"That's not like you, Harve."
"Sorry." His tone softened. "I don't care much about going round,
Belle. That's all. I guess you know why."
"So does everybody else."
He sat up and looked at her.
"Well, suppose they do? I can't help that, can I? When a fellow has
been jilted--"
"You haven't been jilted."
He lay down again, his arms under his head; and Belle knew that his eyes
were on Sara Lee's picture on his dresser.
"It amounts to the same thing."
"Harvey," Belle said hesitatingly, "I've brought Sara Lee's report from
the Ladies' Aid. May I read it to you?"
"I don't want to hear it." Then: "Give it here. I'll look at it."
He read it carefully, his hands rather unsteady. So many men given soup,
so many given chocolate. So many dressings done. And at the bottom
Sara Lee's request for more money--an apologetic, rather breathless
request, and closing, rather primly with this: "I am sure that the society will feel, from the above report, that the
work is worth while, and worth continuing. I am only sorry that I
cannot send photographs of the men who come for aid, but as they come
at night it is impossible. I enclose, however, a small picture of the
house, which is now known as the little house of mercy."
"At night!" said Harvey. "So she's there alone with a lot of ignorant
foreigners at night. Why the devil don't they come in the daytime?"
"Here's the picture, Harvey."
He got up then, and carried the tiny photograph over close to the gas
jet. There he stood for a long time, gazing at it. There was Rene
with his rifle and his smile. There was Marie in her white apron. And
in the center, the wind blowing her soft hair, was Sara Lee.
Harvey groaned and Belle came over and putting her hand on his shoulder
looked at the photograph with him.
"Do you know what I think, Harvey?" she said. "I think Sara Lee is right
and you are wrong."
He turned on her almost savagely.
"That's not the point!" he snapped out. "I don't begrudge the poor
devils their soup. What I feel is this: If she'd cared a tinker's damn
for me she'd never have gone. That's all."
He returned to a moody survey of the picture.
"Look at it!" he said. "She insists that she's safe. But that fellow's
got a gun. What for, if she's so safe? And look at that house! There's
a corner shot away; and it's got no upper floor. Safe!"