es she shrank back a little. His
face was white. He was breathing quickly.

"You're right! I am. I am jealous. I'm jealous of every buck private in
the army! I'm jealous of the mule drivers! Of the veterinarians. Of the
stokers in the transports. Men!" He doubled his hand into a fist. His
fine eyes glowed. "Men!"

And suddenly he sat down, heavily, and covered his eyes with his hands.

Emma sat staring at him for a dull, sickening moment. Then she looked
down at herself, horror in her eyes. Then up again at him. She got up
and came over to him.

"Why, dear--dearest--I didn't know. I thought you were satisfied. I
thought you were happy. You--"

"Honey, the only man who's happy is the man in khaki. The rest of us are
gritting our teeth and pretending."

She put a hand on his shoulder. "But what do you want--what can you do
that--"

He reached back over his shoulder and found her hand. He straightened.
His head came up. "They've offered me a job in Bordeaux. It isn't a
fancy job. It has to do with merchandising. But I think you know they're
having a devil of a time with all the millions of bales of goods. They
need men who know materials. I ought to. I've handled cloth and clothes
enough. I know values. It would mean hard work--manual work lots of
times. No pay. And happiness. For me." There was a silence. It seemed to
fill the room, that silence. It filled the house. It roared and
thundered about Emma's ears, that silence. When finally she broke it:

"Blind!" she said. "Blind! Deaf! Dumb! _And_ crazy." She laughed, and
two tears sped down her cheeks and dropped on the unblemished blue serge
uniform. "Oh, T.A.! Where have I been? How you must have despised me.
Me, in my uniform. In my uniform that was costing the Government three
strapping men. My uniform, that was keeping three man-size soldiers out
of khaki. You, Jock, and Fisk. Why didn't you tell me, dear! Why didn't
you tell me!"

"I've tried. I couldn't. You've always seen things first. I couldn't ask
you to go back to the factory."

"Factory! Factory nothing! I'm going back on the road. I'm taking Fisk's
Western territory. I know the Middle West better than Fisk himself. I
ought to. I covered it for ten years. I'll pay Gertie Fisk's salary
until she's able to come back to us as stenographer. We've never had one
so good. Grace can give the office a few hours a week. And we can
promote O'Brien to manager while I'm on the road."

Buck was staring at her,