I'd only heard it sketched out so far, but it seems while him and young
Mrs. Mallory was over there in Athens, or some such outlandish place,
this late muss with the Turks was just breakin' loose. Skid he leaves
Wifey at the hotel one mornin' while he goes out for a little stroll;
drifts down their Newspaper Row, where the red ink war extras are so
thick the street looks like a raspberry patch; follows the drum music
up as far as City Hall, where the recruits are bein' reviewed by the
King; listens to the Greek substitute for "Buh-ruh-ruh! Soak 'em!" and
the next thing he knows he's wavin' his lid and yellin' with the best
of 'em.

It must have stirred up some of that old football fightin' blood of
his; for he'd organized a regular cheerin' section, right there
opposite to the royal stand, and was whoopin' things up like it was
fourth down and two to go on the five-yard line, when all of a sudden
over pikes a Colonel or something from the King's staff and begins
poundin' Skid on the back gleeful.

It's a young Greek that used to be in his engineerin' class, back in
the dear old college days. He says Skid's just the man he wants to
come help him patch up the railroad that the Turks have been puttin' on
the blink as they dropped back towards headquarters. Would he? Why,
him bein' railroad construction expert of the Corrugated, this was
right in his line! Sure he would!

And when Mrs. Mallory sees him again at lunchtime he's all costumed as
a Major in the Greek army, and is about to start for the scene of
atrocities. That's Skid, all over. He wasn't breathin' out any idle
gusts, either. He not only rebuilds their bloomin' old line better'n