personalities. Readers of Fantastic Adventures will remember John York Cabot's classic, "The Man the World Forgot," as an exposition of this theme. Unexplained instances of men and women "disappearing" from normal environments might be simply cases of submerged personalities which did not "disappear" but were simply and tragically forgotten.—Ed.

I studied the vague shape of the young man carefully. I could see him, but only by straining my eyes. The whole thing was amazing. Looking carefully, I realized that the young man was not invisible; he was just easy to miss because he was so inconspicuously blended into the background of the office.

"You'd probably have a fine time on a patch work quilt," I said.

The young man shuddered.

"Please don't joke," he said imploringly. "I'm in real trouble. I need help."

"I'll say you do," I said. "But I don't see what I can do for you."

"It's this," the young man said. "My draft board just deferred me with a 4-F classification. They told me I wouldn't be any good in my present shape. So there."

I looked at the young phantom.

"Well—go on!"

"Go on? That's all there is to it. They've rejected me. They won't take me."

"And that's your problem?"

"Naturally."

  shook my head. It takes all kinds, I guess.

"Now listen to me," I said. "If the army doesn't want you, consider yourself lucky."

"But I want to get in," the young man protested. "I won't feel right until I am in service."

"You left that psychiatrist too soon," I muttered. "Anyway, what do you expect me to do?"

"Why, I was sure you could help me," the young man said. "You're the Soldier's Friend, aren't you? You write the column of advice to the Yanks in the Standard, don't you?"

I got it then. This wraith thought I was the Soldier's Friend. That's why he was spilling himself to me.

He continued. "You know all the angles of the various branches of the Service, and I hoped you'd be able to recommend some branch that could use me. I'm willing to do anything or go anywhere. If you'll help me I'll put myself completely in your hands."

"Now just a minute," I said. "You've got the wrong idea. The guy you want to see—"

I closed my big mouth with a snap. What was wrong with me? Were my brains on a permanent vacation? Here was opportunity hammering and banging at my door and I was too deaf to hear a sound.

This hard-to-see young man was a natural for show business. I already had an act lined up that he would fit as neatly as five fingers in a glove. And he was practically begging me to take him under my wing.

"Young man," I said. "You impress me as being sincere and earnest. And for that reason I am going to try and help you."

"Oh, gosh, thanks."

"It's the least I can do," I said. "But," I added sternly, "you've got to put yourself completely in my hands. You mustn't question a thing I tell you to do. You see, this isn't going to be easy. I'll have to go about it in a rather roundabout way. And it may take a little while."

"Oh, I don't care," the young man said happily. "Anything you say is all right with me."

"Fine." I glanced at my watch. "We've got to go now. You follow me."

"Sure, Mr.—"

"Flannigan," I said automatically.

"But, Mr. Flannigan, that isn't the name you use on your column."

"Naturally," I said. "Very sharp of you to catch that. I might get you into Intelligence, even if only as a decoy. The name I use on the column is a pseudonym."

"Oh!"

"Now come along with me."

I hurriedly got my young phantom out of the Soldier's Friend office before anyone could butt in and ruin everything. When we were safely ensconced in my own office, I waved the young man to a chair.