“Yes, of course. They have to give a man of that caliber a commission.”
“And right away they’re put into positions of authority where they can help the enemy, if they’ve a mind to.”
“Yes, of course. But, as I said, they soon show their colors.”
Her father paused, his match halfway to his pipe as he looked at her searchingly. “But why all this interest in such things, Kitten? You’ve become a walking question-box.”
“Oh, the talk you pick up makes you wonder about lots of things,” she replied evasively. “After I asked you this morning about the disposal of the waste I got to wondering what they do with all the food scraps.”
Her father looked surprised at such a question and repeated, “Food scraps?”
“I often see the ward boys dumping food left by the patients into big buckets.”
“Oh, that. It’s contracted for by a cattleman. Beeson, I believe his name is. He lives on Terrapin Island, and uses the waste to feed his hogs.”
Next morning Brad came by to go to church with Kitty. As they were walking home together she asked, “Brad, do you know where Terrapin Island is?”