“Anything else you’d like?” she asked. “No, thanks,” he replied, without changing his position or looking toward her. She went back to the kitchen a moment later to get some more cream, and Sally, elbow deep in suds, said, “Poor boy, he’s been sitting there in a fog for the last half hour. Guess he’s got something rather bothersome on his mind.” “He looks like a new one in the service,” commented Kitty. Later as she wiped the counter clean she noticed the sailor’s fresh, fair complexion not yet tanned by the southern sun. There was something about him that made her think of Billy. Her own little brother might look like that when he was grown up. In twenty years she hoped there wouldn’t be another war to catch him in its snares. If it had to happen she knew she would thank any Canteen worker who would cheer him. She pushed a neatly wrapped sandwich toward the sailor. “These sandwiches are really good,” she said encouragingly. “Wouldn’t you like to try one?” Then he turned slightly and looked at her for the first time. “I couldn’t swallow a bite,” he said. His gentle gray eyes were as pathetic as a frightened lamb’s. Kitty couldn’t bear it. She darted back to the kitchen to tell Mrs. Evans about him. “He’s been sitting there utterly dejected for the last half hour.” “He’s Ned Miller,” explained Sally. “I’ve noticed him several times lately—seems awfully depressed.” “He doesn’t even know they’re dancing and playing games out there in the hall,” Kitty said. “I’ll see if I can draw him out,” Mrs. Evans volunteered. She strolled from the kitchen and pretended to be busy at the counter. In a casual manner she addressed Ned, “Wouldn’t you like to dance a bit?” “No, thanks, I don’t want to dance.” His tone was flat from lack of interest. “They’re scarce of girls tonight, but we’re not so busy either. I could spare one of the Canteen girls to play a game of checkers with you, if you like.” “No, thanks.” Just inside the kitchen door Kitty and Sally listened to Mrs. Evans’s overtures of friendship. Finally she spoke in a motherly tone. “Son, you’re worried about something. Isn’t there anything I can do for you?” Then the pleading gray eyes looked up at the motherly face and this time they were swimming in tears. For a moment he seemed to be appraising her. Finding the sympathy of her heart reflected in her eyes he finally blurted, “I—I want to hold a baby.” Kitty, watching beside Sally in the background fairly held her breath at this unexpected retort. “A baby?” repeated Mrs. Evans. Ned dug into his pocket and brought out a yellow sheet of paper. The girls saw it was a telegram as he handed it to her. “Our baby came yesterday. They’re—they’re in California. I—I’ve been so scared for her the last week I haven’t had good sense. I can’t believe it’s all over and she’s all right.” “Oh that’s wonderful!” exclaimed Mrs. Evans. “And a boy, too. Eight pounds.” He grew more confidential at her warmth and understanding.