private and Hoagland was a lieutenant. She condescended to her; she envied her wildly.
Hoagland was at Camp Sevier, dreadfully bored, and getting fatter than ever, but looking well in his puttees and Sam Browne belt. And Charlotte was busy with Red Cross committees and canteens and surgical dressings, in spite of the fact that Hoagland Driggs, Third, was born in July.
The studio at 29 Chestnut Street was a splendid toom to make surgical dressings in. Twice a week the Westlake women met there, in white aprons and veils, to cut absorbent cotton and fold gauze.
One October morning Carrie Pyne stayed to help tidy up after a meeting. "I had a letter from Joe to-day," Kate told her. "Look! Will you just kindly look at these pads? That's Violetta Mortimer! I'll have to make every single one over again. Honestly"
"You didn't see my scissors anywhere, did you, Kate? Oh, dear! I hope I haven't folded them into a surgical dressing"
"Poor Mrs. Baylow, she looked awfully. Did you notice? I didn't dare ask her if she'd heard from Laddie lately. You know I think waiting at home must be almost worse than the fighting. Anyway, they're in France! That's always been the dream of my life"
"Kate, speaking of letters, if I tell you something, will you promise not to tell? I decided I wasn't doing
