out the handsomest man for the next sweater she knits. Which one did you
choose, Miss Ruth? Tell us. Are you going to write him a letter and stick
it in the toe of his sock?"

The annoyed color swept into Ruth's face, but she paid no other heed as
she went about her morning duties, preparing the wool to give out. A
thought had stolen into her heart that made a tumult there and would not
bear turning over even in her mind in the presence of all these curious
people. She put it resolutely by as she taught newcomers how to turn the
heel of a sock, but now and then it crept back again and was the cause of
her dropping an occasional stitch.

Dottie Wetherill came to find out what was the matter with her sock, and
to giggle and gurgle about her brother Bob and his friends. Bob, it
appeared, was going to bring five officers home with him next week end
and they were to have a dance Saturday night. Of course Ruth must come.
Bob was soon to get his _first_ lieutenant's commission. There had been a
mistake, of course, or he would have had it before this, some favoritism
shown; but now Bob had what they called a "pull," and things were going
to be all right for him. Bob said you couldn't get anywhere without a
"pull." And didn't Ruth think Bob looked perfectly fine in his uniform?

It annoyed Ruth to hear such talk and she tried to make it plain to
Dottie that she was mistaken about "pull." There was no such thing. It
was all imagination. She knew, for her cousin, Captain La Rue, was very
close to the Government and he had told her so. He said that real worth
was always recognized, and that it didn't make any difference where it
was found or who your friends were. It mattered _what you were_.

She fixed Dottie's sock and moved on to the wool table to get ready an
allotment for some of the ladies to take home.

Mrs. Wainwright bustled in, large and florid and well groomed, with a
bunch of photographer's proofs of her son Harry in his uniform. She
called loudly for Ruth to come and inspect them. There were some twenty
or more poses, each one seemingly fatter, more pompous and conceited
looking than the last. She stated in boisterous good humor that Harry
particularly wanted Ruth's opinion before he gave the order. At that Mrs.
Pryor bent her head to her neighbor and nodded meaningly, as if a certain
matter of discussion were settled now beyond all question. Ruth caught
the look and its meaning and the color flooded her face once m