“Your responsibilities would vary,” the major said. “But, basically, you’d be the junior leader for one of the barracks. You’d have military staff over you, of course, but you’d sit in on administrative meetings, help the staff see that things get done, take care of your guys and represent them, and represent the camp’s management, too.”

I swallowed hard. What Major Garrett was describing . . . maybe Sam could do all that. “Sir,” I said, “I don’t think . . .”

The major went on like I hadn’t interrupted. “I almost forgot to mention that a pay change comes with the promotions. Both jobs earn an extra fifteen dollars a month, so you’d each go from thirty to forty-five dollars. You can give me your answers in the morning.”

After a bit more talk, Sam and I left, but a few steps out, I stopped.

Going back inside, I said to the major, “Why me, sir? If you don’t mind me asking?”

“Why do you think?”

I hadn’t expected him to turn the question back on me. “I suppose,” I said, “because of the barracks work the other night? I didn’t mean to take over. The bossing just kind of slipped out.”

He chuckled. “I will say it’s been a long while since anybody less than a colonel has ordered me about.” He shot me a look. “And I don’t expect that you ever will again.”

“No, sir.”

“But whether ‘bossing’—as you put it—was your intention or not, the other boys did look to you for direction. That’s important.

“But I based my decision more on other qualities. How you take criticism, for instance. When Pops jumped on you for not reading blueprints, you took it on yourself to figure out how.

“And you take responsibility for your work. I know that you had to learn that.”

Romeo and those boards, I thought.

“And lastly, you figured out what to do with Romeo—Enrollee Sanders. He’s a fine asset to the camp, but if you hadn’t seen where he’d best fit in, he might have become the camp’s first failure.” The major laughed. “And we might never have gotten a breakfast that wasn’t pancakes or oatmeal.”

“Romeo’s the one who knows how to bake,” I said.

“Only he didn’t think to volunteer that information to anyone. You did.”

“I still don’t see—”

“Moss,” the major said, “the CCC isn’t the army, and arguing with the camp’s commanding officer doesn’t go against any regulations. But I most strongly suggest you stop arguing and put this on.”

He pulled a felt armband from his pocket and laid it on the table. It was green, with white letters that said LEADER.

My hand moved toward it and then pulled back.

“Can I still think on it overnight, sir?” I asked.