"It's in mine, all right," says I. "But then, I'm not much of an army officer, anyway. I'm mostly a camouflaged private sec. Besides, this ain't any ordinary call. It's a domestic S. O. S. that I've been sort of lookin' for." "I understand," says he. "The--the first?" I nods. Then I asks: "What's the quickest way across to Long Island?" "There isn't any quick way," says he, "unless you have wings. You can't even catch the branch line local that connects with the New York express now. There'll be one down at 8:36 to-morrow morning, though." "Wha-a-at!" says I, gawpin' at him. "How about gettin' a machine and shootin' down to the junction?" "My car is the only one here," says he, "and that is out of commission to-day--valves being ground." "But look," says I; "you got three or four of those motor-cycles with a bath-tub tacked on the side. Couldn't you let one of your sergeants----" "Strictly against orders," says he, "except for military purposes." "Ah, stretch it, Major," I goes on. "Have a heart. Just think! I want to get there to-night. Got to!" "Impossible," says he. "But listen----" I keeps on. Well, it's no use rehearsin' the swell arguments I put up. I said he had a rubber-stamp mind, didn't I? And I made about as much headway talkin' to him as I would if I'd been assaultin' that tank with a tack-hammer. He couldn't see any difference between havin' charge of a string of machine shops in Connecticut and commandin' a regiment in the front-line trenches. Besides, he didn't approve of junior officers bein' married. Not durin' war-time, anyway. And the worst of it was, I couldn't tell him just the particular kind of ossified old pinhead I thought he was. All I could do was grind my teeth, say "Yes, sir," and salute respectful. Also there was that undertaker-faced secretary standin' by with his ear out. The prospect of sittin' around watchin' him for the rest of the day wasn't fascinatin'. No; I'd had about all of Barnes I could stand. A few more of his cheerin' observations, and I'd want to jam his head into his typewriter and then tread on the keys. Nor I wasn't goin' to be fed on any more cog-wheel statistics by the Major, either. All I could keep on my mind then was this one thing: How could I get home? Looked like I was up against it, too. The nearest town was twelve miles off, and the main-line junction was some thirty-odd miles beyond that. Too far for an afternoon hike. But I couldn't just sit around and wait, or pace up and down inside the barbed-wire fence like an enemy alien that had been pastured out. So I wanders through the gate and down a road. I didn't know where it led, or care. Maybe I had a vague idea a car would come along. But none did.