"My dear Mr. Ellins," put in the General Manager, "one cannot watch every workman in a plant of that magnitude. Besides," here he hunches his shoulders, "if the government is satisfied----" "Hah!" snorts Old Hickory. "But it isn't. For I'm the government in this instance. I'm standing for Uncle Sam. That's what I meant when I took those ten per cent. contracts. I'm too old to go out and fight his enemies abroad, but I can stay behind and watch for yellow-livered buzzards such as you. Call that business, do you? Fattening your dividends by sending our boys up against the Prussian guns in junky motor-tanks covered with tin armor! Bah! Your ethics need chloride of lime on them. And you come here whining that you can't watch your men! By the great sizzling sisters, we'll see if you can't! You will put in every missing rivet, replace every flawy plate, and make every machine perfect, or I'll smash your little two-by-four concern so flat the bankruptcy courts won't find enough to tack a libel notice on. Now go back and get busy." They seemed in a hurry to start, too. An hour or so later, when Old Hickory had stopped steaming, he passes out a different set of remarks to me. Oh, the usual grateful boss stuff. Even says he's going to make the War Department give me a commission, with a special detail. "Wouldn't that be wonderful!" says Vee, clappin' her hands. "Do you really think he will? A lieutenant, perhaps?" "That's what he mentioned," says I. "Really!" says Vee, makin' a rush at me. "Wait up!" says I. "Halt, I mean. Now, as you were! Sal-ute!" "Pooh!" says Vee, continuin' her rush. But say, she knows how to salute, all right. Her way would break up an army, though. All the same, I guess I've earned it, for by Monday night I'll be up in a Syracuse shovel works, wearin' a one-piece business suit of the Never-rip brand, and I'll likely have enough grease on me to lubricate a switch-engine. "It's lucky you don't see me, Vee," says I, "when I'm out savin' the country. You'd wonder how you ever come to do it." CHAPTER IX A CARRY-ON FOR CLARA "Now turn around," says Vee. "Oh, Torchy! Why, you look perfectly----" "Do I?" I cuts in. "Well, you don't think I'm goin' to the office like this, do you?" She does. Insists that Mr. Ellins will expect it. "Besides," says she, "it is in the army regulations that you must. If you don't--well, I'm not sure whether it is treason or mutiny." "Hal-lup!" says I. "I surrender." So I starts for town lookin' as warlike as if I'd just come from a front trench, and feelin' like a masquerader who'd lost his way to the ball-room. In the office, Old Hickory gives me the thorough up-and-down. It's a genial, fatherly sort of inspection, and he ends it with a satisfied grunt. "Good-morning, Lieutenant," says he. "I see you have--er--got 'em on. And, allow me to mention, rather a good fit, sir."