ot afraid to die. The modern man is all
right, but you fellows at the top don't give him half a chance. A whole
race of peasants can be burned out and mutilated, and it doesn't cause a
flutter in the pulse-beat of one of you American traders."

"You're a damn poor American," said the banker bluntly.

"You're the poor American," replied Hilda. "An uncle of mine, with a few
'greats' in front of him, was one of the three to sign the Declaration
of Independence for Connecticut. Another of us was in Lincoln's Cabinet.
My people have helped to make our country. We were the ones that
welcomed Louis Kossuth, and Garibaldi. We are Americans. It's men like
you that have weakened the strain--you and your clever tricks and your
unbelief. You believe in nothing but success. 'Money is power,' say
you. It is you that don't believe in America, not I."

"What does it all come to?" he broke in harshly. "What is it all about?
You talk heatedly but what are you saying? I have given money to the
Relief Work. I've done something, I've got results. Where would you have
been without money?"

"Money!" said Hilda. "A thousandth part of your makings. And these
people are giving their life! Why, once or twice a day, they are putting
themselves between wounded men and shell fire. You talk about results.
There are more results in pulling one Belgian out of the bloody dust
than in your lifetime of shaving the market."

The color came into his face with a rush. He was so used to expressing
power, sitting silent and a little grim, and moving weaker men to his
will, that it was a new experience to be talked to by a person who quite
visibly had vital force.

"I used to be afraid of people like you," she went on. "But you don't
look half as big to me now as one of these young chauffeurs who take in
the wounded under shrapnel. You've come to regard your directive ability
as something sacred. You think you can sit in moral judgment on these
people over here--these boys that are flinging away their lives for the
future. Come with me to Belgium, and find out what they're really
fighting about."

Hinchcliffe was used to swift decisions.

"I'll do it," he said.

* * * * *

Hilda took him straight to Ghent. Then she pushed her inquiries out
among her Belgian friends. The day before, there had been a savage fight
at Alost.

"You will find what you want in Wetteren Hospital," suggested Monsieur
Caron, Secretary of the G