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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 30062 ***
+
+                         Transcriber's Note:
+
+     This etext was produced from Analog Science Fact & Fiction
+     February 1961. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence
+     that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.
+
+
+
+                              THE PLAGUE
+
+
+                           By TEDDY KELLER
+
+
+       _Suppose a strictly one hundred per cent American plague
+        showed up.... One that attacked only people within the
+        political borders of the United States!_
+
+
+                      Illustrated by Schoenherr
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+Sergeant Major Andrew McCloud ignored the jangling telephones and the
+excited jabber of a room full of brass, and lit a cigarette. Somebody
+had to keep his head in this mess. Everybody was about to flip.
+
+Like the telephone. Two days ago Corporal Bettijean Baker had been
+answering the rare call on the single line--in that friendly, husky
+voice that gave even generals pause--by saying, "Good morning. Office
+of the Civil Health and Germ Warfare Protection Co-ordinator." Now
+there was a switchboard out in the hall with a web of lines running to
+a dozen girls at a half dozen desks wedged into the outer office. And
+now the harried girls answered with a hasty, "Germ War Protection."
+
+All the brass hats in Washington had suddenly discovered this office
+deep in the recesses of the Pentagon. And none of them could quite
+comprehend what had happened. The situation might have been funny, or
+at least pathetic, if it hadn't been so desperate. Even so, Andy
+McCloud's nerves and patience had frayed thin.
+
+"I told you, general," he snapped to the flustered brigadier, "Colonel
+Patterson was retired ten days ago. I don't know what happened. Maybe
+this replacement sawbones got strangled in red tape. Anyhow, the
+brand-new lieutenant hasn't showed up here. As far as I know, I'm in
+charge."
+
+"But this is incredible," a two-star general wailed. "A mysterious
+epidemic is sweeping the country, possibly an insidious germ attack
+timed to precede an all-out invasion, and a noncom is sitting on top
+of the whole powder keg."
+
+Andy's big hands clenched into fists and he had to wait a moment
+before he could speak safely. Doggone the freckles and the unruly mop
+of hair that give him such a boyish look. "May I remind you, general,"
+he said, "that I've been entombed here for two years. My staff and I
+know what to do. If you'll give us some co-operation and a priority,
+we'll try to figure this thing out."
+
+"But good heavens," a chicken colonel moaned, "this is all so
+irregular. A noncom!" He said it like a dirty word.
+
+"Irregular, hell," the brigadier snorted, the message getting through.
+"There're ways. Gentlemen, I suggest we clear out of here and let the
+sergeant get to work." He took a step toward the door, and the other
+officers, protesting and complaining, moved along after him. As they
+drifted out, he turned and said, "We'll clear your office for top
+priority." Then dead serious, he added, "Son, a whole nation could
+panic at any moment. You've got to come through."
+
+Andy didn't waste time standing. He merely nodded to the general,
+snubbed out his cigarette, and buzzed the intercom. "Bettijean, will
+you bring me all the latest reports, please?" Then he peeled out of
+his be-ribboned blouse and rolled up his sleeves. He allowed himself
+one moment to enjoy the sight of the slim, black-headed corporal who
+entered his office.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Bettijean crossed briskly to his desk. She gave him a motherly smile
+as she put down a thick sheaf of papers. "You look beat," she said.
+"Brass give you much trouble?"
+
+"Not much. We're top priority now." He ran fingers through the thick,
+brown hair and massaged his scalp, trying to generate stimulation to
+his wary and confused brain. "What's new?"
+
+"I've gone though some of these," she said. "Tried to save you a
+little time."
+
+"Thanks. Sit down."
+
+She pulled up a chair and thumbed through the papers. "So far, no
+fatalities. That's why there's no panic yet, I guess. But it's
+spreading like ... well, like a plague." Fear flickered deep in her
+dark eyes.
+
+"Any water reports?" Andy asked.
+
+"Wichita O.K., Indianapolis O.K., Tulsa O.K., Buffalo O.K.,--and a
+bunch more. No indication there. Except"--she fished out a one-page
+report--"some little town in Tennessee. Yesterday there was a campaign
+for everybody to write their congressman about some deal and today
+they were to vote on a new water system. Hardly anybody showed up at
+the polls. They've all got it."
+
+Andy shrugged. "You can drink water, but don't vote for it. Oh, that's
+a big help." He rummaged through the clutter on his desk and came up
+with a crude chart. "Any trends yet?"
+
+"It's hitting everybody," Bettijean said helplessly. "Not many kids so
+far, thank heavens. But housewives, businessmen, office workers,
+teachers, preachers--rich, poor--from Florida to Alaska. Just when you
+called me in, one of the girls thought she had a trend. The isolated
+mountain areas of the West and South. But reports are too
+fragmentary."
+
+"What is it?" he cried suddenly, banging the desk. "People deathly
+ill, but nobody dying. And doctors can't identify the poison until
+they have a fatality for an autopsy. People stricken in every part of
+the country, but the water systems are pure. How does it spread?"
+
+"In food?"
+
+"How? There must be hundreds of canneries and dairies and packing
+plants over the country. How could they all goof at the same
+time--even if it was sabotage?"
+
+"On the wind?"
+
+"But who could accurately predict every wind over the entire
+country--even Alaska and Hawaii--without hitting Canada or Mexico? And
+why wouldn't everybody get it in a given area?"
+
+Bettijean's smooth brow furrowed and she reached across the desk to
+grip his icy, sweating hands. "Andy, do ... do you think it's ...
+well, an enemy?"
+
+"I don't know," he said. "I just don't know."
+
+For a long moment he sat there, trying to draw strength from her,
+punishing his brain for the glimmer of an idea. Finally, shaking his
+head, he pushed back into his chair and reached for the sheaf of
+papers.
+
+"We've got to find a clue--a trend--an inkling of something." He
+nodded toward the outer office. "Stop all in-coming calls. Get those
+girls on lines to hospitals in every city and town in the country.
+Have them contact individual doctors in rural areas. Then line up
+another relief crew, and get somebody carting in more coffee and
+sandwiches. And on those calls, be sure we learn the sex, age, and
+occupation of the victims. You and I'll start with Washington."
+
+Bettijean snapped to her feet, grinned her encouragement and strode
+from the room. Andy could hear her crisp instructions to the girls on
+the phones. Sucking air through his teeth, he reached for his phone
+and directory.
+
+He dialed until every finger of his right hand was sore. He spoke to
+worried doctors and frantic hospital administrators and hysterical
+nurses. His firm, fine penmanship deteriorated to a barely legible
+scrawl as writer's cramp knotted his hand and arm. His voice burned
+down to a rasping whisper. But columns climbed up his rough chart and
+broken lines pointed vaguely to trends.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+It was hours later when Bettijean came back into the office with
+another stack of papers. Andy hung up his phone and reached for a
+cigarette. At that moment the door banged open. Nerves raw, Bettijean
+cried out. Andy's cigarette tumbled from his trembling fingers.
+
+"Sergeant," the chicken colonel barked, parading into the office.
+
+Andy swore under his breath and eyed the two young officers who
+trailed after the colonel. Emotionally exhausted, he had to clamp his
+jaw against a huge laugh that struggled up in his throat. For just an
+instant there, the colonel had reminded him of a movie version of
+General Rommel strutting up and down before his tanks. But it wasn't a
+swagger stick the colonel had tucked under his arm. It was a folded
+newspaper. Opening it, the colonel flung it down on Andy's desk.
+
+"RED PLAGUE SWEEPS NATION," the scare headline screamed. Andy's first
+glance caught such phrases as "alleged Russian plot" and "germ
+warfare" and "authorities hopelessly baffled."
+
+Snatching the paper, Andy balled it and hurled it from him. "That'll
+help a lot," he growled hoarsely.
+
+"Well, then, Sergeant." The colonel tried to relax his square face,
+but tension rode every weathered wrinkle and fear glinted behind the
+pale gray eyes. "So you finally recognize the gravity of the
+situation."
+
+Andy's head snapped up, heated words searing towards his lips.
+Bettijean stepped quickly around the desk and laid a steady hand on
+his shoulder.
+
+"Colonel," she said levelly, "you should know better than that."
+
+A shocked young captain exploded, "Corporal. Maybe you'd better report
+to--"
+
+"All right," Andy said sharply.
+
+For a long moment he stared at his clenched fists. Then he exhaled
+slowly and, to the colonel, flatly and without apology, he said,
+"You'll have to excuse the people in this office if they overlook some
+of the G.I. niceties. We've been without sleep for two days, we're
+surviving on sandwiches and coffee, and we're fighting a war here that
+makes every other one look like a Sunday School picnic." He felt
+Bettijean's hand tighten reassuringly on his shoulder and he gave her
+a tired smile. Then he hunched forward and picked up a report. "So say
+what you came here to say and let us get back to work."
+
+"Sergeant," the captain said, as if reading from a manual,
+"insubordination cannot be tolerated, even under emergency conditions.
+Your conduct here will be noted and--"
+
+"Oh, good heavens!" Bettijean cried, her fingers biting into Andy's
+shoulder. "Do you have to come in here trying to throw your weight
+around when this man--"
+
+"That's enough," the colonel snapped. "I had hoped that you two would
+co-operate, but...." He let the sentence trail off as he swelled up a
+bit with his own importance. "I have turned Washington upside down to
+get these two officers from the surgeon general's office. Sergeant.
+Corporal. You are relieved of your duties as of this moment. You will
+report to my office at once for suitable disciplinary action."
+
+Bettijean sucked in a strained breath and her hand flew to her mouth.
+"But you can't--"
+
+"Let's go," Andy said, pushing up from his chair. Ignoring the brass,
+he turned to her and brushed his lips across hers. "Let them sweat a
+while. Let 'em have the whole stinking business. Whatever they do to
+us, at least we can get some sleep."
+
+"But you can't quit now," Bettijean protested. "These brass hats don't
+know from--"
+
+"Corporal!" the colonel roared.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+And from the door, an icy voice said, "Yes, colonel?"
+
+The colonel and his captains wheeled, stared and saluted. "Oh,
+general," the colonel said. "I was just--"
+
+"I know," the brigadier said, stepping into the room. "I've been
+listening to you. And I thought I suggested that everybody leave the
+sergeant and his staff alone."
+
+"But, general, I--"
+
+The general showed the colonel his back and motioned Andy into his
+chair. He glanced to Bettijean and a smile warmed his wedge face.
+"Corporal, were you speaking just then as a woman or as a soldier?"
+
+Crimson erupted into Bettijean's face and her tight laugh said many
+things. She shrugged. "Both I guess."
+
+The general waved her to a chair and, oblivious of the colonel, pulled
+up a chair for himself. The last trace of humor drained from his face
+as he leaned elbows on the desk. "Andy, this is even worse than we had
+feared."
+
+Andy fumbled for a cigarette and Bettijean passed him a match. A
+captain opened his mouth to speak, but the colonel shushed him.
+
+"I've just come from Intelligence," the general said. "We haven't had
+a report--nothing from our agents, from the Diplomatic Corps, from the
+civilian newspapermen--not a word from any Iron Curtain country for a
+day and half. Everybody's frantic. The last item we had--it was a
+coded message the Reds'd tried to censor--was an indication of
+something big in the works."
+
+"A day and half ago," Andy mused. "Just about the time we knew we had
+an epidemic. And about the time they knew it."
+
+"It could be just propaganda," Bettijean said hopefully, "proving that
+they could cripple us from within."
+
+The general nodded. "Or it could be the softening up for an all-out
+effort. Every American base in the world is alerted and every
+serviceman is being issued live ammunition. If we're wrong, we've
+still got an epidemic and panic that could touch it off. If we're
+right ... well, we've got to know. What can you do?"
+
+Andy dropped his haggard face into his hands. His voice came through
+muffled. "I can sit here and cry." For an eternity he sat there,
+futility piling on helplessness, aware of Bettijean's hand on his arm.
+He heard the colonel try to speak and sensed the general's movement
+that silenced him.
+
+Suddenly he sat upright and slapped a palm down on the desk. "We'll
+find your answers, sir. All we ask is co-operation."
+
+The general gave both Andy and Bettijean a long, sober look, then
+launched himself from the chair. Pivoting, he said, "Colonel, you and
+your captains will be stationed by that switchboard out there. For the
+duration of this emergency, you will take orders only from the
+sergeant and the corporal here."
+
+"But, general," the colonel wailed, "a noncom? I'm assigned--"
+
+The general snorted. "Insubordination cannot be tolerated--unless you
+find a two-star general to outrank me. Now, as I said before, let's
+get out of here and let these people work."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The brass exited wordlessly. Bettijean sighed noisily. Andy found his
+cigarette dead and lit another. He fancied a tiny lever in his brain
+and he shifted gears to direct his thinking back into the proper
+channel. Abruptly his fatigue began to lift. He picked up the new pile
+of reports Bettijean had brought in.
+
+She move around the desk and sat, noting the phone book he had used,
+studying the names he had crossed off. "Did you learn anything?" she
+asked.
+
+Andy coughed, trying to clear his raw throat. "It's crazy," he said.
+"From the Senate and House on down, I haven't found a single
+government worker sick."
+
+"I found a few," she said. "Over in a Virginia hospital."
+
+"But I did find," Andy said, flipping through pages of his own
+scrawl, "a society matron and her social secretary, a whole flock of
+office workers--business, not government--and new parents and newly
+engaged girls and...." He shrugged.
+
+"Did you notice anything significant about those office workers?"
+
+Andy nodded. "I was going to ask you the same, since I was just
+guessing. I hadn't had time to check it out."
+
+"Well, I checked some. Practically none of my victims came from big
+offices, either business or industry. They were all out of one and
+two-girl offices or small businesses."
+
+"That was my guess. And do you know that I didn't find a doctor,
+dentist or attorney?"
+
+"Nor a single postal worker."
+
+Andy tried to smile. "One thing we do know. It's not a communicable
+thing. Thank heaven for--"
+
+He broke off as a cute blonde entered and put stacks of reports before
+both Andy and Bettijean. The girl hesitated, fidgeting, fingers to her
+teeth. Then, without speaking, she hurried out.
+
+Andy stared at the top sheet and groaned. "This may be something. Half
+the adult population of Aspen, Colorado, is down."
+
+"What?" Bettijean frowned over the report in her hands. "It's the same
+thing--only not quite as severe--in Taos and Santa Fe, New Mexico."
+
+"Writers?"
+
+"Mostly. Some artists, too, and musicians. And poets are among the
+hard hit."
+
+"This is insane," Andy muttered. "Doctors and dentists are
+fine--writers and poets are sick. Make sense out of that."
+
+Bettijean held up a paper and managed a confused smile. "Here's a
+country doctor in Tennessee. He doesn't even know what it's all about.
+Nobody's sick in his valley."
+
+"Somebody in our outer office is organized," Andy said, pulling at his
+cigarette. "Here're reports from a dozen military installations all
+lumped together."
+
+"What does it show?"
+
+"Black-out. By order of somebody higher up--no medical releases. Must
+mean they've got it." He scratched the growing stubble on his chin.
+"If this were a fifth column setup, wouldn't the armed forces be the
+first hit?"
+
+"Sure," Bettijean brightened, then sobered. "Maybe not. The brass
+could keep it secret if an epidemic hit an army camp. And they could
+slap a control condition on any military area. But the panic will come
+from the general public."
+
+"Here's another batch," Andy said. "Small college towns under
+twenty-five thousand population. All hard hit."
+
+"Well, it's not split intellectually. Small colleges and small offices
+and writers get it. Doctors don't and dentists don't. But we can't
+tell who's got it on the military bases."
+
+"And it's not geographical. Look, remember those two reports from
+Tennessee? That place where they voted on water bonds or something,
+everybody had it. But the country doctor in another section hadn't
+even heard of it." Andy could only shake his head.
+
+Bettijean heaved herself up from the chair and trudged back to the
+outer office. She returned momentarily with a tray of food. Putting a
+paper cup of coffee and a sandwich in front of Andy, she sat down and
+nibbled at her snack like an exhausted chipmunk.
+
+Andy banged a fist at his desk again. Coffee splashed over the rim of
+his cup onto the clutter of papers. "It's here," he said angrily.
+"It's here somewhere, but we can't find it."
+
+"The answer?"
+
+"Of course. What is it that girls in small offices do or eat or drink
+or wear that girls in large offices don't do or eat or drink or wear?
+What do writers and doctors do differently? Or poets and dentists?
+What are we missing? What--"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+In the outer office a girl cried out. A body thumped against a desk,
+then a chair, then to the floor. Two girls screamed.
+
+Andy bolted up from his chair. Racing to the door, he shouted back to
+Bettijean, "Get a staff doctor and a chemist from the lab."
+
+It was the girl who had been so nervous in his office earlier. Now she
+lay in a pathetic little heap between her desk and chair, whimpering,
+shivering, eyes wide with horror. The other girls clustered at the
+hall door, plainly ready to stampede.
+
+"It's not contagious," Andy growled. "Find some blankets or coats to
+cover her. And get a glass of water."
+
+The other girls, glad for the excuse, dashed away. Andy scooped up the
+fallen girl and put her down gently on the close-jammed desks. He used
+a chair cushion for a pillow. By then the other girls were back with a
+blanket and the glass of water. He covered the girl, gave her a sip of
+water and heard somebody murmur, "Poor Janis."
+
+"Now," Andy said brightly, "how's that, Janis?"
+
+She mustered a smile, and breathed, "Better. I ... I was so scared.
+Fever and dizzy ... symptoms like the epidemic."
+
+"Now you know there's nothing to be afraid of," Andy said, feeling
+suddenly and ridiculously like a pill roller with a practiced bedside
+manner. "You know you may feel pretty miserable, but nobody's conked
+out with this stuff yet."
+
+Janis breathed out and her taut body relaxed.
+
+"Don't hurry," Andy said, "but I want you to tell me everything that
+you did--everything you ate or drank--in the last ... oh, twelve
+hours." He felt a pressure behind him and swiveled his head to see
+Bettijean standing there. He tried to smile.
+
+"What time is it?" Janis asked weakly.
+
+Andy glanced to a wall clock, then gave it a double take.
+
+One of the girls said, "It's three o'clock in the morning." She edged
+nearer Andy, obviously eager to replace Janis as the center of
+attention. Andy ignored her.
+
+"I ... I've been here since ... golly, yesterday morning at nine,"
+Janis said. "I came to work as usual and...."
+
+Slowly, haltingly, she recited the routine of a routine work day, then
+told about the quick snack that sufficed for supper and about staying
+on her phone and typewriter for another five hours. "It was about
+eleven when the relief crew came in."
+
+"What did you do then?" Andy asked.
+
+"I ... I took a break and...." Her ivory skin reddened, the color
+spreading into the roots of her fluffy curls, and she turned her face
+away from Andy. "And I had a sandwich and some coffee and got a little
+nap in the ladies' lounge and ... and that's all."
+
+"And that's not all," Andy prompted. "What else?"
+
+"Nothing," Janis said too quickly.
+
+Andy shook his head. "Tell it all and maybe it'll help."
+
+"But ... but...."
+
+"Was it something against regulations?"
+
+"I ... I don't know. I think...."
+
+"I'll vouch for your job in this office."
+
+"Well...." She seemed on the verge of tears and her pleading glance
+sought out Andy, then Bettijean, then her co-workers. Finally,
+resigned, she said, "I ... I wrote a letter to my mother."
+
+Andy swallowed against his groan of disappointment. "And you told her
+about what we were doing here."
+
+Janis nodded, and tears welled into her wide eyes.
+
+"Did you mail it?"
+
+"Y ... yes."
+
+"You didn't use a government envelope to save a stamp?"
+
+"Oh, no. I always carry a few stamps with me." She choked down a sob.
+"Did I do wrong?"
+
+"No, I don't think so," Andy said, patting her shoulder. "There's
+certainly nothing secret about this epidemic. Now you just take it
+easy and--. Oh, here's a doctor now."
+
+The doctor, a white-headed Air Force major, bustled into the room. A
+lab technician in a white smock was close behind. Andy could only
+shrug and indicate the girl.
+
+Turning away, lighting a cigarette, he tried to focus on the tangle of
+thoughts that spun through his head. Doctors, writers, society
+matrons, office workers--Aspen, Taos and college towns--thousands of
+people sick--but none in that valley in Tennessee--and few government
+workers--just one girl in his office--and she was sicker and more
+frightened about a letter--and....
+
+"Hey, wait!" Andy yelled.
+
+Everyone in the room froze as Andy spun around, dashed to Bettijean's
+desk and yanked out the wide, top drawer. He pawed through it,
+straightened, then leaped across to the desk Janis had used. He
+snatched open drawer after drawer. In a bottom one he found her purse.
+Ripping it open, he dumped the contents on the desk and clawed through
+the pile until he found what he wanted. Handing it to the lab
+technician, he said, "Get me a report. Fast."
+
+The technician darted out.
+
+Andy wheeled to Bettijean. "Get the brass in here. And call the
+general first." To the doctor, he said, "Give that girl the best of
+everything."
+
+Then he ducked back to his own office and to the pile of reports. He
+was still poring over them when the general arrived. Half a dozen
+other brass hats, none of whom had been to bed, were close behind. The
+lab technician arrived a minute later. He shook his head as he handed
+his hastily scribbled report to Andy.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+It was Bettijean who squeezed into the office and broke the brittle
+silence. "Andy, for heaven's sake, what is it?" Then she moved around
+the desk to stand behind him as he faced the officers.
+
+"Have you got something?" the brigadier asked. "Some girl outside was
+babbling about writers and doctors, and dentists and college students,
+and little secretaries and big secretaries. Have you established a
+trend?"
+
+Andy glanced at the lab report and his smile was as relieved as it was
+weary. "Our problem," he said, "was in figuring out what a writer does
+that a doctor doesn't--why girls from small offices were sick--and why
+senators and postal workers weren't--why college students caught the
+bug and people in a Tennessee community didn't.
+
+"The lab report isn't complete. They haven't had time to isolate the
+poison and prescribe medication. But"--he held up a four-cent
+stamp--"here's the villain, gentlemen."
+
+The big brass stood stunned and shocked. Mouths flapped open and eyes
+bugged at Andy, at the stamp.
+
+Bettijean said, "Sure. College kids and engaged girls and new parents
+and especially writers and artists and poets--they'd all lick lots of
+stamps. Professional men have secretaries. Big offices have
+postage-meter machines. And government offices have free franking.
+And"--she threw her arms around the sergeant's neck--"Andy, you're
+wonderful."
+
+"The old American ingenuity," the colonel said, reaching for Andy's
+phone. "I knew we could lick it. Now all we have to do--"
+
+"At ease, colonel," the brigadier said sharply. He waited until the
+colonel had retreated, then addressed Andy. "It's your show. What do
+you suggest?"
+
+"Get somebody--maybe even the President--on all radio and TV networks.
+Explain frankly about the four-centers and warn against licking any
+stamps. Then--"
+
+He broke off as his phone rang. Answering, he listened for a moment,
+then hung up and said, "But before the big announcement, get somebody
+checking on the security clearances at whatever plant it is where they
+print stamps. This's a big deal. Somebody may've been planted years
+ago for this operation. It shouldn't be too hard.
+
+"But there's no evidence it was a plot yet. Could be pure
+accident--some chemical in the stickum spoiled. Do they keep the
+stickum in barrels? Find out who had access. And ... oh, the phone
+call. That was the lab. The antidote's simple and the cure should be
+quick. They can phone or broadcast the medical information to doctors.
+The man on the phone said they could start emptying hospitals in six
+hours. And maybe we should release some propaganda. "United States
+whips mystery virus," or something like that. And we could send the
+Kremlin a stamp collection and.... Aw, you take it, sir. I'm pooped."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The general wheeled to fire a salvo of commands. Officers poured into
+the corridor. Only the brigadier remained, a puzzled frown crinkling
+his granite brow.
+
+"But you said that postal workers weren't getting sick."
+
+Andy chucked. "That's right. Did you ever see a post office clerk
+lick a stamp? They always use a sponge."
+
+The general looked to Bettijean, to Andy, to the stamp. He grinned and
+the grin became a rumbling laugh. "How would you two like a thirty-day
+furlough to rest up--or to get better acquainted?"
+
+Bettijean squealed. Andy reached for her hand.
+
+"And while you're gone," the general continued, "I'll see what strings
+I can pull. If I can't wangle you a couple of battlefield commissions,
+I'll zip you both through O.C.S. so fast you won't even have time to
+pin on the bars."
+
+But neither Andy nor Bettijean had heard a word after the mention of
+furlough. Like a pair of puppy-lovers, they were sinking into the
+depths of each other's eyes.
+
+And the general was still chuckling as he picked up the lone four-cent
+stamp in his left hand, made a gun of his right hand, and marched the
+stamp out of the office under guard.
+
+THE END
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Plague, by Teddy Keller
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 30062 ***