“Let it come—we don’t need to see it. Just sit down and look the other way. No use tryin’ to break our arms with that salutin’ stuff,” was the reply.
Both men sat down facing the woods. There was a sound of tires scraping the road, under pressure of quickly applied brakes. A door opened and slammed shut.
“What outfit are you men from?” The question was asked in a heavy, steady voice.
McGee and O. D. stood up and faced about to find themselves confronted by a major-general. They saluted. McGee spoke up.
“Twenty-sixth Division, sir.”
“What are you doing straggling along this road?” asked the general.
“Just returnin’ to our outfits from the hospital, sir,” lied McGee, with a feeling of glory.
“All right, men.”
The man with two stars on his shoulders stepped back into the warmth and luxury of his chugging motor and was off in a swirl of dust that nearly choked the two soldiers. McGee caught himself in the act of reaching for his old, battle-scarred gas-mask.
“Gee! he was a major-general,” declared O. D. in an awed voice; “did you see the two stars on his straps?” gasped the newcomer to Jimmy’s hunting-grounds.