Like any once-in-a-lifetime lush, Morey braced himself for the consequences—and found startledly that there were none.
Cherry was a surprise to him. “You were so funny,” she giggled. “And, honestly, so romantic.”
He shakily swallowed his breakfast coffee.
The office staff roared and slapped him on the back. “Howland tells us you’re living high, boy!” they bellowed more or less in the same words. “Hey, listen to what Morey did—went on the town for the night of a lifetime and didn’t even bring his ration book along to cash in!”
They thought it was a wonderful joke.
But, then, everything was going well. Cherry, it seemed, had reformed out of recognition. True, she still hated to go out in the evening and Morey never saw her forcing herself to gorge on unwanted food or play undesired games. But, moping into the pantry one afternoon, he found to his incredulous delight that they were well ahead of their ration quotas. In some items, in fact, they were out—a. month’s supply and more was gone ahead of schedule!
Nor was it the counterfeit stamps, for he had found them tucked behind a bain-marie and quietly burned them. He cast about for ways of complimenting her, but caution prevailed. She was sensitive on the subject; leave it be.
And virtue had its reward.
Wainwright called him in, all smiles. “Morey, great news! We’ve all appreciated your work here and we’ve been able to show it in some more tangible way than compliments. I didn’t want to say anything till it was definite, but—your status has been reviewed by Classification and the Ration Board. You’re out of Class Four Minor, Morey!”
Morey said tremulously, hardly daring to hope, “I’m a full Class Four?”