Read Online The Moon Is Down by John Steinbeck - Free Book Online

was going out on duty in a fatigue cap, right down the street.”
    Loft put his field glasses on the table and took off his helmet, then his gas-mask bag. A little pile of equipment began to heap up on the table.
    Hunter said, “Don’t leave that stuff there. I have to work here. Why shouldn’t he wear a cap? There hasn’t been any trouble. I get sick of these tin things. They’re heavy and you can’t see.”
    Loft said primly, “It’s bad practice to leave it off. It’s bad for the people here. We must maintain a military standard, an alertness, and never vary it. We’ll just invite trouble if we don’t.”
    â€œWhat makes you think so?” Hunter asked.
    Loft drew himself up a little. His mouth thinned with certainty. Sooner or later everyone wanted to punch Loft in the nose for his sureness about things. He said, “I don’t think it. I was paraphrasing Manual X-12 on deportment in occupied countries. It is very carefully worked out.” He began to say, “You—” and then changed it to, “Everybody should read X-12 very closely.”
    Hunter said, “I wonder whether the man who wrote it was ever in occupied country. These people are harmless enough. They seem to be good, obedient people.”
    Prackle came through the door, his face still half covered with shaving-soap. He carried a brown canvas tube, and behind him came Lieutenant Tonder. “Is this it?” Prackle asked.
    â€œYes. Unpack it, will you, and set it up.”
    Prackle and Tonder went to work on the folding tripod and tested it and put it near Hunter. The major screwed his board to it, tilted it right and left, and finally settled gruntingly behind it.
    Captain Loft said, “Do you know you have soap on your face, Lieutenant?”
    â€œYes, sir,” Prackle said. “I was shaving when the major asked me to get the tripod.”
    â€œWell, you had better get it off,” Loft said. “The colonel might see you.”
    â€œOh, he wouldn’t mind. He doesn’t care about things like that.”
    Tonder was looking over Hunter’s shoulder as he worked.
    Loft said, “Well, he may not, but it doesn’t look right.”
    Prackle took a handkerchief and rubbed the soap from his cheek. Tonder pointed to a little drawing on the corner of the major’s board. “That’s a nice-looking bridge, Major. But where in the world are we going to build a bridge?”
    Hunter looked down at the drawing and then over his shoulder at Tonder. “Huh? Oh, that isn’t any bridge we’re going to build. Up here is the work drawing.”
    â€œWhat are you doing with a bridge, then?”
    Hunter seemed a little embarrassed. “Well, you know, in my back yard at home I’ve got a model railroad line. I was going to bridge a little creek for it. Brought the line right down to the creek, but I never did get the bridge built. I thought I’d kind of work it out while I was away.”
    Lieutenant Prackle took from his pocket a folded rotogravure page and he unfolded it and held it up and looked at it. It was a picture of a girl, all legs and dress and eyelashes, a well-developed blonde in black openwork stockings and a low bodice, and this particular blonde peeped over a black lace fan. Lieutenant Prackle held her up and he said, “Isn’t she something?” Lieutenant Tonder looked critically at the picture and said, “I don’t like her.”
    â€œWhat don’t you like about her?”
    â€œI just don’t like her,” said Tonder. “What do you want her picture for?”
    Prackle said, “Because I do like her and I bet you do, too.”
    â€œI do not,” said Tonder.
    â€œYou mean to say you wouldn’t take a date with her if you could?” Prackle asked.
    Tonder said, “No.”
    â€œWell, you’re just crazy,” and Prackle went to one of the curtains. He said,