collect a certain amount each month to support a soup kitchen as near
the Front as possible.

"Good work!" said Harvey heartily. "I suppose they do get hungry, poor
devils. Now about the dining room--"

"Harvey dear," Sara Lee broke in, "I've not finished. I--I'm going
over to run it."

"You are not!"

"But I am! It's all arranged. It's my plan. They've all wanted to do
something besides giving clothes. They send barrels, and they never hear
from them again, and it's hard to keep interested. But with me there,
writing home and telling them, 'To-day we served soup to this man, and
that man, perhaps wounded.' And--and that sort of thing--don't you see
how interested every one will be? Mrs. Gregory has promised twenty-five
dollars a month, and--"

"You're not going," said Harvey in a flat tone. "That's all. Don't
talk to me about it."

Sara Lee flushed deeper and started again, but rather hopelessly.
There was no converting a man who would not argue or reason, who based
everything on flat refusal.

"But somebody must go," she said with a tightening of her voice.
"Here's Mabel Andrews' letter. Read it and you will understand."

"I don't want to read it."