“But I tell you it won’t last!” she cried, and again the baffled, driven expression swept over her expressive face.  “Can’t you see this is only a panic—­and keep going somehow?  Can’t you see what it means to the tenements?  Hundreds of thousands are out of work!  They’re being turned off every day, every hour—­employers all over are losing their heads!  And City Hall is as mad as the rest!  They’ve decided already down there to retrench!”

He turned with a quick jerk of his head: 

“Are they cutting you down?” She set her teeth: 

“Yes, they are.  But the work in my schools is going on—­every bit of it is—­for every child!  I’m going to find a way,” she said.  And he felt a thrill of compassion.

“I’m sorry to hear it,” he muttered.

“You needn’t be.”  She paused a moment, smiled and went on in a quieter voice:  “Don’t think I’m blind—­I’m sensible—­I see you can’t lose five hundred a week.  But why not try what other employers, quite a few, have decided to do?  Call your people together, explain how it is, and ask them to choose a committee to help you find which ones need jobs the most.  Keep all you can—­on part time, of course—­but at least pay them something, carry them through.  You’ll lose money by it, I haven’t a doubt.  But you’ve already found you can mortgage the house, and remember besides that I shall be here.  I’m not going to marry now”—­her father looked at her quickly—­“and of course I’ll expect to do my share toward meeting the expenses.  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?”