With his many new problems following the declaration of war, Clayton
Spencer found a certain peace. It was good to work hard. It was good to
fill every working hour, and to drop into sleep at night too weary for
consecutive thought.
Yet had he been frank with himself he would have acknowledged that
Audrey was never really out of his mind. Back of his every decision lay
his desire for her approval. He did not make them with her consciously
in his mind, but he wanted her to know and understand, In his
determination, for instance, to offer his shells to the government at a
nominal profit, there was no desire to win her approbation.
It was rather that he felt her behind him in the decision. He shrank
from telling Natalie. Indeed, until he had returned from Washington
he did not broach the subject. And then he was tired and rather
discouraged, and as a result almost brutally abrupt.
Coming on top of a hard fight with the new directorate, a fight which he
had finally won, Washington was disheartening. Planning enormously for
the future it seemed to have no vision for the things of the present. He
was met vaguely, put off, questioned. He waited hours, as patiently as
he could, to find that no man seemed to have power to act, or to know
what powers he had.
He found something else, too--a suspicion of him, of his motives. Who
offered something for nothing must be actuated by some deep and hidden
motive. He found his plain proposition probed and searched for some
ulterior purpose behind it.
"It's the old distrust, Mr. Spencer," said Hutchinson, who had gone with
him to furnish figures and various data. "The Democrats are opposed to
capital. They're afraid of it. And the army thinks all civilians are on
the make--which is pretty nearly true."
He saw the Secretary of War, finally, and came away feeling better.
He had found there an understanding that a man may--even should--make
sacrifices for his country during war. But, although he carried away
with him the conviction that his offer would ultimately be accepted,
there was nothing actually accomplished. He sent Hutchinson back, and
waited for a day or two, convinced that his very sincerity must bring a
concrete result, and soon.
Then, lunching alone one day in the Shoreham, he saw Audrey Valentine at
another table. He had not seen her for weeks, and he had an odd moment
of breathlessness when his eyes fell on her. She was pale and thin,
and her eyes looked very tired. His first impulse was to go to her. The
second, on which he acted, was to watch her for a little, to fill his
eyes for the long months of emptiness ahead.