word. He runs away, they say, when callers come. He just won't talk!
Mable (thoughtfully). Miss Spangler was saying this morning that so many of the boys are like that. They just won't talk.
Mrs. Cory. Oh, but George won't be that way. (With concern.) He's all right, isn't he?
Joe. Sound as a nut. Came through without a scratch.
Mrs. Cory. You ought to be so thankful. Well, I'll run in again.
Mable. Yes, do. (As Mrs. Cory goes.) Joe, you don't think George will be queer—like Herbie Tolliver—do you?
Joe (with something like a snort). George! Well, I should say not. Oh, of course he won't brag. No really brave man does. I imagine it may take quite a little prodding to get the real stuff out of him—like the story of the night he went over the top and won the medal for unusual bravery in action. But it will come. Jinks! Makes a fellow like me feel old and out of it, to think of all those young chaps have seen and done! I guess, Mable, we're the fellows this war hit hardest—just too old to be in it!
Mable. Yes, I appreciate how you feel about it, Joe. But just the same...I know I oughtn't to say this...but just the same, I'm glad! Now come on, if you'll just give the freezer a few
