“You will have it put out over my dead body, sergeant major,” cried the M. O.
“And mine,” added Barry.
“By gad, we'll chance the zeps, sir,” said the sergeant major. “This freezin' rain will kill more men than a bomb. Bring in your men, sir,” he added to the M. O. “But I must see the O. C.”
The sergeant major's devotion to military discipline was struggling hard with his humanity, which, under his rugged exterior, beat warm in his heart.
“Why bother with the O. C.?” said the M. D.
“But I must see him,” insisted the sergeant major.
He had not far to go to attain his purpose.
“Hello! What the devil is this?” exclaimed a loud voice at the door.
“By gad, it's the old man himself,” muttered the M. O. to Barry. “Now look out for ructions.”
In came the O. C., followed by a brass hat. Barry went forward with a steaming tin of coffee.