CHAPTER II

TOWING CECIL TO A SMEAR

Just think! If it had turned out a little different I might have been
called to stand on a platform in front of City Hall while the Mayor
wished a Victoria Cross or something like that on me.

No, I ain't been nearer the front than Third Avenue, but at that I've
come mighty near gettin' on the firin' line, and the only reason I missed
out on pullin' a hero stunt was that Maggie wa'n't runnin' true to form.

It was like this. Here the other mornin', as I'm sittin' placid at my
desk dictatin' routine correspondence into a wax cylinder that's
warranted not to yank gum or smell of frangipani--sittin' there dignified
and a bit haughty, like a highborn private sec. ought to, you know--who
should come paddin' up to my elbow but the main wheeze, Old Hickory
Ellins.

"Son," says he, "can any of that wait?"

"Guess it wouldn't spoil, sir," says I, switchin' off the duflicker.

"Good!" says he. "I think I can employ your peculiar talents to better
advantage for the next few hours. I trust that you are prepared to face
the British War Office?"

Suspectin' that he's about to indulge in his semi-annual josh, I only
grins expectant.