ody left her desk or talked or idled; we just
worked on, minding our own affairs; it was a great system."

Mrs. Tweed looked at her with a cynical smile. "Some system!" she
cried mockingly; "it may work in a school, where the little pinafore,
pig-tail Minnies and Lucys gather; it won't work in life, where every
one is grabbing for what he wants, and getting it some way. But see
here," she cried suddenly, "you haven't called me down yet! or told me
I am a disgrace to the Patriotic Fund! or asked me what will my
husband say when he comes home! You haven't looked shocked at one
thing I've told you. Say, you should have seen old hatchet-face when I
told her that I hoped the war would last forever! She said I was a
wicked woman!"

"Well--weren't you?" asked the president.

"Sure I was--if I meant it--but I didn't. I wanted to see her jump,
and she certainly jumped; and she soon gave me up and went back and
reported. Then you were sent, and I guess you are about ready to give
in."

"Indeed, I am not," said the president, smiling. "You are not a
fool--I can see that--and you can think out these things for yourself.
You are not accountable to me, anyway. I have no authority to find
fault with you. If you think your part in this terrible time is to go
the limit in fancy clothes, theaters, and late suppers with men of
questionable character--that is for you to decide. I believe in the
honor system. You are certainly setting a bad example--but you have
that privilege. You cannot be sent to jail for it. The money you draw
is hard-earned money--it is certainly sweated labor which our gallant
men perform for the miserable little sum that is paid them. It is
yours to do with as you like. I had hoped that more of you young women
would have come to help us in our work in the Red Cross and other
places. We need your youth, your enthusiasm, your prettiness, for we
are sorely pressed with many cares and troubles, and we seem to be old
sometimes. But you are quite right in saying that it is your own
business how you spend the money!"

After Mrs. Kent had gone, the younger woman sat looking around her
flat with a queer feeling of discontent. A half-eaten box of
chocolates was on the table and a new silk sweater coat lay across the
lounge. In the tiny kitchenette a tap dripped with weary insistence,
and unwashed dishes filled the sink. She got up suddenly and began to
wash the dishes, and did not stop until every corner of her apartment