"They'll have to, that's all," says Hartley. "The new service act will provide for that. Besides, it will do 'em good, keep 'em in line. Anyway, that's what they're for." "Oh," says I. "Are they? Say, with sentiments like that you must have been about as popular with your company, Hartley, as an ex-grand duke at a Bolshevik picnic." "What I was after," says he, "was discipline, no popularity. It's what the average young fellow needs most. As for me, I had it clubbed into me from the start. If I didn't mind what I was told at home I got a bat on the ear. Same way here in the Corrugated, you might say. I've always had to take orders or get kicked. That's what I passed on to my men. At least I tried to." And as Hartley stiffens up and glares across the table at an imaginary line of doughboys I could guess that he succeeded. It was while I was followin' his gaze that I noticed this bunch of five young heroes at a corner table. Their overseas caps was stacked on a hat tree nearby and one of 'em was wearin' some sort of medal. And from the reckless way they were tacklin' big platters of expensive food, such as broiled live lobster and planked steaks, I judged they'd been mustered out more or less recent. Just now, though, they seemed a good deal interested in something over our way. First off I didn't know but some of 'em might be old friends of mine, but pretty soon I decides that it's Hartley they're lookin' at. I saw 'em nudgin' each other and stretchin' their necks, and they seems to indulge in a lively debate, which ends in a general haw-haw. I calls Hartley's attention to the bunch. "There's a squad of buddies that I'll bet ain't yearnin' to hear someone yell 'Shun!' at 'em again," I suggests. "Know any of 'em?" "It is quite possible," says Hartley, glancin' at 'em casual. "They all look so much alike, you know." With that he gets back to his Reserve Army scheme and he sure does give me an earful. We'd got as far as the cheese and demi tasse when I noticed one of the soldiers--a big, two-fisted husk--wander past us slow and then drift out. A minute or two later Hartley is being paged and the boy says there's a 'phone call for him. "For me?" says Hartley, lookin' puzzled. "Oh, very well." He hadn't more'n left when the other four strolls over, and one of the lot remarks: "I beg your pardon, but does your friend happen to be Second Lieutenant Grue?" "That's his name," says I, "only it was no accident he got to be second lieutenant. That just had to be." They grins friendly at that. "You've described it," says one. "He was some swell officer, too, I understand," says I. "Oh, all of that," says another. "He--he's out of the service now, is he?" "Accordin' to the War Department he is," says I, "but if a little plan of his goes through he'll be back in the game soon." And I sketches out hasty Hartley's idea of keepin' the returned vets on tap.