Radio mirror (July-Dec 1943)

THE ORIGINAL Florence Walsh PATENTED NO. 2,260.360 Dickey at these T)ickey Bars in all fine stores popular styles 66 To pretty up your sweater and dress necklines choose the Peter Pan collar . . . for jackets and uniforms the Convertible is most flattering. The Classic comes in white rayon sharkskin, and pink, blue and maize rayon. Lace Edge in white only. Whipstitch and Pipeline in white, with red, green or blue trim. Full length back and front. They launder quick and iron slick. /** Guaranteed by *A ^Cood Housekeeping^ iA/," outer ivt °* ,\\*y AMERICAN DICKEY CORP., 1410 Broadway, N.Y.C. Order at the Dickey Bar of your favorite »tore, or from AMERICAN DICKEY CORP., 1410 Broadway, New York City. Send Dickeys at $1.25 (Enclose poymenf) Collar Styles: Q Peter Pan □ Convertible □ Classic □ Pipeline □ Whipstitch D lace Edge Size (Smoll, Med., Large) Whipstitch or Pipeline Trim: Q Red D Green Q Blue Name Address McN Continued from page 64 up a little ahead of schedule. And I can't explain it away by saying how much I thought of Dave, either. The fact is, Mom, and it may sound crazy, but the reason I can't get this off my mind is that Dave was shooting an Oerlikon 25 m. when it happened. That hits pretty close to home, as you can imagine. I can't shake the idea that it might have been a defective job of fuze assembly that made that shell go off while it was still in the gun. It could have been, all right. And don't tell me there are plenty of other shops it might have come from beside Northeastern. I know that. But just the same I keep thinking I might have saved Dave if I'd stayed home on the job instead of going haywire and rushing off to shoulder a gun." I didn't read any more. That was his message to me, and it was an accusation. He might not have meant it that way, but that's how I had to accept it. It was my fault he had gone "haywire." I knew it now, I couldn't avoid facing it. And now I had his job. If any defective shells were coming out of my department, it was my responsibility. "I had the feeling he'd want you to know," Mom said softly. "Jim's proud, he'd never write to you himself. But I think he figured I'd tell you this. And you'll do what you can. I can tell him that, can't I?" T NODDED. My mind was suddenly •*• very busy. A memory that had been lost came up again in my mind. I was seeing a picture of Gus Steichen kneeling in the corner where the accepted lots were stored. I guess I'd been shying away from the idea of investigating behind Paul's back. But that was silly. The whole thing was perfectly all right. Any other idea would be unthinkable. The next night, half an hour after quitting time, I went back to our building, walked in quietly and went to the store-room door. I opened the safety lock without a sound and peered into the dimness inside. For a moment I thought no one was there. But then I saw a flashlight glow out suddenly in the left-hand back corner. It was Gus, as before, kneeling by a box. But this time he was not unpacking approved boxes. He was packing into a box labelled with a rejected lot number. I waited, forcing myself to keep quiet and simply watch. Half a dozen times I had to stop myself from shouting incredulous questions at Gus as he moved back and forth doing deliberate, senseless things. Or they seemed senseless to me. I thought he had gone crazy. I wanted to think so. Because after a while they made sense that I didn't want to recognize. But I remembered Dave, who had been Jim's friend. I had to stay. I had to understand why he was packing rejected rounds in boxes that bore the approved stamp and were addressed for shipment, and putting the good rounds in the rejected boxes. I would have to risk Paul's anger. Perhaps he did not know that this was going on. I hurried off to meet him, a hundred questions on my lips. I did not wait a minute to plunge into what I had to say. "Paul, come out and take a walk," I begged him. "I've got to talk to you." He took one look at me, gulped his drink, and followed me outside. "Paul, I've got to know what's behind this business of switching the lots in the store-room — " He jerked his head angrily. "Look, I told you your job ends with fuze assembly. What becomes of them afterward is strictly not your business." "Well, I'm making it mine," I said excitedly. "I can't help it if you fire me. Is it true that the rejected lots are being sent out under stamps of approval, and the good ones sent through to be re-inspected and approved?" Paul said with a brusque laugh, "Your face is going to be pretty red when I answer that one. And I bet it'll make you keep your nose out of other people's business from now on." I hardly heard him. I was waiting for my answer. He went on, his tone perfectly easy and light, "There's been a relaxation of Government specifications. Now are you satisfied?" He was right, I blushed. I felt as foolish as every woman feels when she has been suspicious of her man and found an innocent explanation of her doubts. And I should have felt a wonderful relief. I would have, if he'd just left it that way. "And about time, too," he said with sudden vehemence. "Those specifications are fantastic, and the inspectors just try to be finicky. The Government likes nothing better than to wind us up in so much red tape that we can never get anything done, and then penalize us for being behind schedule. If they'd just keep those Boy Scouts out of our operations we'd be able to produce twice as much." I said hesitantly, "But they're necessary, aren't they? I mean, they can't take chances on things like munitions, can they?" IXE whirled on me furiously. "Look. " Which would you rather have — a secretary that could type one letter a day perfectly, or one who could type fifty and get most of them right?" I wanted to scream out,, "But typing letters isn't making bullets! One misspelling in a letter doesn't kill a human being!" But I didn't dare. His strange disproportionate fury made it impossible for me to talk to him. I felt as if I were with a stranger, a man with dark, alien secrets that shut him off from me. I was afraid. I wasn't afraid of him. But I was afraid of the truth that lay behind his angry words. The next morning I went to work reluctantly. Always before, no matter how tired I had been the night before, I went to work eager to start another shift. But today I was going to do something that violated all the unwritten rules of our plant. I had been as chilling and non-committal as anyone else to the Government inspectors. It is a constant annoyance to feel that someone is watching everything you do. But today the first thing I did was to call one into the cubicle where I kept my records. I asked him calmly for a copy of his Continued on page 68 ST 50.00 in War Bonds Buys a Parachute