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Peter lay awake a good part of the night, thinking over this new job—that of getting himself a girl. He realized that for some time he had been falling in love with little Jennie; but he wanted to be sane and practical, he wanted to use his mind in choosing a girl. He was after information, first of all. And who had the most to give him? He thought of Miss Nebbins, who was secretary to Andrews, the lawyer; she would surely know more secrets than anyone else; but then, Miss Nebbins was an old maid, who wore spectacles and broad-toed shoes, and was evidently out of the question for love-making. Then he thought of Miss Standish, a tall, blond beauty who worked in an insurance office and belonged to the Socialist Party. She was a “swell dresser,” and Peter would have been glad to have something like that to show off to McGivney and the rest of Guffey’s men; but with the best efforts of his self-esteem, Peter could not imagine himself persuading Miss Standish to look at him. There was a Miss Yankovich, one of the real Reds, who trained with the I. W. W.; but she was a Jewess, with sharp, black eyes that clearly indicated a temper, and frightened Peter. Also, he had a suspicion that she was interested in McCormick—tho of course with these “free lovers” you could never tell.

But one girl Peter was quite sure about, and that was little Jennie; he didn’t know if Jennie knew many secrets, but surely she could find some out for him. Once he got her for his own, he could use her to question others. And so Peter began to picture what love with Jennie would be like. She wasn’t exactly what you would call “swell,” but there was something about her that made him sure he needn’t be ashamed of her. With some new clothes she would be pretty, and she had grand manners—she had not shown the least fear of the rich ladies who came to the house in their automobiles; also she knew an awful lot for a girl—even if most of what she knew wasn’t so!

Peter lost no time in setting to work at his new job. In the papers next morning appeared the usual details from Flanders; thousands of men being shot to pieces almost every hour of the day and night, a million men on each side locked in a ferocious combat that had lasted for weeks, that might last for months. And sentimental little Jennie sat there with brimming eyes, talking about it while Peter ate his oatmeal and thin milk. And Peter talked about it too; how wicked it was, and how they must stop it, he and Jennie together. He agreed with her now; he was a Socialist, he called her “Comrade,” and told her she had converted him. Her eyes lighted up with joy, as if she had really done something to end the war.

They were sitting on the sofa, looking at the paper, and they were alone in the house. Peter suddenly looked up from the reading and said, very much embarrassed, “But Comrade Jennie—”

“Yes,” she said, and looked at him with her frank grey eyes. Peter was shy, truly a little frightened, this kind of detective business being new to him.

“Comrade Jennie,” he said, “I—I—don’t know just how to say it, but I’m afraid I’m falling a little in love.”

Jennie drew back her hands, and Peter heard her breath come quickly. “Oh, Mr. Gudge!” she exclaimed.

“I—I don’t know—” stammered Peter. “I hope you won’t mind.”

“Oh, don’t let’s do that!” she cried.

“Why not, Comrade Jennie?” And he added, “I don’t know as I can help it.”

“Oh, we were having such a happy time, Mr. Gudge! I thought we were going to work for the cause!”

“Well, but it won’t interfere—”

“Oh, but it does, it does; it makes people unhappy!”

“Then—” and Peter’s voice trembled—“then you don’t care the least bit for me, Comrade Jennie?”

She hesitated a moment. “I don’t know,” she said. “I hadn’t thought—”

And Peter’s heart gave a leap inside him. It was the first time that any girl had ever had to hesitate in answering that question for Peter. Something prompted him—just as if he had been doing this kind of “sleuthing” all his life. He reached over, and very gently took her hand. “You do care just a little for me?” he whispered.

“Oh, Comrade Gudge,” she answered, and Peter said, “Call me ‘Peter.’ Please, please do.”

“Comrade Peter,” she said, and there was a little catch in her throat, and Peter, looking at her, saw that her eyes were cast down.

“I know I’m not very much to love,” he pleaded. “I’m poor and obscure—I’m not good looking—”

“Oh, it isn’t that!” she cried, “Oh, no, no! Why should I think about such things? You are a comrade!”

Peter had known, of course, just how she would take this line of talk. “Nobody has ever loved me,” he said, sadly. “Nobody cares anything about you, when you are poor, and have nothing to offer—”

“I tell you, that isn’t it!” she insisted. “Please don’t think that! You are a hero. You have sacrificed for the cause, and you are going on and become a leader.”

“I hope so,” said Peter, modestly. “But then, what is it, Comrade Jennie? Why don’t you care for me?”

She looked up at him, and their eyes met, and with a little sob in her voice she answered, “I’m not well, Comrade Peter. I’m of no use; it would be wicked for me to marry.”

Somewhere back in the depths of Peter, where his inner self was crouching, it was as if a sudden douche of ice-cold water were let down on him. “Marry!” Who had said anything about marrying? Peter’s reaction fitted the stock-phrase of the comic papers: “This is so sudden!”

But Peter was too clever to reveal such dismay. He humored little Jennie, saying, “We don’t have to marry right away. I could wait, if only I knew that you cared for me; and some day, when you get well—”

She shook her head sadly. “I’m afraid I’ll never get really well. And besides, neither of us have any money, Comrade Peter.”

Ah, there it was! Money, always money! This “free love” was nothing but a dream.

“I could get a job,” said Peter—just like any other tame and conventional wooer.

“But you couldn’t earn enough for two of us,” protested the girl; and suddenly she sprang up. “Oh, Comrade Peter, let’s not fall in love with each other! Let’s not make ourselves unhappy, let’s work for the cause! Promise me that you will!”

Peter promised; but of course he had no remotest intention of keeping the promise. He was not only a detective, he was a man—and in both capacities he wanted Comrade Jennie. He had all the rest of the day, and over the addressing of envelopes which he undertook with her, he would now and then steal love-glances; and Jennie knew now what these looks meant, and the faint flush would creep over her cheeks and down into her neck and throat. She was really very pretty when she was falling in love, and Peter found his new job the most delightful one of his lifetime. He watched carefully, and noted the signs, and was sure he was making no mistake; before Sadie came back at supper-time he had his arms about Comrade Jennie, and was pressing kisses upon the lovely white throat; and Comrade Jennie was sobbing softly, and her pleading with him to stop had grown faint and unconvincing.