I nods. Then I asks: "What's the quickest way across to Long Island?"
"There isn't any quick way," says he, "unless you have wings. You can't even catch the branch line local that connects with the New York express now. There'll be one down at 8:36 to-morrow morning, though."
"Wha-a-at!" says I, gawpin' at him. "How about gettin' a machine and shootin' down to the junction?"
"My car is the only one here," says he, "and that is out of commission to-day—valves being ground."
"But look," says I; "you got three or four of those motor-cycles with a bath-tub tacked on the side. Couldn't you let one of your sergeants——"
"Strictly against orders," says he, "except for military purposes."
"Ah, stretch it, Major," I goes on. "Have a heart. Just think! I want to get there to-night. Got to!"
"Impossible," says he.
"But listen——" I keeps on.
Well, it's no use rehearsin' the swell arguments I put up. I said he had a rubber-stamp mind, didn't I? And I made about as much headway talkin' to him as I would if I'd been assaultin' that tank with a tack-hammer. He couldn't see any difference between havin' charge of a string of machine shops in Connecticut and commandin' a regiment in the front-line trenches. Besides, he didn't approve of junior officers bein' married. Not durin' war-time, anyway.