“Oh, no, Highboro isn’t big enough. No trains stop here for more than a minute. We’re not on the direct line to any of the camps, either.”
“Ours was a regular canteen,” said Elliott. “They would telephone us when soldiers were going through, and we would go down, with Mrs. Royce or Aunt Margaret or some other chaperon, and distribute post-cards and cigarettes and sweet chocolate; and ice-cream cones, if the weather was hot. It was such fun to talk to the men!”
“Ice-cream and cigarettes!” laughed Laura. “I should think they’d have liked something nourishing.”
“Oh, they got the nourishing things, if it was time. The Government had an arrangement with a restaurant just around the corner to serve soldiers’ meals. We didn’t have to do that.”
“You supplied the frills.”
“Yes.” Somehow Elliott did not quite like the words.
Laura was quick to notice her discomfiture. “I imagine they needed the frills and the jollying, poor lonesome boys! They’re so young, many of them, and not used to being away from home; and the life is strange, however well they may like it.”
“Yes,” said Elliott. “More than one bunch told us they hadn’t seen anything to equal what we did for them this side of New York. Our uniforms were so becoming, too; even a plain girl looked cute 103 in those caps. Why, Laura, you might have a uniform, mightn’t you, if it’s war work?”
“What should I want of a uniform?”