Long after Winona had protracted the fierce enjoyment of the night to a vanishing point she lay wakeful, revolving her now fixed determination to take the nursing course that Patricia Whipple would take, and go far overseas, where she could do a woman's work; or, as she phrased it again and again, be a girl of some use in a vexed world.
In the morning she learned for the first time that Wilbur was to go to war in company with a common prize fighter.

It chilled her for the moment, but she sought to make the best of it.
"I hope," she told Wilbur, "that war will make a better man of your friend." "What do you mean--a better man ?" he quickly wanted to know.

"Let me tell you, Spike's a pretty good man right now for his weight.

You ought to see him in action once! Don't let any one fool you about that boy! What do you expect at a hundred and thirty-three--a heavyweight ?" After he had gone, late that afternoon, after she had said a solemn farewell to him in the little room of the little house in the side yard, Winona became reckless.

She picked up and scanned with shrewd eyes the photograph of Spike that had been left: "To my friend Kid Cowan from his friend Eddie--Spike--Brennon, 133 lbs.