Sally Scott of the WAVES
twice, and it would have been a fleet-footed farm boy who could have rounded them up in the dark.

Saturday afternoon, armed with dozens of multicolored flags, they returned to these same hills to practice flag signals. White and blue with a notch in the end stood for A, blue, white, red, white and blue in stripes was C, and so on and on to white with a red spot for one, blue with a white spot for two, and so on.

With good memories and a zeal for learning seldom witnessed by those gray stone walls, they went through the school in record time and were once more on the move.

“Now we’re really going to work,” Sally cried, enthusiastically.

“Yes, and at one of the biggest air bases on our long seacoast,” Nancy agreed.

“Florida and the sea. Um—” Sally breathed, “that’s worth working for.”

“It sure is!”

“There’s something else I’m going to work harder than ever for—” Sally spoke with conviction.

“What’s that?”

“I’m going to try to cut ‘Florida and the sea’ down to just the good, old ‘sea.’ All my life I’ve waited for that.”

“Oh, I don’t know. There are the enemy sub-packs. They’re really dangerous. The water’s awfully cold.”

“That’s just it.” Sally’s eyes shone. “There are the sub-packs—you haven’t forgotten our secret radios?”

“Almost,” Nancy admitted.

“I tried them twice back at the U, when you were gone,” Sally confided. “Nothing doing. Guess we were too far from the sea.”

“Florida will be better.”

“Much better, but the sea will be better still.”

“I suppose so,” Nancy replied dreamily. “But don’t forget, your enemy sub-pack may turn out to be friendly ships or planes.”

“I won’t forget. All the same, I want to know.”


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