Moreover, I know we can cut down."
"Retrench," said Roger grimly. "Turn off the servants instead of the
clerks."
"No, only one of them, Martha upstairs--and she is to be married. We'll
keep the cook and the waitress. Edith will have to give up her nurse--and
it will be hard on her, of course--but she'll have to realize this is war,"
Deborah said sharply. "Besides," she urged, "it's not going to last.
Business everywhere will pick up--in a few weeks or months at most. The war
_can't_ go on--it's too horribly big!" She broke off and anxiously looked
at him. Her father was still frowning.
"I'm asking you to risk a good deal," she continued, her voice intense and
low. "But somehow, dearie, I always feel that this old house of ours is
strong. It can _stand_ a good deal. We can all of us stand so much, as soon
as we know we have to." The lines of her wide sensitive mouth tightened
firmly once again. "It's all so vague and uncertain, I know. But one thing
at least is sure. This is no time for people with money--no matter how
little--to shut themselves up in their own little houses and let the rest
starve or beg or steal. This is the time to do our share."
And she waited. But he made no reply.
"Every nation at war is doing it, dad--become like one big family--with
everyone helping, doing his share. Must a nation be at war to do that?
Can't we be brothers without the guns? Can't you see that we're all of us
stunned, and trying to see what war will mean to all the children in the
world? And while we're groping, groping, can't we give each other a hand?"
Still he sat motionless there in the dark.
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