eyeing first the car itself, then the two young women on the front seat, both of whom were gazing stolidly ahead.

“Are you the chauffeur?” she demanded, addressing Grace.

“I am Mrs. Grace Gray, Madame. I am driving this car through,” replied Grace courteously.

15 “A car, did you say? No, this is not a car, it is a truck, and a very dirty truck. I venture to say that it has not been washed in some time,” observed the welfare supervisor sarcastically.

15

“Quite probable, Mrs. Smythe. This is wartime, you know.”

“That is not an excuse. The war is ended. Hereafter you will see that the car is clean when you start out in the morning.”

“Yes, Madame.”

“Another thing, driver, I do not brook impertinence from my subordinates. No matter how slack this department may have been carried on in the past, henceforth military form must be observed.”

“Yes, Madame,” replied Grace meekly.

“If proper for a superior to do so, I would ask if it is customary for a private to remain seated when such superior approaches to speak to the private?”

“When driving, yes.”

“It is not! Hereafter, driver, when a superior officer comes up to you, you will step down, hold the car door open and stand at salute, if you know how to salute, until the officer is seated. Am I clear?”

“Perfectly so, Madame.” Grace repressed a hot retort, and Elfreda’s face burned with indignation.16 She found herself wondering how her companion could keep her self-control under the insulting tone of the welfare supervisor.

16

“It is quite apparent, driver, that you are new to the army and its ways.”

“Oh!” exclaimed J. Elfreda.

“What is that?” demanded Mrs. Smythe.

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