The Amazing Interlude | Page 4

Sara Lee reflected. "By that time--"
The house was very quiet and still those days. There was an interlude
of emptiness and order, of long days during which Aunt Harriet
alternately grieved and planned, and Sara Lee thought of many things.
At the Red Cross meetings all sorts of stories were circulated; the
Belgian atrocity tales had just reached the country, and were spreading
like wildfire. There were arguments and disagreements. A girl named
Schmidt was militant against them and soon found herself a small
island of defiance entirely surrounded by disapproval. Mabel Andrews
came once to a meeting and in businesslike fashion explained the Red
Cross dressings and gave a lesson in bandaging. Forerunner of the
many first-aid classes to come was that hour of Mabel's, and made

memorable by one thing she said.
"You might as well all get busy and learn to do such things," she stated
in her brisk voice. "One of our internes is over there, and he says we'll
be in it before spring."
After the meeting Sara Lee went up to Mabel and put a hand on her
arm.
"Are you going?" she asked.
"Leaving day after to-morrow. Why?"
"I--couldn't I be useful over there?"
Mabel smiled rather grimly. "What can you do?"
"I can cook."
"Only men cooks, my dear. What else?"
"I could clean up, couldn't I? There must be something. I'd do anything
I could. Don't they have people to wash dishes and--all that?"
Mabel was on doubtful ground there. She knew of a woman who had
been permitted to take over her own automobile, paying all her
expenses and buying her own tires and gasoline.
"She carries supplies to small hospitals in out-of-the-way places," she
said. "But I don't suppose you can do that, Sara Lee, can you?"
However, she gave Sara Lee a New York address, and Sara Lee wrote
and offered herself. She said nothing to Aunt Harriet, who had by that
time elected to take Edgar's room at Cousin Jennie's and was putting
Uncle James' clothes in tearful order to send to Belgium. After a time
she received a reply.
"We have put your name on our list of volunteers," said the letter, "but
of course you understand that only trained workers are needed now.

France and England are full of untrained women who are eager to
help."
It was that night that Sara Lee became engaged to Harvey.
Sara Lee's attitude toward Harvey was one that she never tried to
analyze. When he was not with her she thought of him tenderly,
romantically. This was perhaps due to the photograph of him on her
mantel. There was a dash about the picture rather lacking in the original,
for it was a profile, and in it the young man's longish hair, worn
pompadour, the slight thrust forward of the head, the arch of the
nostrils,--gave him a sort of tense eagerness, a look of running against
the wind. From the photograph Harvey might have been a gladiator; as
a matter of fact he was a bond salesman.
So during the daytime Sara Lee looked--at intervals--at the photograph,
and got that feel of drive and force. And in the evenings Harvey came,
and she lost it. For, outside of a frame, he became a rather sturdy figure,
of no romance, but of a comforting solidity. A kindly young man, with
a rather wide face and hands disfigured as to fingers by much early
baseball. He had heavy shoulders, the sort a girl might rely on to carry
many burdens. A younger and tidier Uncle James, indeed--the same
cheery manner, the same robust integrity, and the same small ambition.
To earn enough to keep those dependent on him, and to do it fairly; to
tell the truth and wear clean linen and not run into debt; and to marry
Sara Lee and love and cherish her all his life--this was Harvey. A plain
and likable man, a lover and husband to be sure of. But--
He came that night to see Sara Lee. There was nothing unusual about
that. He came every night. But he came that night full of determination.
That was not unusual, either, but it had not carried him far. He had no
idea that his picture was romantic. He would have demanded it back
had he so much as suspected it. He wore his hair in a pompadour
because of the prosaic fact that he had a cow-lick. He was very humble
about himself, and Sara Lee was to him as wonderful as his picture was
to her.

Sara Lee was in the parlor, waiting for him. The one electric lamp was
lighted, so that the phonograph in one corner became only a bit of
reflected light. There was a gas fire going, and in front of