High Time Read Free

Mrs. Rasmussen queried.
    ‘Boys: Franklin and Winston!’
    ‘Such charming and appropriate names! Right in tune with the times!’ Miss Tinkham glowed.
    Mrs. Feeley and Mrs. Rasmussen looked at each other, then at Miss Tinkham. She had a dreamy look on her face.
    ‘Let me see,’ she mused, ‘I am trying to recall the exact words Mrs. Feeley used yesterday in defining sacrifice: Sacrifice is making yourself do something you hate like hell!’
    ‘I don’t foller you,’ Mrs. Rasmussen said.
    ‘I do! I’m ’way ahead of her!’ Mrs. Feeley chirped.
    Mrs. Rasmussen was beginning to catch on.
    ‘Does it counts the same if we relieves a woman, ’stead of a man?’ she asked.
    ‘Remember the column heading you contributed, Mrs. Rasmussen—“The next best thing”?’ Miss Tinkham reminded.
    ‘Well, I can tell you it’s sure lots harder’n drillin’ holes or packin’ fish, an’ smells worse!’ Mrs. Rasmussen was recalling bygone days with her unsavory grandchildren.
    ‘It’d sure be a sacrifice, all right!’ Mrs. Feeley admitted.
    ‘Assuming, of course, that we would be capable of undertaking the care and feeding of infants!’ Miss Tinkham amended.
    Lily was beginning to get the drift. Her face bright—‘Boy, oh boy! I’d sure make it worth your while! I’d pay good! An’ bring the formula all ready to last ’em through the day—and the diaper-man could still pick up the dirty ones at my house! Would fifteen dollars a week be okay?’
    The ladies looked at each other. No one said a word. Fifteen dollars a week! Better than sixty dollars a month without ever setting foot outside their home! Not to mention the sacrifice.
    ‘Well, I’ll tell you,’ Mrs. Feeley announced, ‘we’ll go home an’ drink it over—you stop by on your way home for the answer!’
    After making sure of the exact location of the Ark, Lily said: ‘Then I’ll not ask for no time off till I talk to youse tonight!’
    The ladies nodded solemnly and drove off toward Island Avenue. At the junk-yard they climbed out and entered the house, each occupied with her own thoughts.
    Miss Tinkham got out the chart for war service and painstakingly erased the notation of the night before. Then she printed sadly: ‘Rejected.’
    ‘At least we cannot be accused by our consciences of not making the effort,’ she said ruefully. Under the first column heading of most important ways to win the war, she wrote a third line: Are you relieving a man or woman for work in a vital industry?
    ‘They’ll sure be a mess, do we take ’em!’ Mrs. Rasmussen knew what she was talking about.
    ‘Yeup. We’ll sure be tied down for real,’ Mrs. Feeley agreed. ‘But what the hell? Them fellers on Bataan woulda been plenty willin’ to swap jobs with us, don’t you reckon?’ Mrs. Feeley was selling herself a bill of goods. ‘Yeah. Lily’d come after ’em at six sharp—then we’d be shed of ’em for the evenin’ at least.’ Mrs. Rasmussen finally capitulated.
    ‘Then I may write “Yes” in the column?’ Miss Tinkham asked.
    ‘All in favor, say I?’ Mrs. Rasmussen remembered some of the parliamentary law she had heard about at Citizenship class years ago.
    ‘I do!’ Mrs. Feeley chirped, matrimonially.
    ’Unanimously carried!’ Miss Tinkham cried. ‘Suffer little children to come unto me!’
    ‘Suffer is right!’ Mrs. Rasmussen sniffed.
    ‘Guess we’ll have a beer while we can,’ Mrs. Feeley remarked. ‘The place’ll be such a boar’s nest with them twins howlin’ an’ smellin’ that we won’t be able to enjoy a bottle in peace.’
    At six o’clock Lily came up the walk with a hopeful expression.
    ‘What time will you bring ’em?’ Mrs. Feeley demanded.
    ‘I gotta be there at eight. Is seven-thirty too early?’ she asked, well pleased at the prospect.
    ‘That ain’t the question! This ain’t bein’ done to accommodate us, you understand! If you pass here at seven-thirty, that’s the time you gotta drop ’em off!