The slightest inclination of her head indicated that although possibly she might be sorry too, regrets were now useless. Then she turned up the collar of her ulster. The face it framed was disturbingly lovely. And he took a last chance.
And so, he ventured politely, you have really been on board the Elsinore all this time!
She turned her charming head toward him, considered him a moment; then she smiled.
Yes, she said; Ive been on board all the time. I didnt crawl aboard in mid-ocean, you know.
The girl was frankly amused by the streak of boyishness in himthe perfectly transparent desire of this young man to detain her in conversation. And, still amused, she leaned back against the rail. If he wanted to talk to her she would let himeven help him. Why not?
Is that a wound chevron? she inquired, looking at the sleeve of his tunic.
No, he replied gratefully, its a service stripe.
And what does the little cord around your shoulder signify?
That my regiment was cited.
For bravery?
Wellthat was the idea, I believe.
Then youve been in action.
Yes.
Over the top?
Yes.
How many times?
Several. Recently its been more open work, you know.
And you were not hit?
No.
She regarded him smilingly: You are like all soldiers have faced death, she said. You are not communicative.
At that he reddened. Well, everybody else was facing it, too, you know. We all had the same experience.
Not all, she said, watching him. Some died.
Oh, of course.
The girls face flushed and she nodded emphatically: Of course! And that is our Yankee secret;embodied in those two wordsof course. That is exactly why the boche runs away from our men. The boche doesnt know why he runs, but it is because you all say, of course!of course were here to kill and get killed. What of it? Its in the rules of the game, isnt it? Very well; were playing the game!
But the rules of the hun game are different. According to their rules, machine guns are not charged on. That is not according to plan. Oh, no! But it is in your rules of the game. So after the boche has killed a number of you, and you say, of course, and you keep coming on, it first bewilders the boche, then terrifies him. And the next time he sees you coming he takes to his heels.
Shotwell, amused, fascinated, and entirely surprised, began to laugh.
You seem to know the game pretty well yourself, he said. You are quite right. That is the idea.
Its a wonderful game, she mused. I can understand why you are not pleased at being ordered home.
Its rather rotten luck when the outfit had just been cited, he explained.
Oh. I should think you would hate to come back! exclaimed the girl, with frank sympathy.
Well, I was glad at first, but Im sorry now. Im missing a lot, you see.
Why did they send you back?
To instruct rookies! he said with a grimace. Rather inglorious, isnt it? But Im hoping Ill have time to weather this detail and get back again before we reach the Rhine.
I want to get back again, too, she reflected aloud, biting her lip and letting her dark eyes rest on the foggy statue of Liberty, towering up ahead.
What was your branch? he inquired.
Oh, I didnt do anything, she exclaimed, flushing. Ive been in Russia. And now I must find out at once what I can do to be sent to France.
The war caught you over there, I suppose, he hazarded.
Yes Ive been there since I was twenty. Im twenty-four. I had a years travel and study and then I became the American companion of the little Russian Grand Duchess Marie.
They all were murdered, werent they? he asked, much interested.
Yes Im trying to forget
I beg your pardon
Its quite all right. I, myself, mentioned it first; but I cant talk about it yet. Its too personal She turned and looked at the monstrous city.
After a silence: Its been a rotten voyage, hasnt it? he remarked.
Perfectly rotten. I was so ill I could scarcely keep my place during life-drill I didnt see you there, she added with a faint smile, but Im sure you were aboard, even if you seem to doubt that I was.
And then, perhaps considering that she had been sufficiently amiable to him, she gave him his congé with a pleasant little nod.
Could I help youdo anything he began. But she thanked him with friendly finality.
They sauntered in opposite directions; and he did not see her again to speak to her.
Later, jolting toward home in a taxi, it occurred to him that it might have been agreeable to see such an attractively informal girl again. Any man likes informality in women, except among the women of his own household, where he would promptly brand it as indiscretion.
He thought of her for a while, recollecting details of the episode and realising that he didnt even know her name. Which piqued him.
Serves me right, he said aloud with a shrug of finality. I had more enterprise once.
Then he looked out into the sunlit streets of Manhattan, all brilliant with flags and posters and swarming with prosperous looking peoplehis own people. But to his war-enlightened and disillusioned eyes his own people seemed almost like aliens; he vaguely resented their too evident prosperity, their irresponsible immunity, their heedless preoccupation with the petty things of life. The acres of bright flags fluttering above them, the posters that made a gay back-ground for the scene, the sheltered, undisturbed routine of peace seemed to annoy him.
An odd irritation invaded him; he had a sudden impulse to stop his taxi and shout, Fat-heads! Get into the game! Dont you know the worlds on fire? Dont you know what a hun really is? Youd better look out and get busy!
Fifth Avenue irritated himshops, hotels, clubs, motors, the well-dressed throngs began to exasperate him.
On a side street he caught a glimpse of his own place of business; and it almost nauseated him to remember old man Sharrow, and the walls hung with plans of streets and sewers and surveys and photographs; and his own yellow oak desk
Good Lord! he thought. If the war ends, have I got to go back to that!
The family were at breakfast when he walked in on themonly twohis father and mother.
In his mothers arms he suddenly felt very young and subdued, and very glad to be there.
Where the devil did you come from, Jim? repeated his father, with twitching features and a grip on his sons strong hand that he could not bring himself to loosen.
Yes, it was pretty good to get home, after all And he might not have come back at all. He realised it, now, in his mothers arms, feeling very humble and secure.
His mother had realised it, too, in every waking hour since the day her only son had sailed at nightthat had been the hardest!at nightand at an unnamed hour of an unnamed day!her only songone in the darkness
On his way upstairs, he noticed a red service flag bearing a single star hanging in his mothers window.
He went into his own room, looked soberly around, sat down on the lounge, suddenly tired.
He had three days leave before reporting for duty. It seemed a miserly allowance. Instinctively he glanced at his wrist-watch. An hour had fled already.