Then her heart skipped a beat when she saw the last was from Australia. It wasn’t Tommy’s writing, though the script was slightly familiar. When she ripped open the letter she saw it was from her mother’s friend, Miss Anna Darien, in Sydney. Miss Anna and her mother had been in college together. Instead of marrying, Miss Anna had specialized in philosophy and was now a lecturer of international repute. The war had caught her in Australia, and there she must stay for the duration.
When Nancy read the prized letter she called across to Mabel on the next cot, “Say, listen to this—Miss Anna Darien, a friend of ours in Australia, saw Tommy recently.”
“Not really! What does she say about him?” Mabel asked, dropping her own letters to listen to Nancy.
“Here—I’ll read it to you. She says, ‘You can imagine my surprise when Tommy, on a brief furlough, came to call on me. It was hard to believe that anyone could mature so fast in three years, since I saw him back in the states.’”
Nancy glanced at the date. “Oh my goodness—two months ago. Took a long time to come. They used to reach us in a month.”
“Quite a while before your brother took that fatal flight.”
“Yes. But it’s wonderful to hear from somebody who’s seen him that recently.”
“Go on. What else did she say?” urged Mabel.
“‘He asked me to write you’,” continued Nancy. “‘He knew you would be delighted to hear from someone who’s seen him over here. You’d really be proud of this brother of yours, Nancy. What a responsibility it is to be a pilot on a bomber! Already his chest is gay with decorations, but to me he’s the same dear boy he used to be when I visited your home. He told me to tell you not to worry about him, that if the Nips get on his trail he’ll play the same trick on them he used to play on you. He said you’d remember his childhood prank that always brought you to tears.’”
By this time all four nurses in the tent were listening and Ida Hall asked, “What was that, Nancy?”
Nancy was trembling between tears and laughter as she explained, “He used to play dead! And he trained our old dog, Bozo, to do it, too. I used to tag him around something awful, and just to get even he’d sometimes sprawl on the ground, looking dead as Hector. And Bozo would be near by, his old legs flopped over. Many times I thought Tommy wasn’t breathing. I’d shake him and begin to cry, then he’d jump up and grab me. Then I’d be mad sure enough!”