FullReads

“His girl writes to him. Fine letters. But she doesn’t know yet about– about this. I’ve written his letters for him. She knows now that his leg is healed and she wonders—-“

That had been a month ago. Today Miss Kate slit the envelope post- marked Chicago. Chet was fingering the yellow wooden chicken, pride in his eyes. In Miss Kate’s eyes there was a troubled, baffled look as she began to read:

Chet, dear, it’s raining in Chicago. And you know when it

rains in Chicago it’s wetter, and muddier, and rainier than any

place in the world. Except maybe this Flanders we’re reading

so much about. They say for rain and mud that place takes the

prize.

I don’t know what I’m going on about rain and mud for, Chet

darling, when it’s you I’m thinking of. Nothing else and

nobody else. Chet, I got a funny feeling there’s something

you’re keeping back from me. You’re hurt worse than just the

leg. Boy, dear, don’t you know it won’t make any difference

with me how you look, or feel, or anything? I don’t care how

bad you’re smashed up. I’d rather have you without any

features at all than any other man with two sets. Whatever’s

happened to the outside of you, they can’t change your

insides. And you’re the same man that called out to me that

day, “Hoo-hoo! Hello, sweetheart!” and when I gave you a

piece of my mind, climbed down off the pole, and put your face

up to be slapped, God bless the boy in you—-

A sharp little sound from him. Miss Kate looked up, quickly. Chet Ball was staring at the beady-eyed yellow chicken in his hand.

“What’s this thing?” he demanded in a strange voice.

Miss Kate answered him very quietly, trying to keep her own voice easy and natural. “That’s a toy chicken, cut out of wood.”

“What’m I doin’ with it?”

“You’ve just finished painting it.”

Chet Ball held it in his great hand and stared at it for a brief moment, struggling between anger and amusement. And between anger and amusement he put it down on the table none too gently and stood up, yawning a little.

“That’s a hell of a job for a he-man!” Then in utter contrition: “Oh, beggin’ your pardon! That was fierce! I didn’t—-“

But there was nothing shocked about the expression on Miss Kate’s face. She was registering joy–pure joy.