d to see who it is givin' me the zippy salute on the
station platform out home. Yes, it's Wilfred. And say, he's got his
shoulders squared, he's carryin' his chin up, and he's wearin' his
uniform like it grew on him.

"Well, well!" says I. "Got your furlough, eh?"

"Yes, sir," says he. "Seventy-two hours. Had a whale of a time, too. You
can't guess who I brought home with me, I'll bet."

I couldn't.

"Our top sergeant--Quigley," says he. "Say, he's all right. He's had us
transferred to the best barracks in camp. Guess we deserve it, too, for
we're on the way to bein' the crackerjack section of them all. You ought
to see us drill. Some class! And it's all due to Quigley. Do you know
what he thinks? That we're slated among the next lot to go over. How
about that, sir? Won't that be great?"

"Huh!" says I. "How long ago was it you signed up, Wilfred?"

"Just six weeks, sir," says he.

"Whiffo!" says I, gawpin' at him. "If we had about a hundred thousand
Quigleys!"

CHAPTER XII

VEE GOES OVER THE TOP

"But listen, Vee," says I. "If Hoover can't pull it off, with all the
backin' he's got, what's the use of a few of you women mixin' in?"

"At least we can try," says Vee. "The prices this Belcher person is
charging are something outrageous. Eggs ninety cents!"

"We should worry," says I. "Ain't we got nearly a hundred hens on the
job?"

"But others haven't," says Vee. "Those people in that row of little
cottages down by the station. The Walters, for instance. He can't get
more than twenty-five or thirty dollars a week, can he?"

"There's so many cases you can't figure out," says I. "Maybe he scrubs
along on small steaks or fried chicken."

"It's no joking matter," protests Vee. "Of course there are plenty of
people worse off then the Walters. That Mrs. Burke, whose two boys are
in the Sixty-ninth. She must do her marketing at Belcher's, too. Think
of her having to pay those awful prices!"

"I would," says I, "if workin'up a case of glooms was any use; but I
can't see----"

"We can see enough," breaks in Vee. "The new Belcher limousine, the
additions to their hideous big house. All made, too, out of food
profiteering right here. It's got to stop, that's all."

Which is where I should have shouted "Kamerad" and come runnin' out with
my hands up, but I tried to show her that Belcher was only playin' the
game like everyone else was playin' it.

"He ain't springin' anything new," says I. "He's just