"Don't do what?" demanded Dowley, turning scowling eyes on Hal. "Give him back his wallet, Dowley. That's carrying a joke too far." "I haven't----" was as far as Private Dowley got when Private William Green, who was twenty-two years old, tall, raw-boned, freckled and sandy haired, heard the word and clapped a hand to his own hip pocket. "I've been touched--robbed--right in the heart of United States forces!" yelled Private Green, turning and staggering back. "Give it back to him, Dowley," urged Hal. "What do you mean? To say that I----" sputtered Dowley, clenching his fists as though he meant to hurl himself at Hal Overton. But Private William himself settled the problem by hurling himself weakly at Dowley and running his hands over his comrade's clothing. "There it is," yelled William. "My wallet--right in Dowley's trousers' pocket." "Of course," nodded Private Hal. "Dowley did it as a joke, but it looks like carrying a joke too far." Dowley, seeing that further denial was useless, broke into a guffaw. Then he thrust a hand into his pocket, producing the wallet. William Green pounced upon it with an exclamation of joy. "I wanted to string Greenie," explained Dowley hoarsely, "but Overton had to go to work and spoil it all." "The joke was in bad taste," observed Private Hyman quietly. "We don't want any work of that sort here, even for fun." "What I marvel at," remarked Hal innocently, "is how you did the thing in such a smooth, light-fingered way, Dowley." "Light fingered? You hound!" raged Dowley, his eyes blazing. "Do you mean that I did the trick with the skill of a crook?" He placed himself squarely before the young soldier, crowding him back and glaring into Overton's eyes. The other soldiers in the room found suddenly a new interest in the scene. Young Overton wasn't quarrelsome; he was the soul of good nature, in fact, but he knew how to fight when he had to do it. "Stop walking on my feet," counseled Hal, giving Dowley a slight push that sent him backward a step. "What did you mean?" insisted Dowley, who was working himself into a greater rage with every second. "It's time to ask what you mean," retorted Hal. "You called me a light-fingered crook, because I played a joke on Greenie," roared Dowley. "And I'm going to make you eat talk like that." "You're putting a wrong construction on my words," returned Hal quietly. "You called me a light-fingered crook, didn't you?" demanded Dowley hotly. "I spoke of your performance as a light-fingered trick." "That's the same thing," raged the older man. "Is it?" "Don't play baby, and don't crawfish," sneered Dowley, scowling. "You know what you meant." "And you seem to think you know, too." "We must break this up," whispered Private Hyman to Noll Terry, Hal Overton's soldier chum. "I don't want to see him get hurt." "What do you care about Dowley?" asked Noll, shrugging his shoulders. "Dowley be hanged!" retorted Hyman. "It's your kid friend I'm thinking about."