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TIIE STORY Tlll'S FAR: Forty-four
year-old Wilbert Winkle, who If the pro
prietor of a general repair shop In
the alley back of hit home. Is notified
by his draft board that he is In 1-A. He
had thought that the doctor who exam
toed him would not overlook his dyspep
sia, his near-sightedness and his caved
la cbest. He breaks the bad news to his
wife. Amy, and goes to work without klsi-
Ing her goodby. The next day a news*
paper photographer calls on him at his
shop and takes bis picture, which ap
pears later on the front page under the
capUon, "Winkle Proud to Fight." The
story explains that Winkle was the first
married selectee In SpringvUle to be
called.
CHAPTER 111
"The telephone's been ringing
ever since the paper came out," she
announced. "People I haven't seen
or heard of .in years have called.
One woman I didn't know at all—l
mean, she was a perfect stranger."
"What did she want?" asked Mr.
Winkle.
Amy looked baffled. "I don't
know," she replied. "She said she
just felt she had to call. As if—oh,
Wilbert, as if you were dead al
ready."
Mrs. Winkle had often glared at
him as if herself wishing him dead,
The Pettigrews were first to ar
rive. Mrs. Pettigrew was red-eyed
from weeping.
and now her concern that he might
be killed seemed a little outlandish.
Mr. Winkle merely said, "Well,
I'm not dead."
"Wilbert, how do you really feel?
This morning there wasn't time to
find out." Mrs. Winkle gazed at him
doubtfully.
Again, at her hesitancy, at this
suggestion that the upper hand was
being returned to him, Mr. Winkle
had an impulse to remind her of
certain things. And again he re
frained, not thinking the urge was
quite decent. But he did protest,
"Amy, don't you look at me like
that."
"Like what?" she asked.
"As if I—that mouse-look," he ac
cused.
She looked abashed. At first Mr.
Winkle could not accept the fact that
the expression was on her face.
"I didn't mean to," she replied.
She sounded humble.
"I can't help being the way I
am," Mr. Winkle stated.
"Of course, dear. No one can."
Mr. Winkle was amazed. But still
he didn't say anything about the
miracle occurring before his very
eyes. He didn't care to embarrass
Amy.
"I feel," he said in answer to her
previous question, "like taking two
doses for my dyspepsia." He fum
bled in his pocket for his pills and
brought them out.
"Some people are coming in to
night," Mrs. Winkle revealed as she
bustled to get dinner. "Just the
folks on the street."
Astounded, Mr. Winkle asked,
"What for?"
"Well, they wanted to see you.
Especially the Pettigrews. Their
boy, Jack, has been called, too. He's
twenty, you know. He'll be going
off with you."
The evening, when it came around,
was something of a combination of
a funeral, a wedding, a family re
union, and a celebration for a per
son about to leave on a dangerous
expedition.
The Pettigrews were the first to
arrive. Mrs. Pettigrew was red-eyed
from weeping, and she burst into
new tears when she saw Mr. Winkle.
"They probably won't take you,"
she wept, "but Jack—Jack—they'll
take him, and he's only a baby."
Mr. Pettigrew himself said, "This
is crazy, Winkle. Here's Jack, hard
ly over sucking his thumbs. And
here's you, old enough to be his fa
ther."
Mr. Winkle and Jack eyed each
other. The boy was self-conscious,
as the young are in the presence of
their elders who discuss them. Mr.
Winkle, in his position as an adult,
felt called upon to say something
even though he really had nothing to
say.
"Well, Jack," he told the boy, "it
looks as if we're being called by our
country."
"Yes, sir," Jack said. He could
make no more of Mr. Winkle being
drafted along with him than Mr.
Winkle could make of Jack being
selected along with him. Mr. Win
kle wished that the boy wouldn't be
quite so respectful.
More people came. They chat
tered, and gazed curiously at Mrs.
Winkle, as if they couldn't believe
what their eyes saw nor what their
ears heard. Some of them were
earnest about Mr. Winkle's predica
ment, some wondered, and others
were amused. Mr. Winkle liked the
last least of all. He didn't see why
people should laugh at him.
Mr. Wescott, their next-door neigh
bor, a rather pompous individual,
cornered Mr. Winkle and stated, "If
you're the kind of soldier we're go
ing to have, God help us." He stared
at Mr. Winkle as if to ask him how
he ever got himself into this.
Mr. Winkle didn't think this was
very patriotic.
Mr. Wescott, who was prone to tell
anybody all about how anything was
conducted, and who could well afford
to inform Mr. Winkle about his fu
ture because he was over forty-five
and not subject to military duty,
went on to say, "Of course, you
know they won't use you as a com
batant."
"You don't think so?" Mr. Winkle
asked hopefully.
"Think it out for yourself, man,"
Mr. Wescott lectured. "They'll have
enough young fellows to do the actu
al fighting. They want men in their
proper places, according to their
abilities. That's why they're calling
you in the first place, so you can
release a fighting man to fight."
Mr. Winkle was encouraged.
"They won't waste you as a kill
er," Mr. Wescott assured him.
Mr. Winkle didn't know whether
to feel flattered or insulted.
His neighbor looked at him criti
cally, as if gauging him for the first
time. "You wouldn't be any good,
anyway. They'll use you in some
Kind of mechanical work."
"Well," said Mr. Winkle, "I could
handle that." His courage took hold
of him at this talk. "But, under
stand me, if I thought I was capable
of using a gun, I'd do it anywhere
they say."
"No, sir," Mr. Wescott went on,
"you'll never see active service. I
can tell you that. You don't have
to worry about that for a minute."
Mr. Winkle ceased to worry, but
only for the allowed minute, for Mr.
Wescott then looked thoughtful and
amended, "Of course, men of your
age are being used for combat in all
the other armies, and if things get
to that stage with us, I suppose
you've got to consider that you
might have to do a little shooting
or bayonet work."
When it was time for their visitors
to leave, they shook Mr. Winkle's
hand as if bidding him goodby be
fore he went into action. Mrs. Pet
tigrew's tears had dried, but her
perturbation remained. She plead
ed of Mr. Winkle, "You'll look after
Jack, won't you?"
Mr. Winkle, despite all his timidity
and ineffectual outer character,
could appreciate the humor in a situ
ation. "I think," he said, "Jack
ought to look after me."
He and Jack glanced at each oth
er, and both smiled. The condemned
men had at least that mutual un
derstanding.
It was nearly eleven before the
last of the guests left. Penelope
came out from the corner where she
had sulked all evening at the inva
sion of her own peaceful life. Mr.
Winkle, out of habit, took her to
the back yard.
When he came in again he started
for the radio, to turn it on for the
nightly war news broadcast he usu
ally favored. Then he stopped and
didn't go near it, but turned to
ward the stairs.
"Aren't you going to listen to the
war news?" Mrs. Winkle asked.
"I don't think I will tonight."
"But why—?" Mrs. Winkle began
to speak as if she were the same
person as of before this morning.
But she caught herself and then
said merely, "Oh."
Mr. Winkle felt like pinching him
self to be sure he was awake and
that this was Amy showing such
tact and consideration. He smiled
a little, but not so she could see
him, and he decided that it was
very nice indeed to have her this
way.
They went upstairs and there,
while they prepared themselves for
the night, Mrs. Winkle commented
in a small voice that seemed to in
dicate she had other things to say
but couldn't say them, "It was a
nice party, wasn't it?"
"Except," said Mr. Winkle, "I
don't see exactly why it was held."
Mr. Winkle found his imagination
running away with itself until his
mind was possessed of a nightmare.
He saw himself packed into a
troop transport. He had seen pic
tures of how it was done. The
bunks, one on top of another in many
tiers, with only a narrow aisle be
tween, made the men look like sar
dines. Across the ocean the ship
throbbed. And then in the night
there was a dull, jarring thud. The
ship shuddered. It began to list.
Its engines stopped. Flames rose
and men pushed and fell and
screamed and struck and jumped.
Mr. Winkle was in the water, which
was covered thickly with oil. The
THE DANBfTRY REPORTER. DANRITRY. N. C.. T'U'RSnAY. NOVEMBER 16. 1944
oil caught fire and the flames raced
toward him.
He tried to blot out this picture.
But it came again, and made him
cold all over. He was bathed in
perspiration. He began to shake
slightly and found he couldn't con
trol it, no matter how much he
tried.
At that he learned how far Amy's
reformation had gone, and how real
it was, and that she was good-heart
ed all along as he always knew, and
that now he was to become a sol
dier, she was willing to express her
feelings about it, even if only silent
ly.
Without a word, Mrs. Winkle
turned in the bed beside him. She
slipped a soft warm arm under his
neck and put the other over his
chest, and held him tightly. She
seemed to understand.
Mr. Winkle was ashamed that she
did, but greatly comforted, too.
• • •
The President of the United States,
To Wilbert George Winkle,
Greeting: Having submitted your
self to a local board composed of
your neighbors for the purpose of
determining your availability for
training and service in the armed
forces of the United States, you are
hereby notified that you have now
been selected for training and serv«
ice in the Army.
Mr. Winkle had never before re
ceived a communication from the
President.
Following his prominent newspa
per appearance and the gathering
of the people of Maple Avenue, he
would look very foolish indeed if
he were turned down and returned
home after being sent to the Induc
tion Center.
He understood that, even though
accepted, he had the privilege of
returning home for a week to put
his affairs in order before leaving
again for good. But his fellow
draftees had all announced their in
tention of waiving the week's fur
lough, and now he followed suit.
He had heard the jokes to the ef
fect that if you could breathe or
were warm, the Army would ac
cept you, and though he didn't like
to believe them, he prepared for
going away and staying away.
As a precaution against a drastic
circumstance, Mr. Winkle made his
will, a ceremony that not even Pe
nelope regarded as a happy one.
He finished the few jobs he had
in the shop and would take no more.
He packed away his tools in grease
and oil, and tacked up heavy pa
in its place over the doors fa
placed a small sign "Closed."
per over the windows. He took In
his sign and placed it on the floor
with its face against the wall. In
its place, over the doors, he placed
a small sign saying, "Closed."
He reflected that people who didn't
know his establishment wouldn't
know what was closed because he
had taken in the other sign, but
finally decided that this didn't mat>
ter in the least.
He was ready to leave.
The evening before his departure
he investigated the bag Amy had
packed for him and brought down
stairs. In it she had put those few
articles listed in a pamphlet Mr.
Winkle had purchased at a news
stand for guidance.
"Travel light, Mr. Selectee," this
advised. "Don't load up with bag
gage because you won't have any
use for it. The Army is going to
clothe you, Mr. Selectee, complete
to underwear, socks and handker
chiefs."
Only on one point had Mrs. Win
kle deviated from the instructions.
Upon examining her packing, Mr.
Winkle found that she had included
his rubbers. He now took them out.
Firmly, showing a spark of her
old spirit, Mrs. Winkle put them
back again, rewrapping them in the
tissue paper he stripped away. "With
the rubber shortage," she said, "the
Army may not have a pair for ev
ery man."
"I don't think they have rubbers
in the Army," Mr. Winkle protested.
"They won't let me wear them."
(TO BE CONTINUED)
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