Free FIRE AND FOG by Unknown

as soon as I was able. I almost did not get it because it was
addressed to Caroline F. Jones c/o Presidio, San Francisco.
Considering the contents, I could have done without it:
    my dear Caroline stop glad you are safe stop imperative you quit
your foolishness and come home stop will wire money if needed stop
your loving father.
    Stop indeed-stop telling me what to do! Seething, I set the
telegram aside while I changed my clothes. Then I charged out of my
room in a huff, straight into the path of Private Albright.
    "Whoa, there!" he said, pulling himself up short to avoid
colliding with me.
    I frowned; he smiled, standing squarely in my way. I said, "I
beg your pardon, Private Albright, but I am in something of a
hurry."
    "I can see that, Miss Jones. I'll walk along with you, if you
don't mind, because I was coming to your room anyhow."
    "Oh?"
    "Yeah, to speak to you. I, er, that is . . . maybe first I
should ask: is anything wrong?"
    At least he was perceptive, I granted him that. "Not really. It
is only that I unexpectedly have to send a reply to a telegram, on
top of all the other things I have to do this morning. There will
be a line at the telegraph office-there are lines everywhere for
everything these days, which is really quite annoying. It will make
me late for the Red Cross and I was late yesterday, so Nurse
Bartlett will fuss at me, which I could easily live without." I
stalked across the grass, taking the shortest way to the garages;
it was foggy and the grass was all wet and so would be the hem of
my skirt, but I could not have cared less.
    "You have a temper," the private observed.
    I glanced at him and caught his infectious grin. In spite of
myself, the corners of my mouth twitched. "My friend Michael Archer
often says the same. However, my temper spends itself quickly. What
did you want to speak to me about, Private Albright?"
    "I, er . . ." To my surprise he blushed, but pressed on, "I'm
off duty tonight. And I heard the Palace Theatre's open. They have
a variety show, you know, singing and dancing and telling jokes and
all. Some of the fellows have been and said it was good, so I
thought, that is, I was hoping . . . maybe you would like to go
with me?"
    I halted. "A variety show?"
    He nodded. His skin had resumed its usual fairness. He was
really an exceptionally good-looking young man. Not that looks mean
anything, but they do influence one just a tad.
    "I think I would enjoy that, especially the jokes provided they
are not too risque."
    "Oh, the Palace doesn't do bawdy shows. At least, I don't think
they do. Not too bawdy. I wouldn't ask you to see something like
that. You're not that kind of woman, anyone can tell."
    "I am relieved to hear it," I said dryly. "I'd be delighted to
go with you, Private Albright. What time?"
    "Jim, please? Seven-thirty?"
    "Seven-thirty, Jim. Now, I really must be going."
    "I'll come to your room for you. See you then, Fremont."
    I waved and he saluted, and I reached the garages in
considerably better spirits than when I started out.
    Jim Albright had been rather a pest over the past couple of
days, but on this occasion his intervention into my fit of pique
may have been fortuitous, I reflected as I drove away from the
Presidio. My father's telegram was burning a hole in my pocket,
especially the word "foolishness"-it smacked of Augusta. On his
own, Father might apply certain unfavorable adjectives to my
various activities, but "foolishness" was not one of them. If
Albright-Jim-had not intervened, no doubt I would have sent Father
a hotheaded reply. Along the lines of:
    father stop no intention of returning to boston stop my work is
not foolishness stop keep your money stop you will need it for
augusta stop my name is fremont stop i no longer answer to
caroline.
    Yes! A telegram like that would certainly tell him what was
what.
    It would also hurt him, and I loved my father. I even understood
why he'd married Augusta. He was lonely after my mother died, and
Augusta was a