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Show The Home in an Army Shack By BEATRICE VANDEGRIFT I (1ST army romances end with ' a newspaper account of the bridal couple emerging from an arch of crossed swords, but this particular romance of young Lieutenant Lieu-tenant and Mrs. John It. Gibbs goes on. The first night, on their way by car to John's post in the South, they stopped at the nicest hotel in Baltimore and had jellied consomme, con-somme, broiled bluefish and peach nielha. which they didn't eat. The second night they stopped at the nicest hotel in Boanoke and had cantaloupe, fried chicken and blueberry blue-berry pie, some of which they ate. The third night, after a consultation consulta-tion over the honeymoon pocket-book, pocket-book, they stopped at the second nicest holel In Greenville and had a dollar blue plate, almost all of which they ate. On the fourth day they reached their destination, the army post to which John had been assigned after his graduation from West Point that June. A stout captain In the quartermaster quarter-master corps met them at headquarters head-quarters and ushered them Into their home. It was one of a group of unpalnted wooden shacks that resembled squatters' huts one finds on asb heaps outside large cities. From their patched, tarred roofs the chimneys emitted billows of soft coal smoke. The captain got out, pried open a rusty sagging screen door and waved the bride and groom inside, then left them with a cheery smile. He was so used to showing hardened hard-ened army folks Into dingy quarters quar-ters that he didn't stop to sympathize sympa-thize with these young newcomers. Mary Rose burled her head in John's shoulder and wept heart-breakingly. heart-breakingly. "I'm sorry, kiddie," he groaned. "What'll we do?" "I know wdiat I'm going to do," announced Mary Hose, hysterically but firmly. "I'm going home." But she decided to stay for two months, for after all, they were still on their honeymoon. But when the day came for her to go she didn't feel the least bit like traveling. When they realized what was the matter, John was terrified and begged her to go. If he hadn't suggested sug-gested It, she probably would have. But she stayed. She would let John see little John, then leave forever. Winter descended upon them, a chill, rainy winter that spread a vast duck pond about their little low shack. Mary Rose shut off one room of the house and tried to keep it warm with the pot-bellied stove which, with Its sister the kitchen range, comprised the heating heat-ing system of the house. At last, one spring . day, the great event took place. Mary Rose spent an afternoon walking on the hot roof garden of the army hospital hos-pital with John pacing desperately at her side. Then the nurses brought her In and told John to stay out. After a long time they told him he could go In. "You have a cnte little daughter," daugh-ter," they said, "and girls are Just as nice as boys." He merely glanced at the bundle on Its way out to the nursery, cried for a few moments over Mary Rose's placid wdilte face and went back to his little lonely shack. Lying in the pleasant, yellow-walled yellow-walled hospital, Mary Rose was more determined than ever to leave John and his dreadful little hut. She simply couldn't let her baby grow up there, to play on those damp floors and perhaps get hold of the deadly white insect powder they were always compelled to have about. At her father's home there would be a sunny nursery with warm, rugged floors and steam heat sizzling siz-zling against the frosty windows. When they at last took Mary Rose back to the shack, she resolved re-solved that the next time she went out it would be the last. John gently deposited her on the quartermaster quar-termaster settee and she looked about. A medley of color met her gaze. The rough ugly boards were covered cov-ered with yellow wall paper. Various Va-rious pillows of clashing cretonne were carefully plopped on all the chairs. On the wavy floor, newly coaled with orange shellac, was a tan rug that was not half bad. "Do you like it?" he asked, proudly. "I did It all myself. This is a real home now. isn't it. kiddie?" Suddenly tears scalded Mary Rose's eyes. Yes. this was home the funny, terrible little shack that the government had provided and that John had so valiantly tried lo ! make livable. Thousands of army women, for generations, had lived in worse. She looked at John and smiled bravely. "I told you that 1 was going home 1 after the hnhy came," she said. "Well. John. I am home." (Copyrlctlt.) |