Dangerous Days

"He'll go," Nolan said reflectively. "They'll all go, the best of them

first. After all, we've been making a lot of noise about wanting to get

into the thing. Now we're in, and that's the first price we pay--the

boys."

A door slammed up-stairs, and Clayton heard Graham coming down. He

passed the library door, however, and Clayton suddenly realized that he

was going out.

"Graham!" he called.

Graham stopped, and came back slowly.

"Yes, father," he said, from the doorway.

"Aren't you coming in?"

"I thought I'd go out for a hit of a spin, if you don't mind. Evening,

Mr. Nolan."

The boy was shaken. Clayton knew it from his tone. All the fine vigor of

the early evening was gone. And an overwhelming rage filled him, against

Natalie, against himself, even against the boy. Trouble, which should

have united his house, had divided it. The first threat of trouble,

indeed.

"You can go out later," he said rather sharply. "We ought to talk things

over, Graham. This is a mighty serious time."

"What's the use of talking things over, father? We don't know anything

but that we may declare war."

"That's enough, isn't it?"

But he was startled when he saw Graham's face. He was very pale and

his eyes already looked furtive. They were terribly like Natalie's eyes

sometimes. The frankness was gone out of them. He came into the room,

and stood there, rigid.

"I promised mother to get her some sleeping-powders."

"Sleeping-powders!"

"She's nervous."

"Bad things, sleeping-powders," said Nolan. "Get her to take some

setting-up exercises by an open window and she'll sleep like a top."

"Do you mind, if I go, father?"

Clayton saw that it was of no use to urge the boy. Graham wanted to

avoid him, wanted to avoid an interview. The early glow of the evening

faded. Once again the sense of having lost his son almost overwhelmed

him.

"Very well," he said stiffly. And Graham went out.

However, he did not leave the house. At the door he met Doctor

Haverford. And Delight, and Clayton heard the clergyman's big bass

booming through the hall.

"--like a lamb to the slaughter!" he was saying. "And I a man of peace!"

When he came into the library he was still holding forth with an

affectation of rage.

"I ask you, Clayton," he said, "what refuge is there for a man of peace?

My own child, leading me out into the night, and inquiring on the way

over if I did not feel that the commandment not to kill was a serious

error."