Long and muscular, finely shaped, it seemed to
speak of strength and skill and an immense vitality. Baird settled himself
in his chair. "I want to talk about her," he said. "This little attack is
only a symptom--it comes from nerves. She's just about ready for a smash.
She's had slighter attacks of this kind before."
"I never knew it," Roger said.
"No--I don't suppose you did. Your daughter has a habit of keeping things
like this to herself. She came to me and I warned her, but she wanted to
finish out her year. Do you know anything about her school work?"
"Yes, I was with her there this week."
"What did she show you?" Baird inquired. Roger tried to tell him. "No,
that's not what I'm after," he said. "That's just one of her usual
evenings." For a moment he smoked in silence. "I'm hunting now for
something else, for some unusual nervous shock which she appears to me to
have had."
"She has!" And Roger told him of her visit up to Sing Sing. Baird's lean
muscular right hand slowly tightened on his chair.
"That's a tough family of hers," he remarked.
"Yes," said Roger determinedly, "and she's got to give it up."
"You mean she ought to. But she won't."
"She's got to be made to," Roger growled. "This summer at least." Baird
shook his head.
"You forget her fresh air work," he replied. "She has three thousand
children on her mind. The city will be like a furnace, of course, and the
children must be sent to camps.
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