“Well,” the Lieutenant laughed, “I guess there are many of us who are our fathers’ only sons. And by the grace of God we’ll make them mighty proud of us before this old war is done!”
That night in a corner of the day room Norma had a little time all by herself. Her father was home all alone now. The chair she had occupied by the fire for so long was empty now, and would be for a long time.
“But I wouldn’t go back,” she told herself, biting her lip. “Not for worlds!”
And he would not want her back. She recalled his parting words at the train. “Norma,”—his voice had been husky. “For a long time I wanted a son. Now I’m proud to have a daughter to give for the defense of my country. Get in there, girl, and fight! Perhaps you’ll not be carrying a gun, but you’ll be taking a fighting man’s place. And I’m sure you’ll help show those fine boys how a girl can live like a soldier and die like one, if need be.”
“I’ll be back,” she had whispered, “when the war is won.”
That night Lena may have whispered in her sleep. She may even have gone out to talk with her hairdresser. If so, Norma knew nothing of it. She was too weary for that. She retired early. She did, however, remain awake long enough to twice catch the gleam of light from Rosa’s cot. She liked the little Italian girl, but—
Once again she recalled one question asked her back there in Chicago. She had been given a final examination before her induction into the service. One of the women in that examining group, she had been told, was a psychologist. In the back of her mind all during the examination she had asked herself, “Which one is she?”
When a little lady with keen dark eyes had leaned forward to ask: “If you suspected that one of your companions was a spy, what would you do?”—a flash came to her. “She’s the psychologist.”
She had thought the question over, then replied slowly, “If I saw her setting a fire or stealing papers I’d report her at once.”
“But if not?” the little lady had insisted.