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Show 117 "Long enough." Biggs was innocently curious. "Look, Sarge. Ain't she a Jap" "Japanese, Son. Let's be polite." And as Biggs accepted the reproof Koontz continued in a kindly tone. "Doesn't make any difference. Americans are a grand mixture. My grandmother was Irish, my grandfather German. Think there was a Jew somewhere." But these seas were too wide for Biggs' small bark. "Didn't know we could marry Japs; thought we had to marry Americans." The great good-natured face pondered a moment. "Wonder what'll happen when they hear?" "Who do you mean?" "Oh. . . them." And Biggs nodded vaguely in the direction of Headquarters. Like all the humble, Biggs* world consisted of the great, whom he never saw, and the small among whom he lived, and the former moved about in unseen, power-fearful realms. "The Major? I've asked permission. Everything's legal." Biggs gazed at him, adoringly, wanting to believe but adamantly doubting. Anything so outre as marrying outside your own race was incredible: he couldn't imagine the Sergeant would get away with it. But Koontz was spared further questioning; at that moment the door opened, there came a prefatory bustle, and Captain Bain appeared. His trouser-crease was sharp, his brass as bright as |