My hands are empty. I've lost your father on
the success I slaved for. I'm losing my boy on the fine ideas and college
education I've slaved for. I--Don't leave me, Edwin. I'm afraid--Don't--"
"Mother--I--Don't be cut up about it. I--"
"Why should I give to this war? I ain't a fine woman with the fine ideas
you learn at college. I ask so little of life--just some one who needs me,
some one to do for. I 'ain't got any fine ideas about a son at war. Why
should I give to what they're fighting for on the other side of the ocean?
Don't ask me to give up my boy to what they're fighting for in a country
I've never seen--my little boy I raised--my all I've got--my life! No! No!"
"It's the women like you, mother--with guts--with grit--that send their
sons to war."
"I 'ain't got grit!"
"You're going to have your hands so full, little mother, taking care of the
Army and Navy, keeping their feet dry and their chests warm, that before
you know it you'll be down at the pier some fine day watching us fellows
come home from victory."
"No--no--no!"
"You're going to coddle the whole fighting front, making 'em sweaters and
aviation sets out of a whole ton of wool I'm going to lay in the house for
you.
Pages:
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95