Canteens (Establishments) -- Juvenile fiction; World War, 1939-1945 -- Juvenile fiction
“There’s been a lot of it here at the hospital.”
“But I never bring Billy to the hospital.”
“He could have picked it up almost anywhere.”
Then with an appalling recollection Kitty saw herself and Billy in
their boat going past that hospital dump in the marshes. That was where
he had got the germ, she was positive. Subconsciously she had known it
from the very beginning. That’s why she had felt so stunned by Billy’s
sickness. Now that she honestly faced the results of her own
carelessness, she felt she couldn’t endure it.
Noting her pale face and the misery in her eyes, Mr. Carter said,
“Brad, please take her home for me.”
“I couldn’t leave till I know Billy’s going to be all right, Dad.”
“You can do absolutely nothing here, Kitty,” her father said almost
severely. “He’s in most competent hands. Hazel’s going to nurse him,
and I plan to stay on for the night. I have my own room I can use any
time. I’ll see that everything possible is done. It will be a relief to
me to know you’re home in bed.”
Kitty felt she could never sleep again, but said in a resigned tone,
“All right, Dad. I’ll go.”
Seeing her so crushed he put his arm around her shoulder and went with
her down the hall. “Go home and take a hot bath to calm your nerves,
and get right into bed. I’ll phone you at six in the morning.”
* * * * *
That night as Kitty tossed about, sleepless for several hours, she made
up her mind that if Billy recovered she would tell her father
everything that had happened these last weeks to stir her suspicions.
She blamed herself for her pride and conceit in hoping she, alone,
could find an answer to those problems that were continually stumping
the FBI.
She thought bitterly of what her psychology teacher had once said,
“We’re very complicated creatures, and how we sometimes hate to face
the truth.” And another time he had talked to their class about how
human beings compensate for losses and disappointments. Yes, that was
exactly what she was trying to do in making herself a private
secret-service agent. She imagined she could do something big enough in
uncovering some dastardly plot against her country. This would
compensate for her not being able to do more to help the war effort.
The fact that Billy had been her stumbling block all along, even though
she adored him, made her feel all the more miserable now that his
safety was involved.
It was late when her tired body and tortured mind succumbed to
weariness and she slept. She slept so heavily then she didn’t even
rouse for the anticipated phone call at six o’clock. Jane was in the
room when she opened her eyes, then sat up suddenly, ashamed that she
had overslept.
“Has Dad phoned?”
Jane’s kindly face told her that he had and that the news was good.
“Yas’m, sho did. Billy’s bettah, an’ yo’ Pah say you kin come see him.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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