Not until Kitty put down the phone did she remember that it was Monday, her busiest day at home. While Jane did the weekly washing she always looked after the lunch and household work. Instantly she decided to switch days on the housework, for she had made up her mind never to refuse a Canteen call if she could possibly serve. So at ten minutes of eleven she walked into the Bayport Canteen. She found that Vera Parsons had already come over from the island. “Ah, on the dot,” said Miss Pearson. “It’s grand to have a few girls we can depend on to put aside personal interests for short-order calls.” “What’s cooking?” Kitty wanted to know. “Troop train coming through in half an hour, though we’re never quite sure of the time,” explained Miss Pearson. “The boys will appreciate some sandwiches and smokes and a little talk with you girls.” Kitty had met troop trains only a couple of times, but she loved it. The boys were always so full of fun and so appreciative of any little attention. They didn’t have many troop trains through as Bayport was not on a main line. It was really only a small coast town that had spread out like a mushroom since war began. The small railroad station hadn’t had time to catch up with the amazing growth of the rest of the place. The trains rolled along open tracks beside an inadequate ticket office and waiting rooms. When the girls packed into the station wagon to drive over to the station, Kitty found herself sitting beside Mrs. Janice, who had lived in the oyster cannery district before the fire. “Hope you found another house,” Kitty remarked to her. “Indeed I have, honey, in a better section of town, too.” “I’m so glad. I’m sure the new houses they build around the cannery will be much better than the old ones.” “They ain’t making no plans to rebuild the cannery till after the war’s over. But my boy, Jim, got a job in the Bayshore Bakery. We’re living near there.” “Oh, Bayshore Bakery,” repeated Kitty without realizing that there was a sort of question mark in her tone. “Yeah, I know all them rumors ’bout the bakery—just because they found some of their bread wrappers on that captured sub. And how could the bakery help that, I ask you?” “No fault of theirs,” put in Beth Gilcrist, one of the town girls. “When they sell bread they can’t be responsible for where it goes.” “Of course not. My Jim thinks they’re fine people at the bakery, fair and square and considerate of their employees. I can’t see where it’s any fault of theirs that the Germans were eating their bread. There’s a thousand ways they could have got it.” As they rode toward the station Kitty didn’t doubt that she was right. There were a thousand ways the Germans might have got that bread, while she and Brad had been optimistic enough to hope they could discover the one way it had been done.