Dangerous Days

"Be still and listen," he said. "Or else go away and allow others to

listen. This is our country which calls."

"It's amusing, isn't it?" Audrey heard a woman's voice near her,

carefully inflected, slightly affected.

"It's rather stunning, in a way. It's decorative; the white faces, and

that chap in the wagon, and the gasoline torch."

"I'd enjoy it more if I'd had my dinner."

The man laughed.

"You are a most brazen combination of the mundane and the spiritual,

Natalie. You are all soul--after you are fed. Come on. It's near here."

Audrey's hands were very cold. By the movement of the crowd behind her,

she knew that Natalie and Rodney were making their escape, toward food

and a quiet talk in some obscure restaurant in the neighborhood. Fierce

anger shook her. For this she and Clayton were giving up the only hope

they had of happiness--that Natalie might carry on a cheap and stealthy

flirtation.

She made a magnificent appeal that night, and a very successful one.

The lethargic crowd waked up and pressed forward. There were occasional

cheers, and now and then the greater tribute of convinced silence. And

on a box in the wagon the young clergyman eyed her almost wistfully.

What a woman she was! With such a woman a man could live up to the best

in him. Then he remembered his salary in a mission church of twelve

hundred a year, and sighed.

He gained courage, later on, and asked Audrey if she would have some

coffee with him, or something to eat. She looked tired.

"Tired!" said Audrey. "I am only tired these days when I am not

working."

"You must not use yourself up. You are too valuable to the country."

She was very grateful. After all, what else really mattered? In a little

glow she accepted his invitation.

"Only coffee," she said. "I have had dinner. Is there any place near?"

He piloted her through the crowd, now rapidly dispersing. Here and there

some man, often in halting English, thanked her for what she had said. A

woman, slightly the worse for drink, but with friendly, rather humorous

eyes, put a hand on her arm.

"You're all right, m'dear," she said. "You're the stuff. Give it to

them. I wish to God I could talk. I'd tell 'em something."

The clergyman drew her on hastily.

In a small Italian restaurant, almost deserted, they found a table, and

the clergyman ordered eggs and coffee. He was a trifle uneasy. In the

wagon Audrey's plain dark clothes had deceived him. But the single pearl

on her finger was very valuable. He fell to apologizing for the place.