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Show Aid) $f$f iLl PRATT W.N. U. RELEASE THE STORY THUS FAR: Forty-four-ar-old Wilbert Winkle, who operates he Fixit repair shop, is notified by his Iraft board that he is in 1-A. He breaks he bad news to his domineering wife, imy, who suddenly becomes, very tender, lr. Winkle is sent to Camp Squibb, here he graduates from Motor Mechan-cs Mechan-cs school, and then goes home on a fur-ough. fur-ough. After the furlough Mr. Winkle inds himself, with his friend, Mr. Tinker, n a big convoy. They land on the island f Talizo, where they meet several old lals. One day the Japs come. Mr. Win-Je Win-Je dives under a command car while lr. Tinker shoots it out with a plane. 4r. Tinker is hit, Mr. Winkle grabs a achine gun and mows down the Japs. CHAPTER XIII As he aimed, the officer was pass-ng pass-ng Mr. Tinker. To Mr. Winkle's imazement, one of Mr. Tinker's legs noved out and tripped the man, sending him sprawling. Mr. Tink-ir's Tink-ir's jump at him was more of a trawl, but he made it before the 'ap could fire his pistol. The hairy hands of Mr. Tinker bund the officer's throat. They held )n while the two rolled on the round. Gradually the Jap's convulsive con-vulsive movements stopped and he ay still. Mr. Tinker continued to etaln his grasp on the other's hroat, viselike, even when, in turn, here was no more movement from lim. Mr. Winkle turned back" to his nain business. He felt no shock when he saw nore assault boats coming out of lilliilll He wasn't aware that other men, live men, were in the fox hole with bim. the mist in addition to the two now beaching themselves. He had only the determined desire to kill and must be overpowered. He didn't hear, above the noise Df his gun, the trucks grinding to a stop in back of him with a shriek of brakes. For some time he wasn't aware that other men, live men, were in the fox hole with him and that still more were firing from the Band for some distance on either Bide. He didn't know when he left the fox hole and with the others ran upon the beach with a rifle in his hands. He was astounded, once, to note the bayonet on the end of the rifle, and that he had plunged it Into a Jap soldier and was having difficulty in getting it out. Twist, he thought, that was it. He twisted, and the blade came free. It was true what they said. ' He felt a sharp sting in his left shoulder. On top of his head there was a blinding clang. His helmet was knocked off. Something crashed on. his bare head and after that he was aware of nothing. " Mr. Winkle opened his eyes cautiously. cau-tiously. He had been conscious for a few minutes, but he couldn't place where he was. The first thing he aw was the face of Jack Pettigrew. Jack had only a head, which floated In the air all by itself. The mouth in the head said, "Hello, Pop." "60 you made it, too," observed Mr. Winkle. " 'Made it?' " Jack's head inquired. in-quired. "We're dead, aren't we?" asked Mr. Winkle. "You were dead the last time I saw you. This is Heaven, Heav-en, I suppose. Or is it ?" In some panic he demanded, "Which one?" The head laughed. "We're in an Army hospital just outside of Los Angeles." ' The rest of Jack came into focus. Clad in pajamas and a bathrobe, he was sitting on the edge of a white bed. There were lines of white beds. "I don't understand," Mr. Winkle said. "We're supposed to be on Talizo. You and the Japs . . ." "The Japs," Jack grinned, "didn't get anywhere. We've taken the whole island since then. You saved it. You're a hero. You're going to get a medal. The President told about you in one of his speeches." "And look at these papers." Jack rummaged in a locker between the heds avid then held the front rjaees of newspapers so Mr. Winkle could read them. One of them was The Evening Standard. Mr. Winkle took it and saw big black letters which said: . WINKLE, HERO OF TALIZO "I'm supposed to call the nurse if you wake up," Jack said. "You've been out for five weeks. You're not supposed to talk." "You do the talking," Mr. Winkle ordered. "And lots of it." "You don't have to worry," Jack said. "Mrs. Winkle knows. I went home to see my folks. I'm here now only for a check-up before I join my new company. We're headed head-ed for the Philippines this time." "You left out something," Mr. Winkle said. "The most important part. The Alphabet, Freddie, and the others ..." In a low voice, Jack said, "I was the only one." It was a moment before he could ask about Mr. Tinker. Then he spoke only his name. "No," Jack told him. At least, thought Mr. Winkle. Mr. Tinker had got his Jap himself. He would always cherish thinking of the sight, of Mr. Tinker with his hands around the Japanese officer's throat. "That's why I- want to go back," Jack said. "I'm going, too," Mr. Winkle told him. Mr. Winkle enjoyed, instead of shying from, every moment of his reception when, he arrived in Spring-ville. Spring-ville. He beamed at the huge crowd waiting at the station. With satisfaction, satis-faction, he saw and heard the American Amer-ican Legion band which had turned out for him alone this time. He read the banners and posters people peo-ple carried. He admired the decorations, deco-rations, one of which read unashamedly: unasham-edly: "Our Hero." There was Amy embracing him and murmuring brokenly, "Wilbert . . . Wilbert . . ." "Look," he said. Right there before be-fore all the people he lifted his arm to shoulder height, telling Amy, "That's as far as it will go." Amy stared -at him, embarrassed and stricken. The crowd hushed. "It's good enough for holding you," Mr. Winkle told his wife, putting put-ting his arm around her. The crowd roared its approval, while Amy, blushing, whispered to him, "Wilbert, you're changed more than ever." The Mayor stepped up and gave him the keys to the city, in the form of a large wooden key painted gold and festooned with gay ribbons. " Then came the most important part of the ceremony, the part that made Mr. Winkle most appreciative apprecia-tive and brought a lump to his throat. His own commanding officer being be-ing some distance away, it had been arranged for the Colonel who commanded com-manded the camp where Mr. Winkle Win-kle was inducted into the Army to present him with the Distinguished Service Cross. The Colonel read tj?e citation from a scroll. "... awarded to Wilbert George Winkle . . . distinguished himself by extraordinary heroism in connection with military operations opera-tions against an armed enemy . . . beyond and above his duty . . ." The Colonel pinned the medal on his tunic, stepped back and saluted him. Mr. Winkle was so surprised at being saluted first by an officer, and especially one of such rank as a Colonel, that he forgot to salute back. Instead, he found himself shaking hands with the Colonel. In the Mayor's car, with the Mayor May-or in front and Mr. Winkle and a weepy Amy alone in the back seat, they paraded through the town to the blaring accompaniment of the band and cheering people who threw a great many bits of paper from the buildings. Mr. Winkle waved and waved his good arm, and it was borne in upon him that it was most men's dream come true, notably because be-cause this time no one called out derisively. Finally they were deposited in front of their house, where a number num-ber of people were gathered. Among them was Mr. Wescott, who had evidently evi-dently come out to see for himself. And having seen, he didn't find any reason to laugh now. He couldn't say anything at all when he opened his mouth in that endeavor, but simply stood there with his lips parted, part-ed, gaping. , Mr. Winkle greeted him warmly and shook hands before going on with Amy up their walk. Mr. Onward, the reportographer, whom Mr. Winkle had seen at the station taking pictures, followed them up the walk. "Listen," Mr. Onward asked rather humbly, "how about an interview?" "No," said Mr. Winkle, "no interview." inter-view." "But " Mr. Onward began to plead. "Use the same one you printed before." Mr. Winkle suggested. "That was a good one." Alone together in their house, Mrs. Winkle dabbed at her eyes with her . Ill The Colonel pinned the medal on his tunic. handkerchief, touched his medal with one finger, dabbed some more, and asked, "Whoever would have thought ?" "Not me," said Mr. Winkle. "Not I," she corrected. She spoke a little sharply, as if trying to hide her emotions or expressing a desire to bring him down a peg to case his popularity might have gone to his head. In trying to determine which it was, Mr. Winkle saw the answer to his speculation on whether or not Amy would continue in her new regard re-gard for him, or revert to the old. He found a number of things to support his belief that war had changed her as permanently as it had him. She would not find it comfortable to henpeck a national hero. THE END |