“If you see the lights of a car approaching,” she called, “just tell me, will you?”
However, I am happy to say that no car came near. Somewhat later Mr. Burton appeared rolling a tire ahead of him, and wearing the dazed look he still occasionally wore when confronted with new evidences of Tish’s efficiency.
“Well,” he said, dropping the tire and staring at Aggie and myself, “she dreamed true. Either that or——”
“Mr. Burton,” Tish called, “do you mind hiding that tire until morning? We found it and it is ours. But it’s unnecessary to excite suspicion at any time.”
I am not certain that Mr. Burton’s theory is right, but even if it is I contend that war is war and justifies certain practices hardly to be condoned in times of peace.
Briefly, he has always maintained that Tish being desperate and arguing that the C. in C.—which is military for commander-in-chief—was able to secure tires whenever necessary—that Tish had deliberately unfastened a spare tire from the rear of General Pershing’s automobile; not of course actually salvaging it, but leaving it in a position where on the car’s getting into motion it would fall off and could then be salvaged.
I do not know. I do know, however, that Tish retired very early to her bed in the ambulance. As Aggie was heating water for a bath, having found a sheltered horse trough behind a broken wall, I took Mr. Burton for a walk through the town in an endeavor to bring him to a more cheerful frame of mind. He was still very low-spirited, but he offered no confidences until we approached the only undestroyed building in sight. He stopped then and suggested turning back.
“It’s a Y hut,” he said. “We’ll be about as welcome there as a skunk at a garden party.”
I reprimanded him for this, as I had found no evidence of any jealousy between the two great welfare organizations. But when I persisted in advancing he said: “Well, you might as well know it. She’s there. I saw her through a window.”
“What has that got to do with my getting a bottle of vanilla extract there if they have one?”