she is,” gasped Elfreda, pointing downstream, where the welfare supervisor was seen floundering, fighting desperately to get to shore, not realizing that the water at that point was shallow enough to permit her to stand up and keep her chin above water.
Grace swam to her quickly and grasped the supervisor by the hair of her head just as Mrs. “Chadsey,” giving up, had gone under. Even though the water there was only about five feet deep, Grace had never come nearer to drowning, for not only did Mrs. “Chadsey” grip her with both arms, but fought desperately, when Grace got her head above water.
“Stop it!” gasped Grace, struggling to free herself from the grip of those really strong arms. “You’ll drown us both.”
“Let me go!” screamed the supervisor, fastening a hand in the Overton girl’s hair.
One of Grace’s hands being thus freed she took a firm grip in the hair of her opponent, pushed her head under the water and both sank out of sight.
CHAPTER II
“GRACE HARLOWE, TROUBLE-MAKER”
WHEN Mrs. Smythe and Grace came to the surface, the fight had been all taken out of the supervisor. She was limp, choking and gasping, but not in a serious condition, as the Overton girl observed, though the water was chill and serious consequences might follow the wetting, there being no way to secure dry clothing until they arrived at the end of the day’s march, a few miles further on.
“You will be all right now,” comforted Grace. “Don’t fight. Give me half a chance to get you ashore. I’m sorry, Mrs. Smythe. The water is not over our heads, so please try to walk in.”
The woman screamed and choked some more, so Grace grasped her by the collar of her blouse and began swimming toward shore with her. They had not gone more than half of the way, when doughboys who had witnessed the accident plunged into the river and went to the rescue. Grace turned over her burden to them quite willingly, but waved the soldiers aside when they offered to assist her. The men had their hands full in getting the supervisor ashore, where they laid her down on the bank and shook her until she was able to sit up.
“Please wring the water out of me, Grace,” begged the disheveled J. Elfreda Briggs, who was shivering.
“That will not help any. Keep moving, is my advice. Were you hurt, Elfreda?”
“My feelings were very much hurt. Grace Harlowe, you are the original trouble-maker. I blame myself wholly in this matter, not you at all, for I should have known better than to remain in that car for an instant after I saw that look in your eyes. It was a perfectly safe intimation that something terrible was about to occur.”
“There’s the lieutenant talking with Mrs. Smythe. I must see what she has to say.”
“Probably recommending you for the Congressional Medal,” observed Miss Briggs sourly.
Mrs. Smythe was sitting on the bank wringing the water out of her blouse when Grace came up, the lieutenant standing by and apparently not knowing what he should do in the circumstances. The supervisor’s hair was down over her shoulders and she was half crying, half raging. Grace was filled with regret.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Smythe,” she said, bending over the supervisor. “May I assist you to your feet? You must not sit here, you know. The ground is cold and you are very wet.”
Mrs. Chadsey Smythe blinked at the Overton girl and struggled for words. The words finally came, a torrent of them.
“She did it!” screamed the woman. “She did it on purpose! She set out to mur – ”
“Mrs. Smythe, you know better than that,” rebuked Grace.
“Arrest that woman!” commanded Mrs. Smythe.
“Well, I – I don’t know about that. Do you wish to make a charge against her, Madame?”
“Of course. She threw me into the river.”
“But,” protested the officer, “she did no more to you than she did to herself and the others in the car. Of course you may make a complaint to the captain, or to your superior whoever he or she may be, but I do not think this woman can be arrested, because the wreck plainly was an accident.”
“It was not! I tell you she did it on purpose!”
The lieutenant shrugged his shoulders.
“I will inform my superior, Captain Rowland,” answered the lieutenant gravely. “You are – ”
“Mrs. Chadsey Smythe, in command of the welfare workers.”
The officer turned to Grace inquiringly.
“Mrs. Grace Gray, former ambulance driver on the western front, now a welfare worker on the march to the Rhine, sir,” answered Grace meekly, out of the corners of her eyes observing that the lieutenant was passing a hand over his face, to hide the grin that had appeared there.
“Anything to say, Mrs. Gray?”
“I think not, sir, except that we should be moving.”
“Yes, get me a car at once, if you will be so good,” urged Mrs. Smythe.
“If I may offer a suggestion, sir, I do not think it would be prudent for either Mrs. Smythe or the others to ride in. We would all be chilled through and on the verge of pneumonia. My advice, if I may offer it, would be that we walk.”
“Walk? Never!” exclaimed the supervisor. “I demand a car. It is my right to make such a demand.”
“I fear I cannot give you a car. The best I can possibly do is to put you on a truck, but I agree with Mrs. Gray that it would be much wiser for you to walk, all of you.”
“A truck!” moaned the woman. “I’ll walk, thank you. It is much more dignified than being jounced about on an army truck. No army truck for me, thank you.”
“Very good. I will see to it that the belongings of the party are sent in so that you may have change of clothing as soon as we reach the end of the day’s march.”
“Do I understand that you will do nothing to this woman?” demanded Mrs. Smythe.
“I will report the matter to Captain Rowland. May I assist you up the bank?” he offered politely.
Mrs. Smythe accepted with all the grace she could assume. Grace’s face wore a serious expression as she looked at the car hanging over the edge of the bridge.
“I could do no worse myself,” observed Miss Briggs to her companion.
“I doubt if I could equal that achievement,” agreed Grace. “That woman is going to make trouble for me, and I am inclined to think that I deserve all that she will try to give me. You know it was an accident, Elfreda?”
“An accident? It was that! Why, the train wreck on our way to Paris with the wounded doughboys was no more of an accident than this. What you mean to say is that you did not do it on purpose. Personally, Elfreda Briggs has her own views on that phase of the matter.”
“Elfreda!” rebuked Grace.
“However, it is some satisfaction to see our beloved
