And along about the baba au rhum period I did get my fingers on the tall feathers of an idea. Nothing much, but so long as Barry was anxious to be used, I thought I saw a way.
"Suppose anybody around the club could dig up a screwdriver for you?" I asks.
Inside of two minutes Barry had everybody in sight on the jump, from the bus boy to the steward, and in with the demi tasse came the screwdriver.
"Now what, lieutenant?" demands Barry.
"S-s-s-h!" says I, mysterious. "We got to drill around until midnight."
"Why not at the Follies, then?" suggests Barry.
"Swell thought!" says I.
And for this brand of active service I couldn't have picked a better man than Barry. From our box seats he points out the cute little squab with the big eyes, third from the end, and even gets one of the soloists singin' a patriotic chorus at us. On the strength of which Barry makes two more trips down to the café. Not that he gets primed enough so you'd notice it. Nothing like that. Only he grows more enthusiastic over the idea of being useful in the great cause.
"Remember, lieutenant," says he as we drifts out with the midnight push, "I'm under orders. Eh?"
"Sure thing," says I. "You're about to get 'em, too. Did you ever do such a thing as steal a barber's pole?"