Joey sat down on Graham's desk and folded his arms.
“What are you going to get out of it, anyhow?” he said with a shift from bullying to argument.
“Out of what?”
“You know, all right.”
She whirled on him.
“Now see here, Joey,” she said. “You run out and play. I'll not have any little boys meddling in my affairs.”
Joey slid off the desk and surveyed her with an impish smile. “Your affairs!” he repeated. “What the hell do I care about your affairs? I'm thinking of the boss. It's up to him if he wants to keep German spies on the place. But it's up to some of us here to keep our eyes open, so that they don't do any harm.”
Sheer outrage made Anna's face pale. She had known for some time that the other girls kept away from her, and she had accepted it with the stolidity of her blood. She had no German sympathies; her sympathies in the war lay nowhere.
But—she a spy!
“You get out of here,” she said furiously, “or I'll go to Mr. Spencer and complain about you. I'm no more a spy than you are. Not as much!—the way you come sneaking around listening and watching! Now you get out.”