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In spite of the blue I-A fatigues and a rather severe pulled-back hairdo, this was a handsome woman. He found himself liking her, and this caused him a feeling near self-loathing. She was a suspect. He couldn't afford to like her. But the Bullones were being so decent, taking him in like this. And how was their hospitality being repaid? By spying and prying.
"Where I-a da sleep?" asked Tony quickly. "In that room up there on the second floor, at the end of the porch." "And where I-a da eat?" he asked again. "Why, with us, of course," said Joe Williams. "Then I stay-a da mont and do-a da work, and when I get-a da through, we make-a da barg.
There is critical need for more repair workers and repair parts; this Jack delays the return of damaged fighting ships to their places in the fleet, and prevents ships now in the fighting line from getting needed overhauling. The pool of young men under 26 classified as I-A is almost depleted. Increased replacements for the armed forces will take men now deferred who are at work in war industry.
You have me, but you'll get nothing out of me. The rest of the organization can go on without me. You don't dare expose us. We hold the whip hand!" "The I-A could have ninety per cent of your organization in custody inside of ten days," said Orne. "You couldn't find them!" snapped Polly. "How?" asked Stetson. "Nomads," said Orne. "This house is a glorified tent.
You'd be in jail yourself or more likely dead at the hands of a mob!" Spencer paled. "What's your suggestion for compromise?" asked Polly. "Number one: the I-A gets veto power on any candidate you put up," said Orne. "Number two: you can never hold more than two thirds of the top offices." "Who in the I-A vetoes our candidates?" asked Polly.
"One of the Bullones' seven daughters is currently at home," he said. "Name's Diana. A field leader in the I-A women. One of the Nathian code messages we intercepted had her name as addressee." "Who sent the message?" asked Orne. "What was it all about?" Stetson coughed. "You know, Lew, we cross-check everything.
"Oh, you're one of the plumber's men?" asked Bob, thinking perhaps his aunt might have asked to have some men sent out to work on the new cellar under the washroom where the hot-water heater was to go. "No, I no-a da plumb. I-a da mase and-a da carpendero." "Oh, you want a job?" asked Bob, catching his meaning. "Yes-a, da job, but no-a work-a da field.
I no-a da farmer I-a da mase and-a da carpendero." Bob exchanged glances with his uncle, who shook his head. "What's your name?" he asked, suddenly turning to the applicant. "Tony." "What do you say, Uncle Joe, if we have Tony go down to the house with us and talk the matter over with Aunt Bettie? He might be the man we could use at the sand pit.
"This is Ruth, Tony, and this is Edith." "I-a please to meet da young-a ladies," said Tony, more embarrassed even than Bob had been, as he awkwardly placed the wheel-barrow under the drum.
Fourteen months, eleven days, five hours and two minutes after he had been picked up "as good as dead," Orne walked out of the hospital under his own power, accompanied by a strangely silent Umbo Stetson. Under the dark blue I-A field cape, Orne's coverall uniform fitted his once muscular frame like a deflated bag.
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