The next one was a little fellow who had a gun of marvellous model, double-barrelled, with the barrels crossed. The President adjusted his spectacles and took a second look before he made any comment. He lifted his bristling eyebrows:
"What's it for?"
"For cross-eyed men, sir!" he whispered.
"You don't say?" he roared.
"Yes, sir," the little man continued eagerly. "The cross-eyed men ain't never had no chance in this war. They turn 'em all down. They won't take 'em as soldiers. That gun'll fix 'em. Push a regiment o' good cross-eyed men to the front with that gun a-pourin' hot lead from two barrels at the same time an' every man er cross firin' at the enemy an' we'll jist natchally make hash outen 'em, sir——"
"And we may need the cross-eyed men, too, before the war ends." The sombre eyes twinkled thoughtfully. "Thank you, my friend, when I draft the cross-eyed men come in again and we'll talk it over. Your heart's in the right place, anyhow."
He glanced doubtfully at the little skillet-shaped head and reached over his shoulder for the next one. It was a bullet proof shirt for soldiers—a coat of mail which weighed fifty pounds.
"How long do you think a man could march with that thing on and the thermometer at ninety-eight in the shade?"
He handed it back with a shake of his head and grasped the next one—a model water-tight canoe to fit the foot like a snow shoe.
"What's the idea?" he asked.