"Then perhaps you'll help me put over something on a boss ditch digger," says I. "It's nothing official, but it may help General Pershing a whole lot."
"We sure will," says the sergeant. "Now then, men. 'Shun! And forget those dope sticks for a minute. How'll you have 'em, lieutenant—twos or fours?"
"Twos will look more impressive, I guess," says I. "And just follow me."
"Fall in!" says the sergeant. "By twos! Right about! March!"
So when I rounds into the street again and bears down on this gang foreman I has him bug-eyed from the start. He don't seem to know whether he's being pinched or not.
"What's your name, my man?" says I, wavin' the Q. M.'s order threatenin'.
It's Mike something or other, as I could have guessed without him near chokin' to get it out.
"Very well, Mike," I goes on, as important as I knew how. "See those spools over there that you people have done your best to bury? Well, those have been requisitioned from the Telephone Company by the U. S. army. Here's the order. Now I want you to get busy with your drill gang and cut 'em loose."
"But—but see here, boss," sputters Mike, "'tis a private contract they're workin' on and I couldn't be after——"
"Couldn't, eh?" says I. "Lemme tell you something. That wire has to go on a transport that's due to sail the first thing in the morning. It's for the Signal Corps and they need it to stretch a headquarters' line into Berlin."