The brief service over, they returned to the house.
* * *
By the next morning he had it.
Hoffman brought it up over the breakfast table. “Sandy tells me you're a soldier? In the army?”
“I was — yes. I was attached to the Fifth Army in Chicago, before the bombing. But they wouldn't let me come across the river to rejoin them.” He reached for another helping.
“Them devils don't let nobody across. I know a couple of fellas who tried it.” He paused. “You a good shot?”
“Yes,” Gary answered frankly. “Sharpshooter. Why?”
“I want to offer you a job — I ain't forgetting what we owe you.”
Gary grinned across the table at him. “Mr. Hoffman, I told you, you don't owe me a thing. And as for the job — I've never worked on a farm in my life I can't milk a cow.”
“Wouldn't expect you to — we can take care of that. It'll be hard doing without Lee next summer, but we can take care of that. You would take care of the soldiering.”