For five minutes Ollie stood encased, his stomach fluttering as he recalled the grocer's warning. He waited for the vivisection to begin.
It didn't. He was removed from his shell and handed an inked graph.
"Here's your profile," the medic said. "It's good, considering. Take it back to the fellow who brought you here."
He did and was ushered into a glassed-in office containing two desks, each labelled Civilian Personnel Officer. At one sat the fat major. At the other, a tallish young civilian held Ollie's application.
"My name is Katt," the civilian said, getting up to shake hands. "This is Major Brownwight."
The major also shook his hand. Katt placed a straightbacked chair between the two desks, and invited Ollie to sit in it. Ollie did, gazing uncertainly from one man to the other.
"We heard you arrived by train early this morning," Katt said.
"Yes, sir."
"You were first reported in Sparks, but I'll bet you boarded that train in San Francisco."
"Yes, sir. What's the penalty?"