But can one say when one's friends are a disapointment to
one? No, or at least not at the table.
The others were not listening, as father was fussing about
my waking him at daylight to put out the Emblem.
"Just slide your hand this way, under the table cloth,"
Carter Brooks said in a low tone. "It may be only intencity, but
it looks most awfully like chicken pocks or somthing."
So I did, considering that it was only Politeness, and he
took it and said:
"Don't jerk! It is nice and warm and soft, but not
feverish. What's that lump?"
"It's a blister," I said. And as the others were now
complaining about the soup, I told him of the Corps, etcetera,
thinking that perhaps it would rouse him to some patriotic
feelings. But no, it did not.
"Now look here," he said, turning and frowning at me,
"Aviation Corps means flying. Just remember this,--if I hear of
your trying any of that nonsense I'll make it my business to see
that you're locked up, young lady."
"I shall do exactly as I like, Carter" I said in a, friggid
manner. "I shall fly if I so desire, and you have nothing to say
about it.
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