"I never meant no harm," the cook protested--"not then. There wouldn't have been much sense in going back, especially when there were other recruiting offices right there in Jersey City. I got another three hundred, but my new sojer clothes was spoiled when I fell off the transport in the dark the night before we sailed--and got drownded. Oh, it was easy enough those days, before a lot of duffers took to the business. But it got so arter awhile that we professionals had to keep away from cities and play the country stations--Citizens' Committees, Women's Aid Associations, and the substitute racket. Sometimes I did the farmer boy with cowhide boots and hayseed in my hair, and told about the mortgage on the old place, and the kid that was expected; and there wasn't anything they wouldn't do so I could leave the folks comfortable when I went off to the war. Oh, those were great times. In one day, out the next!" "And--and was the getting out as easy?" his hearer asked. "Not quite," Budd admitted; "but pretty near. Say you were at a camp of instruction; then it might be a pass, or a little something to the sentry, or a brickbat in the dark, if you could throw straight. I gave a feller fifty to let me through once, and then the sucker peached on me, the lowdown sneak! But I got even with him later on. So I went marching out of Philadelphia with the band playing and the women crying and the men what was too delicate to go themselves singing out 'God bless you, boys!' I tell you what, professor, for a moment I come pretty near to wishing I was playing square." "A passing sentiment, I'm sure," said the geologist. "Sure!" cried Budd, delighted with his hearer's sympathy. "I'd like to see the sentiment that would hold out after a couple of nights building intrenchments in the rain. How could I help it if when the sentry's back was turned the pick flew out of my hand and clipped him right behind the ear? It was the same cuss who had blocked my game the week before." "Good!" laughed the professor.