sunday was an indian summer day, the sun was strong, my windoen,and i heard voices on the fire escape. holly and mag were sprawled there on ablahe cat betweeheir hair, newly washed, hung lankly. they werebusy, holly varnishioenails, mag knitting on a sweater. mag eaking.
"if you ask me, i think youre l-l-lucky. at least theres ohing you say forrusty. hes an ameri."
"bully for him."
"sugar. theres a war on."
"and when its over, youve seen the last of me, boy."
"i dohat way. im p-p-proud of my try. the men in my family weregreat soldiers. theres a statue of papadaddy wildwood sma the ter ofwildwood."
"freds a soldier," said holly. "but i doubt if hell ever be a statue. could be. theysay the more stupid you are the braver. hes pretty stupid."
"freds that boy upstairs? i didnt realize he was a soldier. but he does lookstupid."
"yearning. not stupid. he wants awfully to be on the iaring out: anybodywith their nose pressed against a glass is liable to look stupid. anyhow, hes adifferent fred. freds my brother."
"you call your own f-f-flesh and b-b-blood stupid?"
"if he is he is."
"well, its poor taste to say so. a boy thats fighting for you and me and all of us."
"what is this: a bond rally?"