But can one say when one’s friends are a disapointment to one? No, or at least not at the table.
The others were not listening, as father was fussing about my waking him at daylight to put out the Emblem.
“Just slide your hand this way, under the table cloth,” Carter Brooks said in a low tone. “It may be only intencity, but it looks most awfully like chicken pocks or somthing.”
So I did, considering that it was only Politeness, and he took it and said:
“Don’t jerk! It is nice and warm and soft, but not feverish. What’s that lump?”
“It’s a blister,” I said. And as the others were now complaining about the soup, I told him of the Corps, etcetera, thinking that perhaps it would rouse him to some patriotic feelings. But no, it did not.
“Now look here,” he said, turning and frowning at me, “Aviation Corps means flying. Just remember this,—if I hear of your trying any of that nonsense I’ll make it my business to see that you’re locked up, young lady.”
“I shall do exactly as I like, Carter,” I said in a friggid manner. “I shall fly if I so desire, and you have nothing to say about it.”
However, seeing that he was going to tell my father, I added:
“We shall probably not fly, as we have no machine. There are Cavalry Regiments that have no horses, aren’t there? But we are but at the beginning of our Milatary existence, and no one can tell what the next day may bring forth.”