"Lave a call?"

"No. I thought I'd put you wise. I didn't notice that the man had
no grip until he was in the elevator."

"All right. I'll send the bell-hop captain up with a fake call to
see if the man's still there."

When the captain - late of the A.E.F. in France - returned to the
office he was mildly excited.

"Gee, there's been a whale of a scrap in Room 212. The chambermaid
let me in."

"Murder?" whispered the clerks in unison.

"Murder your granny! Naw! Just a fight between 212 and 214,
because both of 'em have flown the roost. But take a peek at what
I found on the table."

It was a case of blue velours. The boy threw back the lid
dramatically.

"War medals?"

"If they are I never piped 'em before. They ain't French or
British." The captain of the bell-boys scratched his head
ruminatively. "Gee, I got it! Orders, that's what they all 'em.
Kings pay 'em out Saturdays when the pay roll is nix. Will you pipe
the diamonds and rubies? There's your room rents, monseer."