With a pang of utter loneliness amid these vexing problems, Roger felt it crowding in, this city of his children’s lives.  As he strode on down Broadway, an old hag selling papers thrust one in his face and he caught a glimpse of a headline.  Some bigwig woman re-divorced.  How about Laura’s “experiment”?  A mob of street urchins nearly upset him.  How about Deborah?  How about children?  How about schools, education, the country?  How about God?  Was anyone thinking?  Had anyone time?  What a racket it made, slam-banging along.  The taxis and motor trucks thundered and brayed, dark masses of people swept endlessly by, as though their very souls depended on their dinners or their jobs, their movies, roaring farces, thrills, their harum scarum dances, clothes.  A plump little fool of a woman, her skirt so tight she could barely walk, tripped by on high-heeled slippers.  That was it, he told himself, the whole city was high-heeled!  No solid footing anywhere!  And, good Lord, how they chattered!

He turned into a less noisy street.  What would Judith want if she were here?  It became disturbingly clear to him that she would undoubtedly wish him to have a talk with Laura now, find out if she’d really made up her mind not to have any children, and if so to tell her plainly that she was not only going against her God but risking her own happiness.  For though Judith had been liberal about any number of smaller things, she had been decidedly clear on this.  Yes, he must talk to Laura.

“And she’ll tell me,” he reflected, “that Edith put me up to it!”

If only his oldest daughter would leave the other girls alone!  Here she was planning a row with Deborah over whether poor young George should be allowed to play with rats!  It was all so silly!...  Yes, his three children were drifting apart, each one of them going her separate way.  And he rather took comfort in the thought, for at least it would stop their wrangling.  But again he pulled himself up with a jerk.  No, certainly Judith would not have liked this.  If she’d ever stood for anything, it was for keeping the family together.  It had been the heart and center of their last talks before she died.

His face relaxed as he walked on, but in his eyes was a deeper pain.  If only Judith could be here.  Before he reached home he had made up his mind to talk with Laura that very night.  He drew out his latchkey, opened his door, shut it firmly and strode into his house.  In the hall they were putting down the new carpet.  Cautiously picking his way upstairs, he inquired for Laura and was told she was dressing for dinner.  He knocked at her door.

“Yes?” came her voice.

“It’s I,” he said, “your father.”

“Oh, hello, dad,” came the answer gaily, in that high sweet voice of hers.  “I’m frightfully rushed.  It’s a dinner dance to-night for the bridesmaids and the ushers.”  Roger felt a glow of relief.  “Come in a moment, won’t you?”