a hot argument. Jean beat her little hands upon the table. Hilda's
hands were still, but it was an irritating stillness.

"What do you think, Daddy?"

"Hilda is right. There is no reason why we should go to extremes."

"But a turkey--."

"Nobody has said that we shouldn't have a turkey on Thanksgiving--not
even Hoover." Hilda's voice was as irritating as her hands.

"Well, we have consciences, Hilda. And a turkey would choke me."

"You make so much of little things."

"Is it a little thing to sacrifice our appetites?"

"I don't think it is a very big thing." The office bell rang, and
Hilda rose. "If I felt as you do I should sacrifice something more
than things to eat. I'd go over there and nurse the wounded. I could
be of real service. But you couldn't. With all your big ideas of
patriotism you couldn't do one single practical thing."

It was true, and Jean knew that it was true, but she fired one more
shot. "Then why don't you go?" she demanded fiercely.

"I may," Hilda said slowly. "I have been thinking about it. I haven't
made up my mind."