“Not at all. I picked you up because I carry all the boys I can to the street car. But after we had talked I felt you would understand. Some of them wouldn’t.”
Sergeant Gray at once put on the expression of one who understood perfectly. But happening to glance down, the better to reflect, he saw that the slicker had slid back an inch or so, revealing that amount of a knee that was not covered with khaki. He blushed furiously, but the girl’s eyes were on the road ahead.
“I do hope you’ll help me out,” she was saying. “It wouldn’t be of any use for me to go, you know. But I’ll go with you. I’ll be your sister if you don’t mind.”
It was on the tip of his tongue to say that there were other relationships he would prefer, but he did not. She was not that sort of a girl. And he was uneasily aware, too, that her interest in him was purely academic. Not that he put it that way, of course.
“The one thing you mustn’t do,” she warned him, “is to tell when you actually sail. I thought you might say that the submarine trouble has held up all sailings, and you’re not going for a month.”
“All right,” he agreed.
“Just when do you sail?” she asked suddenly.
He was exceedingly troubled. He had no finesse, and here was a point-blank question. He answered it bluntly.
“Sorry. I can’t tell you.”
“You’re a good boy,” she said with approval. “I know anyhow, so it doesn’t matter. I just wondered if you would tell.”