In McCall’s room they found two privates folding an iron cot.
“That’s right, boys. Get all this junk out and sweep the floor when you get through. Here’s a couple of uniforms I won’t need any more. Want ’em? Fine! And here’s a pair of putts. I’ll see you in the office again before I go.”
The soldiers saluted with a relaxed stiffness and broad grins on their faces, turned on their heels and walked out.
“Why did you want to give away your uniforms and putts?” asked Hamilton. “You can use ’em for riding or camping, you know.”
“Riding or camping? Here, hand me those shaving things off that shelf. When do you think I’ll have a chance to go riding? If they ever send me on an assignment where I’ll need putts—such as covering another war—I’ll buy a pair. But, of course, there won’t be any more wars. Let’s see, where’ll I put my socks?”
Hamilton was removing articles from a wooden shelf that extended over the foot of the bed—a few photographs, books, stationery, brush, comb, a soap box, a tobacco pouch, a shoe brush and some face towels. As he picked up one of the volumes, a snapshot, which had been kept between the leaves, fluttered down upon the floor and Hamilton stooped to recover it. It was Dorothy Meadows, standing at the entrance to the hospital in Paris—Dorothy in her nurse’s cloak and bonnet, smiling at him. McCall looked up from his packing.
“What is that?” he asked. “Oh, one of my snapshots.”
“Where’d you get this?” asked Hamilton, his face red from bending.
“In Paris. Took it with her camera. You know she’s been an angel of mercy to us, Hamilton.”
Hamilton’s mind went back to the New York cabaret, where McCall had sat reciting poetry with shining eyes, and an emotion strangely like that of jealousy seized him. He thought of their walk in Luxembourg gardens. Of course it could not be jealousy. Still the feeling persisted and he hardly heard what McCall was saying. If he had not been in love with Margaret, this feeling would be understandable. As it was, it was fantastic. Perhaps McCall had not written the poem to Dorothy.