"I—uh—I see." But Mr. Holly did not see. He was totally baffled. He watched in astonishment as Phil Merriwether walked out the door of the office.
Merriwether, himself was slightly bemused. How had he done it? He knew perfectly well what he was saying; a full night of thinking had managed to bring to him the realization that something—he knew not what—had happened to his memory. It seemed to him that there must be something he could do with it, but he didn't quite know what.
The decision was practically forced upon him just before lunchtime. He was putting on his coat to go out for lunch when B. J. Holly stepped out of his office. The office manager was preparing to have lunch with an out-of-town buyer, and as he stepped up to the visiting fireman, he said: "Well, as General Pershing said: 'Lafayette, we are here!'" He chuckled at his own wit, paying no attention to Merriwether.
"I beg your pardon, sir," said Phil, "but the general never said that; as a matter of fact, he said later that it was put into his mouth by a newspaperman. He said—"
B. J. glowered at him. An office boy, even if he is thirty-four years of age, is not supposed to contradict his superior.
"Look, son," said B. J., "I happened to be there. I was only a private, but I happened to be standing right next to him."
"That's impossible, sir," Phil said quietly. "According to Federal records, you were born on April second, nineteen-oh-four. You were only fourteen years old at the time. You have no military record with the United States Army."
The out-of-town buyer suppressed a snicker. B. J. Holly turned purple and said: "I'll see you after lunch."
After lunch, Philip Merriwether lost the job he had held for five years.