“What is the subject of discussion?” enquired Hemingwood as he ignited a cheroot. “Snapper is trying to justify the fact that he possesses a new fiancée by spacious arguments in favor of marriage,” returned big blonde Morrison. “Of course, looking at it impartially and without prejudice, marriage is a sucker game from a man’s viewpoint,” stated Hemingwood weightily. “What do you mean?” enquired Snapper MacNeil belligerently. The wiry, redheaded little flyer was a heaven-sent victim for serious persiflage, and was very much in love. “Aside from the temporary state of insanity known as love, the state has no arguments in its favor from a man’s viewpoint,” pursued Hemingwood. “Look at the expense, for one thing. However, cheer up, Snapper, even marriage has its points. Don’t think I consider it an unmitigated evil. You can’t--” “Beg pardon, sir,” said a voice at Hemingwood’s elbow. “Major Williamson’s compliments and will the lieutenant report to headquarters immediately?” Tall, gaunt Private Rose, perpetual orderly of the officers’ barracks, stood at rigid attention and spewed these words forth as though in mortal fear of forgetting one if he stopped. “Be right over, Rose,” nodded Hemingwood. So saying, he turned on his heel and left them spellbound. He strolled toward headquarters, wondering what was up. Some new job, probably. As photographic officer his duties were by no means onerous, and consequently he had a great fear that lightning would strike, at any moment, in the form of an order assigning him to some prosaic task in addition to his other duties. However, his fears were groundless. He found Major Williamson enthroned behind his desk, arguing acrimoniously with Gobel, the sandy-haired and excitable adjutant. The C. O. fought frequently with Gobel for the purpose of prodding the adjutant until he started pounding the desk, which he frequently did. “Washington has at last discovered that there’s a photographic section hidden away here,” the major told him. “You’re due for a sojourn in the back hills of Kentucky, where moonshine grows on bushes and rifle bullets flow like water.” The orders were brief and to the point. Hemingwood was to make a mosaic of the Salters River between the villages of Laport and Herkimer. That would be about thirty miles, Hemingwood reflected. The mosaic was to include all the territory for five miles on each side of the river. Three hundred square miles, which was several days’ work. It was for the use of the geological survey, according to the order, and was to be accomplished without delay. Hemingwood was delighted. He was whistling cheerfully as he made off to interview Apperson and get things in readiness for a week’s stay in the wilderness.