"Bah!" snorts the major. "So is the farmer who's raising hogs and corn. He's useful. But we don't put shoulder straps on him, or send him to France in command of a company. For jobs like that we try to find youngsters who've been trained to handle men; who know how to get things done. What we don't want is--eh? Someone calling me on the 'phone? All right. Yes, this is Major Wellby. What? Oh, it can't be done today! Yes, yes! I understand all that. But see here, captain, that transport is due to sail at--hey, central! I say, central! Oh, what's the use?" And as the major bangs up the receiver his face looks like a strawb'ry shortcake just ready to serve. Somehow Mr. Ellins seems to be enjoyin' the major's rush of temperament to the ears. Anyhow, there's a familiar flicker under them bushy eyebrows of his and I ain't at all surprised when he remarks soothin': "I gather, major, that someone can't seem to get something done." "Precisely," says the major, moppin' a few pearly beads off his shiny dome. "And when a regular army captain makes up his mind that a thing can't be done--well, it's hopeless, that's all. In this instance, however, I fear he's right, worse luck!" "Anyway," suggests Mr. Ellins, "he has made you think that the thing is impossible, eh?" "Think!" growls the major, glancin' suspicious at Old Hickory. "I say, Ellins, what are you getting at? Still harping on that red tape notion, are you? Perhaps you imagine this to be a case where, if you could only turn loose your wonderful organization, you could work a miracle?" "No, major," says Old Hickory. "We don't claim to work in miracles; but when we decide that a thing ought to be done at a certain time--well, generally it gets done." "Just like that, eh?" grins the major sarcastic. "Really, Ellins, you big business men are too good to be true. But see here; why not tap your amazing efficiency for my benefit. This little job, for instance, which one of our poor misguided captains reports as impossible within the time limit. I suppose you would merely press a button and----" "Not even that," breaks in Mr. Ellins. "I would simply turn it over to Torchy here--and he'd do it." The major glances at me careless and shrugs his shoulders. "My dear Ellins," says he, "you probably don't realize it, but that's the sort of stuff which adds to the horrors of war. Here you haven't the vaguest idea as to what----" "Perhaps," cuts in Old Hickory, "but I'll bet you a hundred to twenty-five." "Taken," says the major. Then he turns to me. "When can you start, lieutenant?" "As soon as I know where I'm starting for, sir," says I. "How convenient," says he. "Well, then, here is an order on the New York Telephone Co. for five spools of wire which you'll find stored somewhere on Central Park South. See if you can get 'em." "Yes, sir," says I. "And suppose I can?"