same," growled McCullough. "Listen to that 'norther'? . . . How'd you
like to be chucked out into th' cold, cold world right now?--You, Hardy!
that's never done nothin' but 'soldier' all your life--you, Reddy! with
your 'collidge edukashun'?"

George, unmoved, listened respectfully awhile, lying on his stomach with
his chin cupped in his hands. "Must have been a great bunch of fellows
when you first took on the Force, Dave?" he queried presently.

From sheer force of habit the old policeman glanced at his interlocutor
suspiciously. But that young gentleman's face appearing open and serene,
merely expressing naive interest, he grunted an affirmative "Uh-huh!" and
backed his conviction with a cheerful oath.

"Ah, they sure was. But where are they all now?" he rambled on in
garrulous reminiscence, "some of 'em rich--some of 'em broke--an' many of
'em back on th' old Force again, an' glad to get their rations. There
was some that talked like you, Mister Bloomin' Reddy!--fed up, an' goin'
to quit--an' did quit--for a time. There was Corky Jones, I mind. Him
that used to blow 'bout th' wonderful jobs he'd got th' pick of when he
was 'time-ex.' All he got was 'reeve' of some little shi-poke burg down
south. Hooshomin its real name, but they mostly call it Hootch
thereabouts. A rotten little dump of 'bout fifty inhabitants. They're
drunk half th' time an' wear each other's clothes. Ugh! filthy
beggars! . . . He's back on th' Force again. There was Gadgett Malone.
Proper dog he was--used to sing 'Love me, an' th' World is Mine.' He got
all balled up with a widder, first crack out o' th' box, an' she shook
him down for his roll an' put th' skids under him in great shape inside
of a month. He's back on th' Force again. There was Barton McGuckin.
When he pulled out he shook hands all around, I mind. Yes, sir! with