The light in Sally’s eyes faded. Just in time she caught herself. She had been about to betray the secret of the black box up there in her room.
“I—I can’t tell you,” she apologized. “I just must not. It’s his secret.”
“Of course. That’s all right,” Marjory Mills agreed. “That really doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters just now is, how do you fit in with the WAVES?”
“Yes—yes—that’s it.” Sally leaned forward, eager and alert.
“I’ll just go down our little list,” Marjory Mills smiled. “You can tell me which category you’d like to try for the sixty-four dollar question. Now, listen carefully and tell me when to stop. Here they are: Secretarial Work, Typing, Bookkeeping, Aviation Ground Work, Parachute Rigging, Operating a Link Trainer—” To all this Sally shook her head. But when the examiner read, “Communication, including radio,” she sat up with a start to exclaim:
“That’s it!”
“Yes,” Marjory Mills agreed. “That, beyond a doubt, is it. Ultimately you’ll go to a special school for perfecting your training. You’ll need to know about sending and receiving in code, blinker signaling, flag signaling, and a lot more.
“But first,” she settled back in her chair, “you’ll have to stay right here in Mt. Morris College, learning; for the most part, things that have nothing to do with communication.”
“Oh, must I?” Sally cried in sudden dismay.
“You’ll love it.” Marjory Mills’s words carried conviction. “When it’s all over you’ll agree, I’m sure, that we’ve made a real sailor out of you and that you would not have missed it for anything.”