Chapter III: Part 3

Jean laughed. “As if I ever could forget,” she admitted frankly.

“But I think we ought to set a date.”

“Let’s see,” she said, deliberately teasing him. “I’ll have to check my appointment book, but my plans go something like this. I will be graduated late this summer. And then, as far as I know, I haven’t anything special planned.”

“You, ma’m, are an idiot!” Ralph laughed. “Very well, we shall plan a fall wedding--”

“Right here in Elmhurst,” Jean continued.

“You bet! Where else?” he wanted to know. Then he became serious. “I’m glad you’re going to be so busy this summer,” he added. “Because that will make the time pass more quickly for us both.”

Jean grabbed his hand. “You’re going away again,” she said suddenly.

“Only for a little while.”

“Oh, Ralph!” she cried.

Ralph squeezed her hand. “This time, only for a few months. I have to go to Ottawa, of course, to make my report to the government on my trip abroad. After all, they sent me. I have to account for their money.”

Jean nodded miserably.

“And then I have to look up the government contractor for my wood pulp. Jeannie, I must get that arranged so that I can sleep easily at night.”

She nodded. “I understand. I mean, my mind understands. But this silly old heart doesn’t understand one little bit.”

Ralph drew her to him and kissed her. “That silly old heart you’re wearing these days is mine, you know. Maybe that’s why it doesn’t understand. I wouldn’t want it to.”

9. Polio Claims a Victim

Ralph stayed for the rest of the week and life for Jean was one grand whirl. Then Jeannie drove him to town and put him aboard the Boston train. As she turned the car around and headed slowly for home, her heart grew heavy. She tried to blink back the tears as she told herself that they would be apart for only a few months this time. But by the time she reached home, she was openly crying.

Doris was standing on the front porch when she drove up. Jean turned her head away, but Doris, who had already seen the tears, put her arm around her sister’s shoulder. Jean reached up and squeezed Doris’s hand. Without saying anything, the two sisters shared a moment of complete sympathy.

Finally Doris said, “Jean, this is terrible, but the hospital called and wanted you to come right over. It’s mean to make you go right out when you feel this way....”

Jean grinned at her sister. “Work is the best cure for what ails me, you know. What’s up?”

Doris shook her head. “They have a polio victim,” she said flatly.

Jean gasped. “Polio!” she cried. “But this is only May! The polio season shouldn’t start for another month, at least!”

“That’s what they told me,” Doris said dully.

“Thanks, dear,” Jean replied. “I’ll go right over.”

Jean dashed up to the emergency ward as soon as she reached the hospital. Ted and Sally were bent over a small, frail boy, whose body was horribly rigid.

“We’ll be lucky if we can keep him out of the iron lung,” Ted muttered as he worked over the boy.

Jean ran her cool hand across the boy’s feverish forehead. The tiny victim began to mumble.

“There, there,” Jean whispered. “Try to relax.”

“Take it easy, son,” Ted said.

The two girls made him as comfortable as they could, while Ted worked on his muscles. For hours the spasms continued, and then gradually they began to subside. Finally the boy went to sleep.

“Will he be crippled?” Sally asked.

Ted shrugged. “It’s way too early to tell.”

“Who is he?” Jean asked.

“We don’t even know that. Found him down at the railroad track. Mr. Berger found him as he was driving by and brought him right over.”

Jean gazed down on the dirty, tear-stained face. “He’s so young,” she murmured.

“Not more than ten,” Ted agreed. “He might be a little older, of course. He looks as if he hasn’t had a decent meal in months!” He sighed. “He was brought in in ragged clothes which we had to cut off and burn in the incinerator.”

“Can we bathe him now?” Jean asked, looking at the dirty boy.

“Yes, but be careful. He’s still having some pain,” Ted answered.

By morning, the new patient was resting more easily in fresh, clean garments. His face and body were clean, but his hair was still matted and dirty. He awoke around seven to find Jean sitting by his bed.

“Good morning,” Jean said cheerfully. “Feel better?”

The small boy let forth a stream of profanity.

“Still hurts, eh?” Jean asked. “Well, the worst is over. You’ll feel better from now on.”

“Get out!” the boy ordered. “Get, and leave me be!”

Jean shook her head and smiled. “Tell me your name, will you? I’m Miss Craig. Now, who are you?”

The boy looked up at her, his dark eyes flashing. “None of your business!” he snarled. “Who was that old nosey what brought me in?”

Jean bent over the child. “You’re a very sick boy,” she said. “Mr. Berger found you down at the station. He saved your life.”

“Thanks for nuttin’,” he said. “I gotta get outta here. I gotta get to Boston.”

“When you are well, you can go to Boston. Is that where you live? Your parents’ home?”

“Naw, I gotta pal in Boston.”

“Where’s your home?” Jean asked.

“None ’a’ your business!”

Ted came in and sat down beside the child. “Good morning,” he said briskly.

The boy swore at Ted.

“I still don’t know his name or where he’s from,” Jean said. “He won’t tell me.”

Ted nodded. “Riding the rails?” he asked the boy.

“What’s it to yah?” the boy asked.

Ted shrugged. “Well, we’ll send out an alarm. His parents are probably frantic.”

“He was on his way to Boston,” Jean offered. “You might concentrate on towns south of here.”

“You gonna call the cops?” the boy asked with terror in his eyes.

Ted nodded. “Something like that. We can’t let your parents worry about you.”

The boy turned his face to the wall. “They won’t worry. Skip it. But jest don’t call the cops.”

Ted patted him gently on the shoulder and went to the door. “I’ll see you in a few minutes. Take it easy.”

“Drop dead,” the boy said and made a rude noise.

Ingeborg came in to relieve Jean around eight o’clock, and Jean decided to go home for breakfast. When she arrived, she tossed her jacket over a chair and wandered listlessly into the kitchen where her mother was washing the breakfast dishes.

“Any more food for a prodigal child?” Jean asked wearily.

“Of course, dear,” Mrs. Craig said. “Why don’t you go out on the porch? It’s such a fine day, I have Jack out there. He’ll be glad of the company.”

Jean wandered out to the porch and sat down beside Jack. He lay in the porch glider enjoying the balmy May breezes.

“Hi, Jack,” she said wearily.

“Pretty bad, was he?” Jack asked.

“Well, not as bad as some, I guess,” Jean answered, nibbling on a piece of buttered toast. “Ted seems to think he’ll need some therapy to prevent crippling. But we kept him out of the iron lung.”

“What’s he like?” Jack asked. “A real young kid?”

Jean shrugged. “I don’t know,” she said. “He wouldn’t give his name or address or what he was doing in town, or anything. He just swore at us.”

“Jeepers!” Jack exclaimed. “How do you like that!”

“We think he caught a freight train into town from the south. He did say he was going to Boston.” She sighed. “His parents must be worried to death.”

Jack looked thoughtful. “Polio catching?” he asked finally.

Jean shook her head. “No one knows. Why?”

“Oh, just wondered. This kid ... you think he was riding a freight? I mean, he looked sorta ... poor?”

Jean nodded. “He was dressed in very ragged clothes when they found him.”

She finished her breakfast and went up to bed. She felt defeated and lonely. She grinned wryly at herself, realizing that she was discouraged about the boy more intensely because she missed Ralph so much. Slowly she climbed into bed and pulled the light blanket around her shoulders. After fretting and worrying for an hour or so, she finally fell asleep.

Back at the hospital, Ted and Ingeborg were still trying to get information out of the boy. But after blasting them both with profanity, he merely turned his head to the wall and refused to say anything. Finally the phone rang, and Ingeborg reported that Mrs. Craig was calling.

“Jack has been talking to me,” Mrs. Craig said to Ted over the phone. “He wants to see your polio patient.”

Ted stared at the phone. “Why on earth?” he asked.

He could hear Mrs. Craig chuckle softly. “Jack believes he can find out who the boy is,” she said.

Ted was still puzzled. “I still don’t understand,” he said.

“You probably don’t remember how Jack came to Elmhurst, Ted,” Mrs. Craig laughed.

“But of course I do. You told me the night we brought him to the hospital.” He paused. “I’m beginning to see, Mrs. Craig.”

“That’s right,” she said. “Jack feels that he may be able to talk to the lad in his own language.”

“I’ll send someone right over to bring him here!” Ted cried. “That boy! He really gets me! Now how would a youngster that age realize these things?”

Mrs. Craig laughed again. “My Jack is a pretty smart youngster,” she said bluntly and with pride.

“I should say he is!” Ted cried. “Now why didn’t I think of that? You tell him we’ll be right over for him!”

Jack was brought straight up to the emergency ward and placed a good distance from the stranger’s cot. He propped himself up and turned to Ted and the others. “Okay,” he said, “I’ll handle this.”

Ted nodded and motioned to the others to follow him. They stood just outside the door to listen.

Jack looked over at the pathetic figure on the cot. He hesitated. His natural outgoing affection battled with his ideas of what he must do. At last, he willed himself to speak roughly.

“Why don’t you drop dead?” he said.

The boy looked around.

“Think you’re pretty tough, don’t you?” Jack baited. “You ain’t so much!”

The boy stared at him.

“I hear you rode a freight into town.”

“Yeah,” the boy admitted.

“So did I. Some fun, eh?”

There was a long pause.

“Who are you?” the boy finally asked.

“What’s it to yah, punk?” Jack replied. “I don’t go ’round handin’ out my monicker to every stray what asks for it.”

“Okay,” the boy said, admiration creeping into his voice. Then he changed abruptly. “What you doin’ lyin’ down? Get outta here!”

“I’m sick, too,” Jack said. “I gotta stay in bed.”

The patient looked at Jack closely. “Take good care of yourself, pretty boy,” he taunted.

Jack shrugged. “Yeah, I will, thanks. I’m a guy who oughtta take care of hisself. I’m important.”

“You ’n’ who else?”

“Jest me. Wanna make somethin’ of it?” he scowled at the boy.

The child’s eyes opened wider. “Okay, so you’re a big shot,” he said grudgingly. “What’s your name?”

“What’s yours?” Jack snapped.

“Timmy. Timothy Lester.”

“I never hearda yah,” Jack said loftily. “Where you from?”

“A bigger place ’n’ this dump,” Timmy said. “New York.”

“Yeah?” Jack let a note of admiration creep into his voice. “Yeah, really New York? What do your folks do?”

Timmy made a face. His lower lip trembled almost imperceptibly as he said, “I ain’t got folks. We was in a fire. I was the only one didn’t get killed.”

“Aw, gee,” Jack said, his quick sympathy overcoming his acting.

“It’s okay. I gotta pal in Boston. He said any time I wanted tah leave home I should look him up. He has a racket up there. Pretty good dough, I guess,” Timmy said.

“You in trouble with the cops?”

Timmy made a face at the mention of the law. “Naw,” he said, finally. “But I jest hate ’em. I never even had a chance to square myself wid ’em. The other guys said I was too little to heist stuff yet.”

“You ain’t got no relatives? Nobody?”

“That’s right,” Timmy said proudly. “Now, shut up. I’m sick a talkin’.”

Jack pulled the bellcord by his bed, and Mrs. Craig and Ted and Ingeborg came back. “Okay,” Jack said. “I wanna go home, now. But I’ll be back,” he said menacingly. “You give the gang at the hospital trouble, and you’ll hear from me ... plenty!”

“Aw, dry up,” Timmy retorted.

Out in the hall, Ted and Mrs. Craig were both triumphant. Ted shook Jack’s hand. “That was a masterful bit of acting, Jack, old boy,” he said.

Jack turned his head away. “I’d like to go home. I don’t feel very good.”

Mrs. Craig put her hand on his forehead to see if his temperature had risen. He brushed it away.

“No, that’s not what I mean,” he said huskily. “That poor little guy! Jeepers!” his voice rose, “what kind of a chance does he have, anyway?”

Mrs. Craig nodded. “I know, dear.”

Jack patted his mother’s hand. “You heard the terrible way I talked to him. I hated to do it. But he thought I was just passing the time of day. Rough talk, lying and stealing ... they’ve been his school books. I know. I can remember myself at his age.”

Mrs. Craig ran her fingers over Jack’s head. “Maybe it’s just as well that he landed here. Maybe someone can do something for him, now.”

Jack caught Ted’s coat sleeve. “One other thing, Dr. Loring,” he said. “Don’t talk to Timmy about cops or missing persons bureaus. The one thing a kid in his fix is scared to death of is being sent to some home. That’s what cops mean to him right now. He probably has orphanages and reform schools all mixed up in his twisted mind.”

10. Kit at the Capital

In Washington, D. C., summer was well under way. The gentle breezes from the South warmed the city. A few weeks later, the capital would be sweltering in southern summer heat.

Frank Howard gazed out of the window of his office. From his desk he could just see a corner of the park where Washington’s monument and the Lincoln Memorial faced each other across the glassy pond. He smiled absently at the small, full, Japanese cherry trees lining the park.

Across the room sat Leslie Merrivale, Frank’s partner. He, too, studied the cherry trees, but his face was grim. “I never can see those things in bloom without shuddering,” he said.

Frank turned away from the window and laughed.

“I know what you mean, Les,” he answered. “I used to feel the same way. The trees were a gift from the Japanese, and the beetles were an unwitting gift from them. It’s strange how you keep connecting the two in your mind.” He shuddered slightly as he thought of the fierce battle entomologists all over the country had waged against the destructive insects from Japan.

Leslie grinned. “I tell you, I don’t know why people go into this work. Spring is supposed to be a happy time of year. Everything comes to life. Old people feel better. Young people fall in love. Babies stop having colds. And entomologists know that it’s time to go to work. How many larvae do you reckon are concealed in that elm down there?”

Frank shrugged and lit his pipe. “It’s time you went on a field trip, Les,” he said. “You’re getting finicky. What’s the matter? Don’t you like bugs?”

Leslie shook his head in mock despair. “You know what I mean. Sure, I love to study the little crawling things. But every year, after all the work we do, just to see those blossoming trees and plants and to know they’re infested with insects of every type imaginable--it’s a little discouraging.”

Frank blew out the match and drew on his pipe. “It should encourage you to see the blossoms. As long as they come out, we know we’re all right. There still is a good balance. Cheer up, man. People are supposed to be happy in the spring.”

Leslie studied his partner’s face. “You’re happy enough for both of us today,” he commented dryly. “But then we’re all not lucky enough to be in love.”

Frank nodded. “Yes,” he said slowly. “That’s true. Spring is a great time for sweethearts.”

“And,” Leslie continued, “those of us who are in love aren’t all lucky enough to have their young ladies come halfway across a continent to see us.”

Frank chuckled. “You flatter me, Les,” he said. “Kit Craig is coming to Washington on business.”

Leslie threw down his pencil. “Now tell me, Frank, what sort of business does a college girl have? I thought their lives were full of beaux and football games and parties and as few studies as possible.”

“Oh, no. This is serious. Kit is president of her college’s historical society. There’s a big convention in town this week, and Kit will be here to represent Hope College.” Frank smiled fondly as he thought of Kit and of how seriously she would take her mission.

His partner turned back to his work. “Well, you’re pretty lucky, old man,” he said.

Frank nodded silently as he gazed out of the window. Then he glanced at his watch and admonished himself for wasting time. Picking up a report which lay on his desk, he began to study it. He shook his head from side to side as he read it and then he jotted down notations in the margin.

Elm blight again! The first signs were being seen on a midwestern campus. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully as he scanned the report further. Saving elms would be a major project for the country this summer.

Frank phoned the laboratory and asked them to send for samples. It was almost a futile gesture, he realized. The year before, the labs were full of samples of rotting elm branches, all destroyed by the same insect.

“Les,” he said to his partner, “have the same order about the elm blight inserted in all bulletins. If we can get the towns and farmers to spray their trees early, we may save them. It’s our only chance. You can’t kill the beast once he’s imbedded in the tree, but you can prevent him from attacking in the first place.”

Leslie made a note on his desk memo pad. “Nature gets you at every turn,” he muttered. “First you discover D.D.T., and then she discovers a little creature which won’t succumb to the treatment.”

“It’s the balance,” Frank said philosophically. “Maybe there’s a reason we don’t understand.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Leslie said skeptically.

They worked in silence for the next hour. Then Frank glanced at his watch again and stood up. “I guess I’ll call it a day,” he said. “Kit’s train gets in at six, and I want to clean up first.”

“She must be some girl,” Leslie marveled, “to drag you out of this office before dinnertime.”

Freshly shaved and bathed, Frank drove his convertible into the Washington terminal at ten minutes to six. He neatly avoided the row of taxicabs standing before the entrance and found a parking place. Hurrying, he pushed his way through the milling crowds on the concourse and went into the waiting room. He looked at the schedules on a blackboard near the exits to the trains. Kit’s train was on time. Nervously he adjusted his tie.

The train was announced, and Frank moved forward with the crowd to the exit. He could see the open platform and an excited group of young people running towards the doors. In spite of himself he felt a thrill of pride when he saw their happy, enthusiastic faces. Here were boys and girls from all over the country gathering in their nation’s capital. Some for the first time. He was proud of his country which had sponsored the happy youngsters. And he was proud of his beautiful city which had so much to offer them.

Then he spotted Kit. She was surrounded by a group of boys and girls, laughing and chattering and waving to passers-by. She looked radiant with her short dark curls bouncing in the breeze and her large eyes flashing. Frank felt proud and yet as shy as a schoolboy as he ran forward to the gate to meet her.

Kit grabbed his hands, and he pulled her into his arms and hugged her. “Hi, Kit,” he said.

“Oh, Frank, it’s _so_ good to see you,” she cried. And breathlessly she introduced him to the young people around her.

He smiled into their young, eager faces, and finally drew Kit over to one side. “Let me look at you,” he said. “My, but it’s been a long time!”

“Too long,” Kit said. “I certainly have missed you.”

“Where are you staying? How much of your time do I get to monopolize? How long will you be here?”

Kit laughed to silence his questions. “One at a time,” she gasped. “We’re all staying at the Willard. Two professors and their wives are acting as our chaperons. I don’t know my schedule yet, but there will be just two hours in the morning and two in the afternoon for sessions. Then I should be free for the rest of the time.”

Frank reached for her bag and laughed. “Then I can get some work done while you’re in town.”

Kit caught his arm. “Why don’t you come back to Elmhurst with me?” she asked.

Frank nodded thoughtfully. “It might be arranged. Now let’s get you to the hotel and checked in. Then dinner, and then whatever you want to do in our nation’s capital.”

Kit nodded. “Of course we have to observe regular hours, Frank,” she said. “I’ll have to check out just as at school if I go anywhere. But first I want to call Mother.”

“Of course you do,” Frank agreed.

“To arrange about your coming, of course,” Kit teased.

Frank ushered her into his car. “Of course,” he said solemnly. He climbed into the driver’s seat and started off. He guided the convertible through the city traffic with ease and pulled up before the Willard Hotel. “Tell you what,” he said. “You go on in and unpack and call home and make whatever arrangements you have to with your chaperons. Then I’ll pick you up for supper in an hour.”

Kit jumped out of the car. “All right, Frank,” she agreed. “But don’t make it more than an hour. I’m starving already.”

He waved to her as he pulled away from the curb. The doorman, with Kit’s bag in hand, guided her into the lobby. A group of students was gathered around the front desk. Kit joined them and nodded to the doorman to put down her luggage.

“Who’s the VIP, Kit?” one of the girls asked.

Kit glanced around at the group. They were all looking at her.

“Oh, a friend of mine,” she tossed off.

“Well, if you like them old ...” one catty voice commented.

A storm of protest broke forth from the group and Kit relaxed as she heard admiring comments about Frank from all sides.

Kit shared her room with Helen Smith from a small college in Iowa, and Bernice Traxler from Northwestern University. Helen was a small, pale girl who had gone to college right from her father’s farm. Bernice was tall and dark and striking looking. Bernice was a native of Evanston and a very sophisticated young lady. Kit wondered fleetingly how Bernice and Helen would hit it off as roommates.

“Do you girls mind if I tie up the phone for a while?” Kit asked. “I want to call my mother.”

“Of course not,” Helen said. “I don’t know anyone to call, anyway.” She laughed, and Kit felt drawn to this honest girl from an Iowa farm.

“Help yourself, Kit,” Bernice said. “I have a million things to do before I let people know I’m in town.”

Kit asked for the long distance operator and completed her call immediately.

“Hi, Mother!” she cried into the phone. “The trip was swell! No, I’m not a bit tired. I got your letter about the wedding and I cried even if I wasn’t there. Frank met me at the station, and I’m going to have dinner with him tonight. I wonder if it would be okay if he came back to Elmhurst with me? I mean, we haven’t decided definitely, or anything. I just mentioned it.” She waited for her mother’s answer.

“That’s swell,” she cried. “Give my love to everyone. I’ll see you all Thursday.”

She set the receiver back on the hook and turned to her roommates.

“Is the man who met you at the station your beau?” Bernice asked.

Kit hesitated. “Well, sort of,” she admitted. “We’re old friends, at least.”

Bernice hummed. “I’d like an old friend like that,” she murmured. “Wouldn’t you, Helen?”

“I thought he was awfully nice looking,” Helen agreed.

Bernice surveyed her wardrobe which was lying across her bed. “I guess I can make myself presentable for the evening,” she decided. Then she turned to Helen. “Can you?” she asked.

Helen stared at her. “But I’m not going anywhere,” she protested. “Meetings don’t start till morning, and I don’t know a soul in Washington. I’ll just slip down for some dinner and then curl up with a book....”

Bernice glared at her in mock severity. “Over my dead body,” she said. “No one comes to Washington and stays home reading. No one who knows me, anyhow. I’m going to do some phoning, and then you and I are going on a night tour of Washington.”

Helen sat down on the edge of her bed. “But I haven’t a thing to wear! I think you’re wonderful to ask me, but really....”

But Bernice was already speaking to a friend over the phone. “We’re two dateless waifs,” she said. “Two girls from the hinterland looking for some fun.” She winked at Helen. “Yes, Arnold, that will be perfect. We’ll be ready in an hour.”

She set down the phone. “You and I have dates tonight. With a Congressman’s son and friend.”

Helen stared at her. “You mean, just like that?”

Bernice smiled at her. “If you don’t really want to go ... if you’re really too tired....” she started, regretting her impulsiveness.

Kit sat down beside Helen. There were tears in the girl’s eyes.

“That’s one of the nicest things anyone ever did for me,” she cried. “But I don’t have anything to wear, and I don’t know how to act with Congressmen’s sons!”

Bernice smiled. “You know how it’s like in a dorm. If you don’t have a dress, you borrow it. Right, Kit?”

Kit nodded.

“And as for Congressmen’s sons, just remember that most of them were raised on some farm in the corn-belt. Right, Kit?”

Kit giggled. “Let’s fix Helen up with a dress,” she suggested. “I have something she can wear, I think.” And she opened the closet door where her freshly unpacked clothes hung. “Let’s see,” she said, running her hands over the hangers. “Try this one.”

Helen gasped at the sight of the white tulle evening frock which Kit laid across her bed. “I ... I couldn’t!” she said.

Kit smiled. “Of course you can. You probably wouldn’t hesitate if you were my roommate at school.”

Helen touched the dress gingerly. Slowly she rose and slipped off her street dress. “I’ll take a shower and then try it,” she consented.

In an hour all three girls were ready for their first night in Washington. Kit was lovely in a simple powder blue street-length dress with a matching jaunty little hat. She wore white gloves and blue slippers and carried a tiny blue bag. Bernice wore a sheath-like strapless black evening dress. Her hair was pulled on top of her head and caught with a rhinestone clip. She pulled on long black gloves and turned to survey her new roommate.

Bernice and Kit were amazed at the transformation. Helen looked like a fragile doll in the white tulle. Her blond hair was caught up high behind each ear and fell in curls at the back of her head. Her blue eyes sparkled as she looked at herself in the mirror.

“Do I look all right?” she asked timidly.

Bernice looked at her and shook her head. “This will teach me to invite strange women on my dates. What I want to know is who’s going to look at me with you around?”

“You look beautiful,” Kit agreed.

Helen smiled happily. “I feel as if I do,” she said. “That always means I’m going to have a good time.”

Frank was waiting for Kit when she came downstairs to the lobby. She introduced him to Professor and Mrs. Wilson, the chaperons, and then they headed out into the spring night.

Kit sighed happily at the light of the city around them. “I like this,” she said simply. “I have a feeling that this trip is going to be wonderful. Every minute of it.”

“You sound as if you had some doubts before,” Frank said.

Kit told him about her two roommates and the generous gesture Bernice had made. “It just goes to prove,” she said, “that you can’t judge people beforehand. I wish I could get over putting everyone into categories. Just because the girl comes from Evanston and has gorgeous clothes, I expected her to be a snob.”

“Lots of nice people have money,” Frank said as if voicing a platitude. “Now, my little proletarian, where shall we go for dinner?”

They traveled out Connecticut Avenue in Frank’s car. “I think for your first night, the Shoreham,” Frank said gravely. “Just to show you that wealth doesn’t exclude niceness.”

“Don’t be such an idiot,” Kit cried. “It sounds marvelous!”

Together they walked through the handsome lobby of the uptown hotel and out to the terrace where they were shown to a table. Frank ordered dinner while Kit looked about her. She clasped her hands together in sheer pleasure.

While they ate, there was a floor show to entertain them. Then the music for dancing began. Kit grabbed Frank’s hand.

“I know I should wait to be asked,” she said, “but let’s dance.”

Frank put his hand over hers. “Let’s wait just a few minutes, Kit,” he pleaded. “I want to talk to you.”

Kit felt a tingle run up her spine. She shivered.

“Maybe I’m rushing things,” Frank admitted. “But can we talk now about you and me?”

“Of course, Frank,” Kit said slowly.

“I know you’ll think I’m forcing an issue,” Frank continued, “but I think you know I’ve waited a long time, feeling the way I do.”

“Wait, Frank,” Kit said, holding up her hand. “Let’s be very sure we want to talk about this.”

“I know what you mean,” Frank answered. “In a way, it’s easier to go on just being friends ... with no complications. But, you see, the only trouble is that I’m in love with you, Kit. You know that, and I can’t keep still about it any longer.”

It was the first time Frank had mentioned the word love. Kit was amazed at how coolly he said it, and how naturally she accepted it.

She hesitated. “You make me feel very proud, Frank,” she said finally.

Frank looked away. “Oh,” he said.

Kit laid her hand on his arm. “Wait, I don’t think you understand,” she said. “I don’t exactly see how you could, when I don’t, myself. I’m nineteen, and that isn’t exactly young, but it isn’t very old, either. I had everything all figured out for my future, as you know. To be perfectly honest, I didn’t exactly plan on being in love ... just yet.”

Frank smiled faintly. “I’m doing exactly what I promised myself I wouldn’t do. Of course you’re too young....”

“Your words had nothing to do with it,” Kit admitted a little sadly. “You see, I’ve been the closest to being unhappy this spring at school that I’ve ever been. I feel like an ungrateful wretch even to mention it. But school has seemed so ... so pointless. I’ve been restless and moody and not interested in what was going on. All the boys seemed so ... childish. All the girls were so ... I don’t know. Kind of boring, with their silly endless prattling about boys and dates and parties. That’s a terrible way to feel about college but I realized I felt that way because of you. You’re in another world. And I’m beginning to think I won’t be happy till I’m in that world _with_ you.”

Frank squeezed her hand. “Oh, Kit,” he said, “I’m not asking you to love me right off. I just want to know I have a chance.”

Kit looked down at the table. “I don’t know how Jean managed it,” she said. “Waiting so long, that is.” She looked up at Frank. “If a girl my age can really be in love, then I really love you, Frank.”

Frank touched her hair with his fingers. “That’s good enough for me, Kit,” he said, grinning. “Come on. Let’s dance.”

They glided across the dance floor, neither one of them seeming to touch the ground. And the hours slipped by too fast. Eventually Frank sighed and led Kit back to the table. “Curfew rings in a few minutes,” he said. “But at least I know that someday there won’t be a curfew for us.”

11. Kit and Frank

Kit’s week in Washington flew by. Frank Howard was with her every free moment, and between times, she attended the lively discussions which were held in the hotel ballroom. The young students heard some of the great minds of the country speak on all phases of history, foreign and American, from the fall of the Roman Empire to the present day.

Kit could hardly believe her ears when Bernice Traxler rose to read a paper on modern Mexico. The girl, who had seemed so frivolous, rose before the assembly to deliver one of the most inspiring and factual reports of the day. Kit wondered how such a popular girl could have found the time to investigate Mexican history so thoroughly. She listened, spellbound, while Bernice told the story of politics in Mexico from the Sixteenth Century and the invasion of Cortez to the present-day Aleman government.

Helen Smith, too, contributed a paper to the meeting. She spoke, naturally enough, about the Midwestern states in this country. And as she talked, Kit began to realize the important role that the farmer plays. Helen, who had had personal experience in the Four-H Club and whose father had been an active member of the Grange, convinced them all that the problems of the American farmer were everyone’s problems.

For a week, both professors and students lectured, compared notes and discussed historical topics. Kit had no paper to read, but she was chairman of a discussion group which handled the problems of modern France. It was an interesting session and set the stage for another one about modern Germany and the four-power division of that country.

Fortunately, the conference was the last on the schedule. It went on for two days, while students and teachers alike tried to reach some conclusion as to the policies of Russia, France, England and the United States. Discussions became heated, and Kit told Frank afterward that she felt as if she had attended a United Nations conference.

“The United Nations,” Frank said, “is _really_ our last hope, I think.” He was escorting Kit into a famous seafood restaurant on the river, and the odor of fresh fish assailed their nostrils as they climbed the steps up to the second floor.

Kit sat down and waited for Frank to order for them. She gazed wistfully down at the Potomac. “I don’t know,” she muttered. “Isn’t that the way people felt about the League of Nations after the last war?”

Frank shook his head. “Last time we weren’t even in on the deal. This time we’re one of the leaders.”

Kit smiled a little. “That sounds a little chauvinistic,” she said. “Flag waving.”

Frank grinned. “I didn’t mean it that way. I suppose you feel more confident when your own country agrees with you.”

Kit shook her head. “I don’t know,” she said wearily. “I was so encouraged to think so many students and professors wanted to get together to talk. But after these two days of endless arguments about the four-power pact and Germany, I feel that we left everything in a hopeless tangle. And if we Americans couldn’t agree about it, how do you suppose the members of the United Nations _ever_ will agree?”

Frank covered his hand with hers. “Because, Kit,” he said seriously, “the member nations agree on the very most important thing of all. They are agreeing to talk instead of to throw bombs. Of course they disagree. And they’ll continue to disagree. But as long as they heave words around instead of exploding atoms, they are exercising their rights as human beings. And human beings who act as human beings should, don’t kill each other.”

Kit nodded. “I agree with that, all right,” she said. “For example, if Jean were here, she could back me up in this. There are huge wars which human beings must fight all the time. I’m a soldier in the front lines. Humans have _natural_ enemies, and I’m constantly plotting and arranging the slaughter of these enemies. Jean and the doctors and the other nurses at the clinic do the same thing.”

“Man is _not_ man’s natural enemy. He must learn this. I don’t care if he’s a German or a Russian or an Australian bushman, it’s his business to get along with his fellow man.”

“That’s fine, but he doesn’t,” Kit said. “Look at the history of this country. Young as we are, we’ve had a war almost every generation.”

“The history of this country is an excellent example of our progress,” Frank said. “Many people think that the tensions which exist between the North and the South today are as strong as those in Lincoln’s day. But no one except downright crackpots would ever suggest going through another Civil War. We talk about our grievances. We don’t shoot about them.”

“That’s right,” Kit agreed.

Frank grinned sheepishly. “I know I’m an idealist,” he said. “But I’ve a hunch that before too long man is going to wake up! Someday he’s going to realize that to ally himself with greed, bad temper and bad will towards other men is to sign a pact with our natural enemies. He might just as well suggest that we turn this world over to destructive insects, infectious diseases and man-eating beasts.”

Kit grinned back at him. “This pompano is delicious, but it’s going to taste like sawdust if we don’t stop this.”

“Okay, Kit,” Frank said.

“Now, then,” Kit continued, “are you coming home with me?”

Frank thought for a moment. “I can come now with you and stay a week or so. Or I can come later in the summer. Suppose I leave it up to you?”

Kit smiled. “Come both times,” she urged.

“You’re a forward minx,” Frank said, laughing. “You know I’d like to, but I can’t. Summertime is our busiest time, and I just can’t get away both times.”

Kit considered his answer for a minute. “Then maybe you’d better come later,” she said. “You might have more time, and I’d be settled at home ... you know, unpacked and everything. Then we would have time to do what we want to.”

Frank nodded. “That might be better.”

They ate their dinner in almost complete silence. It was Kit’s last night in Washington, and neither of them was happy about her leaving.

“What time does your train leave, Kit?” Frank asked after a while.

She shook her head dismally. “Around six in the morning.”

“Then I suppose you won’t want to stay up very late,” he sighed. “I thought we might take a drive out Chevy Chase way. The Maryland countryside is lovely at this time of year.”

“That would be fun,” Kit agreed. “And I don’t mind staying up.”

After dinner, they started their slow drive out to Chevy Chase. Kit gazed longingly at the pretty houses nestled in the rolling hills. She pointed to one colonial house which was nearly obscured from the road by a small woods. “That’s just about perfect, I think,” she sighed.

Frank glanced over at the house. “So that’s what you want for a home.”

Kit nodded. “I think I would like to live outside of Washington.”

“That’s a break for me,” Frank teased. “That means, of course, I can keep my job. In case we decide to be married someday.”

Kit laughed. “Yes, I guess it does. But do you know why I want to live here?”

Frank shook his head. “Tell me, Mr. Bones. Why have you selected Washington, of all places in the country, as the place to settle down?”

Kit grimaced at him. “Because,” she said earnestly, “you can have a farm right here....”

Frank threw one hand up in mock horror. “So you want to be a farmer!”

Kit pursed her lips. “What’s the matter with being a farmer? But that isn’t what I meant, and you know it. I mean, you can live in the country and be quiet and surrounded by the beauties of nature, and still you’re not an hour away from the heart of the nation. Imagine living right in the midst of the most exciting events in the world!”

Frank smiled wryly. “Now who’s being chauvinistic?” he asked.

“You’re being awful!” Kit cried. “I’ll bet you never even bother to go to a Senate hearing or the House ... or anything!”

Frank’s smile faded. “I’ll bet I wish I didn’t have to ... as much as I do. You seem to forget I have Senate committees to report to, to try to get money out of, to high pressure into taking some action so that we all don’t have insect plagues.”

Kit grinned and shook her head. “That was a dumb remark. I’m sorry. But anyhow I think it would be exciting.”

Frank glanced at her. She looked as young as a high school girl. “You’re so young and precious and wonderful, Kit,” he said tenderly, “I don’t know why you bother with an old fogey like me. I’ve almost forgotten how thrilled I was the first time I entered the Senate gallery.”

She laughed. “I guess you _are_ an old fogey. But it’s too late to do anything about it now.”

When they returned from their drive, Frank took her to a small restaurant for dancing and a light snack. As they moved out on the dance floor, Kit sighed.

“Why are you always going away from people?” she asked.

Frank shrugged. “I’m not going any place,” he said, holding out his arms to her. “_You_ are.”

Kit made a face at him as they started to dance. “That’s what I mean, silly. First I had to leave college. You know, you think you’re all set to leave and that you never want to see another classroom or textbook again. But then you do leave, and you just can’t bear it. I mean, leaving Uncle Bart and Aunt Della and Jeannette Flambeau, my roommate, and the whole gang. This time it was a little easier because I knew I was going to come here and see you. But now I have to leave you and the new friends I’ve made here. Then I’ll get home and next fall I’ll have to leave Father and Mother and the family. You’re always leaving someone behind.”

“Or being left behind,” Frank said earnestly. “I don’t want to talk about it any more. It’s not much fun being left. And if I started to tell you how I feel about it, I could easily frighten you.”

Kit hesitated. “All right, Frank,” she said. “I guess I’m terrible, worrying about myself when other people have problems, too.”

He squeezed her hand. “Yep, you’re terrible, all right,” he said. “You make me feel like a man who’s bet his whole life savings on a horse race.”

Kit stared at him. “What?” she asked.

He smiled wistfully. “I’m a grown-up man, Kit,” he said softly. “I’ve been in love ... or thought I was in love ... before. But never like this. You’re such a child, still. You should have lots of men in your life. All I can do is make my bet--that’s my whole heart--and stand by and wait till the race is over.”

Kit smiled slowly. “I hope I’ve been honest with you, Frank,” she said. “I couldn’t bear to think I’ve done anything to hurt you. But of course,” she added, “Ralph must have felt the same way about Jean. And that worked out.”

Frank thought of Jean, the calm, efficient, loyal sister who probably would be marrying Ralph MacRae soon. Then he looked down at Kit, the intense, fiery little girl who was out to reform the world. He was baffled by the comparison, but he realized that the same spark of loyalty which characterized her older sister was burning in Kit’s heart.

12. An All Night Vigil

Kit’s homecoming was almost obscured by a great tragedy which had struck the village of Elmhurst. Although May was not yet over, five cases of polio had been discovered in town, and people were becoming panicky.

The four new cases had been sent to the county isolation ward in a nearby town, but young Timmy Lester stayed at the hospital. His case was much lighter than anyone suspected at first, and he didn’t need therapy which the staff couldn’t supply.

When Kit arrived in Elmhurst, she discovered that all public places had been closed down. No movies were being shown. People were urged to stay away from restaurants and swimming pools. They were even discouraged from having large private parties or picnics.

“It’s really too bad,” Doris confessed to Kit. “And a fine summer vacation you’re going to have in Elmhurst,” she added. “It’s a terrible break for you.”

Kit smiled at her younger sister. “Never mind about me, Doris,” she said. “What about the rest of you? You’ve been in school, too. It’s a shame to ruin your vacation.”

Doris grinned and said, “I suppose you’ll think this is an awful funny thing to say, but I’m not altogether sorry we can’t gather in big groups.”

“Whatever do you mean?” Kit cried.

“Well,” Doris said, “I don’t know if Mother told you, but I’m supposed to try out for a scholarship to Timothy College. It’s a small music school in North Carolina. Well, anyhow, I was petrified about playing in front of a large group. But now because of the polio scare, there will be just two judges who’ll come right here to hear me play. And on our own piano, too. That makes a difference, you know.”

Kit looked at Doris. “Mother did tell me,” she said. “I think it’s absolutely wonderful. But she said you weren’t so keen about going away.”

Doris looked at her sister shyly. “I wouldn’t tell this to Mother,” she said, “but I want to win that scholarship more than anything else in the world. At first I was frightened at the thought of going away from home. But the idea of being among people who love music, and having music all around me all the time is the most beautiful idea in the whole world!”

Kit hugged her sister. “You’ll win,” she cried confidently. “You’ve got to. No one in town even begins to play as well as you!”

Doris smiled with embarrassment. “You’re nice to say that, Kit,” she said. “Jean said it, too. Of course you’re all prejudiced, but it’s nice to hear, anyway.”

The telephone rang, and Doris ran to answer it. Kit sat down on the window seat and looked out over the wooded patch which stood between the house and the river. Everything was soft and green. The spring rains had made the leaves and grass shine with healthy color. There was not even any dust from the dirt road which cut in front of the Craig farm. She shook her head sadly, as she thought about the families of Elmhurst, huddled together in fear of the dread disease, and she thought how wise they all were to cooperate so well in the attempt to fight it.

Doris came back into the living room and sighed as she sat down. “That was Jean. She’s supposed to be off today, but she has to work. There is another case somewhere out in the country, and they’re short-handed at the hospital.”

Suddenly Kit jumped up and went to the phone. She asked for Jean.

“Look, Jean,” she cried, “isn’t there anything over there that a layman can do? At the switchboard or scrubbing floors or anything?”

Jean hesitated. “I don’t know, Kit,” she answered. “I can ask Dr. Barsch.”

“You haven’t been home in over a week,” Kit reminded her. “I’ll bet no one has. At least I could sit with a patient and holler for help if they needed a nurse so that someone could go to bed.”

“That’s an idea,” Jean said. “Why don’t you come over?”

When Kit reached the clinic, Jean and Dr. Barsch were waiting for her on the second floor.

“You wouldn’t think five cases of polio would make the difference,” Kit said to Jean. “I mean, keep you all so busy.”

Dr. Barsch frowned. “If polio were all we were concerned with, it wouldn’t be quite so bad. It seems we’re having another epidemic, too.”

“Virus pneumonia,” Jean added. “Three new ones today.”

Kit stared at her. “But I thought you got pneumonia in the winter ... or spring, at the latest.”

Dr. Barsch shook his head. “Not this brand. It can come any time.”

Kit looked at the doctor. “Well, put me to work. Anything I’m capable of doing, just let me know.”

The doctor smiled and patted her hand. “It takes misfortune to discover how fine people can be,” he said absently.

Kit glanced down the hall. “Didn’t I just see Ethel go into that room? She was in uniform!”

Jean sighed. “Ethel has been back all week. She and Ted just returned from their honeymoon when ... _this_ happened. She hasn’t laid a rug or planted a flower at their new house. In fact, she hasn’t even been out there, herself, in a week.” She shook her head grimly. Then she grinned at Kit. “Well, I’d better get back to work. Give Kit something to do, Dr. Barsch. She has a strong back and a weak mind.”

Dr. Barsch studied the face of his weary, red-eyed nurse. “Why don’t you go to bed for a few hours? You’re just doing a routine check with me. I can get Miss Peckham to take your place. I sent her to bed for a few hours this afternoon, so she should be in better shape than you.”

Jean nodded, gratefully. “I’m too tired to argue with you,” she said. “I know you’ll call me if you need me.”

“And Miss Craig can go right to work down at the switchboard if she wants to. We usually have the office help go home at five, but because we couldn’t spare a nurse at night, they’ve been working night and day, too. You know how to work one?”

Kit nodded. “If it isn’t too complicated,” she said. “Someone down there can show me.”

Jean started off, but Kit caught her arm. “I have something for you which should pep you up,” Kit said, reaching in her pocket. “This came just as I was leaving the house.” She handed Jean a letter.

Jean smiled gratefully and took it. “Thanks, Kit,” she whispered. She stopped to open the envelope and then leaned against the corridor wall to read Ralph’s note:

My dearest Jeannie:

I feel like a small boy who has finally come to his senses. After
I made my report here in Ottawa about my European trip, I hunted
up the forestry offices and signed a government contract to supply
them with wood pulp. I was amused at their reaction. For they
treated me as if finally I had come to the realization of one of
their greatest problems ... they were almost paternal. So I guess
once again I am a Canadian in good standing because I’m prepared to
help them in every way I can.

I have to make a flying trip back to the ranch to round up help for
the project. You know, I’ve never hired forestry help before, and
it may take a little time to find the right men for the job. Then,
believe me! I’m coming straight back to Elmhurst!

Jeannie, my darling, I worry so about you! The epidemic in Elmhurst
makes me almost panicky when I think of you in the midst of it.
Please try to get all the rest you can. Keep your chin up. The
summer may be bad for you now, but I’ll try to make it wonderful
for you when I get back. Give my love to the family. I love you!

All my love,
Ralph