“Fellows,” I finally said, “it’s not right to disrespect the CO. Or Bill Compton. I’ve got to ask you to quit.”

“Actually,” Sam said, “I don’t think it is your job to stop Apple and Nate from saying how they feel. This isn’t the army. This isn’t wartime. Speech is free.”

I was hurt by Sam jumping in like that. He knew more about such things than I did, and as canteen manager he had leader status himself. And here he was saying, in front of our buddies, I’d got things wrong.

“I don’t have time for this,” I said, grabbing up my gloves.

Nate said, “Wait. I’ll drive with you.”

“No need.”

“Maybe not, but it’s starting to snow serious out there. If drifts build up on the road, you might need a hand.”

We were halfway to the garage when Sam caught up to us. He was still buttoning his coat. “Moss,” he said, “don’t mind what I said just now. Sometimes I don’t know when to keep my mouth shut.” He grimaced. “And when I do, it’s the wrong time.”

“You got a problem?” I asked, a mite rude I guess, but his second-guessing me rankled.

“I’m just kicking myself I didn’t tell Hakes I wanted to keep my canteen job. I should have—”

“Back up,” I said. “He took that away from you?”

“You didn’t know?”

“No. Anyway, why? You’ve been running the canteen great. The guys are happy with it, and I’ve seen your weekly reports. They look good.”

“That’s why Hakes is making me take a clerking job in his office,” Sam said. “I’m to help Sergeant Ruffino with his paperwork. I guess district isn’t too happy with some of it.”

“The sergeant does write a hand hard to read,” I said, thinking how his rosters could be a chore to make out.

“Will you lose your canteen pay?” Nate asked.

“No,” Sam answered. “That stays the same. It’s just that as a clerk, I’ll spend my days in the office. It’s not what I signed onto the CCC for.”

“Then you should have told him so!” Nate said.

Sam raised his eyebrows. “Isn’t that what I started out saying? I don’t know when to keep my mouth shut or when to open it!”

Chapter 24

I puzzled about Sam for a while, as Nate and I started into town. Sam was a hard one to figure. He had all this education the rest of us didn’t have—a way of talking and knowing things that said his growing up had been pretty different from ours.

Like he’d come from a family with money and schooling.

But he’d never said so—at least not beyond mentioning his father worked in New York, when another Boston kid asked what Mr. Whitney did.