Mrs. Bailey added her explanation. “I told Biff he should do something when he wrote out the application—or whatever you call it. He was bound to get an ‘A’ rating.
Maybe we can do something about his physical examination.”
“I’m a football player,” Biff said coldly.
His mother answered, “Still, we must know the examining physician—whoever it is. Laddy Bedford got put way back because of his heart, though I never heard before about his having heart trouble. There must be some loophole, somewhere.” She seemed to see a stoniness in Jimmie’s stare. She added, “It isn’t as if we really needed an army! As if we’d been invaded, or anything! Besides, there still isn’t enough equipment to drill with for half the boys that they’ve already taken. They shouldn’t call any more until they have the things.
And even Congress almost had sense enough, last summer, to put a stop to it!”
Jimmie said, “That’s a devil of a mood to show a guy who’s about to join the army.”
She said, “Jimmie!”
Mr. Bailey pontificated. “Now, James, this is something that demands thought.
Thought—and possible action. A boy like Biff is too valuable to be put in the infantry.
And the time for raising a militia hasn’t come, even if the president does create it later.