Dangerous Days

"If it's war, it's my war, father."

And Clayton replied, quietly: "It is your war, old man."

Dunbar turned his back and inspected Natalie's portrait. When he faced

about again Graham was lighting a cigaret, and Natalie herself was

entering the room. In her rose-colored satin she looked exotic,

beautiful, and Dunbar gave her a fleeting glance of admiration as he

bowed. She looked too young to have a boy going to war. Behind her he

suddenly saw other women, thousands of other women, living luxurious

lives, sheltered and pampered, and suddenly called on to face sacrifice

without any training for it.

"Didn't know you were going out," he said. "Sorry. I'll run along now."

"We are dining at home," said Natalie, coldly. She remained standing

near the door, as a hint to the shabby gentleman with the alert eyes who

stood by the table. But Dunbar had forgotten her already.

"I came here right away," he explained, "because you may be having

trouble now. In fact, I'm pretty sure you will. If we declare war

to-morrow, as we may?"

"War!" said Natalie, and took a step forward.

Dunbar remembered her.

"We will probably declare war in a day or two. The Germans..."

But Natalie was looking at Clayton with a hostility in her eyes she took

no trouble to conceal.

"I hope you'll be happy, now. You've been talking war, wanting war--and

now you've got it."

She turned and went out of the room. The three men in the library below

heard her go up the stairs and the slam of her door behind her. Later

on she sent word that she did not care for any dinner, and Clayton asked

Dunbar to remain. Practical questions as to the mill were discussed,

Graham entering into them with a new interest. He was flushed and

excited. But Clayton was rather white and very quiet.

Once Graham took advantage of Dunbar's preoccupation with his asparagus

to say: "You don't object to the aviation service, father?"

"Wherever you think you can be useful."

After coffee Graham rose.

"I'll go and speak to mother," he said. And Clayton felt in him a new

manliness. It was as though his glance said, "She is a woman, you know.

War is men's work, work for you and me. But it's hard on them."

Afterward Clayton was to remember with surprise how his friends gathered

that night at the house. Nolan came in early, his twisted grin rather

accentuated, his tall frame more than usually stooped. He stood in the

doorway of the library, one hand in his pocket, a familiar attitude

which made him look oddly boyish.