“Then go to your billet,” suggested Mrs. Smythe.
“These are our billets, Mrs. Smythe. If you wish to stay in them, you are welcome so far as we are concerned, but you will please open the door so we may come in.”
“You are mistaken. These are not your billets; they are the headquarters of the welfare supervisor. You will be good enough to go away before it becomes necessary for me to call the police.”
“Be so kind as to open the door!” demanded Grace evenly.
“You threw our things into the street,” shouted Elfreda.
Grace begged her to be quiet.
“Will you go away?” demanded the supervisor, raising her voice.
“Where shall we go? We have no place to sleep. You have thrown our kits out, and we are very cold. I ask you once more to let us in.”
“That does not concern me, driver. I am not interested in your domestic affairs. Go away or I shall scream for the M. P.’s.”
“Save your breath, they are coming now,” answered “Captain” Grace as she heard men running toward them from two directions, and a moment later half a dozen military police with drawn clubs came rushing on the scene.