Dangerous Days

He rose and threw away his cigar. He must have the thing out with

Natalie. The boy's soul was more important than his body. He wanted him

safe. God, how he wanted him safe! But he wanted him to be a man.

Natalie's room was dark when he went in. He hesitated. Then he heard her

in bed, sobbing quietly. He was angry at himself for his impatience at

the sound. He stood beside the bed, and forced a gentleness he did not

feel.

"Can I get you anything?" he asked.

"No, thank you." And he moved toward the lamp. "Don't turn the light on.

I look dreadful."

"Shall I ring for Madeleine?"

"No. Graham is bringing me a sleeping-powder."

"If you are not sleepy, may I talk to you about some things?"

"I'm sick, Clay. My head is bursting."

"Sometimes it helps to talk out our worries, dear." He was still

determinedly gentle.

He heard her turning her pillow, and settling herself more comfortably.

"Not to you. You've made up your mind. What's the use?"

"Made up my mind to what?"

"To sending Graham to be killed."

"That's hardly worthy of you, Natalie," he said gravely. "He is my son,

too. I love him at least as much as you do. I don't think this is really

up to us, anyhow. It is up to him. If he wants to go?"

She sat up, suddenly, her voice thin and high.

"How does he know what he wants?" she demanded. "He's too young. He

doesn't know what war is; you say so yourself. You say he is too young

to have a position worth while at the plant, but of course he's old

enough to go to war and have a leg shot off, or to be blinded, or

something." Her voice broke.

He sat down on the bed and felt around until he found her hand. But she

jerked it from him.

"You promised me once to let him make his own decision if the time

came."

"When did I promise that?"

"In the fall, when I came home from England."

"I never made such a promise."

"Will you make it now?"

"No!"

He rose, more nearly despairing than he had ever been. He could not

argue with a hysterical woman. He hated cowardice, but far deeper

than that was his conviction that she had already exacted some sort of

promise. And the boy was not like her in that respect. He regarded a

promise as almost in the nature of an oath. He himself had taught him

that in the creed of a gentleman a promise was a thing of his honor, to

be kept at any cost.