God Bless the “Y.”
A mud-spattered dough-boy slouched into the ‘Y’ hut where an entertainment was in progress and slumped into a front seat.
Firm, kindly, and efficient, a Y. M. C. A. man approached him, saying: “Sorry, buddy, but the entire front section is reserved for officers.”
Wearily the youth rose.
“All right,” he drawled, “but the one I just got back from wasn’t.”
* * *