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.