“I do not,” contradicted Marjorie, breaking off her tête-à-tête with Barnard, and Duncan sat back well satisfied. “Aunt Yvonett is responsible for your home.”
“I never knew before that bachelors had so much furniture,” chimed in Pauline.
“They don’t,” replied Tom. “Most of this stuff,” waving his hand vaguely toward the heavy pieces of furniture, “belongs to the Government.”
“How long is your detail here?” asked Barnard.
“There is no specified limit, but we are expecting to be ordered to another station very shortly.”
“I should think you’d hate to give up all this furniture when you move away,” commented Janet, looking admiringly about the cozy room.
“I’ll find some exactly like it in the officers’ quarters at my next post,” carelessly. “Uncle Sam partly furnishes all the houses on Government Reservations, you know. What I shall miss will be Washington.”
“Perhaps the War Department will extend your detail here,” exclaimed Marjorie hopefully.
“No such luck,” groaned Tom. “Now, in the good old days ... I suppose you have all heard of the marine officer who was stationed for so many years at the marine barracks in Washington, that when he died he bequeathed his Government quarters in the Yard to his daughters in his will, thinking it belonged to him.”
“If you don’t want to leave Washington, Tom, why don’t you chuck the service?” asked Joe. “You are a bloated plutocrat now.”