"Frequently. However, if I had accepted I would have had to resign the
nicest job I ever had. There wasn't much money in it, but it was filled
with excitement and interesting experiments. I used to disguise myself
as a Christmas tree or a box car and pick off German sharp-shooters. I
was known as Peck's Bad Boy. I was often tempted to quit, but whenever
I'd reflect on the number of American lives I was saving daily, a
commission was just a scrap of paper to me."

"If you'd ever started in any other branch of the service you'd have run
John J. Pershing down to lance corporal. Bill, listen! Have you ever had
any experience selling skunk spruce?"

Comrade Peck was plainly puzzled. He shook his head. "What sort of stock
is it?" he asked.

"Humboldt County, California, spruce, and it's coarse and stringy and
wet and heavy and smells just like a skunk directly after using. I'm
afraid Skinner's going to start you at the bottom--and skunk spruce is
it.

"Can you drive nails in it, Mr. Ricks?"

"Oh, yes."

"Does anybody ever buy skunk spruce, sir?"

"Oh, occasionally one of our bright young men digs up a half-wit who's
willing to try anything once. Otherwise, of course, we would not
continue to manufacture it. Fortunately, Bill, we have very little of