Barnes nodded.
"Scads of 'em. Some of them went back to their old jobs. Some of them found 'em gone and they was others that couldn't cut it like they used to. The government's tryin' to land 'em all jobs. But it's slow."
Gregory turned slowly about and retraced his steps in the direction of the office. Then he remembered Barnes's request.
"You can tell your friends to come along," he said.
Barnes ran after him.
"Say," he exclaimed, "I forgot to tell you. One of 'em's leg's a little stiff and the other one's shy an eye."
Gregory whirled about.
"They've got brains and hearts left, haven't they?" he challenged. "Tell them to come along."
Walking rapidly to the office he entered and closed the door. When Barnes came in at quitting time the room was thick with smoke. In the center of the smoke-screen Gregory sat at a small table, hammering away at a typewriter. On a near-by chair, the ex-soldier caught a glimpse of a colored poster, glaringly captioned:
JOBS FOR SOLDIERS