The midland journal. (Rising Sun, Md.) 1885-1947, 1944-09-01

I'll send you q postcard. And
on it," he said darby, "I'n also
ask why everything you're saying
doesn't work on your side Of the
fence, too"
Instead Of the frown between her
eyes returning, and the pressing to-
gether Of her lips, as Mr.. Wrinkle
half expected, Amy's blue eyes SIM
ply went wide.
Mrs. Wrinkles eyes filed with
tears and she flung herself at Mr..
Wrinkle, wailing, "Oh, Wilbert, you're
going to war and you'll come back
without leg or an arm or-or
and ] haven't been nice to you for
a long time, not nice at all and
oh, Wilbert, Wilbertl"
| She sobbed, letting out all the
shame that had been hers since the
morning his notice arrived, and all
the fear that she, too, had kept hid
den during the last days.
Now it was Mr.. Wrinkle who held
her, and patted her, and assured
her.
| This made him feel strong and
manly, and almost good about going
to war.
In the morning, before they drove
downtown, taking Penelope with
them because they felt she, too,
should see him of, Mrs. Wrinkle
fused and fretted over him.
you've got your pills?" she
asked. "The big bottle we had made
up for your"
Mr.. Wrinkle patted his pocket and
the pills, in their bottle, ratified.
"You haven't taken out your rub
bers again?"
Mr.. Wrinkle shook his head.
Mrs. Wrinkle contemplated, her
brow furrowed for a moment, but
she could think of nothing else. II
still can't believe you're really 60
ing" she said.
maybe I'll be back tomorrow"
'Oh, Wilbert, I know it isn't the
thing to say, but I hope you will
be-" Anxiously, she asked, eff you
aren't, are you sure you're going to
be all right?"
II don't see why not" he an
swered stoutly.
Now that the moment of leaving
was here, all he could think was:
Will I ever return? Will I ever see
Maple Avenue and home again?
AS he drove away he looked back,
to catch last glimpse of the house.
Still craning his neck when he
reached the corner, he nearly col
lided with truck which wasn't saw
ing its tires, eliciting shrek from
Mrs. Wrinkle and a protesting yelp
from Penelope.
In front of the post office he got
out and Mrs. Wrinkle took over the
wheel. She would meet him with his
bag at the bus station, to which Mr..
Wrinkle understood he was to march
in parade.
Mr.. Wrinkle negotiated the stairs
to the second floor of the post office
feeling a little as if he were mount
ing scaffold to his doom. When he
walked down the hall and into the
draft boards room he found that
most of the other men were already
there.
Three members of the board, In
Guiding the clerk and the chairman,
who was clad in blue American
Legion uniform and made a very
official appearance, sat before ia
BILE at the front of the room. They
shuffied papers with grave air.
The draftees themselves sat on
collapsible chairs and with uneasy
expressions alternated between re-
garding each other and the men at
the table.
Mr.. Wrinkle took a seat in the
rear row. Some of the men, he
saw, recognized him from his pic
ture in the paper. A few of them
gave him brief smiles or mods, tenta-
tive invitations to being comrades in
arms. Or recognition that he was in
the same boat with them. Mr..
Wrinkle couldn't decide which it was.
! More men came in and seated
themselves. Jack Pettigrew arrived
and sat gingerly on the edge of q
chair; he didn't look around. Mr..
Wrinkle counted, to keep his mind
busy, and saw that seventeen were
present. All were here except one.
Most of them were very young,
not much more than half his age.
All heads turned as the last Of
the draftees appeared.
Mr.. Wrinkle knew Freddie Tindall
from having seen him decorating
the main street Of the town. He
was a fixture there, like one of the
lamp posts or a traffic sign. He
was twenty-eight, handsome, with a
thin dark mustache plastered across
his lip. and his clothes were too
fashy.
Freddie was prominent men,
Der of the depression generation. He
had come to maturity when there
were no jobs to be had. Once hav-
| - fo~x. II ~. ~LsA "a