“Pardner, is my credit good for two meals?” I asked genially.  “I guess you ’ve seen me in here before—­I drive for the Wooster Lumber Company.”  A night cashier in that neighborhood becomes early habituated to tales of hard luck.  It requires but a few lessons to render suspicion paramount.  The round-faced man, all geniality vanished, stared directly into my face.

“Oh, yes, I ’ve seen you before, I reckon,” he acknowledged noncommitally.  “But that does n’t necessarily mean we are ready to do a credit business.  Been fired?”

“No; just happen to be short of cash, and need to eat.  I ’ll hand it to you tomorrow.”

“I ’ve heard that song before.  I reckon you ’ll have to try your luck somewhere else, unless you ’ve got the price.”

“That’s the last word, is it?”

“Sure thing,” indifferently.  “Nothing doing.”

Realizing the utter uselessness of argument, or of exhibiting my large bills, I reached inside my coat, unpinned, and held before him on the desk a bronze medal, fastened to a colored ribbon.

“Well, is this good for the price?” I questioned.  “There ’s two of us.”

The round-faced cashier bent forward to look, his eyes widening with aroused interest.  Then he glanced up inquiringly into my face.

“Yours?” he asked in open suspicion.

“Ought to be; cost me a Mauser bullet, a dozen bolo cuts, and eight weeks’ hospital.”

The cashier was visibly impressed, turning the medal over in his hands.

“So!  Where was all this?”

“Down in a rice paddy; place called Baliancan.”

“What regiment?”

“Third Cavalry.”

The cashier’s black eyes flashed, and he extended a cordial hand.

“Put her there, Amigo,” he broke forth warmly.  “Lord! but maybe I don’t remember!  Say, but you fellows were a husky lot o’ bucks.  Knew ye?  I rather guess I did.  I was bunkin’ then with the First Nebraska.  Sure, I ’ll stand ye for the meal.  Put back yer plaything, and bring in yer pardner—­this spread is on the house.  The Third Cavalry has divided chuck with me mor’n once, an’ I ain’t goin’ back on one of the boys for the price of a meal.”

Our hands met, clasped closely lying across the desk, our eyes glowing with suddenly aroused memories of comradeship in a foreign land.  Then I repinned the medal to the front of my rough shirt, gulping a bit as I strove to speak calmly.

“It’s a woman,” I explained, nodding toward the door.  “I found her out there hungry.  Could we have that table yonder behind the screen?”

“Sure; and don’t be afraid to order the best in the house.  Damn me, but that was some fight we had at Baliancan, even if the history folks don’t say much about it.  I can see you Third Cavalry fellows goin’ in now, up to yer waists in water, an’ we wa’nt mor’n a hundred feet behind.  Did you see them Filipino trenches after we took ’em?”