Torchy and Vee Part 22

Yes, they wanted to know all about Hartley; where he worked; what he did, and what were his off hours. It was almost touchin' to see how eager they was for all the details. Havin' been abroad so long, and among foreigners, and in strange places, I expect Hartley looked like home to 'em.

And then again, you know how they say all them boys who went over have come back men, serious and full of solemn, lofty thoughts. You could see it shinin' in their eyes, even if they did let on to be chucklin' at times. So I gives 'em all the dope I could about their dear old second lieutenant and asks 'em to stick around a few minutes so they could meet him.

"We'd love to," says the one the others calls Beans. "Yes, indeed, it would be a great pleasure, but I think we should defer it until the lieutenant can be induced to leave off his uniform. You understand, I'm sure. We--we should feel more at ease."

"Maybe that could be fixed up, too," says I.

"If it only could!" says Beans, rollin' his eyes at the bunch. "But perhaps it would be better as sort of a surprise. Eh? So you needn't mention us. We--we'll let him know in a day or so."

Well, they kept their word. Couldn't have been more 'n a couple of days later when Hartley calls me one side confidential and shows me this note askin' him if he wouldn't be kind enough to meet with a few of his old comrades in arms and help form a permanent organization that would perpetuate the fond ties formed at Camp Mills.

Hartley is beamin' all over his face. "There!" says he. "That's what I call the true American spirit. And, speaking as a military man, I've seen no better example of a morale that lasts through. It's the discipline that does it, too. I suppose they want me to continue as their commanding officer; to carry on, as it were."

"Listens that way, doesn't it?" says I. "But what do the initials at the end stand for--the G. O. G.'s.?"

"Can't you guess?" says Hartley, almost blushin'. "Grue's Overseas Graduates."

"Well, well!" says I. "Say, that's handin' you something, eh? Looked like a fine bunch of young chaps. Some of 'em college hicks, I expect?"

"Oh, yes," says Hartley. "All kinds from plumbers to multi-millionaires.

Fact! I had young Ogden Twombley as company secretary at one time. Yes, and I remember docking his leave twelve hours once for being late at a.s.sembly. But see what it's done for those boys."

"And think what they did to the Huns," says I. "But where's this joint they want to meet you at? What's the number again? Why, that's the Plutoria."

"Is it?" says Hartley. "Oh, well, there were a lot of young swells among 'em. I must get them interested in my Veteran Reserve plan. I'll have to make a little speech, I suppose, welcoming them back and all that sort of thing. Perhaps you'd like to come along, Torchy?"

"Sure!" says I. "That is, so long as they don't call on me for any remarks. How about this at the bottom, though? 'Civilian dress, please'?"

"Oh, they'd feel a little easier, I suppose," says Hartley, "if I wasn't in uniform. Maybe it would be best, the first time."

So that's how it happened that promptly at 4 p.m. next day we was shown up to this private suite in the Plutoria. Must have been kind of hard for Hartley to give up his nifty O. D.'s, for he ain't such an impressive young gent in a sack coat. And the braid bound cutaway and striped pants he's dug out for the occasion makes him look more like a floor walker from the white goods department than ever. But he tries to look the second lieutenant in spite of it, bracin' his shoulders well back and swellin' his chest out important.

It seems the G. O. G.'s has been doin' some recruitin' meantime, for there's a dozen or more grouped about the room, some in citizens'

clothes but more still in the soldier togs they wore when they came off the transport. And to judge by the looks of a table I got a squint at behind a screen, they'd been doin' a little preliminary celebratin'.

However, they all salutes respectful and Hartley had just started to shoot off his speech, which begins, of course: "Speaking as a military man----" when this Beans gent interrupts.

"Pardon me, lieutenant," says he, "but the members of our organization are quite anxious to know, first of all, if you will accept the high command of the Gogs, so called."

"With pleasure," says Hartley. "And as I was about to say----"

"Just a moment," breaks in Beans again. "Fellow Gogs, we have before us a willing candidate for the High Command. What is your pleasure?"

"Initiation!" they whoops in chorus.

"Carried!" says Beans. "Let the right worthy Buddies proceed to administer the Camp Mills degree."

"Signal!" calls out another cheerful. "Four--seven--eleven! Run the guard!"

Say, I couldn't tell exactly what happened next, for I was hustled into a corner and those n.o.ble young heroes of the Marne and elsewhere, full of lofty aims and high ambitions and--and other things--Well, they certainly didn't need any promptin' to carry out the order of ceremonies. Without a word or a whisper they proceeds to grab Hartley wherever the grabbin' was good and then pa.s.s him along. By climbin' on a chair I could get a glimpse of him now and then as he is sent whirlin'

and b.u.mpin' about, like a bottle bobbin' around in rough water. Back and forth he goes, sometimes touchin' the floor and then again being tossed toward the ceilin'. Two or three of 'em would get him and start rushin'

him across the room when another bunch would tear him loose and begin some maneuvers of their own.

Anyway, runnin' the guard seems to be about as strenuous an act as anybody could go through and come out whole. It lasts until all hands seem to be pretty well out of breath and someone blows a whistle. Then a couple of 'em drags Hartley up in front of Brother Beans and salutes.

"Well, right worthy Buddies," says he, "what have you to report concerning the candidate?"

"Sorry, sir," says one, "but we caught him tryin' to run the guard."

"Ah!" says Beans. "Did he get away with it?"

"He did not," says the Buddie. "We suspect he's a dud, too."

"Very serious," says Beans, shakin' his head. "Candidate, what have you to say for yourself?"

To judge by the hectic tint on Hartley's neck and ears he had a whole heap he wanted to say, but for a minute or so all he can do is breathe hard and glare. He's a good deal of a sight, too. The cutaway coat has lost one of its tails; his hair is rumpled up like feathers, and his collar has parted its front moorin's. As soon as he gets his wind though, he tries to state what's on his mind.

"You--you young rough-necks!" says he. "I--I'll make you sweat for this.

You'll see!"

"Harken, fellow Gogs!" says Beans. "The candidate presumes to address your Grand Worthy in terms unbecoming an officer and a gentleman. I would suggest that we suspend the ritual until by some means he can be brought to his better senses. Can anyone think of a way?"

"Sure!" someone sings out. "Let's give him Days Gone By."

The vote seems to be unanimous and the proceedin's open with Brother Beans waggin' his finger under Hartley's nose. "Kindly recall November 22, 1917," says he. "It was Sat.u.r.day, and my leave ticket read from 11 a. m. of that date until 11 p. m. of the 23rd. You knew who was waiting for me at the Matron's House, too. And just because I'd changed to leather leggins inside the gate you called me back and put me to scrubbing the barracks floor, making me miss my last chance at a matinee and otherwise queering a perfectly good day. Next!"

"My turn!" sings out half a dozen others, but out of the push that surges toward Hartley steps a light-haired, neat dressed young gent, who walks with a slight limp. "I trust you'll remember me, lieutenant," says he. "I was Private Nelson, guilty of the awful crime of appearing at inspection with two grease spots on my tunic because you'd kept me on mess sergeant detail for two weeks and the issues of extra uniforms hadn't been made. So you gave me double guard duty the day my folks came all the way down from Buffalo to see me. Real clever of you, wasn't it?"

One by one they reminded Hartley of little things like that, without givin' him a chance to peep, until each one had had his say. But finally Hartley gets an openin'.

"You got just what you needed--discipline," says he. "That's what made soldiers out of you."

"Oh, did it!" says Brother Beans. "Then perhaps a little of it would qualify you for the High Command. Shall we try it, Most Worthy Buddies?"

"Soak it on him, Beans!" is the verdict, shouted enthusiastic from all sides.

"So let it be," says Beans solemn. "And now, candidate, you are about to be escorted forth where the elusive cigar-b.u.t.t lurks in the gutter and sc.r.a.ps of paper litter the pavement. As an exponent of this particular brand of discipline you will see that no small item escapes you. Should you be so remiss, or should you falter in doing your full duty, you will be returned at once to this room, where retribution waits with heavy hands. Ho, Worthy Buddies! Invest the candidate with the sacred insignia of the empty gunny sack."

And say, when them Gogs started out to put a thing through they did it systematic and thorough. Inside of a minute Hartley is armed with an old bag and is being hustled out to the elevator. As they didn't seem to be taking much notice of me, I tags along, too. They leads Hartley right out in front of the Plutoria and sets him to cleanin' up the block.

Course, it's a little odd to see a young gent in torn cutaway coat and tousled hair scramblin' around under taxi-cabs and dodgin' cars to pick up cigar-b.u.t.ts and chewin' gum papers. So quite a crowd collects. Some of 'em cheers and some haw-haws. But the overseas vets. don't allow Hartley to let up for a second.

"Hey! Don't miss that cigarette stub!" one would call out to him. And as soon as he'd retrieved that another would point out a piece of banana peelin' out in the middle of the avenue. He got cussed enthusiastic by some of the taxi drivers who just grazed him, and the traffic cop threatened to run him in until he saw the bunch of soldiers bossin' the job and then he grins and turns the other way.

I expect I should have been more or less wrathy at seein' a brother officer get it as raw as that, but I'm afraid I did more or less grinnin' at some of Hartley's antics. It struck me, though, that he might be kind of embarra.s.sed if I stayed around until they turned him loose. So before he finished I edged out of the crowd and drifted off.

I couldn't help puttin' one thing up to Brother Beans though. "Excuse me for gettin' curious," says I, "but when I asks Hartley what G. O. G.

stands for he made kind of a punk guess. If it ain't any deep secret----"

"It is," says Brother Beans, "but I think I'll let you in on it. The name of our n.o.ble organization is 'Grue's Overseas Grouches,' and our humble object is to rebuke the only taint of Prussianism which we have personally encountered in an otherwise perfectly good man's army. When we've done that we intend to disband."