Dangerous Days

The roar of the plant came in through the open window. A freight car was

being loaded with finished shells. As fast as it was filled, another

car was shunted along the spur to take its place. Over in Germany, in

hundreds of similar plants, similar shells were being hurried to the

battle line, to be hurled against the new army that was soon to cross

the seas.

All those men, and back of every man, a woman.

Jackson had stopped. Joey was regarding him with stealthy admiration,

and holding his breast bone very high. Already in his mind Joey was a

soldier.

"You did not say in your note why you wanted to see me, Mr. Spencer."

He roused himself with a visible effort.

"I sent for you, yes," he said. "I sent--I'll tell you why I sent for

you, Jackson. I've been meaning to do it for several weeks. Now that

this has come I'm more than glad I did so. You can't keep your family on

what you are getting. That's certain."

"My wife is going to help me, sir. The boy will soon be weaned. Then she

intends to get a position. She was a milliner when we were married."

"But--Great Scott! She ought not to leave a child as young as that."

Jackson smiled.

"She's going to fix that, all right. She wants to do it. And we're all

right so far I had saved a little."

Then there were women like that! Women who would not only let their men

go to war, but who would leave their homes and enter the struggle for

bread, to help them do it.

"She says it's the right thing," volunteered Jackson, proudly. Women who

felt that a man going into the service was a right thing. Women who saw

war as a duty to be done, not a wild adventure for the adventurous.

"You ought to be very proud of her," he said slowly. "There are not many

like that."

"Well," Jackson said, apologetically, "they'll come round, sir. Some of

them kind of hate the idea, just at first. But I look to see a good many

doing what my wife's doing."

Clayton wondered grimly what Jackson would think if he knew that at that

moment he was passionately envious of him, of his uniform, of the youth

that permitted him to wear that uniform, of his bronzed skin, of his

wife, of his pride in that wife.

"You're a lucky chap, Jackson," he said. "I sent for you because I

wanted to say that, as long as you are in the national service, I shall

feel that you are on a vacation"--he smiled at the word--"on pay. Under

those circumstances, I owe you quite a little money."