not face his father, a war millionaire. My God, how
could he?"

The boy was walking about his room with face white and lips quivering.

"Caramus was in charge of that Machine Gun Section that held the line
and let us get back. Every man wiped out, and Caramus carried back
smashed to small pieces--and his father making a million out of
munitions! My God! My God!"

A silence fell in the room for a minute.

"Poor old Caramus! I saw him in the City a month ago," said the father.
"I pitied the poor wretch. He was alone in the Club, not a soul would
speak to him. He has got his hell."

"He deserves it--all of it, and all who like him have got fat on blood
money. Do you know, Dad, when I see those men going about in the open
and no one kicking them I get fairly sick. I don't wonder at some of the
boys seeing red. You mark my words, we are going to have bad times in
this country before long."

"I am afraid of it, boy. Things look ugly. Even in our own works I feel
a bad spirit about. There are some newcomers from the old country whom I
can't say I admire much. They grouch and they won't work. Our production
is lower than ever in our history and our labor cost is more than twice
what it was in 1914."

"Well, Dad, give them a little time to settle down. I have no more use
for a slacker than I have for a war millionaire."

"We can't stand much of that thing. Financially we are in fairly good
shape. We broke even with our aeroplane work. But we have a big stock
of spruce on hand--high-priced stuff, too--and a heavy, very heavy
overhead. We shall weather it all right. I don't mind the wages, but we
must have production. And that's why I want you with me."

"You must not depend on me for much use for some time at least. I know a
little about handling men but about machinery I know nothing."

"Never fear, boy, you've got the machine instinct in you. I remember
your holiday work in the mill, you see. But your place is in the office.
Wickes will show you the ropes, and you will make good, I know. And I
just want to say that you don't know how glad I am to have you come in
with me, Jack. If your brother had come back he would have taken hold,
he was cut out for the job, but--"

"Poor old Andy! He had your genius for the business. I wish he had been
the one to get back!"

"We had not the choosing, Jack, and if he had come we should have felt
the same about you. God knows what He is doing, and we can only do our
best."

"