps away. The other officer who was with him has been walkin' around the Gaflooey truck all the time and examin' it like it's the first auto he ever seen in his life. "Pardon me," he says to Wilkinson, "did I understand you to say that you made the trip from New York yesterday in the storm on this truck?" "Yes, sir," says Wilkinson. The officer pulls out a notebook. "What time did you leave New York?" he asks, very businesslike. Wilkinson tells him. Then the officer asks if we had any trouble, how much gas and oil we used, what was our average speed and a million other things. Alex's eyes begin to dance around, and he winks at me like there's somethin' in the air. Fin'ly the officer walks away, after thankin' the lovely Wilkinson for the information. "Now!" hollers Alex, grabbin' Wilkinson's arm. "You win!" "Win?" moans Wilkinson. "I'll be lucky if I don't go to jail!"