Presently she smiled to
herself. Little Tad had been so droll that day.
On the third page of his paper, Roger's glance was arrested by a full
column story concerning Deborah's meeting that night. And as in a long
interview he read here in the public print the same things she had told him
at supper, he felt a little glow of pride. Yes, this daughter of his was a
wonderful woman, living a big useful life, taking a leading part in work
which would certainly brighten the lives of millions of children still
unborn. Again he felt the tonic of it. Here was a glimmer of hope in the
world, here was an antidote to war. He finished the column and glanced up.
Edith was still sewing. He thought of her plan to sell all she possessed in
order to put her children back in their expensive schools uptown.
"Why can't she save her money?" he thought. "God knows there's little
enough of it left. But I can't tell her that. If I do she'll sell
everything, hand me the cash and tell me she's sorry to be such a burden.
She'll sit like a thundercloud in my house."
No, he could say nothing to stop her. And over the top of his paper her
father shot a look at her of keen exasperation. Why risk everything she had
to get these needless frills and fads? Why must she cram her life so full
of petty plans and worries and titty-tatty little jobs? For the Lord's
sake, leave their clothes alone! And why these careful little rules for
every minute of their day, for their washing, their dressing, their eating,
their napping, their play and the very air they breathed! He crumpled his
paper impatiently.
Pages:
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245