.ooooountil he gets home cgoin

Before he joined the Marines he had a good job. He liked his work, had been promoted twice, knew the front ofrce thought well of him, felt his chances for advancement wefe good. That was his groove in the good old U. S. A.

Then came Poland and Pearl Harbor. An Austrian paranoiac with a phoney name and an oriental nation of ritualistic savages had set out to murder their way to world supremacy. This boy answered, "Not without a fight, they won't," said good-bye to his job, and joined up.

Today he:s standing sentinel in the South Pacific; tomorrow he'll be shooting frorn a fox hole; next week, attacking from a landing barge . rfar cry from the safety of his old iob and all it meant to him, but with his gun. . . ind a grin . he's doing this job well, too.

Vhat has our job to do with his? It has the obligation and responsibility to see that there is enough lumber to build ships to supply him; enough to package the fighting cargoes of those ships; enough to build plenty of sub-chasers and convoy escorts to protect those ships in short, enough to deliver everything he needs to win.

That's the pattern cut out for the lumber industry. And, because it takes so much of all each manufacnrrer can produce, that's why there will be so little lumber for civilian use until we can bring him home again to take up his old iob, right where he left off.

(Donl ftgpt ,k rlrr norc War Botdt oll 4 vs buy, tfio rconor wo'll got ,nn horrlrj.