"Yes, sir," the little man continued eagerly. "The cross-eyed men ain't
never had no chance in this war. They turn 'em all down. They won't take
'em as soldiers. That gun'll fix 'em. Push a regiment o' good cross-eyed
men to the front with that gun a-pourin' hot lead from two barrels at
the same time an' every man er cross firin' at the enemy an' we'll jist
natchally make hash outen 'em, sir----"
"And we may need the cross-eyed men, too, before the war ends." The
sombre eyes twinkled thoughtfully. "Thank you, my friend, when I draft
the cross-eyed men come in again and we'll talk it over. Your heart's
in the right place, anyhow."
He glanced doubtfully at the little skillet-shaped head and reached over
his shoulder for the next one. It was a bullet proof shirt for
soldiers--a coat of mail which weighed fifty pounds.
"How long do you think a man could march with that thing on and the
thermometer at ninety-eight in the shade?"
He handed it back with a shake of his head and grasped the next one--a
model water-tight canoe to fit the foot like a snow shoe.
"What's the idea?" he asked.
"Shoe the army with _my_ canoes, sir, and they can all walk on
water----"
"And yet they say the age of miracles has passed! Take it over to old
Neptune's office. He's a sad man at times and I like him.
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