e to be, but it was not
necessary that he assist Germany's enemies against her. Against the
determination in his heavy square figure Clayton argued in vain. When,
ten minutes later, he went into the conference room, followed by a
secretary with a sheaf of papers, the mill was minus a boss roller, and
there was rankling in his mind Klein's last words.

"I haf no objection, Mr. Spencer, to your making money out of this war,
but I will not."

There had been no insolence in his tone. He had gone out, with his heavy
German stolidity of mien unchanged, and had closed the door behind him
with quiet finality.

CHAPTER IV

Graham left the conference that morning in a rather exalted mood. The
old mill was coming into its own at last. He had a sense of boyish
triumph in the new developments, a feeling of being a part of big
activities that would bring rich rewards. And he felt a new pride in his
father. He had sat, a little way from the long table, and had watched
the faces of the men gathered about it as clearly and forcibly the
outlines of the new departure were given out. Hitherto "Spencer's" had
made steel only. Now, they were not only to make the steel, but they
were to forge the ingots into rough casts; these casts were then to
be carried to the new munition works, there to be machined, drilled,
polished, provided with fuses, which "Spencer's" were also to make, and
shipped abroad.

The question of speeding production had been faced and met. The various
problems had been discussed and the bonus system tentatively taken up.
Then the men had dispersed, each infected with the drive of his father's
contagious force. "Pretty fine old boy," Graham had considered. And he
wondered vaguely if, when his time came, he would be able to take hold.
For a few minutes Natalie's closetings lost their effect. He saw his
father, not as one from whom to hide extravagance and unpaid bills,
but as the head of a great concern that was now to be a part of the war
itself. He wandered into his father's office, and picked up the shell.
Clayton was already at his letters, but looked up.

"Think we rather had them, eh, Graham?"

"Think you did, sir. Carried them off their feet. Pretty, isn't it?" He
held up the shell-case. "If a fellow could only forget what the damned
things are for!"

"They are to help to end the war," said Clayton, crisply. "Don't forget
that, boy." And went back to his steady dictation.

Graham went out of the buil