Reba knew very well the nature of the news that made Katherine's eyes shine like that, and her voice shake a little. She knew that for the last twelve months Katherine's ambition had been to go to France with a hospital unit.
She was not a trained nurse, but surely, as again and again she had tried to persuade the various doctors, organizers, and high officials of the units preparing for service behind the trenches, surely she could make herself of use in a hospital. She was not afraid of work—nor of blood either—"strong as an ox," she would boast; could run an ambulance if they would let her; was willing to do anything—make beds, scrub, wash dishes, help in the kitchen, help anywhere, if only they would accept her. But, no, in spite of pressing every possibly influential friend she possessed into exerting his power in her behalf, time and again there proved to be no necessity for eager, intelligent hands such as hers, if she lacked a trained nurse's diploma. And then suddenly the summons! From New York! A unit organized by a surgeon of wide reputation was sailing on the following Wednesday, she explained. She was to report on Tuesday.
The telegram was brief, anything but satisfying to Mr. Park. He couldn't even finish his strawberries, much less attempt the parsley-trimmed fish-balls. Only a cup of coffee, and a slice of toast. That was all. But he patted Katherine's hand just the same. Reba saw that.
"It's your life, and you are old enough to use your own judgment. I'm glad you've got your wish, though it isn't just mine," he said. "Now run along, run
