“No, I must shut down,” he thought.

* * * * *

On his way home that evening, in a crush at a turbulent corner he saw a big truck jam into a taxi, and with a throb of rebellion he thought of his son-in-law who was dead.  Just the turn of a hair and Bruce might have lived and been here to look after the children!  At the prospect of the crisis, the strain he saw before him, Roger again felt weak and old.  He shook off his dread and strode angrily on.

In his house, the rooms downstairs were still dismantled for the summer.  There was emptiness and silence but no serenity in them now, only the quiet before the storm which he could feel from far and near was gathering about his home.  He heard Deborah on the floor above, and went up and found her making his bed, for the chambermaid had not yet come.  Her voice was a little unnatural.

“It has been a hard day, hasn’t it.  I’ve got your bath-room ready,” she said.  “Don’t you want a nice cool bath?  Supper will be ready soon.”

When, a half hour later, somewhat refreshed, Roger came down to the table, he noticed it was set for two.

“Isn’t Allan coming?” he asked.  Her mobile features tightened.

“Not till later,” she replied.

They talked little and the meal was short.  But afterwards, on the wooden porch, Deborah turned to her father,

“Now tell me about your office,” she said.

“There’s not enough business to pay the rent.”

“That won’t last—­”

“I’m not so sure.”

“I am,” she said determinedly.  Her father slowly turned his head.

“Are you, with this war?” he asked.  Her eyes met his and moved away in a baffled, searching manner.  “She has troubles of her own,” he thought.

“How much can we run the house on, Deborah?” he asked her.  At first she did not answer.  “What was it—­about six thousand last year?”

“I think so,” she said restlessly.  “We can cut down on that, of course—­”

“With Edith and the children here?”

“Edith will have to manage it!  There are others to be thought of!”

“The children in your schools, you mean.”

“Yes,” she answered with a frown.  “It will be a bad year for the tenements.  But please go on and tell me.  What have you thought of doing?”

“Mortgage the house again,” he replied.  “It hasn’t been easy, for money is tight, but I think I’ll be able to get enough to just about carry us through the year.  At home, I mean,” he added.

“And the office?”

“Shut down,” he said.  She turned on him fiercely.

“You won’t do that!”

“What else can I do?”

“Turn all those girls away?” she cried.  At her tone his look grew troubled.

“How can I help myself, Deborah?  If I kept open it would cost me over five hundred a week to run.  Have I five hundred dollars a week to lose?”