Dangerous Days | Page 8

Graham will probably want to go."
"He'll do nothing of the sort," she said sharply. "He's all I have. All. Do
you think I'm going to send him over there to be cannon-fodder? I
won't let him go."
She was trembling violently.
"I won't want him to go, of course. But if the thing comes - he's of age,
you know."
She eyed him with thinly veiled hostility.
"You're hard, Clay," she accused him. "You're hard all the way through.
You're proud, too. Proud and hard. You'd want to be able to say your
son was in the army. It's not because you care anything about the war,
except to make money out of it. What is the war to you, anyhow? You
don't like the English, and as for French - you don't even let me have a
French butler."
He was not the less angry because he realized the essential truth of part
of what she said. He felt no great impulse of sympathy with any of the
combatants. He knew the gravity of the situation rather than its tragedy.
He did not like war, any war. He saw no reason why men should kill.
But this war was a fact. He had had no hand in its making, but it was
made.
His first impulse was to leave her in dignified silence. But she was
crying, and I he disliked leaving her in tears. Dead as was his love for
her, and that night, somehow, he knew that it was dead, she was still his
wife. They had had some fairly happy years together, long ago. And he
felt the need, too, of justification.
"Perhaps you are right, Natalie," he said, after a moment. "I haven't
cared about this war as much as I should. Not the human side of it,
anyhow. But you ought to understand that by making shells for the
Allies, I am not only making money for myself; they need the shells.
And I'll give them the best. I don't intend only to profit by their

misfortunes."
She had hardly listened.
"Then, if we get into it, as you say, you'll encourage Graham to go?"
"I shall allow him to go, if he feels it his duty."
"Oh, duty, duty! I'm sick of the word." She bent forward and suddenly
caught one of his hands. "You won't make him go, Clay?" she begged.
You - you'll let him make his own decision?"
"If you will."
"What do you mean?"
"If you'll keep your hands off, too. We're not in it, yet. God knows I
hope we won't be. But if I promise not to influence him, you must do
the same thing."
"I haven't any more influence over Graham than that," she said, and
snapped her finger. But she did not look at him.
"Promise," he said, steadily.
"Oh, all right." Her voice and face were sulky. She looked much as
Graham had that evening at the table.
"Is that a promise?"
"Good heavens, do you want me to swear to it?"
"I want you to play fair. That's all."
She leaned back again among her pillows and gathered her papers.
"All right," she said, indifferently. "Have you any preference as to color
for your rooms in the new house?"

He was sorry for his anger, and after all, these things which seemed so
unimportant to him were the things that made up her life. He smiled.
"You might match my eyes. I'm not sure what color they are. Perhaps
you know."
But she had not forgiven him.
"I've never noticed," she replied. And, small bundle of samples in her
hand, resumed her reading and her inspection of textiles.
"Good night, Natalie."
"Good night." She did not look up.
Outside his wife's door he hesitated. Then he crossed and without
knocking entered Graham's bedroom. The boy was lounging in a long
chair by an open fire. He was in his dressing gown and slippers, and an
empty whiskey-and-soda glass stood beside him on a small stand.
Graham was sound asleep. Clayton touched him on the shoulder, but he
slept on, his head to one side, his breathing slow and heavy. It required
some little effort to waken him.
"Graham!" said Clayton sharply.
"Yes." He stirred, but did not open his eyes.
"Graham! Wake up, boy."
Graham sat up suddenly and looked at him. The whites of his eyes were
red, but he had slept off the dinner wine. He was quite himself.
"Better get to bed," his father suggested. "I'll want you early
to-morrow."
"What time, sir?"
He leaned forward and pressed a button beside the mantel-piece.

"What are you doing that for?"
"Ice water. Awfully thirsty."
"The servants have gone to bed. Go down and get it yourself."
Graham looked up at the tone. At