On the other side of the coin is the story of a fluttery lady visitor who glanced at a flag over the air terminal. ‘My goodness!”’ she said. “Isn’t that wonderful—to see flying up there the same tattered flag that the marines refused to surrender to the Japanese?”’

The Wake Islander beside her just smiled. He didn’t trouble to explain that the marines did surrender, flags and all, or that the terminal colors are tattered because the wind blows a lot. This was near the end of the month, almost time for the new flag which goes up every thirty days.