“There you are,” said Dick. “I think we can afford to wait awhile. After all, Otto and his friend would not be guilty of treason in making a contract with you for munitions for Germany. You have the same right to sell to her as to England. I’m glad you won’t do it—but you would be breaking no law—you would be strictly within neutral rights.”
Cowder glowered at him. “I’m no damned reformer,” he said, “but I never yet helped a burglar to tools or a murderer to a gun.”
“Good,” said Dick, “and believe me, I’ll keep an eye on Otto for you. He may be helping Germany now, but I shall be very much surprised if the time comes when we go into the war if he doesn’t fall in line—unless he goes too far now.”
“You believe we will go in?”
“Surely—some day.”
“You don’t believe the time has come?”
“No—no. I can’t say I do.”
Cowder sighed. “I don’t know what to think, Ingraham. I wish to God I could make up my mind. I’d feel easier if we were in, but I don’t see any use dragging in a country that don’t see it. Why, Sabinsport is living on the war and don’t know it. Don’t see that you can’t live in this country to-day except on the war. But she does take an interest. Ever notice that South Side Alley over next the wire mill, where the kids play. Got trenches there that wouldn’t be bad in Flanders. Wonderful how things spread in the world. Good night, Ingraham, and thank you.”
Long after the man was gone Dick sat watching his fire. What a grief the man carried! To have a daughter like that and in Serbia; to believe he would never see her and yet to go on day in and day out—“Nancy Cowder”—nice name and she knew Lady Betty. Serbia! What was the latest news from Serbia?—he’d seen something in the London Times lately about the English nurses there. He’d look it up. What part of Serbia? He hadn’t asked. He would—maybe he had been there. Not much chance if she was in the way of the Bulgars. Still, women like Nancy Cowder somehow imposed themselves. She’d not be afraid of all the armies and all the kings. “So slight and fine and free-moving,” that was her father’s description—“talking to jockeys and breeders and bookmen and not seeing them, only the horse.” “Thoroughbred—that girl.” What a different impression he had formed of her from Sabinsport gossip! He had not realized it before but he had in his mind a strapping big girl with a stride like a man’s, a girl with clear gray eyes and a hearty laugh.
He rose and looked over the Times for the article from Serbia. To think that a girl could give her life and he must sit here quiet by his fire. He laughed aloud in bitter self-contempt.