We stopped in front of the War Department and Alex says we better straighten up ourselves and the overcoats before callin' on Colonel Williams. At that, the mechanic falls off the seat and dives into a restaurant and we go back to look at the coats.

"If any of us had any brains," says Alex, jerkin' a coat off the pile, "we would all of worn one of these here things and kept nice and dry--_Sufferin mackerel_!" he winds up all of a sudden.

Me and the lovely Wilkinson swings around and there's Alex holdin' up the coat.

Oh, boy!!!!!

This here storm-proof army coat, which Wilkinson hoped to unload on the U. S. army, just simply fell apart in his hands! He grabbed another and another--and they're all alike. The rain has took all the color outa them, they have shrunk till they is hardly enough cloth to accommodate the b.u.t.tons and the linin's, which was supposed to be leather, has fell right to shreds from the water. All in all, they was nothin' but a mess of soggy, muddy rags which no self-respectin' junk dealer would of took for a gift!

The lovely Wilkinson's face is a picture. He's as pale as the mornin'

cream and I thought for a minute he was gonna bust out cryin'. I couldn't help feelin' sorry for the kid, but when I thought of that wild night ride through the rain and mud to bring this bunch of garbage to Washington, I wanted to laugh out loud! And then I remember Alex bettin' me Wilkinson would take the order, and I haw-hawed myself silly, right there in the street.

"Shut up!" barks Alex, swingin' around on me. "This here is far from a laughin' matter. It's pretty serious business!" He turns to Wilkinson and shakes him by the shoulder. "Young man," he snaps, "is that the kind of stuff you were goin' to put on our boys which fought for you in France?"

Wilkinson is lookin' at the coats like they fascinated him.

"Why--why this is terrible!" he stammers, fin'ly. "They told me--why--Good Heavens, you don't think _I_ knew these things were made up like this, do you?"

Alex studies him for a minute.

"No," he says, "I don't! You don't look like you'd do that, anyways.

What's the name of your firm?"

"Gerhardt and Schmidt," says Wilkinson. "I know it sounds German, but both members of the firm have been naturalized and--"

"Never mind that," says Alex. "Even if it wasn't no worse than a scheme to clean up on a government contract, I think the Secret Service will be interested in seein' them coats!"

The lovely Wilkinson sits right down on the curb and buries his face in his hands.

"Good night!" he moans. "I'm done for now. I thought this was going to be a big thing for me and--"

Alex slaps him on the back.

"No whinin'," he says. "We're still in Washington--you can't tell what might happen yet."

"You can gimme that fifteen hundred berries right now if you want, Alex," I says, "because I'm gonna grab the next train for Manhattan.

This is _one_ that beat you and--"

"Ssh!" says the lovely Wilkinson, jumpin' up suddenly. "Here comes Colonel Williams himself!"

We looked around and sure enough there's two army officers walkin' over to the War Department. When they got opposite us, Wilkinson braces himself and steps forward.

"Pardon me, Colonel," he says. "I'm Mister Wilkinson of Gerhardt and Schmidt. I had an appointment with you to-day at five to show you those army coats."

The Colonel looks at him.

"Oh, yes," he says, very pleasant. "Just step inside, Mister Wilkinson. I'll see you in my office. You are very prompt. You must have been caught in the downpour--you're soaking wet."

"Yes, sir," says Wilkinson. "I--ah--Colonel, I don't think there's any use of me stepping into your office."

"Eh--why not?" says the Colonel.

Wilkinson turns several of the popular colors.

"I--ah--the fact is," he says, "our coat is not what the United States government wants, Colonel. I didn't know it at the time I solicited the contract--I--I've just found it out. We brought the required number of coats down here by auto truck, not being able to get them here on time by freight or express. The trip was made in yesterday's storm and"--he points to the mess on the truck--"there's the coats!"

The Colonel examines a couple of them soggy rags and he gets very severe. I heard him say somethin' that sounded like "d.a.m.n!" a couple of times, and then he turns to Wilkinson.

"This is a matter for the Department of Justice," he says. "You will leave the truck and its load right here, Mister Wilkinson, and I'll personally see that it's taken care of. Your action in coming direct to me with this evidence is commendable. You may telegraph your firm that the United States government is holding this shipment for investigation. I'm sorry for your sake that this happened, as I had all but made up my mind to give you the contract. If you desire to see me further, I'll be in my office until six."

With that he stamps away. The other officer who was with him has been walkin' around the Gaflooey truck all the time and examin' it like it's the first auto he ever seen in his life.

"Pardon me," he says to Wilkinson, "did I understand you to say that you made the trip from New York yesterday in the storm on this truck?"

"Yes, sir," says Wilkinson.

The officer pulls out a notebook.

"What time did you leave New York?" he asks, very businesslike.

Wilkinson tells him. Then the officer asks if we had any trouble, how much gas and oil we used, what was our average speed and a million other things. Alex's eyes begin to dance around, and he winks at me like there's somethin' in the air. Fin'ly the officer walks away, after thankin' the lovely Wilkinson for the information.

"Now!" hollers Alex, grabbin' Wilkinson's arm. "You win!"

"Win?" moans Wilkinson. "I'll be lucky if I don't go to jail!"

"You're crazy!" bellers Alex, gettin' more and more excited. "You had nothin' to do with this thing--you didn't know the coats was no good.

Forget about that, the thing is you got a chance right now to put over a bigger thing than them overcoats. You come here to make a sale, didn't you? All right, go to it! That officer is connected with the purchasin' department of the government, and he wasted a lot of time talkin' to you about that truck. Do you realize what a wonderful thing that was to get down here O.K. in that terrible storm yesterday?

No--_you_ don't, but _he_ did! Right now he's got that there truck on his mind. Go after him before he gets inside the buildin' and make your sale!"

"But," says Wilkinson, kinda dazed, "what have I got to sell? The overcoats are--"

"d.a.m.n the overcoats!" hollers Alex. "Sell him the truck that brought 'em down--they ain't nothin' wrong with that! If it's good enough for a trip like that, it's good enough for the army, ain't it? Hurry up and make an appointment with him for to-day, and I'll get you the figures on the Gaflooey truck for a hundred or a million--I know 'em by heart!"

"By Heavens, I'll chance it!" says Wilkinson, and runs after the officer.

Comin' up on the train that night I sit in the smoker and write Alex my check for a thousand berries. They was no two ways about it as he showed me, because he had bet he would make Wilkinson put over a sale in Washington. He didn't say _what_ he had to sell. The lovely Wilkinson, which has sent about five dollars' worth of night letters to his wife, is sittin' on the other side, delirious with joy and with a order in his pocket for one thousand Gaflooey trucks as per the one we come down in. Alex had wired the Gaflooey people and had Wilkinson appointed a salesman for the Washington territory on his recommendation. Them guys would do anything for Alex, because he put 'em on the map. With telegraphed credentials from New York, the rest was a cinch for even the lovely Wilkinson, because the truck sold itself!

"They is only one thing that beats me," I says to Alex before we turn in on the sleeper. "Why didn't _you_ sell the truck and make all the dough yourself?"

"Its a good thing you don't need brains in your game," says Alex, "or you and Alice would starve! I wanted Wilkinson to make the sale all by himself, because it will give him confidence, and then, again, he'll advertise me. I get half of his commission, I grab a bonus from the Gaflooey people for helpin' the sale along and then there's that thousand bucks of yours, which I would of lost if I sold the trucks myself. Also, I have put Mister Wilkinson over, and that's what I started out to do!"

"You win!" I says. "I don't see how you get away with it. It's past me!"

"Huh!" says Alex. "They ain't no trick to it at all--why say, even _you_ could of done it!"