Tom was busy with his men; but he had time to take supper with his father at the hotel and then got permission for Mr. Cameron to go aboard the ship with him and see how comfortable the War Department had made things for the expeditionary force.
Mr. Cameron stopped at Robinsburg on his return to tell Ruth about it, for she had returned to Headquarters, of course, on Monday, and was working quite as hard as before. He brought, too, a letter for Ruth from Tom, and just what their soldier-boy said in that missive the girl of the Red Mill never told.
Ruth was left, when her friends’ father went on to Cheslow, with a great feeling of emptiness in her life. It was not alone because of Tom’s departure for France; Mr. Cameron and Helen, too, would soon go across the sea.
Mr. Cameron had repeated Helen’s offer—that Ruth should accompany them. But the girl, though grateful, refused. She did not for a moment belittle his efforts for the Government, or Helen’s interest in the war.
But Mr. Cameron was a member of a commission that was to investigate certain matters and come back to make report. He would not be over there long.
As for Helen, Ruth was quite sure she would join some association of wealthy women and girls in Paris, as Jennie Stone had, and consider that she was “doing her bit.” Ruth wanted something more real than that. She was in earnest. She did not wish to be carefully sheltered from all hard work and even from the dangers “over there.” She desired a real part in what was going forward.
Nevertheless, while waiting her chance, she did not allow herself to become gloomy or morose. That was not Ruth Fielding’s way.
“I always know where to come when I wish to see a cheerful face,” Mr. Mayo declared, putting his head in at her door one day. “You always have a smile on tap. How do you do it?”
“I practice before my glass every morning,” Ruth declared, laughing. “But sometimes, during the day, I’m afraid my expression slips. I can’t always remember to smile when I am counting and packing these sweaters, and caps, and all, for the poor boys who, some of them, are going to stand up and be shot, or gassed, or blinded by liquid fire.”
“It is hard,” sighed the chief, wagging his head. “If it wasn’t knowing that we are doing just a little good——But not as much as I could wish! Collections seem very small. Our report is not going to be all I could wish this month.”