“But, oh--oh, good gracious! Olive, I oughtn’t; not--not until after I had s-spoken to your father! What will he say?”
The youthful lieutenant’s courage was more flustered than when he led his men over the top into that French clover-meadow where a glance told him that the blossoms were sweet even if he couldn’t smell them through his gas-mask--and for noxious cloud.
“My father! I don’t know what he will say. But--but I rather imagine it will be the same thing he said--when--he saw you hold out your blistered hand--to a private--after you had been so badly burned by that--stray--powder-puff.”
“And what was that?”
“Onward--Christian--Soldier!”
whispered Olive very softly.
The End
From Keel to Kite
How Oakley Rose Became a Naval Architect