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I can't ask for
his confidence. I can't, apparently, even deserve it. I see him,
day after day, with all the good stuff there is in him, working as
little as he can, drinking more than he should, out half the night,
running into debt - good heavens, Audrey, what can I do?"
She hesitated.
"Of course, you know one thing that would save him, Clay?"
"What?"
"Our getting into the war."
"I ought not to have to lose my boy in order to find him. But - we
are going to be in it."
He had risen and was standing, an elbow on the mantel-piece, looking
down at her.
"I suppose every man wonders, once in a while, how he'd conduct
himself in a crisis. When the Lusitania went down I dare say a
good many fellows wondered if they'd have been able to keep their
coward bodies out of the boats. I know I did. And I wonder about
myself now. What can I do if we go into the war? I couldn't do a
forced march of more than five miles. I can't drill, or whatever
they call it. I can shoot clay pigeons, but I don't believe I
could hit a German coming at me with a bayonet at twenty feet.


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