Dawn by Eleanor Porter (best finance books of all time TXT) 📕

have a lot of other things—new china, an' some cut-glass, an'—"

"Well, it strikes me," interrupted Mrs. McGuire severely, "that Daniel

Burton had better be puttin' his money into Liberty Bonds an' Red

Cross work, instead of silver spoons an' cut-glass, in these war-

times. An'—"

"My lan', Mis' McGuire!" With the sudden exclamation Susan had droppedthe spoon she was polishing. Her eyes, wild and incredulous, werestaring straight into the startled eyes of the woman opposite. "Do youknow? Since that yeller telegram came last night tellin' us NancyHolworthy was dead, I hain't even once thought of—the war."

"Well, I guess you would think of it—if you had my John right beforeyou all the time." With a bitter sigh Mrs. McGuire had relaxed in herchair. "You wouldn't need anything else."

"Humph! I don't need anything else with Daniel Burton 'round."

"What do you mean?"

"Why, I mean that that man don't do nothin' but read war an' talk warevery minute he's in the house. An' what with them wheatless days an'meatless days, he fairly EATS war. You heard my poem on them meatless,wheatless days, didn't you?"

Mrs. McGuire shook her head listlessly. Her somber eyes were on thelonely figure of her son on the porch across the two back yards.

"You didn't? Well, I'll say it to you, then. 'Tain't much; still, it'skind of good, in a way. I hain't written hardly anything lately; but Idid write this:

     We've a wheatless day,

     An' a meatless day,

     An' a tasteless, wasteless,

                     sweetless day.

     But with never a pause,

     For the good of the cause,

     We'd even consent to an

                     eatless day.

"An' we would, too, of course.

"An' as far as that's concerned, there's a good many other kinds of'less days that I'm thinkin' wouldn't hurt none of us. How about afretless day an' a worryless day? Wouldn't they be great? An' onlythink what a talkless day'd mean in some households I could mention.Oh, of course, present comp'ny always accentuated," she hastened toadd with a sly chuckle, as Mrs. McGuire stirred into suddenresentment.

"Humph!" subsided Mrs. McGuire, still a little resentfully.

"An' I'm free to confess that there's some kinds of 'less days thatwe've already got plenty of," went on Susan, after a moment'sthoughtful pause. "There is folks that take quite enough worklessdays, an' laughless days, an' pityless days, an' thankless days. Mylan', there ain't no end to them kind, as any one can see. An' therewas them heatless days last winter—I guess no one was hankerin' formore of THEM. Oh, 'course I understand that that was just preservationof coal, an' that 'twas necessary, an' all that. An' that's anotherthing, too—this preservation business. I'd like to add a few thingsto that, an' make 'em preserve in fault-findin', an' crossness, an'backbitin', an' gossip, as well as in coal, an' sugar, an' wheat, an'beef."

Mrs. McGuire gave a short laugh.

"My goodness, Susan Betts, if you ain't the limit, an' no mistake! Is'pose you mean CONservation."

"Heh? What's that? Well, CONservation, then. What's the difference,

anyway?" she scoffed a bit testily. Then, abruptly, her face changed.

"But, there! this ain't settlin' what I'm going to do with Daniel

Burton," she finished with a profound sigh.

"Do with him?" puzzled Mrs. McGuire.

"Yes." Susan picked up the silver spoon and began indifferently topolish it. "'Tain't no use for me to be doin' all this. Daniel Burtonwon't know whether he's eatin' with a silver spoon or one made ofpewter. No more will he retire to a life of ease an' laxity with hispaint-brushes—unless they declarate peace to-morrow mornin'."

"You don't mean—he'll stay in the store?"

Susan made a despairing gesture.

"Goodness only knows what he'll do—I don't. I know what he does now.He's as uneasy as a fish out o' water, an' he roams the house from oneend to the other every night, after he reads the paper. He's got oneof them war maps on his wall, an' he keeps changin' the pins an'flags, an' I hear him mutterin' under his breath. You see, he has tokeep it from Keith all he can, for Keith hisself feels so bad 'causehe can't be up an' doin'; an' if he thought he was keepin' his fatherback from helpin', I don't know what the poor boy would do. But Ithink if 'twa'n't for Keith, Daniel Burton would try to enlist an' goover. Oh, of course, he's beyond the malicious age, so far as bein'drafted is concerned, an' you wouldn't naturally think such a mild-tempered-lookin' man would go in much for killin'. But this war'sstirred him up somethin' awful."

"Well, who wouldn't it?"

"Oh, I know that; an' I ain't sayin' as how it shouldn't. But thatdon't make it no easier for Daniel Burton to keep his feelin's hidfrom his son, particularly when it's that son that's made him have thefeelin's, partly. There ain't no doubt but that one of the thingsthat's made Daniel Burton so fidgety an' uneasy, an' ready to jestfling hisself into that ravin' conflict over there is his unhappinessan' disappointment over Keith. He had such big plans for that boy!"

"Yes, I know. We all have big plans for—our boys." Mrs. McGuirechoked and turned away.

"An' girls, too, for that matter," hurried on Susan, with a quickglance into the other's face. "An' speakin' of girls, did you seeHattie Turner on the street last night?"

Dumbly Mrs. McGuire answered with a shake of her head. Her eyes hadgone back to her son's face across the yard.

"Well, I did. Her Charlie's at Camp Devens, you know. They say he'sinvited to more places every Sunday than he can possibly accept; an'that he's petted an' praised an' made of everywhere he goes, an'tended right up to so's he won't get lonesome, or attendunquestionable entertainments. Well, that's all right an' good, ofcourse, an' as it should be. But I wish somebody'd take up CharlieTurner's wife an' invite her to Sunday dinners an' take her to ride,an' see that she didn't attend unquestionable entertainments."

"Why, Susan Betts, what an idea!" protested Mrs. McGuire, suddenlysitting erect in her chair. "Hattie Turner isn't fightin' for hercountry."

"No, but her husband is," retorted Susan crisply. "An' she's fightin'for her honor