Norma Kent of the WACS
CHAPTER VI
A STARTLING ADVENTURE
At Fort Des Moines the WACs are on their own from Saturday noon untilSunday night. Needless to say, over at the mess hall, in the barracks,and on the field there was much talk among the new recruits about howthese hours were to be spent.
“What do you do?” Norma asked a tall, slender girl from Massachusettswho had been in training for three weeks.
“Well,” the girl drawled, “the first week I went dashing off to DesMoines, rented a room at a nice hotel, ate oysters on the half-shell,Boston baked beans, brown bread and all the things I wanted, and had agrand time all by myself. But now,” she added, “I just get some booksfrom the library, settle down in a big chair at the Service Club andloaf.”
“But isn’t Des Moines interesting?” Norma asked in surprise.
“Sure it is,” a bright-eyed girl from Texas exclaimed. “Beth is justlazy, that’s all. Des Moines is a nice big overgrown town, all full ofnice, friendly people. It has the grandest eating spots! Yes, and hallswhere you can dance—really nice places.”
“And boys to dance with! Umm!” exclaimed a girl from Indiana. “Thereare soldiers and sailors who come in from their camps and all sorts ofcollege boys.”
“A nice big, overgrown town, all full of nice friendly people.” Normarecalled these words later. Truth was, she found herself a littlehomesick. At that moment she would have loved a good romp with her dogSpark, and after that a quiet talk with her dad.
“I know what I’ll do!” she thought. “And I won’t tell a soul! They’dlaugh at me.”
Betty, who more than any girl at camp had begun to seem Norma’s chum,had decided to stay in camp. When the day came, Norma too remaineduntil four o’clock. Part of the time she spent having her hair washedand set. It was no accident that she took the chair of the Spanishhairdresser who served her before.
“I’ll bring up the subject of the Interceptor Control. If she asksquestions I’ll tell her things I read in that little book called ‘TheBattle of Britain.’ Anything that’s been published. Then perhaps I’llstring her a little.”
The hairdresser fell for the bait. Norma loaded her up with commonlyknown facts, then drew pictures from her fertile imagination. In theend she was hearing planes at unbelievable distances.
“But why are you so interested in all this?” she asked at last.
The girl shot her a swift look. “Oh! Miss Kent!” she exclaimed—therewas a shrill note in her voice—“It is all so very interesting!Everything you WACs do is thrilling! It is a great organization!”
“Yes,” Norma agreed. “It is one of the big things that has come out ofthe war.”
To herself she was recalling Lieutenant Warren’s words:
“These girls worry me a little. Their records have not been checked.”
Then again she remembered how her own record had been checked to thelast detail. “The examiners do not take your word for a thing,” she hadbeen told. “The F.B.I. questionnaire you filled out is checked anddouble-checked by men who know. Even your fingerprints are sent toWashington.”
All this she knew was true. And yet the girls in the beauty parlor werenot checked. “That tall girl, Lena, could tell this hairdresseranything—just anything at all. If she became the secretary to a colonelshe could report anything to this hairdresser.”
“But Lena—” it came to her with the force of a blow—“Lena’s record hasbeen checked. Her fingerprints were sent to Washington.”
“What a silly young fool you are!” she chided herself as a short timelater she took the car to Des Moines. But she was not even sure of that.
Arrived at the heart of the city she looked up a long street to see atall, inviting brick hotel standing on a hill.
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_And Yet the Girls in the Beauty Parlor Were NotChecked_]
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After walking and climbing for fifteen minutes she found herselfentering a long room filled with lounge chairs and lined on two wallsby tall glass cases. The contents of these cases surprised her, for inthem were more kinds of mounted fish than she had ever seen.
“Oh!” she exclaimed. “Am I in the wrong place? Is this a museum?”
“No, Miss.” the smiling bellboy who took her bag replied. “This hotelwas once owned by a very rich man who collected fish. He’s dead now.”
“But his collection lives on.” She wondered vaguely what would live onwhen she was gone.
The first thing she did when she had been shown to a neat andcomfortable room was strange. Opening her bag, she took out a cardboardfolder tied with a ribbon. From this folder she selected a dozenpictures. These she proceeded to thumbtack, one by one, to the walldirectly under a mellow light.
After that, without further unpacking, she dropped into a chair and satfor a long time looking at those pictures through moist eyelashes.
The house with the broad lawn and tall shade trees about it was herhome. The tall, distinguished looking man with one empty sleeve was herdad. The picture done in color was her college chum. And the grinningyoung man in the uniform of a private was Bill—just plain Bill.
There were other pictures but these were the ones that counted most.They had adorned the walls of her room at college for a long time. Whenyou bunk in a stable—even a glorious, glorified stable—with a hundredother girls, you don’t thumbtack your pictures to the wall. It isn’tallowed. Besides, it would be silly.
Norma wanted to see her pictures in their proper setting. Now she wasseeing them.
“Norma, you’re a silly goose,” she told herself aloud. Then shewondered whether she had spoken the truth. Sometimes one drops into anew world too hastily. It does one good to take a look back.
It was Bill who had started her thinking of the WACs. She and Bill weregrand good friends, that’s all. No diamond ring—no talk of weddingbells—just friends.
All the same, when Bill came to the school all togged up in a newuniform, she had felt a big tug at her heart strings.
“Oh! Bill!” she had cried. “You look like a million!”
“And I feel like a millionaire,” was Bill’s reply. “Army life is theberries, and regarding the Japs, all I’ve got to say is they’d betterlook out!”
“Getting pretty good with a Tommy gun, Bill?” she laughed.
“And how!” was his prompt reply.
They found a log down among the willows at the edge of the campus, andthere Bill, in his big, boisterous way, told her all about the Army.
“Oh, Bill!” she exclaimed when he had finished. “You make it sound sowonderful! I wish they’d let girls join.”
“They do!” Bill stopped grinning. “Ever heard of the WACs?”
“Yes, I—” she paused. Yes, she had heard of them. That was about all.
“Bill, I’ll really look into this.”
“You’d better. They’re a grand outfit. And boy! Are they going places!”
“I’ll be seein’ you,” she said to Bill as their hands clasped infarewell.
“In the Army?”
“I shouldn’t wonder.”
“Hot diggity! That’s the stuff!” He gave her hand a big squeeze, andwas gone.
“And now I’m here, Bill,” she said to the picture on the wall. “I’m inthe Army now. But, oh, Bill! I do hope our companies will some timemarch in the same parade!”
After an hour with her pictures, Norma felt herself ready for one moreweek of drilling, police duty, study, and all that went on from dawntill dark at old Fort Des Moines.
After a hearty meal eaten in a big bright cafeteria where all thepeople seemed carefree and gay, she stepped out to see the lights ofDes Moines at night.
Thrills she had experienced more than once came to her from exploring astrange city at night. Certainly exploring a city of friendly people,many of whom smile
d at her in a kindly way as she marched along in herspick-and-span uniform, could not be dangerous.
For an hour she prowled the streets alone. Past dark public buildingsthat loomed at her from the night, down narrow dark streets where taxidrivers and workers sat or stood before narrow lunch counters, shewandered. And then back to the broad street where lights were brightand the throngs were gay.
A feeling of utter loneliness drove her once again into the shadows.And there she met with a startling adventure.
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