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reassigned?"
    "Yeah, I could, but I couldn't do it to Pap," Moss said quietly. "He hangs a lot on me, wanting me to cany on the family and the business. I could be madder'n hell, but I'm not. He loves me and he's afraid of losing me."
    "Texas, you said?" That explained the slight drawl.
    "Texas. Austin."
    "Then you're a cowboy!"
    Moss laughed, a nice easy sound, as though laughing were second nature to him. She liked the way his eyes crinkled at the comers and just the barest dimple showed in his firm, chiseled jaw. "Hardly. Texans don't ride horses to get anywhere. They fly. Seems like most of the people I know have their own planes. Or else they rent them. Just like folks here in Philly hire taxicabs."
    Billie couldn't imagine flying anywhere, much less owning her own plane. "All Texans own a plane?" she asked naively.
    "Well, not all, but the ones I know do. Say, you've never been up, have you? You've never flown?"
    BiUie shook her head, following his gaze once again to the birds perched on the carrier. "Never. And I don't suppose I ever will. What's it like?"
    Moss took her hand, taking her over to a stack of crates and sitting beside her. "Bilhe, honey, you're going to be sony you asked that question." For the next hour Lieutenant (j.g.) Moss Coleman described to Billie the exhilaration he felt when
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    his wheels left the ground. He told her about flying a wrecked old crop duster around the ranch and the way his father had tanned his hide when he'd found out about it. Moss had Billie laughing, exclaiming, shuddering. He sparked her imagination and made her wish that just once she could fly.
    "There's a little airport around here where they have planes for hire. I'd like to take you up, Billie, just so you'll know I'm not crazy and everything I've told you is true."
    "I'd like that," she answered quickly, cheeks flushed with the anticipated excitement, eyes bright and eager. "Oh, but I don't thiric my mother would like that— Mother! What time is it?"
    Moss glanced at his watch. "Five-thirty."
    "Omigosh! I've got to get going." For the first time in hours Billie remembered her friends. They must think she'd gotten lost or gone home by herself. They wouldn't still be hanging around the yard. "It was nice of you to show me around, Lieutenant. I know you must be busy and I've got to start for home. My mother will worry if I'm not home by six." She felt so silly, telling this man that she had to be home by six o'clock. It was so babyish. She felt humiliated by the restrictions, especially since he'd spent the afternoon talking to her as though she were his own age and not an empty-headed schoolgirl.
    "Do you see your friends anywhere? You don't suppose they left without you, do you?" he asked, concerned.
    "It doesn't matter. I know my way home. Thank you again." Billie began to walk away. Moss was stunned. Girls never walked away from him, not at five-thirty in the afternoon. He was about to speak when Bilhe tumed. "Lieutenant, since you're so far from Texas and your family, perhaps you'd like to come to dinner on Sunday." She almost gasped with astonishment at her invitation. What in the world had made her ask him to dinner? She could abeady hear Agnes's objections. Still, lots of families invited servicemen for a home-cooked meal. Meal. Food. Oh, God! Agnes was going to complain about the food ration coupons. Still, she'd made the offer and she had to follow up on it. "Four seventy-nine Ehn Street. Gray-and-white house."
    "Wait a second, Billie. Two miles is a long walk and you'll never make it home in time. Let me see if I can borrow a car and I'll drive you. By the way, thanks for the invitation. Tomorrow's Sunday, you know." He grinned as though he guessed her second thoughts.
    Billie flushed under the dazzling smile. "It really isn't nee-
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    essary. Fve still got the money for the movies and I can take a cab if I have to, really."
    "I won't hear of it. If I hadn't pulled your ear about flying, you wouldn't be