And on that note of sincere (if profane) admiration, the department heads disappeared to divvy up the disputatious shipment. With an air of "I told you so!" Old Mac turned to a rather acid-looking Grimper. "Y' see, Mr. Grimper? Indeespenseeable, that's whut he is! Ye maun do weel f'r to reconsider this motter--" But there was a streak of mule six feet tall and two feet wide in the Federal man. He sniffed down his long, thin nostrils and studied Hank through his _pince-nez_ with detached interest. "Hrrumph!" he hrrumphed. "Very interesting, but not at all new, you know. Hardly mathematics at all, in fact. A numerical paradox based on an old Arabian legend, if I am not mistaken--" I did what Flatbushers would call a "slow berl." In other words, I was boined up. But while I was still striving for words, young Johnny Day, who had entered from his office, came charging to Hank's defense. "Maybe it's not mathematics," he raged, "in the pure sense. But it's something more valuable--common sense! Any man who can pop up with a quick answer to a problem like that is a handy guy to have around. _You_ are an efficiency expert, Mr. Grimper, but _you_ had no solution to offer--" Grimper's lean jaw tightened. His eyes grew as cold as a ditchdigger's ears in Siberia. Whatever slow beginnings of humanity might have been wakening in his bosom died now. "I am sorry, gentleman," he said in a tone of finality which meant he wasn't at all, "but I am not convinced. I presume, Mr. MacDonald, you _do_ want this Government order?" "Notcherally," grudged Old Mac. "Then--" Primly--"you must accept my decisions on questions of policy. Mr. Cleaver, you are hereby granted two weeks in which to clear up your affairs around this plant, at the end of which time your services will no longer be needed. I trust you will find suitable employment elsewhere...." And he smiled, a mean, oily little smile. The heel! So that, lads and lassies, was that. Hank was o-u-t on called strikes, but if you think he just quit trying to do his share because a fortnight's deadline was hanging over his head, you don't know old turnip-torturer Cleaver. * * * * * The Northern Bridge, Steel and Etcetera still needed estimating, so Hank labored straight on through till the last day, lending his individual--if unwanted--talents. Thus it was that on the Saturday afternoon he drew his final paycheck he had still not cleared out his desk drawers and lockers for the next incumbent. He told me so at dinner. I asked, "Well, what's the program, Hankus? After we feed we grab a choo-choo?" But he just stared at me. "_We_, Jim? But you wasn't laid off." "Birds of a feather," I told him, "flop together. I go where you go." He shook his head. "Oh, no, Jim. Thanks a lot, but--you got to stick. This ain't no time f'r individjuls to fuss an' argue. We got a war to win, an' wherever a man's needed he's got to stay." "But how about you, Hank?"