The woman looked at the girl’s uniform for a moment. Then, as a smile spread over her wrinkled face, she said:
“You are one of them WACs, a lady soldier. Yes, miss. Take as many as you like fer my son. He is a soldier, too.”
“I’ll take two for you and one for me,” Norma replied cheerily. “You must send one to your son in Africa.”
“He shall have them both,” said the woman tidying up her faded dress.
Norma posed her before her cottage, then down by the seashore.
“We’ll say a prayer tonight asking that your son may come back safely,” she said in a low, quiet tone.
“And may the good Lord bless you,” said the woman.
“See!” said Norma, taking the envelope of films from her pocket. “I can take as good pictures as Carl Langer ever made and they won’t cost you a cent.”
She very nearly dropped the first film she held to the light. It was a good, clear picture of the Spanish hairdresser standing by the gate at Fort Des Moines.
“Did Carl Langer mean to give me that film?” she asked herself as she left the fishing village. She doubted it. He probably had put the film in the envelope by mistake, or had forgotten it was there.