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Show FIO Here, Pgj yftVj Private Hargrove! rlC tu Marion Hargrove i?tti W i L THE STORY SO FAR: Private Marlon Hargrove, former newspaper feature editor, edi-tor, has been Inducted Into the army and Is nearing his completion of basic training at Fort Bragg, N. C. He has been classified as cook and In addition his failure to master some of the fundamentals funda-mentals of army training have resulted in considerable extra KP duty for him. He has also learned the finer points of "goldbricking" and "shooting the breeze." Hargrove has become editor of a section of the camp paper and these duties have kept him away from a lecture series. As we pick up the story, his sergeant is assigning him once more to KP for this infraction. Hargrove is trying to explain. He speaks: CHAPTER XIV "Sergeant, for days I round up news from battery reporters. There is always too much or too little. When there is too little, I have to write what is needed. When there is too much, I have to choose which battery reporter is going to horsewhip horse-whip me for leaving his copy out." "The chaplain is right up the street," the sergeant said. "Then I have to edit all the copy, delete all classified military intelligence intelli-gence and take out all nasty cracks at first sergeants. Then I have to write headlines for all the stories and place them in whatever space I can find for them. Then I must draw everything up into pretty little pages. This is tedious and nerve-racking nerve-racking work." "The chaplain will give you a sympathetic ear," the sergeant said. "I will give you only KP. Does anything you are saying relate to what we're talking about why you weren't In the mess hall yesterday afternoon?" "I was getting around to that, sergeant ser-geant On the day before the paper is issued, I have to go into Fayette-ville Fayette-ville to keep a careful watch over the printers, to see that they don't put Third Regiment news on the Fourth Regiment page. If I am not there, they may even mix headlines head-lines and put church notices under 'Service Club Activities.' It Is necessary neces-sary that I be there." The sergeant coughed. "I feel for you. Private Hargrove; I deeply sympathize. I wouldn't think of putting put-ting you on KP " ' "You wouldn't?" I gasped eagerly. eager-ly. "Don't interrupt," the sergeant barked. "As I was saying, I wouldn't think of putting you on KP if you hadn't committed a breach of etiquette eti-quette by failing to RSVP the invi-taion. invi-taion. You didn't tell us you weren't coming. Or why." -Ra- I was dozing peacefully at my typewriter the other morning when there came a knock on my elbow and a bright young voice shouted "Hey!" at me. I looked up into the Impish, cheerful, and unquenchably mischievous face of the boss' daughter. daugh-ter. Miss Sidney Winkel, age four. "Let's be reasonable, Pvt. Mulve-hill," Mulve-hill," I said; "As you know, I am working on Capt. Winkle's sympathies sympa-thies to get a furlough." Miss Winkel was dressed like the Navy and looked entirely too energetic ener-getic for such a drizzly morning. "I'm to be the Valentine," she said, "and Johnny's going to take my picture and you're to take me up to the Service Club and carry Johnny's things for him and wait for him to get there so you'd better bet-ter put on your jacket and cap and let's go. "I'm going to have my picture taken with Spud Parker," she added. add-ed. Spud Parker is the general's ton and is considered quite an eligible eligi-ble bachelor by the younger set. "There's Tom in the cafeteria," she said. "Let's go see Tom." Thomas James Montgomery Mul-vehill, Mul-vehill, Pfc, was apparently making his morning rounds in search of news. He was, at the moment, engaged en-gaged in his daily research in the Service Club's toast and coffee. "Hello, sis," he said. "Hello, Mc-Gee. Mc-Gee. Pull up a chair. McGee, get the lady a drink. Something tall and cool. Such as a chocolate milk. What's the deal, sis?" "I'm to be the Valentine," she said, "and Johnny's going to take my picture and old Hargrove has to take care of Johnny's stuff until Johnny comes and I don't like him anyway because he makes faces and sticks out his tongue and says sticks and snails and puppy-dog tails that's what little girls are made of and he's not my boy friend anyway." any-way." "No punctuation," I said. I waggled wag-gled my ears and stuck out my tongue at her. "The next time I ccme," she said, "I'm goir.g to bring some soap and every time he sticks out his tongue I'm going to put soap on it because it isn't nice to stick out your tongue." She emphasized her statement state-ment by paralyzing my wrist with her fist and sticking her tongue out at me. "Let's have no unnecessary vibrations, vibra-tions, McGee," said the Lieuthom-as, Lieuthom-as, looking up reproachfully over his glasses. "Coffee is five cents the cup." He beamed at her. She beamed back at him. "I have seven boy friends," she said, raising one forefinger delicately delicate-ly and rubbing the other against it in a highly jeering gesture. "I have seven boy friends and you're not one of them and you're not anybody's boy friend." She hit me this time on the elbow and I made a horrible face at her. "Myaaah," I said. "Who wants to be your boy friend anyway?" "I wish you wouldn't blow smoke," she said. "It makes me cough and it's not nice to smoke anyway. Old cigarettes!" I wearily crushed my last cigarette ciga-rette in the ash tray. "Women, the eternal reformer," I sighed. "It wasn't like "this in the Old Army." Miss Sidney Winkel took off her sailor cap and arranged her big red , hair ribbon. "You're a nasty old thing and you're not nice like Johnny and Tom and Lieutenant Meek and Captain Wilson and all my other boy friends," she said. After a pause she added, airily, "And Major Ma-jor Long and Captain Quillen, too." "Myaah," I sighed, wrinkling my nose more violently. "Oh there's Johnny," she suddenly sudden-ly cried, "and he's going to take my picture and " She tripped off with a bewitching smile for Bushemi and a running line of babble. "No punctuation," I said to Mul-vehill. Mul-vehill. "It's a woman's world, McGee," he said, reaching for another slice of toast. -ss- "Get him away from me, Bushemi!" Bu-shemi!" roared Private Thomas James Montgomery Mulvehill. "He's got that gleam in his eye. Get him away!" "You're just being difficult, Lieu-thomas," Lieu-thomas," I told him. "Just sit down and relax." The Lieuthomas laid his enormous frame on the bunk and started slapping his knees in utter despair. "What kind of deal are you trying try-ing to swindle this time?" he asked. "Let's be reasonable, Private Mulvehill," Mul-vehill," I said, patting him reassuringly reassur-ingly on the shoulder. "As you know, I am now working on Captain Winkel's sympathies to get a furlough fur-lough sometime in February . . . the first half of February." "I know what's coming," he screamed. "And I won't do it! I can't do it!" "Now, as you know, furloughs are laden with little expenses necessary neces-sary little expenses. To help me along with the load, Sergeant Sher and Private Bushemi have already made philanthropic little loans. I have your name on my honor roll here, Lieuthomas.. . What's the donation?" do-nation?" 1 The Mulvehill cringed and edged away. "What do you need from me?" "Well," I estimated, "I should say that ten dollars." "Great gods and refugee children," chil-dren," he gasped. "Ten dollars he says yet! Why don't you ask me for my life's blood? Six dollars he owes me already and now he's asking oh, I can't stand it! I can't stand it! Take him away!" "My life's blood," he moaned. "Where's the six I lent you two months ago?" "That was only five weeks ago," I reminded him gently, "and I've already paid two of that back. Three weeks ago I paid it back." "Yeah," he protested, "but you borrowed it back the next day." He rose and paced the floor. "What are they doing to me? My life's blood they would draw from my veins? Thirty-six measly little dollars a month I make and he wants ten dollars! Maybe I'm Win-throp Win-throp Rockefeller I should lend out ten dollars a clip! Thirty-six dollars, dol-lars, and he wants half!" "You see, Lieuthomas, a sad and work-worn creature an Alice sit-by-the-flre whose only hope for the future fu-ture is in the faint glimmering hope of a furlough. Day after day, week jn and week out, I have worked my frail fingers to the shoulder blade to make things pleasant for you and Bushemi and Bishop. I have patched your quarrels with the mess sergeant. ser-geant. I have saved you from the terrible wrath of provoked Rebels. I have sat here at night, sewing buttons but-tons on my blouse so that you wouldn't have to wear it hanging open on your merry jaunts to town. Money could not pay for the things I have done for you and Bushemi. And now this. Ten dollars between me and spiritual starvation and no ten dollars. How sharper than a serpent's tooth." "Don't talk like that, Hargrove," he said, his voice cracking. "Put me down for ten." -frj- There was a little note stuck in my typewriter when I came back from prowling for news. It looked like Private ("One-Shot") Bushemi's typing. "The stockholders of the Union of Hargrove's Creditors." it read, "will hold a business meeting this evening about seven o'clock in the latrine of Barracks No. 2, Head quarters Battery. Please be present or we will beat your head in." It was the day before my furlough, so I got the general drift. The vultures vul-tures who were contributors to the furlough would probably stand around frowning and figure out some sort of budget for my vacation. I could picture the blue-nosed demons slashing away at my enjoyment. The meeting had an unexpectedly small attendance: Maury Sher, mess sergeant of Battery D of the Third and chairman of the ways and means committee of the Union; Private Pri-vate Bushemi, principal stockholder and president; and Private First Class Thomas James Montgomery Mulvehill, chaplain. Private Mulvehill beamed. "Sergeant "Ser-geant Hart sends his regrets. He has a heavy heavy in Lillington. He is with us in spirit, though." "Come in, drip," said Bushemi. Sergeant Sher got down to business. busi-ness. "I've got to hand it to you, son," he said. "Gone through this much of the month and still haven't tried to get any of your furlough money back from the chaplain! We're all proud of you." "Shucks," I blushed. " 'Twern't nothin'. I was able to bum a cigarette ciga-rette here and there." "McGee," said Mulvehill, clearing his throat, "you leave tomorrow for New York, where there are many snares to trap the unwary. Don't buy any gold watches in the park or any stolen furs anywhere. You know, ' I presume, about buying the Brooklyn Bridge." "Now, we don't have any restrictions restric-tions about the way you use your money," said Bushemi. "Only last time you spent too much money on "Little man," she said, "will yon please ask the waiter for more water?" wa-ter?" taxicabs. You'll have to use the buses and subway more this trip. All the shows you want to see, all the books you can buy but taxicabs only for very special dates." "Somebody has been exaggerating exaggerat-ing this taxicab " I began. "Taxicabs," Sher broke in, "only for very special dates. You may go to the opera once if you sit downstairs down-stairs and twice if you sit in the Famile Circle. You are not to buy more than six theater tickets. In uniform, you can see all the movies you want for two bits each." "And be conservative in tipping the waiters," said Mulvehill, tapping his glasses on the window sill. "Very conservative. Short-change them, if necessary." "Tell him about the budget," said Bushemi, with unnecessary impatience. impa-tience. "As the matter stands on the furlough fur-lough deal," said Sher, "you owe Bushemi 22 dollars, me 10, Mulvehill Mulve-hill 10, Hart 10. That's 52 dollars. Counting the ten you'll wire Bushemi for before the week's over, it's 62. With what money we have taken from you and given to the chaplain during the past few weeks, you should make out all right." "Must I be treated as a child?" I asked. "When you get back broke, McGee," Mc-Gee," said Mulvehill, "you are not to eat breakfast at the Service Club. You are not to take out any post exchange books. You will get your cigarettes from Sergeant Sher, who will ration them out to you as per budget." -isa-Sergeant Sher, Private Bushemi, and the other members of the Union of Hargrove's Creditors would have been quite pleased at the sight. Instead In-stead of spending their money lavishly lavish-ly on taxicab sightseeing trips and expensive shows, I was dining quietly quiet-ly in a conservative grillroom with the Redhead. We weren't even discussing dis-cussing ways to spend their hard-earned hard-earned money. "Little man," she said, "will you please ask the waiter for more water?" "I beg your pardon," he said, rather unctuously. "There is a fifteen fif-teen million gallon shortage in water wa-ter at this very instant On the other hand, madame, all supply ships to Great Britain use Scotch whisky as ballast for the return trip. Perhaps madame would like a glass of Scotch whisky?" The Redhead lifted an eyebrow. "I wonder," she said, "what they use in the finger bowls here rubbing rub-bing alcohol? I do not want Scotch whisky. I want water." "It is as madame wishes," the waiter said, bowing from the knees. He walked away and returned aain to lean against a post The Red- j head drummed her fingers on the tablecloth. "Don't be afraid of him." said tho Redhead. "Call his blu:T." (TO fcE CONTINUED! |