THE TORRENTS OF SPRING 33
to him? Was he really the first man to enlist from Cadillac? Where was Cadillac, anyway? Time would tell.
Scripps O'Neil opened the door and went into the beanery. The elderly waitress got up from the chair where she was had been reading the overseas edition of The Manchester Guardian, and put the paper and her steel-rimmed spectacles on top of the cash register.
"Good evening," she said simply. "It's good to have you back."
Something stirred inside Scripps O'Neil. A feeling that he could not define came within him.
"I've been working all day long"—he looked at the elderly waitress—"for you," he added.
"How lovely!" she said. And then she smiled shyly. "And I have been working all day long—for you."
Tears came into Scripps's eyes. Something stirred inside him again. He reached forward to take the elderly waitress's hand, and with quiet dignity she laid it within his own. "You are my woman," he said. Tears came into her eyes, too.
"You are my man," she said.
"Once again I say: you are my woman." Scripps pronounced the words solemnly. Something had broken inside him again. He felt he could not keep from crying.
"Let this be our wedding ceremony," the elderly waitress said. Scripps pressed her hand. "You are my woman," he said simply.
"You are my man and more than my man." She looked into his eyes. "You are all of America to me."
"Let us go," Scripps said.
"Have you your bird?" asked waitress, laying aside her apron and folding the copy of The Manchester Guardian
