“A WAC!” the first pilot exclaimed. “Well I’ll be jiggered! And I suppose you’re one too?”
“Sure I am,” Norma agreed.
“Well, all I got to say is you’d look swell in any uniform,” was the final rejoinder.
Just then the flight commander, a very youthful-appearing major who had come across the field in long strides, caught up with the procession.
“Caught this girl trying to steal one of your planes,” said an M. P.
“Yes,” said the other. “We’re taking her to the guardhouse. C’mon, sister.” He gave the weeping Rosa a gentle push.
“Wait a minute. Not so fast. Those are our planes. I’m flight commander. Let the girl go. She won’t run away, will you, young lady?”
Rosa tried to speak, but no words came.
“Here’s a young lady who was with her,” said a pilot, moving Norma gently forward. “She says they’re both WACs.”
“WACs?” said the officer. “Hmm! Where are your uniforms?”