At eleven o’clock with the glare of frenzy in his eyes Sergeant Gray put on a slicker, put his pass in his pocket and left the barracks. Outside the door he hesitated. The sun was gleaming from a hot sky, and there was no wind. The absence of wind, he felt, was in his favour. During his hurried walk toward the little car he was feeling in his mind for some excuse for the slicker, but he found himself beside the car before he had found anything to satisfy him.
“You are late,” said the girl severely.
“Awfully busy morning,” he explained. “Inspection and—er—all that. There’s a lot to get ready,” he added mysteriously.
He was aware of her careful scrutiny, and he flushed guiltily. As for the girl, she seemed satisfied with what she saw. He was a gentleman, clearly. But a slicker!
“You’d better take that raincoat back,” she observed. “You won’t need it. It’s going to be clear and hot.”
“I guess I’ll take it, anyhow.”
“You’ll be checking it somewhere, and then forgetting to get it again.”
He was frightfully uneasy. She was the sort of girl who seemed bent on getting her own way. So he muttered something about having a cold, and she countered with a flat statement that he would get more if he dressed too warmly.
They had reached what amounted to an impasse when a small boy flung a card into the car.
“Don’t bother about it,” said the girl as he stooped to get it. “I have one in my pocket for you.”