The Fall of a Nation
by Jr. Thomas Dixon · English · Gutenberg #48089 · 418,151 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: The Fall of a Nation
Author: Jr. Thomas Dixon
Illustrator: Charles L. Wrenn
Release date: January 26, 2015 [eBook #48089]
Most recently updated: October 24, 2024
Language: English
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FALL OF A NATION ***
THE FALL OF A NATION
[Illustration: “From every window they received a hail of bullets”
[_Page 315_]]
THE FALL
OF A NATION
_A SEQUEL TO
THE BIRTH OF A NATION_
BY
THOMAS DIXON
AUTHOR OF “THE CLANSMAN,” “THE SOUTHERNER,”
“THE FOOLISH VIRGIN,” ETC.
[Illustration]
ILLUSTRATED BY
CHARLES WRENN
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
NEW YORK LONDON
1916
Copyright, 1916, by
THOMAS DIXON
Copyright, 1915, 1916, by THE NATIONAL SUNDAY MAGAZINE
_All rights reserved, including that of translation into
all foreign languages, including the Scandinavian_
_Printed in the United States of America_
TO
MY FRIEND
JAMES B. DUKE
TO THE READER
This novel is not a rehash of the idea of a foreign conquest of America
based on the accidents of war. It is a study of the origin, meaning and
destiny of American Democracy by one who believes that the time is ripe
in this country for a revival of the principles on which our Republic
was founded.
THOMAS DIXON.
LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
“From every window they received a hail of bullets” _Frontispiece_
FACING PAGE
“‘In God’s name, what regiment’s that?’” 200
“‘It’s all love’s victory, dearest’” 258
“Tommaso staggered to the breastworks and stood one man against an army” 276
“A battery of artillery cleared the barricades and the slaughter began” 316
“Angela swept close ... fired and circled to fire again” 360
THE FALL OF A NATION
PROLOGUE
Over a bleak hillside in Scotland the sun is sinking in the sea. A group
of humble men and women stand before the King’s soldiers accused of
disobedience to Royal command. They have been found guilty of worshiping
God according to the dictates of their own conscience and not according
to the ritual of the Church of England.
The sheriff appeals in vain that they yield and live. The grim prelate
advances, reads the death warrant, and offers pardon if they renounce
their faith. With quiet smiles they lift their heads and pray.
The King on his throne has failed. The King within the soul of man is
rising to reign.
The martyrs are bound to a stake, the fagots piled high, the torch
applied. Above the crackle and roar of flames over the hills by the
western sea rises their song--the battle hymn of a coming republic of
freemen.
The women they reserve for kindlier treatment, these gallant servants of
the King. Beside old Margaret McLaughlin stands a beautiful girl of
nineteen with wide eyes hungry for the joy of living. The poor father,
faithful to the Church, has bought the life of his younger daughter for
a hundred pounds in gold. He offers more for his first born. The older
one they refuse to sell.
With generous chivalry the soldiers drive their stakes within the tide
line of the sea. Drowning they say is an easy death. Old Margaret sinks
quickly beneath the waves. Life has been hard for her. There’s a far-off
eager look in the old eyes as they are lifted to the sky.
The young girl fights for life with the instinctive will to live that
beats in every mother soul. The prelate watching smiles. He sees a
convert to his forms and signals to the guard. The girl is loosed and
dragged ashore. Bending over the prostrate figure on the sands he offers
life for an oath.
“Your King commands it!” the minion urges.
The girl answers in gentle tones:
“I am Christ’s child--I follow Him!”
The prelate frowns, rises and gives the sign to his executioners. The
soldiers tie her again to the stake, and the red shadow of the flames on
the bleak hill fall across the white young face and mingle with the
scarlet of the setting sun.
Every dungeon groans throughout the realm with the madness of the King.
The gentlest and the noblest are held as common felons. John Milton,
brooding within his soul his immortal song, is gripped by prison bars.
Roger Williams, his friend and fellow dreamer, sits by his side reading
to the blind poet the principles of liberty proclaimed by their Dutch
brethren across the channel.
From every dark port the ships lift their wings and sail westward. From
the decks of one our Pilgrim Fathers land on Plymouth Rock and pray.
Strange mixture of fine and common clay these ancestors of ours! They
land first on their knees and then on the aborigines. The pilgrim
becomes the invader. And he wins every battle for the simplest possible
reason. He carries a weapon superior to the one in the hand of the
untutored Indian. The bow and arrow goes down before the death dealing
bolt hurled by gunpowder.
The simple aboriginal had made no preparation against invasion. His
wigwam is burned, his land and goods taken, his children slain.
On other ships come nobler men who lift high the light of a new
civilization.
Roger Williams, exiled from England and driven from Massachusetts by the
Pilgrims, lands on Narragansett Bay, and proclaims religious liberty as
the first principle of human progress. William Penn in Pennsylvania and
Roger Williams in Rhode Island at least atone for some of our early
sins. The light they kindle on our shores streams across the sea to
far-off king-ridden Germany whose men and women starve and freeze on
snow-wrapped hills and mountains while crowned heads, aping the Court of
the Grand Monarch of France, dance and drink in their palaces. As the
snows melt an endless line of human misery pours along the banks of the
Rhine to Rotterdam--with eyes fixed on the far-off new western world.
From the green hills of Ireland leaps another stream toward the western
sea. An absentee landlord, wearing a coronet and loafing at the Court of
Royalty, needs more money for his games. He decides to double his income
by raising his rents. The Marquis of Donegal promptly evicts all tenants
who cannot pay. The lordly example is followed by his landowning
neighbors and thirty thousand Irish immigrants flee to America in a
single year.
But strangest sign of the ages, the children of the Inquisition
themselves at last feel the thumbscrew, rack and torch and turn their
frightened faces westward to the new free world! Lord Baltimore leads
his Catholic exiles to the shores of the Chesapeake and builds in
new-found wisdom a free state with religious liberty its cornerstone.
From a rose bower in the Royal gardens at Fontainebleau the blackest
cloud of a bloody century rises to darken the skies of sunny France. A
gayly dressed page places a cushion and footstool and prostrates himself
as before approaching divinity. A courtier enters, examines the cushion,
kneels, kisses the footstool and stands at attention. The Grand Monarch,
Louis XIV, approaches leaning heavily on the arm of his bespangled
attendant. The King is bent with the consciousness of a life of sin. His
fat legs totter, and there is a haunted look in his feverish eyes.
Remorse for a brutal career is gnawing at his fear-stricken soul. The
white hand of Death is beckoning and he sees.
Madame de Maintenon, his evil genius, hovers in the background, a
black-robed priest whispering in her willing ear.
The King is seated by his courtiers. He roughly commands that they call
his mistress-wife and waves them aside with imperious gesture.
De Maintenon’s keen eye catches the order, the priest disappears and the
harlot who rules a world approaches with cat-like tread, her face a
study of quiet triumphant cunning. She protests her undying love and
with pious eloquence points the way by which his gracious majesty may
yet earn his heavenly crown. A million industrious Huguenots have
unfortunately survived the massacre of St. Bartholomew. If the King
would win eternal salvation he can by ordering their death or submission
to the dishonor of denying their soul’s faith in God. She presents the
fatal document. The old roué with trembling hand signs the revocation of
the Edict of Nantes. France is again deluged in blood and two hundred
thousand of her noblest children driven into exile.
The sun of the new day rises on fields of flowers strewn with the bodies
of dead mothers and babes. As the night falls, terror-stricken refugees
creep across the dark sands of the beach, enter the little boats and
push off from their beloved motherland for the long exile, their
saddened faces turned westward.
The sea is wide but not so wide that the English King’s hand cannot
reach the throats of exiles and their children. By royal command Captain
Preston orders his soldiers to shoot the people down in the streets of
Boston on the night of March 5, 1770. Unarmed men shout defiance and the
troops are withdrawn to hush the turmoil.
The frontiersmen of the wilderness of North Carolina are not so easily
tamed. They seize their muskets and give the first armed resistance to
the might of kings the New World has dared. The Royal Governor defeats
the rebels in the Battle of Alamance on May 16, 1771, and hangs six of
their leaders. As young James Pough stands with his arms pinioned behind
his back he turns to his executioners and shouts: “My blood will be seed
sown on good ground!”
Our fathers in Boston hear the shout and when the King attempts to
enforce his stamp act they board his ship and throw the cargo into the
sea.
The Colonies are at war with the King. The big bell in Philadelphia is
calling all to unite in common defense and Thomas Jefferson reads his
immortal Declaration of Independence to the assembled leaders. His voice
rings with a strange prophetic elation:
“_We hold these truths to be self evident--that all men are created
equal!_”
The startled kings of the earth hear the new heresy in sullen wrath and
join hands to crush the rebels. The German rulers hire to George III
more than thirty thousand Teutonic soldiers with which to stamp out the
threatening conflagration. The Hessians land on our shores and join
hands with the scarlet ranks of the King of England.
To mock their shame a noble Prussian, trained in the school of Frederick
the Great, offers his sword to Washington and becomes the Inspector
General of our ragged half-starved army.
Steuben stands beside Lafayette and Rochambeau while Lord Cornwallis
surrenders the British army at Yorktown.
Through ten years of defeat and anguish, of blood and suffering God
leads the American Colonies at last into the sunlight of victory. George
Washington, first president of the established union of free sovereign
democratic States, delivers his inaugural address. A free nation rises
from blood-red soil to haunt the dream of kings.
The rulers of earth are not slow to note the signs of the times.
Democracy must be crushed. The handwriting on their palace walls is
plain. He who runs may read. Imperialism challenges Democracy for a
fight to the finish. The kings of Austria, Russia and Prussia meet in
Paris and form the Holy Alliance. The purpose of their treaty is
expressed in plain language. It has the ring of a bugle call to arms.
They do not mince words:
“_The high contracting parties, well convinced that the system of
representative government is as incompatible with the monarchical system
as the maxim of the sovereignty of the people is opposed to the
principle of Divine Right, engage in the most solemn manner to employ
all their means and unite all their efforts to put an end to the system
of representative government wherever it is known to exist in the States
of Europe and to prevent it from being introduced into those States
where it is not known._”
Alexander I of Russia, Frederick William III of Prussia, and Francis I
of Austria sign the solemn compact and fix their Royal seals. In due
time the Bourbon King of France joins the Alliance against the rising
Democracy. They would first crush the spirit of the French Revolution in
Europe and halt the spirit of 1776 in America. They must re-establish
the Crown over the revolting colonies of Central and South America and
establish Russia’s claim to Northwestern America.
James Monroe, president of the United States, answers this challenge
with the doctrine of a free America ruled by her own people. The leader
of world democracy does not mince words. His message rings also with the
note of a bugle call to arms:
“_The political system of the Allied Powers is essentially different
from that of America. To the defense of our own, which has been achieved
with the loss of so much blood and treasure, this whole nation is
devoted and we should consider any attempt on their part to extend their
system to any portion of this hemisphere as dangerous to our peace and
safety. It is impossible therefore that the Allied Powers should extend
their political system to either Continent of North or South America
without endangering our life._”
Imperial Europe has flung down the gantlet. American Democracy accepts
the challenge and the fight is on to a finish.
The King of Prussia wins the first skirmish and strangles with iron hand
the murmurs of the people of Germany for freedom. Karl Schurz, Franz
Siegel, Jacobi and their fellow students crawl through the sewers, elude
the Prussian soldiers, and reach our shores to swell the rank of
militant Democracy. All Europe rings with the headsman’s ax and from a
thousand hilltops the ropes of hangmen swing in the stark heavens.
Those corpses of young men,
Those martyrs that hang from the gibbets--those hearts
pierced by the gray lead,
Cold and motionless as they seem, live elsewhere with
unslaughtered vitality.
They live in other young men, O kings!
They live in brothers, again ready to defy you!
They were purified by death--they were taught and exalted.
Not a disembodied spirit can the weapons of tyrants let loose,
But it stalks invisibly over the earth, whispering,
counseling, cautioning.
Democracy hears these invisible councilors and sets her house in order
for the coming world crisis.
The old Federal Union of sovereign states has proven too frail for the
strain of the new era. A stronger Union must be laid with new and deeper
foundations. “Liberty and Union one and inseparable now and forever”
ceases to be merely the eloquent prayer of a great statesman. It has
become the first necessity of the political system of Democracy. Abraham
Lincoln realizes this in his soul stirring cry from the great
battlefield:
“_That Government of the people by the people and for the people shall
not perish from the earth!_”
From her baptism of blood and tears the New Nation, strong, free,
united, rises at last to face a hostile world, her house in order, her
loins girded for the conflict.
Imperial Europe hastens to test her mettle. A princeling is proclaimed
emperor of Mexico in a palace in Vienna, Austria, and sails for our
shores. His reign is brief.
A few short months and Maximilian stands beside an old Spanish wall in a
Mexican village and bids farewell to his friends. He is allowed to
embrace Miramon and Mejia. With imperial gesture he throws his gold to
the soldiers and bids them fire straight at his heart. The three fall
simultaneously and the smoke lifts once more on a Western nation ruled
by the people.
Europe has not forgotten. She is busy for the moment setting her own
house in order for the supreme conflict which her leaders foresee with
the advance of the dangerous heresy of people claiming the right to
govern themselves.
The Emperor of Germany sounds the keynote in an address to his
magnificent army--The Divine Right of Kings was never so boldly
proclaimed by any ruler of the world. He speaks the last word of
Imperial Culture to Modern Democracy:
“_We Hohenzollerns hold our crown from God alone. Who opposes me I shall
crush to pieces!_”
The American Republic is but a lusty youth of untried strength among the
nations of earth. The real battle between the Crown and the People for
the mastery of the world is yet to be fought. Eternal vigilance is the
price of liberty today as yesterday and forever.
CHAPTER I
The liveried flunkey entered the stately library and bowed:
“You rang, sir?”
He scarcely breathed the words. In every tone spoke the old servile
humility of the creature in the presence of his creator the King. He
might have said, “Sire.” His voice, his straight-set eyes, his bowed
body, did say it.
His master continued the conversation with the two men without lifting
his head. He merely flung the order with studied carelessness:
“Lights, Otto--the table only.”
The servant bowed low, pressed the electric switch, and softly left the
room, walking backward as before royalty.
The two men with Charles Waldron in his palatial house in New York
passed the incident apparently without knowledge of its significance. An
American-born boy of fourteen, seeing it twenty-five years ago, would
have wondered where on earth the creature came from. Of one thing he
would have been certain--this flunkey could not have been made in the
United States of America. Within the past quarter of a century, however,
the imported menial has become one of our institutions and he is the
outward sign of a momentous change within the mind of the class who have
ruled our society.
The crown-embossed electric lantern above the massive table in the
center of the room flooded the gold and scarlet cloth with light.
Waldron with a quick gesture of command spoke sharply:
“Be seated, gentlemen.”
The two men instinctively brought their heels together and took seats
within the circle of light. The master of the house paused a moment in
deep thought before the stately Louis XIV window looking out on the
broad waters of the Hudson.
His yacht, a huge ocean greyhound whose nose had scented the channels of
every harbor of the world, lay at anchor in the stream along the heights
of upper Manhattan, her keen prow bent seaward by the swift tide.
The strong face of the master of men was flushed with an inward fire.
His gray eyes glowed. His jaws suddenly came together with decision. He
turned from the window as if to join the two at the table and paused in
his tracks studying the face of Meyer, the tall angular fellow who was
evidently impatient at the delay.
Waldron had suddenly made up his mind to trust this man with a most
important mission. And yet he disliked him. He was the type that must be
used, but held with an iron hand--the modern enthusiast with scientific
knowledge.
The smaller man, Mora, was easy--the nose of a ferret, coarse black
cropped beard and thick sensuous lips. He could be managed--yes. He
could be trusted--yes.
The other--he studied again--the strongly marked angular features, the
large brilliant eyes, big nostrils and high forehead. He could be used
for the first steps--it might be necessary to hang him later. All right,
he would use him and then let him hang himself--suicide was common with
his type.
Waldron smiled, quickly approached the table and took his seat. He
nodded to Meyer and spoke suavely:
“Your invention has been perfected?”
The deep lines about the thinker’s mouth twitched. He suddenly thrust
his hand in his pocket, drew out a box and placed it under the light.
“I have it with me.”
Mora bent close and Waldron watched keenly as Meyer opened the leathern
case and exposed the new device which he had promised to perfect.
“Examine the mechanisms,” he said, passing it to Waldron. “It’s
perfectly harmless at present. The clockwork inside is as delicate as a
Swiss watch.”
The master of the house placed the smooth round surface to his ear,
listened, laughed softly and passed it to Mora.
Meyer spoke with the certainty of positive knowledge, holding Waldron’s
eye with a steady gaze.
“I guarantee to stop the trade of this money-grabbing nation with all
belligerents. I’ll sink a ship from inside her hold as slick as that
torpedo ten days ago got the _Lusitania_--”
Waldron made no reply. His jaw merely closed tightly.
The throb of an automobile climbing the steep roadway from the river
drive struck the window. Waldron rose, listened a moment, walked to the
casement and looked out.
A tall, distinguished-looking man with deep-cut lines in his strong
face, who moved with military precision, opened the door of the tonneau
without waiting for the chauffeur and leaped out.
The flunkey in the hall was evidently expecting his arrival. Villard
whispered to the servant who closed the door quickly and led the way to
the library.
The new guest was evidently nervous in spite of his well drilled
manners. In his right hand he gripped an extra edition of a New York
sensational evening paper.
Villard himself brushed the flunkey aside and rapped on the library
door. Waldron opened and closed it instantly on his entrance. There was
no mistaking the fact that the newcomer bore an important message. His
deep, cold, blue eyes glowed with excitement and his hand visibly
trembled. He drew his host to the window, opened the crumpled copy of
the paper and pointed to its huge head lines:
CONGRESSMAN VASSAR OF NEW YORK INTRODUCES BILL DEMANDING A GREAT
NAVY AND A MILLION TRAINED MEN FOR DEFENSE!
“This is a serious business”--Villard said curtly.
Waldron smiled:
“Serious--yes--unless we know how to meet the crisis. I happen to
know--”
“It can be defeated then?”
“It will be defeated,” was the quiet reply. “Many bills are introduced
into our supreme law-making body, Villard--but few are passed. This is
one that will die an early and easy death--”
“You are sure?”
“As that I’m living. Come--sit down.” Waldron moved toward the table and
Villard quickly followed.
Waldron handed the paper to Meyer without comment and quietly watched
him explode with excitement. Mora, too, was swept from his feet for the
moment.
“It means--sir?” Meyer gasped.
“That we will move a little more quickly--that is all,” Waldron
answered.
The three men leaned close, each awaiting with evident deference the
word of the master mind.
There was no mistaking the fact that one mind dominated the group. The
high intellectual forehead of the man of millions marked him at once as
a born leader and master of men. There was a consciousness of power in
the poise of his big body and the slow movement of his piercing eyes
that commanded attention and respect from his bitterest foe.
“Of course, gentlemen,” he began calmly, “if we had in this country an
intelligent and capable government we would be up against a serious
situation. We have no such government. The alleged Democracy under which
we live is the most asinine contrivance ever devised by theorists and
dreamers. It never makes an important move until too late and then will
certainly do the wrong thing in the moment of crisis. There is but one
thing you can always depend on at every session of Congress. They will
pass the bill dividing the Pork Barrel among the Congressional
Districts. The average Congressman considers this his first duty--the
rest is of but slight importance--”
Villard laughed heartily. The two others joined feebly. They were not so
sure of the situation. Their knowledge of Waldron’s power and the
accuracy of his judgment was not so clear as the older man’s.
“Not only have we the most corrupt and incompetent government of all
history,” Waldron went on, “but to add to its confusion and weakness we
have lately thrust the duties of the ballot upon millions of hysterical
women utterly unfitted for its responsibilities. It is an actual fact
that the women now enfranchised in the Middle and Western states hold
the balance of power--”
Villard suddenly leaped to his feet.
“And they will vote solidly against every programme of preparation!”
Waldron nodded.
“How fortunate at this moment!” Villard went on enthusiastically, “that
the women rule American men. I begin to see the reason for your
confidence. You will enlist of course the eloquent young leader who
addressed the mob in Union Square last week?”
“At once,” Waldron answered quickly. “Virginia Holland is one of the
feminine gods at the moment. It’s amazing with what blind worship her
disciples follow--”
“She’s a stunning young woman, sir!” Villard broke in gallantly. “By
Jove, she stirred me. You can’t neglect her--”
“I shall cultivate her at once,” was the quiet answer. “In the meantime,
Meyer”--Waldron paused and held the enthusiast’s eye for an instant and
went on rapidly--“we will forget the ships--”
Meyer frowned in surprise but had no time to answer before he received
the curt order in an undertone.
“Wait for me--I’ve more important work for you.” Waldron rose and drew
Villard and Mora aside.
Without ceremony he placed five yellow-backed one hundred dollar bills
in Villard’s hands and a single one in Mora’s.
“We hold a great Peace rally to launch the popular movement against this
bill to establish militarism in the United States. The classes who
cherish varied theories of peace will join us. The Honorable Plato
Barker is at the moment the leader of the peace yodelers. He is a
professional lecturer who loves the sound of his own voice. He knows
you, Villard, and prizes your opinions on Peace--”
Villard gave a dry little laugh.
“You will personally see the Honorable Plato and secure him as our
principal speaker. And you, Mora, happen to know the Reverend A.
Cuthbert Pike, D.D., President of the American Peace Union. His church
maintains some missionaries in your benighted native land. His office is
at the Bible House. I want him to introduce the Honorable Plato
Barker--”
Mora smiled and bowed, and the two hurried to execute their orders.
Villard’s car was waiting. The master of the house took Meyer’s arm, led
him to the corner of the library and for half an hour gave explicit
instructions in low tones.
Before showing Meyer to the door another roll of bills was duly
delivered for defraying the expenses of his important work. The
enthusiast brought his heels together with a sharp click, saluted and
hurried down the broad stairs. He declined the offer of an automobile.
He didn’t like millionaires. He only used them.
Waldron watched him go with a curious smile, drew on his gloves and
called for his hat and cane.
The flunkey who hovered near obeyed the order with quick servility and
stood watching his master go by the broad porte-cochère, wondering why
the order had not been given him for the car.
Waldron signaled his night chauffeur, and the big limousine darted to
the stoop. As the driver leaned out to receive his orders, Waldron spoke
in low tones:
“To Miss Virginia Holland’s on Stuyvesant Square--”
The driver nodded and closed the door of the limousine. He had been
there before.
CHAPTER II
Virginia Holland, at her desk preparing an address on the Modern
Feminist Movement, dropped her pencil and raised her head with a look of
startled surprise at the cry of a newsboy in the street below. The whole
block seemed to vibrate with his uncanny yell:
“Wuxtra! Wuxtra!”
A sense of impending calamity caught her heart for a moment. It was a
morbid fancy, of course, and yet the cry of the boy kept ringing a
personal warning.
Work impossible, she opened her door, called and asked her brother Billy
to get a copy of the paper.
Before he returned her anxiety had increased to the point of pain. She
rapidly descended the stairs and waited at the door.
Billy entered reading the headlines announcing Vassar’s new programme of
military preparation. Virginia flushed and gazed at the announcement
with increasing excitement. The name of John Vassar had caused a flush
before the announcement of his bill had made an impression. Her handsome
Congressman neighbor, though they had never formally met, had for some
months past been a disturbing factor in a life of hitherto serene
indifference to men. That he should have antagonized in this bill her
well known position as the uncompromising advocate of peace and of
universal disarmament was a shock. His proposal to arm the American
Democracy came as a slap in her face. She felt it a personal affront.
Of course she had no right to such feeling. John Vassar was nothing to
her! She had only seen him pass her window three times during the year.
And yet the longer she gazed at the announcement the more furious she
became. At least he might have consulted her as the leading
public-spirited woman in his district on this measure of such
transcendent importance. He had not done so, for a simple reason. He
knew that she opposed militarism as the first article of her life faith.
Her hand closed on the paper in a grip of resentment. She made up her
mind instantly to force his hand on the suffrage issue. She would show
him that she had some power in his District.
Her mood of absorbed anger was suddenly broken by Billy’s joyous cry:
“Hurrah for John Vassar, sis. Me for West Point! Will you make him
appoint me?”
She turned in sudden rage and boxed her young brother’s ears, smiled at
his surprise, threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. She boxed
his ears for crying hurrah for Vassar. She kissed him for the compliment
of her supposed power over the coming statesman.
To hide her confusion she began at once a heated argument over the
infamies of a military régime. The quarrel broke the peaceful scene of a
game of checkers between the father and mother in the sitting-room, and
brought the older people into the hall:
“In heaven’s name, Virginia!” her father exclaimed. “What is the
matter?”
“Read it”--she answered angrily, thrusting the paper into his hand.
The Grand Army veteran read with sparkling eyes.
“Good!” he shouted.
“That’s what I say, father!” Billy echoed.
“It’s absurd,” Virginia protested. “War on this country is impossible.
It’s unthinkable--”
The old soldier suddenly seized her hand.
“Impossible, is it? Come with me a minute, Miss!”
He drew her into the library followed by Billy--the mother striving
gently to keep the peace.
Holland led his eloquent daughter to the rack above the center bookcase
and took from its place his army musket.
“That’s what they said, my girl, in ’61. Here’s the answer. That’s what
your grandmother said to your grandfather. That’s why we’ve bungled
every war we ever fought and paid for it in rivers of blood!”
The family row started anew--the father and boy for preparation against
war, the daughter and mother for peace--peace at any price.
The quarrel was at its height when Waldron’s car arrived.
Old Peter, the stately negro butler of the ancient régime, closed the
folding doors to drown the din before ushering the distinguished guest
into the parlor. Waldron was a prime favorite of Peter’s. The
millionaire had slipped him a twenty-dollar gold piece on a former
occasion and no argument of friend or foe could shake his firm
conviction that Charles Waldron was a gentleman of the old school.
Besides, Peter was consumed with family pride in Virginia’s hold on so
distinguished a leader of the big world.
The old butler bowed his stateliest at the door of the parlor with the
slightest hesitation on his exit as if the memory of the twenty-dollar
gold piece lingered in spite of his resolution to hold himself above the
influence of filthy lucre.
“I tell Miss Virginia, right away, sah--yassah!”
Waldron seated himself with confidence. Virginia Holland lingered a few
minutes merely to show the great man that she was not consumed with
pride at his attentions. That she appreciated the compliment of his
admiration she would not have denied even to John Vassar. Waldron had
made the largest single contribution to the Woman’s Movement it had
received in America. She had gotten the credit of winning the great
man’s favor and opening his purse strings.
That the millionaire was interested in her charming personality she had
not doubted from the first. He left no room for doubt in the eagerness
with which he openly sought her favor.
And yet it had never occurred to her to think of him as a real lover.
There was something so blunt and material in his personality that it
forbade a romance. She could imagine him asking a woman to marry him.
But in the wildest leap of her fancy she had not been able to conceive
of his making love. In her strictly modern business woman’s mind she was
simply using her influence over the great man for all it was worth in a
perfectly legitimate way and always for the advancement of the Cause.
She greeted him with a gracious smile and he bowed over her hand after
the fashion of the European courtier in a way that half amused her and
half pleased her vanity.
He held a copy of the evening paper.
“You have read it?”
Virginia nodded.
Waldron went straight to the point in his cold, impersonal but
impressive way.
“You are the most eloquent leader of American women, Miss Holland. Your
voice commands the widest hearing. You stand for peace and universal
brotherhood. Will you preside at a mass meeting tomorrow night to
protest against this infamous bill?”
Virginia Holland had given her consent mentally until he used the word
“infamous.” Somehow it didn’t fit John Vassar’s character and
instinctively she resented it.
She blushed for an instant at her silly inconsistency. But a moment ago
she had herself denounced the young statesman with unmeasured violence.
In the next moment she was resenting an attack on him.
Waldron watched her hesitation with surprise and renewed his plea with
more warmth than he had ever displayed.
Virginia extended her hand in a quick business-like way.
“Of course I’ll preside. We are fighting for the same great end.”
Waldron made no effort to press his victory. He rose at once to go, and
bowed low over her hand.
“Au revoir--tomorrow night,” he said in low tones.
Virginia watched him go with a mingled feeling of triumph and fear.
There was something about the man that puzzled and annoyed
her--something unconvincing in his apparent frankness. And yet the truth
about his big life purpose never for a moment entered her imagination.
CHAPTER III
When Meyer reached the quarter of the East Side where eager crowds surge
through a little crooked thoroughfare leading from the old Armory on
Essex Street he encountered unexpected difficulties.
He ran into a section of John Vassar’s congressional district saturated
with the young leader’s ideals of a new Americanism. He was coldly
received.
Benda, the Italian fruit-dealer on the corner, Meyer had marked finally
as his opening wedge in the little clannish community. The Italian was
the most popular man on the street, his store the meeting-place of the
wives and children for three blocks.
Meyer entered the store and to his surprise found it deserted. The
sounds of laughter in the little suite of living-room and kitchen behind
the store told of festivities in progress. He waited impatiently for the
proprietor to return.
Benda was presiding at a function too important to be interrupted by
thoughts of trade. With Angela, his wife, and the neighbors, he was
celebrating the fifth birthday of their only boy, Tommaso, Jr. The kids
from far and near were bringing their little presents and Pasquale, his
best friend, who was returning to Italy by the next steamer, had
generously given his monkey and hand-organ. Benda himself had escorted
Pasquale into the room and had just sprung the big surprise on the
assembled party.
Pasquale was putting the monkey through his tricks amid screams of
laughter when Meyer’s dark face clouded the door leading from the store.
He beckoned angrily to Benda.
“May I see you a minute?”
Benda sprang to meet the unexpected apparition in his doorway while
Angela led Pasquale and the children into the street for a grand
concert. Meyer’s tense face had not passed without her swift glance.
She left the children dancing and entered the store from the front.
Meyer had just offered Benda good wages for his services in the cause
and the Italian was tempted and puzzled.
Angela suddenly confronted Meyer. His suave explanation that the
alliance which he had invited Benda to join was a benevolent order for
self-protection was not convincing.
The wife swung her husband suddenly aside and stepped between the two.
She fairly threw her words into Meyer’s face.
“You go now! My man stick to his beesness. He mak good mon. We got our
little home.”
Meyer attempted to argue. Benda tried to edge in a word. It was useless.
Angela’s shrill voice rose in an endless chorus of protest.
Benda threw up his hands in surrender and re-entered the store. Meyer
angrily turned on his heel and crossed the street to see Schultz, the
delicatessen man on the opposite corner.
Schultz proved impossible from the first. His jovial face was wreathed
in smiles but his voice was firm in its deep mumbling undertone.
“No--mein frient--no more drill for me--I fight no more except for the
flag dot give me mein freedom and mein home!”
The two men held each other’s gaze in a moment of dramatic tension. The
menace in Meyer’s voice was unmistakable as he answered:
“I’ll see you again!”
CHAPTER IV
John Vassar’s triumphant return to his home on Stuyvesant Square, after
the introduction of his sensational bill in Congress, was beset with
domestic complications. Congratulations from his father, nieces, and
Wanda had scarcely been received before the trouble began.
“But you must hear Miss Holland!” Zonia pleaded.
John Vassar shook his head.
“Not tonight, dear--”
“I’d set my heart on introducing you. Ah, Uncy dear--please! She’s the
most eloquent orator in America--”
“That’s why I hate her and all her tribe--”
A rosy cheek pressed close to his.
“Not all her tribe--”
“My Zonia--no--but I could wring her neck for leading a chick of your
years into her fool movement--”
“But she didn’t lead me, Uncy dear, I just saw it all in a flash while
she was speaking--my duty to my sex and the world--”
“Duty to your sex! What do you know about duty to your sex?--you infant
barely out of short dresses! Your hair ought to be still in braids. And
it was all my fault. I let you out of the nursery too soon--”
He paused and looked at her wistfully.
“And I promised your father’s spirit the day you came to us here that
I’d guard you as my own--you and little Marya. I haven’t done my duty.
I’ve been too busy with big things to realize that I was neglecting the
biggest thing in the world. You’ve slipped away from me, dear--and I’m
heartsick over it. Maybe I’ll be in time for Marya--you’re lost at
eighteen--”
“Marya’s joined our Club too--”
“A babe of twelve?”
“She’s going to be Miss Holland’s page in the suffrage Pageant--”
John Vassar groaned, laid both hands on the girl’s shoulders and rose
abruptly.
“Now, Zonia, it’s got to stop here and now. I’m not going to allow this
brazen Amazon--”
His niece broke into a fit of laughter.
“Brazen Amazon?”
“That’s what I said. This brazen Amazon is my enemy--”
The girl lifted her finger laughingly.
“But you’re not afraid of her? John Vassar, a descendant of old Yan
Vasa in whose veins ran the royal blood of Poland--ten years in Congress
from this big East Side district--the idol of the people--chairman of
the National House Committee on Military Affairs”--she paused and her
voice dropped to the tensest pride--“my candidate for governor of New
York--you positively won’t go to the meeting in Union Square tonight?”
she added quietly.
“Positively--”
“Then, Uncy dear, I’ll have to deliver the message--”
She drew a crumpled note from her bosom and handed it to him without a
word.
He broke the seal and read with set lips:
HON. JOHN VASSAR, M. C.,
16 STUYVESANT SQUARE,
NEW YORK.
DEAR SIR: Our committee in charge of the canvass of your
congressional district in the campaign for woman’s suffrage have
tried in vain to obtain an expression of your views. We are making
a house to house canvass of every voter in New York. You have thus
far side-stepped us.
You are a man of too much power in the State and nation to overlook
in such a fight. The Congressional Directory informs us that you
are barely thirty-six years old. You have already served ten years
in Washington with distinction and have won your spurs as a
national leader. A great future awaits you unless you incur the
united opposition of the coming woman voter.
I warn you that we are going to sweep the Empire State. Your
majority is large and has increased at each election. It is not
large enough if we mark you for defeat. I have sincerely hoped that
we might win you for our cause.
I ask for a declaration of your position. You must be for us or
against us. There can be no longer a middle course.
I should deeply regret the necessity of your defeat if you force
the issue. Your niece has quite won my heart and her passionate
enthusiasm for her distinguished uncle has led me to delay this
important message until the introduction of your bill for
militarism has forced it.
Sincerely,
VIRGINIA HOLLAND,
Pres’t National Campaign Committee.
John Vassar read the letter a second time, touched the tips of his
mustache thoughtfully and fixed his eyes on Zonia.
“And my little sweetheart will join the enemy in this campaign!”
A tear trembled on the dark lashes.
“Ah, Uncy darling, how could you think such a thing!”
“You bring this challenge--”
“I only want to vote--to--elect--you--governor--”
The voice broke in a sob, as he bent and kissed the smooth young brow.
She clung to him tenderly.
“Uncy dear, just for my sake, because I love you so--because you’re my
hero--won’t you do something for me--Just because _I_ ask it?”
“Maybe--”
“Go to Union Square with me then--”
He shook his head emphatically.
“Against my principles, dear--”
“It’s not against your principles to make me happy?”
He took her cheeks between his hands.
“Seeing that I’ve raised you from a chick--I don’t think there ought to
be much doubt about how I stand on the woman question as far as it
affects two little specimens of the tribe--do you?”
“All right then,” she cried gayly, “you love Marya and me. We are women.
You can’t refuse us a little old thing like a ballot if we want it--can
you?”
She paused and kissed him again.
“So now, Uncy, you’re going to hear Miss Holland speak just to make me
happy--aren’t you?”
He smiled and surrendered.
“To make you happy--yes--”
He couldn’t say more. The arms were too tight about his neck.
He drew them gently down.
“This is what I dread in politics, dear--when the women go in to win.
We’ve graft enough now. When the boys run up against this sort of
thing--God help us!--and God save the country if you should happen to
make a mistake in what you ask for! Well, you’ve won this fight--come
on, let’s get up front and hear the argument. I hate to stand on the
edge and wonder what the hen is saying when she crows--”
Zonia handed his hat and cane and, radiant with smiles, opened the door.
“I suppose we’ll let Marya stay with Grandpa?” he asked.
“They’ve been gone half an hour!”
“Oh--”
“I had no trouble with Grandpa at all. He agreed to sit on the platform
with me--”
“Indeed!”
“But I don’t think he really understood what the meeting was about--”
“Just to please his grandchick, however, the old traitor agreed to
preside at my funeral--eh?”
“He won’t if you say not--shall I tell him to keep off? Marya will be
awfully disappointed if we make them get down--”
“No--let him stay. Maybe he can placate the enemy. They can hold him as
hostage for my good behavior.”
The hand on his arm pressed tighter.
“It’s so sweet of you, Uncy!”
“At what hour does this paragon of all the virtues, male and female,
harangue the mob?”
“You mean Miss Holland?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, they’ll all be there tonight. Miss Holland is the principal speaker
for the Federated Women’s Clubs of America--she’s the president, you
know--”
“No--I didn’t know--”
“She won’t speak until 9:30. We can hear the others first. There’ll be
some big guns among the men too--the Honorable Plato Barker and the
Reverend A. Cuthbert Pike, the president of the American Peace
Union--and Waldron, the multi-millionaire, he presides at Miss Holland’s
stand--”
“Indeed--”
“Yes--they say he’s in love with her but she doesn’t care a rap for him
or any other man--”
John Vassar had ceased to hear Zonia’s chatter. The name of Charles
Waldron had started a train of ugly thought. Of all the leaders of
opinion in America this man was his pet aversion. He loathed his
personality. He hated his newspaper with a fury which words could not
express. It stood squarely for every tendency of degenerate materialism
in our life, a worship of money and power first and last against all
sentiment and all the hopes and aspirations of the masses. He posed as
the Pecksniffian leader of Reform and the reform he advocated always
meant the lash for the man who toils. His hatreds were implacable, too,
and he used the power of his money with unscrupulous brutality. He had
lately extended the chain of banks which he owned in New York until they
covered the leading cities of every state in the Union. His newspaper,
the _Evening Courier_, was waging an unceasing campaign for the
establishment of an American aristocracy of wealth and culture.
Vassar was cudgeling his brain over the mystery of this man’s sudden
enthusiasm for woman suffrage and the Cause of Universal Peace. It was a
sinister sign of the times. He rarely advocated a losing cause. That
this cold-blooded materialist could believe in the dream of human
emancipation through the influence of women was preposterous.
Zonia might be right, of course, in saying that he had become infatuated
with the young Amazon leader of the Federated Women’s Clubs. And yet
that would hardly account for his presence as the presiding genius of a
grand rally for suffrage. There were too many factions represented in
such a demonstration for his personal interest in one woman to explain
his activity in bringing those people together. His paper had, in fact,
led the appeal to co-ordinate Demagogery, Labor, Peace Propaganda,
Socialism, and Feminism in one monster mass meeting.
The longer Vassar puzzled over it, the more impenetrable became
Waldron’s motive. His leadership in the movement was uncanny. What did
it mean?
CHAPTER V
It was barely seven when they reached Union Square. It was already
packed by a dense crowd of good-natured cheering men and women.
Seventy-five thousand was a conservative estimate. The air was electric
with contagious enthusiasm.
“We’ll hear the apostle of peace first,” Vassar said to Zonia, pushing
his way slowly through the crowd toward a platform with three-foot
letters covering its four sides:
PEACE! PEACE! PEACE! PEACE!
The Reverend A. Cuthbert Pike, president of the Peace Union of America,
was delivering the opening address as the chairman of his meeting. He
was a funny-looking little man of slight features, bald and decorated
with a set of aggressive side whiskers. His manner was quick and
nervous, electric in its nervousness, his voice in striking contrast to
the jerky pugnacity of his body. The tones were soft and dreaming, as if
he were trying to subdue the tendency of the flesh to fight for what he
believed to be right.
He leaned far over the rail of the platform and breathed his words over
the crowd:
“Two great powers contend for the mastery of the world, my friends,” he
was saying. “The spirit of Christ and the spirit of Napoleon. The one
would overcome evil with good. The other would hurl evil against evil.
One stands for love, humility, self-sacrifice. The other stands for the
hate, pride and avarice of the militarism of today--”
Vassar lost the next sentence. His mind had leaped the seas and stood
with brooding wonder over the miracle of self-sacrifice of a thousand
blood-drenched trenches and battlefields where millions of stout-hearted
men were now laying their lives on the altar of their country--an
offering of simple love. They had left the selfish pursuit of pleasure
and wealth and individual aggrandizement and merged their souls and
bodies into the wider life of humanity--the hopes and aspirations of a
race. Was all this hate and pride and avarice? Bah! The little fidgety
preacher was surely crazy; the thing called war was too big and terrible
and soul-searching for that. Such theories were too small. They could
not account for the signs of the times.
The preacher was talking again. He caught the quiver of hate in his
utterance of the name of the great German philosopher.
“In Nietzsche’s words we have the supreme utterance of the modern
anti-Christ in his blasphemous rendition of the Beatitudes. Hear him:
“‘Ye have heard how in olden times it was said, Blessed are the meek for
they shall inherit the earth; but I say to you, Blessed are the valiant,
for they shall make the earth their throne--”
“Militarism, my friends, is the incarnate soul of blasphemy! It is
confined to no country. It is a world curse. The mightiest task of the
times in which we live is to cast out this devil from the body of
civilization. We demand votes for women because we believe they will
help us in the grim battle we are fighting with the powers of Death and
Hell--”
Vassar turned with a sigh and pressed toward the next platform. The
Honorable Plato Barker, silver-tongued orator of the plains, was soaring
above the heads of his enraptured listeners. His benevolent bald head
glistened in the sputtering rays of the arc light. He was supremely
happy once more. He had resigned the cares of office to ride a new hobby
and bask in the smiles of cheering thousands. He had ridden Free Silver
to death and grown tired of Prohibition. He had groomed a new steed. His
latest hobby was Peace. He too was demanding votes for women because
they would save the world from the curse of war.
Vassar listened to the man whom he had once cheered and followed with
growing wonder and weariness. With pompous pose and high-sounding phrase
he inveighed against arms and armament. In the next breath he denounced
his old opponent for the attempt to abolish armaments by an
international organization to enforce peace through a central police
power. He demanded that America should stand alone in her purity and her
unselfish glory. He believed in America for the Americans. But he would
not fight to maintain it--nor would he permit an entangling alliance
with any nation which might make safe the doctrine without a fight. We
would neither fight nor permit anyone else to fight for us. He demanded
that we should not arm ourselves for defense and in the next breath
declared that he was not in favor at present of dismantling the forts we
now possessed or of disbanding the army. He denounced all arms and all
wars and yet favored being half armed and half ready for an inadequate
defense. He asked that we stand absolutely alone in the world and half
armed maintain the guardianship of the Western Hemisphere against the
serried millions of veteran soldiers of armed Europe. He demanded that
we uphold international law and order and yet ridiculed any organization
for that purpose.
Each empty platitude the crowd cheered. Each preposterous demand for
the impossible they cheered again with redoubled power.
His last proposition was evidently his favorite. He dropped his voice to
low persuasive tones:
“Even suppose the unthinkable thing should happen. Suppose that some
misguided nation in an hour of madness should send a hundred thousand
soldiers across three thousand miles of sea and attempt to invade this
country--what then? This country, mark you, peopled by a nation of
vastly superior numbers, equal intelligence, mechanical genius and
political organization--”
He paused and thundered:
“What would happen?
“Those hundred thousand invading soldiers would never see their old
homes again--”
Tremendous cheers rent the air.
“And what’s more, dear friends, they would never desire to see their
homes again. We would march out to meet them with smiles and flowers. We
would bid them welcome to our shores. We would give to them the freedom
of our city and greet them as brethren!”
Again the cheers leaped from the throats of thousands.
To John Vassar with the bitter memories of the might of kings that yet
shadowed the world the scene was sickening in its utter fatuity. He
mopped the perspiration from his forehead and hurried on.
He passed the platform on which Jane Hale stood repeating in monotonous
reiteration the plea for peace which she vainly spoke into the ears of
Europe on her tour during the war. The speakers’ stand was draped in red
and behind Miss Hale’s solid figure the young statesman recognized the
familiar faces of the Socialist leaders of the East Side.
How vain this Socialist symbol of the common red blood that pulses from
every human breast! How pitifully tragic their failure in the hour when
the war summoned the world to the national colors. The red flag faded
from the sky. It was all talk--all wind--all fustian--all bombast--all
theory. Men don’t die for academic theories. Men die for what they
believe. And yet these American Socialists were as busy with their
parrot talk as if nothing had happened in the world since that fatal day
in July, 1914, when old things passed away and all things became new.
Vassar pressed past the crowd around the Socialist stand and saw beyond
the platform from which the woman leader of the new Anti-Enlistment
League was haranguing the mob. She too was a suffragette for peace
purposes--an aggressive fat female of decisively militant aspect. Her
words were pacific in their import. Her manner and spirit spoke battle
in every accent and gesture. She was determined to have peace if she had
to kill every man, woman and child opposed to it.
She waved the pledge of the League above her head and recited its form
in rasping, challenging, aggravating notes.
“I, being over eighteen years of age, hereby pledge myself against
enlistment as a volunteer for any military or naval service in an
international war, and against giving my approval to such enlistment on
the part of others.”
She paused and shouted:
“The Anti-Enlistment League does not stand for puny non-resistance! We
appeal to the militancy of the spirit--”
John Vassar looked at his watch.
“We’ve yet time to hear brother Debs. I like his kind. You always know
where to find him.”
“No-no--Uncy,” Zonia urged, “we must hurry to our stand--”
“_Our_ stand, eh?”
“Yes--you mustn’t miss a word Miss Holland says. She doesn’t speak
long--but every word counts--”
“She has one loyal follower anyhow,” Vassar smiled.
“I’m going to win her for you, Uncy dear--”
“Oh, that’s the scheme?”
“Yes--”
“I don’t think it can be done, little sweetheart. I never could like a
hen that crows--”
Zonia waved her arm toward the big platform of the Woman’s Federated
Clubs.
“There they are now!” she cried--“Marya and Grandpa--they’re sitting on
the steps--”
“So I see--“ Vassar laughed.
Old Andrew Vassar was beaming his good-natured approval on the throng
that surged about the stand, his arm encircling his little granddaughter
with loving touch.
The younger man watched him a moment with a tender smile. His father was
supremely happy in the great crowd of strong, healthy, free men and
women. He knew nothing of the meaning of the meeting. He never bothered
his head about it. The thing was a part of the life of America and it
was good. He was seventy years old now--lame from an old wound received
in Poland--but had a fine strong face beaming generous thoughts to all
men. He had landed on our shores thirty years ago broken, bruised and
ruined. He had dared to lift his voice in Poland for one of the simplest
rights of his people. A brutal soldier at the order of their imperial
master had sacked his home, murdered his wife and daughter before his
eyes, robbed him of all and at last left him in the street, bleeding to
death with a baby boy of five clinging to his body. His older son had
smuggled him aboard a ship bound for New York. He had prospered from the
day of his landing. A tailor by trade he had proven his worth from the
first. For ten years he had been head cutter for a wholesale clothing
house and received an annual salary of ten thousand dollars. Ten years
ago the might of kings had gripped the son he left behind. His goods too
were forfeited, his life snuffed out and his children orphaned. Big free
America had received them now, and the old man’s strong arm circled
them. The little terror-stricken boy, who had clung to him the day the
soldiers left him in the street for dead, was the Honorable John Vassar,
the coming man of a mighty nation of freemen.
Old Andrew Vassar made no effort to grasp the current of our social or
political life. It was all good. He went to all the political meetings,
Democratic, Republican, Socialist, Woman’s Suffrage. He liked to test
his freedom and laugh to find it true.
He caught John’s eye, waved his arm enthusiastically and lifted Marya
high above the heads of the crowd that she might throw him a kiss.
Zonia answered with a little cry of love and they quickly pressed
through the throng to a position directly in front of the speaker’s
stand.
Waldron had just risen to make his opening address. His automobile had
brought him quickly from another important engagement with a committee
of Western bankers who had met in the stately library of his palatial
home on the heights of upper Manhattan.
There was no mistaking the poise of the man, his dignity and conscious
reserve power. Vassar studied him for the first time at close range with
increasing dislike and suspicion.
He faced the crowd with a look of quiet mastery. A man of medium height,
massive bull neck, high forehead, straight intellectual eyebrows and
piercing steel gray eyes. There was no mistaking the fact that he was a
born leader of men.
A high collar covered the massive neck well up to the ears, concealing
the lines of brutality which lay beneath; and a pair of glasses attached
to a black silk cord and gracefully adjusted, gave to his strong
features a touch of intellectuality on which his vanity evidently fed.
A curious little smile played about the corners of his eyes and thin
lips as if he knew a good joke that couldn’t be told to a crowd. The
smile brought a frown to John Vassar’s sensitive face. He instinctively
hated a man with that kind of smile. He couldn’t tell why. The smile was
not a pose. There was something genuine behind it. A crowd would like
him for it. But the man who looked beneath the surface for its real
meaning felt intuitively that it sprang from a deep, genuine and
boundless contempt for humanity.
The sound of his voice confirmed this impression. He spoke with a cold,
measured deliberation that provoked and held an audience. His words were
clean cut and fell with metallic precision like the click of a telegraph
key.
“I have the honor, tonight, ladies and gentlemen,” he began slowly, “of
introducing to you the real leader of the women of America--”
A cheer swept the crowd and Zonia stood on tiptoe trying to catch a
glimpse of her heroine.
“She’s hiding behind the others--“ she pressed her uncle’s arm--“but
you’ll see her in a minute, Uncy!”
“Doubtless!” Vassar laughed. “She’s too wise an actress to stumble on
the stage before her cue--”
Waldron’s metallic voice was clicking on.
“Before I present her, allow me as a spokesman of this great meeting to
give you in a few words my reasons for demanding votes for women. The
supreme purpose of my life is to do my part in ushering into the world
the reign of universal peace. The greatest issue ever presented to the
American people is now demanding an answer. Shall this nation follow the
lead of blood-soaked Europe and arm to the teeth? Or shall we remain the
one people of this earth who stand for peace and good will to all?
“The militarists tell us that man is a fighting animal; that human
nature cannot be changed; that nations have always fought and will
continue to fight to the end of time; that war sooner or later will come
and that we must prepare for it.
“I say give woman the ballot and she will find a way to prevent war!
“The alarmist tells us that armaments are our only sure guarantee of
peace. It’s a lie. And that lie is now being shot to pieces in Europe
before our eyes. Armaments provoke war. In the fierce light of this
hell-lit conflagration even the blind should see that armaments have
never yet guaranteed peace.
“Europe in torment calls to us today. O, great Republic of the West,
beware! Armaments are not guarantees of peace. They are not insurance.
Make your new world different from the old. Beware of guns. Down with
the machinery of slaughter. Trust in reason. Have faith in your fellow
men. Build your life on love not hate. Proclaim the coming of the
Lord--the Prince of Peace--”
Vassar glanced quickly over the sea of uplifted faces and wondered why
they did not applaud. Barker’s crowd had gone wild over weak platitudes
poorly expressing similar ideas. The words of this man were eloquent.
The silence was uncanny. Why didn’t they applaud?
He turned his head aside and listened intently. It was the metallic
click of Waldron’s cold penetrating voice that killed applause. There
was something in it that froze the blood in the veins of an
enthusiast--and yet held every listener in a spell.
“Your alarmists,” he went on deliberately, “are busy now with a new
scare. When this war is over they tell us we must fight the victors, for
they will move to conquer us. Let us nail another lie. This war will
leave Europe exhausted and helpless for a generation. We will be the
strongest nation in the world--our strength intact, our resources
boundless.
“Besides, we have the men and the means for arming them instantly if we
are threatened. We have equipped and supplied armies of millions for
England, France and Russia. What we have done for them we can surely do
for ourselves. Our factories are now producing more military supplies
for Europe than we could use for our defense. Our navy is more
efficient than ever before in history. Our chief ports are defended by
great guns that make them impregnable. Our army is small, but I repeat
the Honorable Plato Barker’s axiom as a truth unassailable--‘We can
raise an army of a million men between the suns!’ yes and five million
more within a week if they are needed--”
John Vassar ground his teeth and set his firm jaw to prevent an outburst
of mad protest. As chairman of the House Committee of Military Affairs
he knew that every statement in this subtle demagogue’s appeal was but
half truth, and for that reason the most dangerous lie. The navy _was_
more efficient than ever before--so was every navy in the world. Our
navy was still utterly inadequate to defend us against any first-class
combination of Europe or any single power of the rank of Germany. Our
coast guns were good, but a hostile navy triumphant at sea would never
come in range of them. They would land at their leisure at any one of a
hundred undefended harbors and take our forts from the rear. We could
manufacture ammunition--but to no purpose, because we have few guns for
field artillery and not enough trained artillerymen to man them if we
had the guns. It takes years to train the masters of war machinery. A
million men could be raised between the suns, but they would be mowed
down by fields of hidden artillery beyond the range of our gunners
before we could get in sight.
There was no escape from the deep conviction that the cold-blooded
thinker who was smiling into the face of this crowd knew these facts
with a knowledge even clearer than his own.
What was the sinister motive back of that frozen smile?
Again and again Vassar asked himself the question. He was still puzzling
over the mystery of Waldron’s motive when a ringing cheer burst from the
crowd and Zonia pressed his arm.
“There she is, Uncy--there she is!”
Waldron was leading to the rail a blushing girl.
“No, no--sweetheart--that’s someone else--can’t be the Amazon--”
“Of course, you silly--she’s not an Amazon--she’s my heroine. Isn’t she
a darling? Now honestly?”
Vassar was too dumfounded to make reply.
Waldron was introducing her, the same cold smile on his thin lips, the
same metallic click of his voice.
“Permit me, ladies and gentlemen, to present to you tonight a new force
in the world--a real leader of modern women, our Joan of Arc, the
President of the Federated Clubs, Miss Virginia Holland!”
Again the crowd burst into applause.
The little head bowed with the slightest inclination and a smile of pure
sunlight illumined an exquisite face. The Amazon he had hated stood
before him a gentle creature of delicate yet strongly molded features,
her high smooth forehead crowned with a tangled mass of auburn blonde
hair.
Vassar laughed at the sheer absurdity of it all. Such a woman couldn’t
be the leader of the brazen mob of clamoring females he had grown to
hate. It was too preposterous for words. She was speaking now. He didn’t
know what she was saying. No matter. It was her personality that held
him in a spell. Her voice was the most startling contrast to
Waldron’s--soft and clear as the round notes of a flute. Its volume was
not great and yet the quality was penetrating. It found the ear of the
farthest listener in the wide circle of the crowd and at the same time
the depths of his inmost being.
There was no resisting her personal appeal.
Before she had spoken two sentences Vassar was ready to agree to any
proposition she might make. She seemed so sweet and sane and reasonable.
Her appeal was to both the head and the heart of her hearers.
The young statesman mopped his brow in a vague panic. If this was the
leader who had marked him for defeat the situation was serious. If she
and her kind should make a personal canvass of the voters of his
district, he would have to rise early and go to bed late if he ever
expected to see the Capitol at Washington again.
And yet it was not the fear of defeat that really disturbed him. It was
the confusion into which her personality had thrown all his preconceived
ideas. Great God! If this sort of woman had gotten into the movement
where would it end? How could she be denied? He laughed again at his
preconceived ideas of the leader of Amazons and the sweet reasonableness
of this gentle, brilliant, exquisite girl on whose words the crowd hung
breathless.
He was stunned. It was impossible for the moment to adjust his thinking
to the situation. He was missing all her speech. For the life of him he
couldn’t recall a sentence. He pulled himself up with a frown and
listened.
“I am not sure, dear friends, that we can prevent war,” she was saying,
“but I am sure that we will try. And I am absolutely sure that the
clothing of women with the sovereign power of the ballot will introduce
into the councils that decide peace or war a new element in human
history. Man alone has failed to keep the peace. Surely if we help we
can do no worse. I have an abiding faith that we can do better--”
She paused and a look of enraptured emotion illumined her face as she
slowly continued:
“If a city were besieged and soldiers were defending its strong places,
and a breach had been made in the embattlements, the men within would
close that breach with the first thing at hand. They would not spare
even the priceless marble figure on which an artist had spent years of
loving toil--unless the defending soldier were the artist who created
the masterpiece! He could not hurl this treasure into the breach to be
crushed into a shapeless mass. He would find another way or die in the
effort.
“Man is woman’s masterpiece. For twenty-five years she broods and
watches and works with loving care to fashion this immortal being. Give
to her the decisive voice in war and she will find a better way to fill
the breach. She will not hurl her masterpiece into this hell. Man has
failed to find a better way. May not we who love most and suffer most at
least have the chance to try?”
The sweet penetrating voice died softly away and she had taken her seat
before the crowd realized that she had stopped.
A moment’s dead silence and then cheer after cheer swept the throng.
An excited man lifted high his hand and shouted:
“We’ll give you the chance. Yes--yes!”
Zonia’s grip tightened suddenly on John Vassar’s arm.
“You’ll let me introduce you, Uncy?”
Vassar laughed excitedly.
“Will I? Be quick, girl--before she gets away!”
CHAPTER VI
“Aren’t you glad you came?” Zonia asked eagerly.
“Hurry! Don’t let her get away with Waldron--”
The girl darted from his side and pushed rapidly to the platform. The
crowd had encircled Virginia and a hundred people were trying to grasp
her hand at the same time. There was no help for it. He must wait. At
least he was glad the jam made it equally impossible for Waldron to
reach her. He saw him wave his hand to her over their heads, bow and
leave the platform for his waiting car.
Vassar was glad to be rid of his presence. That frozen smile poisoned
the air. He could breathe deeply now.
It was fully fifteen minutes before he caught the signal Zonia waved
from the steps.
His niece was radiant with joy as she proudly introduced them.
“Uncle John, this is my heroine, Miss Holland, and you’ve got to shake
hands and be good friends now--”
“I trust we shall!” Vassar cried laughingly.
Virginia smiled seriously.
“It depends on you, Mr. Congressman,” she responded quietly. “You know
I’ve tried to be friendly for some time, but you have been elusive. I
had to threaten you with death even to bring about an introduction--”
He lifted his hand in protest.
“Don’t--please! It’s unkind now that I know you. I’ve had such a silly
idea of your personality. I repent in sackcloth and ashes--”
“Really?”
“Honestly,” he went on eagerly. “You know I had an idea that all
suffragettes were ugly, disappointed, soured women whose lives had been
beggared by the faults of sinful men--”
“Or Amazons--Uncy!” Zonia broke in with a laugh. “He called you an
Amazon, Miss Holland!”
Virginia blushed and broke into a musical laugh.
John Vassar shook his head menacingly at his niece.
“That’ll do for you now, Miss!”
“Did you call me an Amazon?” Virginia asked still smiling.
“Before I saw you, yes--”
“And now?”
“Now, I’ve a new grudge against Waldron for using first an expression on
which I could improve--”
“What’s that?” she asked, puzzled.
“He called you ‘our Joan of Arc’--”
“And you could improve on that?”
“Yes--you’re Joan of Arc without the cold touch of sainthood. You’re
warm and real and human and still the leader--”
She lifted a pair of serious eyes quickly to his and saw that he was in
dead earnest. There was no fencing or banter. He meant it. A little
smile of triumph played about the corners of her mouth.
She held his gaze in silence and then spoke slowly.
“We’re going to be friends?”
“If you’ll let me--”
Her eyes still held his steadily.
“There are conditions, of course--”
“All right.”
“You wish to know them?”
“At once--”
“My! My! You can come to the point--can’t you?” She laughed.
“My political life may depend on it, you know?” he replied lightly.
“Why not walk home with me--”
“With pleasure!” he broke in.
“And we’ll have a chat in the library. I’m free to confess, Mr.
Congressman, that we would like very much to come to an understanding
with you.”
“And I’m going to confess, Miss Holland, that I’m very much ashamed of
myself that I haven’t made an effort to understand you.”
“Well, you know what the old preacher down South always shouted in the
revivals?”
“No--what?”
“As long as the lamp holds out to burn the vilest sinner may return!”
“Good. We’ll hope that my repentance is not too late--”
“My only fear is, to tell you the truth--that it’s a little too
sudden--”
“But it’s genuine!” he cried. “You’ll have to admit that!”
He looked in vain for his father and Marya.
“Zonia may go with us?” he asked.
“Indeed she can! Everybody has tried his hand to draw out our young
statesman and she succeeds. She’s my little mascot!”
Virginia pressed her arm around the girl and she blushed with pride.
“Come; it’s only a short walk to Stuyvesant Square--we spend most of our
time now at our country place at Babylon, but we’re in for this week’s
rallies.”
Vassar looked for Zonia and discovered her in deep converse with a
smiling blond youth of fourteen, the sparkle of whose eyes made no
secret of their interest.
“My infant brother Billy--“ Virginia explained.
“Indeed!”
“They’re old friends.”
“Evidently!” he laughed.
“Come,” Virginia said in quick business-like tones, “the kids will
follow. I want you to meet my father and mother before they’re off to
bed. In spite of modern progress they are the most pig-headed and
persistent pair of fossils with whom I have to contend--”
“I’ve often seen your father at the soldiers’ reunions--the youngest and
finest looking man of the Old Guard, I’ve always thought.”
“He is--isn’t he?” she said thoughtfully.
“I wonder that the daughter of a soldier should take seriously all this
talk about universal peace--”
“Perhaps that’s the reason--”
“Nonsense!”
“Seriously. I’ve listened by the hour to his stories of the war. When I
was very young I saw only the glamour and the romance and the glory and
then as I grew older I began to think of the blackened chimneys of
Southern homes and feel the misery and the desolation of it all. And we
began to quarrel about war.”
“Your father was in Sherman’s army, I believe?”
“Yes--he ran away from his Western home at fourteen and joined the
colors. Think of it! At eighteen he was mustered out in Washington a
veteran of twenty-six pitched battles. He’s only sixty-odd today with
every power alert except a slight deafness--and by the way--“ she paused
and smiled--“I should tell you that his hobby just now is the
immigration question. Don’t mind anything silly he may say, will you?”
“Certainly not!” Vassar agreed. “I too am fighting against the invasion
of this country by a foreign army--”
“Yours a dream--my father’s grievance quite real you must admit.”
“Seeing that a Pole is his Congressman neighbor--” Vassar admitted
good-humoredly. “It must get on the nerves of the old boys who can’t see
our point of view. The man or woman born in free America inherits it all
as a matter of course. He rarely thinks of his priceless birthright. To
my old father every day of life is a Fourth of July! To me it is the
same. A frail half-starved little orphan clinging to his hand thirty-one
years ago, I stood on the deck of a steamer and saw this wonderful
Promised Land. You are American by the accident of birth. You had no
choice. We are American because we willed to come. We love this land
because it’s worth loving. We know why we love it. We lifted up our eyes
from a far country--amid tears and ashes and ruins--and saw the light of
liberty shining here across the seas. We came and you received us with
open arms. You set no hired spies to watch us. You made our homes and
our firesides holy ground. We kiss the soil beneath our feet. It is
_our_ country--our flag, our nation, our people as it can’t be yours who
do not realize its full meaning--can’t you see?”
“Yes,” she answered softly. “And I never thought of it in that way
before.”
She glanced at the tall, straight, intense figure with new interest.
They walked in silence for a block and he touched her arm with a
movement of instinctive chivalrous protection as they crossed Second
Avenue.
She broke into a laugh in spite of an effort at self-control when they
had reached the sidewalk.
He blushed and looked puzzled.
“Why do you laugh?” he asked in hurt surprise.
“Oh, nothing--”
“You couldn’t have laughed at the little confession I just made to
you--”
She laid her hand on his arm in gentle quick protest.
“You know I could not. It was too sincere. It was from the depths of
your inmost heart. And I see you and all your people who have come to
our shores in the past generation through new eyes after this revelation
you have given me--no, I was laughing at something miles removed--”
Again she paused and laughed.
“Tell me”--he pleaded.
“Come in first--we can’t stand here on the sidewalk like two spooning
children--this is our house--”
CHAPTER VII
With light step Virginia mounted the low stone stoop, fumbled for her
keys, unlocked the massive door and ushered John Vassar into the dimly
lighted hall.
“Come right into the sitting-room in the rear and meet my father and
mother,” she cried, placing her little turban hat on the rack beside
his, man-fashion.
Vassar smiled at the assumption of equal rights the act implied. She
caught the smile and answered with a toss of her pretty head as he
followed her through the hall.
The older folks were bending over a table deeply absorbed in a game of
checkers. The picture caught Vassar’s fancy and held him in the doorway,
a pleasant smile lighting his dark strong face.
“Mother,” Virginia began softly, “it’s time for children to quit their
games. I want you to meet Mr. John Vassar whom I’m trying to dragoon
into our cause--”
The prim aristocratic little woman rose with dignity and extended her
hand in a gesture that spoke the inheritance of gentle breeding. She was
a native of Columbia, South Carolina. Her stock joke of self-pity was
the fact that she had married a Sherman Bummer who had helped to burn
her native city. She excused him always with the apology that he was so
young he was really not responsible for the bad company in which she
found him. As a matter of fact he had driven a gang of drunken marauders
from their house and defended them single handed through a night of
terror until order had been restored. It was ten years later before he
succeeded in persuading the fair young rebel to surrender.
“Delighted to meet you, I’m sure,” Mrs. Holland said quietly. “You must
be a Southerner, with that tall dark look of distinction--”
Vassar bowed low over her hand.
“I wish I were, madam--if the fact would win your approval--”
“To look like a Southerner is enough to win Mother on sight,” Virginia
laughed.
The father extended his hand in a cordial greeting without rising.
“Excuse me, young man, for not getting up,” he said. “I’m lame with the
gout. You’re a suffragette?”
Vassar looked at Virginia, smiled and promptly answered.
“I’ll have to confess that I’m not--”
Holland extended his hand again.
“Shake once more! Thank God for the sight of a sane man again. I thought
they’d all died. We never see them here any more--”
Virginia lifted her finger and her father took the outstretched arm and
drew it around his neck.
“I have to put up with the nincompoops for Virginia’s sake. But I’m
going to explode some day and say things. I can feel it coming on me--”
He stopped abruptly and leaned forward, releasing Virginia’s arm.
“Young man, I can talk to you--you’re not a suffragette--you’re a real
man. Between the women, the Jews and the foreigners this country is not
only going to the dogs--it’s gone--hell bent and hell bound. It’s no use
talking any more. I’ve given up and gone to playing checkers--”
“We may save it yet, sir,” Vassar interrupted cheerfully.
“Save it? Great Scott, man, have you been down Broadway lately? Look at
the signs--Katzmeyers, Einsteins, Epsteins, Abrahams, Isaacs and Jacobs!
It would rest your eyes to find a Fogarty or a Casey. By the eternal, an
Irishman now seems like a Son of the American Revolution! The
Congressman from this district, sir, is a damned Pole from Posen!”
Virginia burst into a fit of laughter.
“What’s the matter, Miss Troublemaker?” Holland growled.
“You didn’t get the name, father dear--this is Mr. John Vassar, the
damned Pole Congressman to whom you have so graciously referred--”
Holland frowned, searched his daughter’s face for the joke, and looked
at Vassar helplessly.
“It’s not so!” he snorted. “I never saw a finer specimen of American
manhood in my life, strong-limbed, clean-cut, clear-eyed, every inch a
man and not a suffragette. It’s not so. You’re putting up a job on me,
Virginia--”
John Vassar smiled and bowed.
“For the high compliment you pay me, Mr. Holland, I forgive the hard
words. I understand how the old boys feel who fought to make this
country what it is today. And I love you for it. I don’t mind what you
_say_--I know where to find your kind when the hour of trial comes--”
“You are Congressman Vassar?” the old man gasped.
“Guilty!”
The mother joined in the laugh at his expense.
Holland extended his hand again and grasped Vassar’s.
“I have no friends in this house, sir! We make up. I apologize to
Poland for your sake. If they’ve got any more like you, let ’em come on.
But mind you--” he lifted his finger in protest--“I stand by every word
I said about the other fellows--every word!”
“I understand!” Vassar responded cheerfully.
“That will do now, Frank,” Mrs. Holland softly murmured.
“And you come in to see me again, young man--I want to talk to you some
time when there are no women around. You’re in Congress. By Geeminy, I
want to know why we’ve got no army while twenty million trained soldiers
are fighting for the mastery of the world across the water. Just count
me in on the fight, will you? By the eternal, I’d like to meet the
traitor who’ll try to block your bill--”
“I’ve important business with Mr. Vassar,” Virginia broke in. “Excuse us
now, children--”
“That’s the way a suffragette talks to her old daddy, Vassar--“ Holland
cried. “I warn you against their wiles. Don’t let her bamboozle you. I’m
lame, but I’m going to vote against ’em, if I have to crawl to the polls
election day--so help me God!”
Mrs. Holland beamed her good night with a gentle inclination of her
silver-crowned head.
“He barks very loudly, Mr. Vassar,” she called, “but he never bites--”
Virginia led her guest upstairs into the quiet library in the front of
the house.
Zonia and Billy were chattering in the parlor.
She pointed to a heavy armchair and sat down opposite, the oak table
between them.
“Now, Mr. Congressman, what is it--peace or war?”
There was a ring of subtle defiance in her tones that both angered and
charmed her opponent. He had met many beautiful women before. For the
first time he had met one who commanded both his intellect and his
consciousness of sex. The sensation was painful. He resented it. His
ideals of life asked of women submission, tenderness, trust. Here sat
before him the most charming, the most fascinatingly feminine woman he
had ever met who refused to accept his opinions and had evidently
determined to bend his mind and will to hers. To think of yielding was
the height of absurdity. And yet he must meet her as his intellectual
equal. He could meet her on no other ground. Her whole being said,
“Come, let’s reason together.” He had no desire to reason. He only
wished to tell her the truth about the impression she had made on him.
He smiled to recall it. He had a perfectly foolish--an almost
resistless--impulse to leap on the speaker’s stand, take her in his
arms, kiss her and whisper:
“Dear little mate, this is silly--come away. I’ve something worth while
to tell you--something big, something wonderful, something as old as
eternity but always new--”
He waked from his reverie with a start to find his antagonist holding
him with a determined gaze that put sentiment to flight.
“Peace or war?” she firmly repeated.
“If I am to choose,” he fenced, “I assure you it will be peace--”
He paused and studied her expression of serious concentration. In spite
of every effort to fix his mind in politics he persisted in the silliest
old-fashioned admiration of her wistful, appealing beauty. Confound it.
She had no right to use such a power for the propaganda of crackbrained
theories! He felt the foundations of the moral world tremble at the
shock of this resistless, elemental force. The man who desires a woman
will sell principle, country, right, God, for his desire. Was he going
to be trapped by this ancient snare? Such a woman might play with a
victim as a cat a mouse until her purpose was accomplished. Sex
attraction is the one force that defies all logic and scoffs at reason.
The government of a democracy was a difficult task under present
conditions. What would it become when the decision on which the
mightiest issues hung could be decided by the smile of a woman’s lips
or the dimple in her cheek?
He felt the pull of this fascination with a sense of inward panic. What
the devil was she laughing at a while ago as they crossed the street? He
had forgotten it for the moment, and she hadn’t explained. He would
fence a little for time before meeting the issue. He touched the tip of
his mustache thoughtfully.
“Anyhow, suppose we shake hands before we begin the fight. It’s one of
the rules of the game you know--”
She leaned across the table with a puzzled expression.
“Shake hands?”
“Yes--spiritually, so to speak. I’d like to get on as friendly footing
as possible to appeal to your mercy if I’m defeated. Would you mind
telling me at what you were laughing when we crossed Second Avenue?”
An exquisite smile illumined her face and a twinkle of mischief played
about the corners of her mouth.
“Shall I be perfectly frank?” she asked.
“Please--”
“I laughed at the silly contradiction of allowing you to touch my arm in
token of your superior strength as you drew about me the sheltering
protection of chivalry. There were no plunging horses near--not even a
pushcart in sight. The nearest street-car was five blocks away. Why did
you think that I needed help in walking ten yards?”
He held her gaze steadily. She was charming--there was no doubt about
it. He had to bite his lips to keep back a foolish compliment that might
anger her. How should he bear himself toward such a woman? Her whole
being breathed tenderness and femininity, yet there was a dangerous
challenge of intellect about her that upset him.
“Why did you think I needed help?” she softly repeated.
“To tell you the truth,” he answered gravely, “I didn’t think at all.
The act was instinctive--the inheritance of centuries--”
“Exactly! Centuries of man’s patronage, of man’s tyranny, of his boasted
superiority. As long as woman submits to be treated as a doll, a
weakling, an incompetent, the supposed superior being must try to do the
proper thing in an emergency--”
“You resented it?” he broke in.
“No. I, too, am suffering from the inheritance of centuries--of
dependence and of the hypocrisy inbred by generations of chivalry. It
was at my own sneaking joy in your protection that I laughed--”
Vassar moved uneasily, drew his straight brows low and looked at her
through their veil for an instant. He was making a desperate effort to
keep his brain clear. It would be ridiculous to surrender to such a
charming little siren at the first encounter.
“Well, sir,” she cried briskly, “now that we’ve shaken hands the first
round is on. Shall I lead?”
Vassar bowed.
“By all means--ladies first!”
“Why do you refuse to give me the ballot?”
“I never knew until tonight that women like you wished it. If I had--”
“You would have agreed?”
“My dear Miss Holland, I not only would have agreed but I would have
gone out after it and brought it to you. And all against my better
judgment. If women are allowed to vote, there must be a law against your
kind entering politics--”
“Yes?”
“Decidedly.”
“And may I ask why?” she demanded.
He smiled and hesitated.
“If you ever get into Congress--I can see the finish of that aggregation
as a deliberative body. You would be a majority from the moment you
entered the Chamber--”
“Please, Mr. Vassar--“ she protested. “We have no time for chaff--”
He rose abruptly from the depths of the armchair, seized a light one,
moved it nearer to the corner of the table, sat down and bent close to
his charming opponent.
“I’m not chaffing,” he began eagerly. “I’m in earnest. Your personality
has upset all my preconceived ideas of the leaders of this woman’s
movement. I am more than ever alarmed at its sinister significance. You
take my judgment by storm because you’re charming. You stop the process
of reasoning by merely lifting your eyes to mine. Such a power cannot be
used to further the ends of justice or perfect the organization of
society. The power you wield defies all law--”
Virginia laughed in spite of an effort at self-control.
“Are you making love to me, Mr. Vassar?” she cried.
He blushed and stammered.
“Well--not--deliberately--”
“Unconsciously?”
He mopped the perspiration from his brow in confusion.
“Perhaps.”
Virginia rose, and her lips closed firmly.
“I think our interview had better end. We are wasting each other’s
time--”
“Please, Miss Holland,” he begged with deep humility, “forgive me. I was
never more sincere in my life. I should have been more careful. But
there’s something about your frank manner that disarmed me. You seemed
so charmingly friendly. I forget that we are enemies--forgive me--”
“There’s nothing to forgive. You are the type of man who cannot
understand my position--and for that reason cannot meet me as an
intellectual equal. I resent it--”
“But I’m not the type of man who cannot understand. I will meet you as
an intellectual equal. I’ll do more. I concede your superiority. You
have baffled and defeated me at every turn tonight--I go puzzled and
humiliated. I refuse to accept such a defeat. You cannot dismiss me in
this absurd fashion. I’ll camp on your doorstep until we have this thing
out.”
“You’ll not call without an appointment, I hope?”
“Oh, yes, I will. I’m going to cultivate your father. I’ll accept his
invitation. I’ll make your house my happy home until we at least come to
an intelligent understanding of our differences--”
“Tomorrow then?” she said. “I’m tired tonight. Tomorrow at eleven
o’clock--”
Vassar smiled at the business-like hour.
“I’ve an important engagement at eleven that will keep me an hour. It’s
Flag Day at my schools--the kiddies expect me--”
“Flag Day?”
“A little device of mine to teach our boys and girls to love their
country--won’t you join us tomorrow at the old Tenth Armory and inspect
my forces?”
Virginia hesitated.
“All right, I will. I’ll ask Mr. Waldron to pick me up there at noon.”
“I’ll expect you at eleven.”
He pressed her hand with a new sense of uneasiness, defeat and anger
which Waldron’s name had aroused.
CHAPTER VIII
John Vassar’s sleep had been fitful and unsatisfying. Through hours of
half-conscious brooding and dreaming he had seen the face of Virginia
Holland. He had thus far found no time for social frivolities. The air
of America was just the tonic needed to transform the tragic inheritance
of the Old World into a passion for work that had practically ruled
women out of the scheme of things.
He had dreamed of a home of his own in the dim future--yes--when the
work of his career, the work he had planned for his country should have
been done. This had been his life, the breath he breathed, his
inspiration and religion--to lead an American renaissance of patriotism.
America had never had a national spirit. His ambition was to fire the
soul of thoughtless millions into a conscious love of country which
would insure her glorious destiny.
A woman’s smile had upset this dream. Through the night he had tried in
vain to throw off the obsession. At daylight he had fallen into a sleep
of sheer exhaustion. It was nine o’clock before he was roused by a
gentle knock on his door.
Marya’s voice was calling somewhere out of space.
“Uncle John--breakfast is waiting--may I come in?”
“All right--dearie--break right in!” he groaned.
“And I’ve a letter for you--a special letter--”
The sleeper was awake now, alert, eager--
“A special letter?”
“A big black man brought it just now. He’s waiting in the hall--says
Miss Holland would like an answer.”
Vassar seized the letter and read with a broad grin. The handwriting was
absurdly delicate. The idea that a suffragette could have written it was
ridiculous!
MY DEAR MR. VASSAR:
I’m heartily ashamed of myself for losing my temper last night.
Please call for me at ten o’clock. I wish a little heart-to-heart
talk before we go to your Flag Festival. Please answer by the
bearer.
VIRGINIA HOLLAND.
Vassar drew Marya into his arms and kissed her rapturously.
“You’re an angel--you’ve brought me a message from the skies. Run now
and tell the big black man--Miss Holland’s butler--to thank her for me
and say that I’ll be there promptly at ten. Run, darling! Run!”
The child refused to stir without another kiss which she repeated on
both his cheeks. She stopped at the door and waved another.
“Hurry, Uncle John--please--we’re all starved.”
“Down in five minutes!” he cried.
The weariness of the night’s fitful sleep was gone. The world was
suddenly filled with light and music.
“What the devil’s come over me!” he muttered, astonished at the
persistent grin his mirror reflected. “At this rate I can see my
finish--I’ll be the secretary of the Suffragette Campaign Committee
before the week’s over--bah!”
* * * * *
Old Peter, the black butler, ushered him into the parlor with a stately
bow.
“Miss Virginia be right down, sah. She say she des finishin’ her
breakfus’--yassah!”
Vassar seated himself with a sense of triumph. She must have written
that note in bed. He flattered himself someone else had not slept well.
He hoped not.
Her greeting was gracious, but strictly business-like--he thought a
little too business-like to be entirely convincing.
She motioned him to resume his seat and drew one for herself close
beside. She sat down in a quiet determined manner that forbade
sentimental reflections and began without preliminaries.
“We lost track of our subject last night, Mr. Vassar, in an absurd
personal discussion. I’ve asked you to come back this morning to make a
determined effort to win you for our cause--”
She paused, leaned forward and smiled persuasively.
“We need you. Your influence over the foreign-born population in New
York would be enormous. I see by this morning’s paper an enthusiastic
account of your work among the children. You are leading a renaissance
of American patriotism. Good! So am I--a renaissance of the principles
of the Declaration of Independence. ‘_We hold these truths to be
self-evident_: that all men are created equal! that they are endowed by
their creator with certain inalienable rights; that among these are
life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. That to secure those rights,
governments are instituted among men, deriving their just powers from
the consent of the governed.’ Come now, I appeal to your sense of
justice. What right have you to govern me without my consent? Am I not
created your equal?”
Her eloquence was all but resistless. The word of surrender was on his
lips, when the voice of an honest manhood spoke within.
“You’re not convinced. The magnetism of a woman’s sex is calling. You’re
a poltroon to surrender your principles to such a force. In her soul a
true woman would despise you for it.”
She saw his hesitation and leaned closer, holding him with her luminous
eyes.
“Come now, in your heart of hearts you know that I am your equal?”
Something in the tones of her voice broke the spell--just a trace of the
platform intonation and the faintest suggestion of the politician. The
voice within again spoke. There was another reason why he should be true
to his sense of right. He owed it to this woman who had moved him so
profoundly. He must be true to the noblest and best that was in him.
He met her gaze in silence for a moment and spoke with quiet emphasis.
“If I followed my personal inclinations, Miss Holland, I would agree to
anything you ask. You’re too downright, too honest and earnest to wish
or value such a shallow victory--am I not right?”
The faintest tinge of red colored Virginia’s cheeks.
“Of course,” she answered slowly, “I wish the help of the best that’s in
you or nothing--”
“Good! I felt that instinctively. I could fence and hedge and trim with
the ordinary politician. With all respect to your pretensions, you’re
not a politician at all. You’re just a charming, beautiful woman
entering a field for which God never endowed you either physically,
temperamentally or morally--”
Virginia frowned and lifted her head with a little gesture of contempt.
“I must be honest. I must play the game squarely with you! I’m sorely
tempted to cheat. But there’s too much at stake. You ask if you are not
my equal? I answer promptly and honestly. I know that you are more--you
are my superior. For this reason I would save you from the ballot. It is
not a question of right, it is a question of hard and difficult duty.
The ballot is not a right or a privilege. It is a solemn and dangerous
duty. The ballot is force--physical force. It is a modern substitute for
the bayonet--a device which has been used to prevent much civil strife.
And yet man never votes away his right to a revolution. The Declaration
of Independence embodies this fact--‘_Whenever any form of government
becomes destructive of those ends, it is the right of the people to
alter or abolish it_--’ There you have the principle in full. Back of
every ballot is a bayonet and the red blood of the man who wields it--”
“But we will substitute reason for force!”
“How, dear lady? _Government is force_--never was anything else--never
can be until man is redeemed and this world is peopled by angels. Man is
in the zoological period of his development. Scratch the most cultured
man beneath the skin and you find the savage. Scratch the proudest
nation of Europe beneath the skin and you find the elemental brute. I do
not believe in forcing our mothers, our sisters, our wives and
sweethearts into the blood-soaked mud of battle trenches. That work is
the dangerous and difficult duty of man. So the ballot, on which peace
or war depends, is his duty--not his right or privilege--”
“Give us the ballot and we will make war impossible,” Virginia broke in.
“How? If women vote with their men, their voting will mean nothing. We
merely multiply the total by two. We do not change results. If women
vote against the men on an issue of war or peace, will men submit to
such a feminine decision? Certainly not. Force and force alone can
decide the issue of force. Back of every ballot is a bayonet or there’s
nothing back of it. The breath of revolution will drive such meaningless
ballots as chaff before a whirlwind--”
“We’ll stop your blood-stained revolutions!” Virginia cried.
“All right. Do so and you stop the progress of humanity. The American
Revolution was blood-stained. It gave us freedom. The Civil War was
blood-stained. It freed this nation of the curse of slavery and sealed
the Union for all time. There are good wars and bad wars. True war is
the inevitable conflict between two irreconcilable moral principles. One
is right--the other wrong. One must live--the other die. Wrong may
triumph for a day. Right must win in the end or else the universe is
ruled by the Devil, not by God. You cannot abolish war until the Devil
is annihilated and God rules in the souls and lives of men and in their
governments as well.”
For the moment the woman was swept from the moorings of her pet
arguments. She quickly recovered.
“We are going to make America the moral and spiritual leader of
mankind!” she cried with elation.
“Yes, I know. In the Parliament of Man, the Federation of the
World--your poet’s dream as far removed from the beastly realities of
life today as Heaven is from Hell--”
“We are going to make this dream a living fact in the world--and free
America shall lead the way--”
“And how will you begin?”
“By setting the proud example of building our national life on spiritual
realities first, not on guns and forts. We will begin the disarmament of
the world--”
“And end your movement by surrender to the armed bullies of Europe!”
“At least my dream is a dream,” Virginia laughed, “yours a silly
nightmare. But I give you up for the present. I see that Ephraim is
joined to his idols. My mission is a failure. At least I thank you for
your candor. I shall have to turn you over now to the tender mercies of
Mr. Waldron and the Executive Committee. Come, we’ll see your flags and
the children. The sight will be restful after our battle.”
She rose quickly, led the way to the hall, adjusted the little turban on
the mass of auburn blond hair and opened the door.
Vassar passed out with a queer sense of defeat. He had vanquished her in
the argument. But the trouble was she had not argued. She had merely
demanded his submission without argument.
CHAPTER IX
Another thing that had upset Vassar’s equanimity was the baffling
quality of Virginia Holland’s character. The more honestly he had tried
to approach her in friendly compromise the more bristling her mental
resistance had become. She held him at arms’ length personally.
He was surprised at her final decision to go to the Armory. No doubt
only an uncompromising honesty had caused her to fulfil a promise.
Clearly she was bored.
As a matter of fact she was anything but bored. She was lashing herself
at every step with reproaches at her idiotic inconsistency in
accompanying an East Side politician on a fool’s errand. No doubt the
whole thing was a scheme to pose before enraptured constituents. Why had
she consented to come? She asked herself the question a hundred times
and finally accepted the weak lie that she was studying his
eccentricities to make his defeat the more sure.
With each moment of her association she had become more and more clearly
conscious of his charm. Its strength and its antagonism were equally
appealing. It would be sweet to demonstrate her own power in his defeat
at the polls and then make up to him by confessing her admiration.
She began to receive striking evidence of his popularity. At every
street-corner and from almost every door came a friendly nod or wave of
a hand.
Schultz, the fat German who kept a delicatessen store on the corner,
waved to him from the doorway.
“Mein Frau und der kids--all dere, gov’ner. I vish I could be!”
On the next block Brodski gripped his hand and whispered a word of
cheer.
“They all seem to know you down here, Mr. Congressman,” Virginia
laughed.
“Yes, it’s my only hope--if we fight--”
“You’ll need help if we do,” she answered quietly.
He didn’t like the tone of menace in her words. There was no bluster
about it. There was a ring of earnestness that meant business.
“Perhaps I’m going to win you to my cause before you know it,” he
ventured. “I’m going to show you something today that’s really worth
while--”
“Meaning, of course,” she interrupted, “that the cause in which I am at
present expending my thought and energy is not worth while--”
“I didn’t say that!” he protested. “And I most humbly apologize if I
implied as much--”
“All the same you think it, sir--”
She stopped short in amazement at the sight of her brother Billy
standing straight and fine beside Zonia at the door of the old Armory, a
marshal’s sash across his shoulder, arrayed in a captain’s uniform of
the Boy Scouts of America.
Zonia grasped her outstretched hand in loyal greeting, her eyes
sparkling with pride at her uncle’s triumphant march beside her heroine.
Virginia’s gaze fixed Billy’s beaming countenance.
“Well, Mr. Sunny Jim!” she exclaimed, “will you kindly give an account
of yourself. How long have you been a marshal of the empire?”
“Oh, ever so long, Virginia--Mr. Vassar didn’t know I was your brother,
that’s all. I’m a captain now. I didn’t let you know ’cause I thought
you might raise a rumpus. Father and mother know. They don’t care. I
like it.”
He turned abruptly to Vassar and saluted.
“Everything ready, sir!”
Virginia shook her head and smiled at Zonia. She too wore a marshal’s
sash.
“I want you to meet some of the mothers, Miss Holland,” she whispered
eagerly. “I made a lot of them go to our meetings.”
“With pleasure, dear.” She smiled at Vassar. “We’ll take occasion to
mend some of our fences in this benighted district today!”
The young Congressman turned his guest over to his niece and hurried
away with Billy to inspect the assignment of kids for the ceremonies of
the Flag.
Virginia was surprised to find the hall packed with women and children,
more than a thousand, of all ages and nationalities. They were
chattering like magpies--a babel of foreign tongues--German, Italian,
Polish, Bohemian, Russian, Greek, Yiddish.
“I must introduce you first,” Zonia whispered, “to my favorite mother,
an Italian with the cutest little darling boy you ever saw. She heard
you speak in the Square--”
She darted into the crowd and led forth a slender, dark-haired young
Italian mother with a beautiful boy of five clinging to her skirts.
“Miss Holland, this is my good friend Angela Benda and Mr. Tommaso!”
Angela bowed and blushed.
“Ah, Signorina, I hear you speak so fine--so beautiful! I make my man
Tommaso vote for you or breaka his neck! I done tell him so too--”
“And did he promise?”
“Si, si, signorina--I mak him--”
Virginia stooped and gathered the child in her arms. Shy at first, he
put his hand at last on her shining hair, touched it gracefully, and
looked into her face with grave wide eyes.
Virginia pressed him suddenly to her heart and kissed him.
“You glorious little creature!” she cried. The act was resistless. In
all her career she had never before done so silly and undignified a
thing in public. She blushed at her folly. What crazy spell could she be
under today? She asked the question with a new sense of uneasy annoyance
as her eyes swept the room in search of the hero of the occasion.
Vassar could scarcely walk for the crowds of joyous women and children
who pressed about him and tried to express their love and pride in his
leadership.
A fight suddenly broke out between the Benda and Schultz kids close
beside Virginia.
Zonia tried in vain to separate them. Vassar saved the situation by
picking up Angela’s boy by his suspenders, and the German kid by the
seat of his pants. He lifted them bodily out of the scene and carried
them into a quiet corner.
Virginia laughed heartily.
Vassar demanded mutual apologies.
“He called me ‘Sausage,’” complained the Schultz kid.
“He calla me a Dago,” answered the Italian.
“Now salute each other with a handshake!” Billy commanded. “And remember
that you’re good Americans.”
“He made them both take off their caps and yell:
“Hurrah for Uncle Sam!”
Virginia looked about the old hall with increasing amazement at the
effective way in which the interior had been decorated. Around the walls
in graceful festoons the beautiful red, white and blue emblems hung an
endless riot of color. From the ceiling they fell in soft, billowing
waves stirred by the breezes from the open windows. The eye of every
child kindled with delight on entering.
The exercises began with a song.
A band of six pieces led them. Everybody rose and sang one stanza. John
Vassar first wrote it in big plain letters on the blackboard where all
could read:
MY COUNTRY, ’TIS OF THEE,
SWEET LAND OF LIBERTY,
OF THEE, I SING!
They sang it with a fervor that stirred Virginia’s soul.
Vassar took the chair as presiding officer and directed the exercises,
Billy acting as his chief lieutenant to Virginia’s continuous amusement.
“Now, children, give me the cornerstone of the American nation--let’s
get that in place first. Now everybody! All together!”
From the crowd came a shout that stirred the big flags in the ceiling:
“ALL MEN ARE CREATED EQUAL!”
Again he wrote it on the blackboard and asked them to repeat it.
They did it with a will.
“Now, children,” he said, “I’ve a distinguished artist here today who
gives us this valuable hour of his useful life to draw a picture on the
board. Watch him closely and don’t forget the message.”
With quick, sure stroke the cartoonist drew a wonderful symbolic
Stairway of Life for the American child.
On the left of the scene appeared Uncle Sam holding the lamp of
knowledge to light the way to success for the crowd of eager boys and
girls at the bottom of the hill. In sharp outline he drew the steps upon
which they might mount--each step a book they could master. The first
step was marked--Primer, the next First Reader and then came Elementary
Arithmetic, Second Reader, Grammar, Geography, History, Physiology,
Rhetoric, Algebra, Physics, Latin, Greek, Geometry, Political Economy
and Trigonometry. The last step faded out in the blazing light of the
Sun of Success at the top of the hill. He drew the figures of little
boys and girls on the lower rounds, bigger boys and girls on the middle
ones, young men and women mounting the hill crest. At the bottom of the
cartoon he wrote:
“Uncle Sam invites all his children of every race and kindred and tongue
to come up higher!”
“Now, once more, children,” Vassar cried, “tell me on what this
country’s greatness rests?”
Again the shout came as from a single throat:
“All men are created equal!”
“Good! Now give me the passwords!”
“Liberty!”
“Equality!”
“Fraternity!”
The three shouts came as three salvos from a battery of artillery.
On another blackboard he wrote the words in huge capitals and left them
standing.
“Now, children, I want you to think for just one minute every day of
your life what it means to be a citizen of this mighty free
Democracy--where men are learning to govern themselves better than any
king has ever done it for them. I want you to realize that the inspired
founders of this nation made it the hope and refuge of the oppressed of
all the world. And I want you to love it with all your heart--”
He lifted his hands and the crowd rose singing “The Star Spangled
Banner.” They sang it with a swing and lilt Virginia had never heard
before. For the first time in her life it had meaning. Her eyes
unconsciously filled with tears.
At a wave of Vassar’s hand the crowd sank to their seats.
Vassar stooped over the platform and motioned to Angela to hand to him
her boy.
The mother proudly passed the child to the leader. Vassar lifted the
smiling youngster in his arms and held him high. In ringing tones he
cried:
“Don’t forget, my friends, that the humblest boy here today may become
the president of the United States!”
A ringing cheer swept the crowd.
Vassar passed the child back to the mother and continued his address.
The rest of it was lost on Angela. A new light suddenly flashed in her
brown eyes.
She sat down, flushed, and rose again. Tommaso tugged at her dress and
begged her to sit down. Her soul was too full. The act of the speaker
was a divine omen. She must know if he really meant that her little
Tommaso might be the president of a great free nation. The thought was
too big. Her heart was bursting. She tried timidly to attract Vassar’s
attention.
Tommaso, alarmed, drew her back to the seat.
Angela looked across the side aisle and saw Virginia in the front row.
Bending low she approached and whispered:
“My own bambino--he may be president--yes?”
Virginia nodded tearfully.
Angela darted back to her seat, snatched the head cloth from her rich
brown hair and seized one of her husband’s earrings. The fight was
brief. The Italian struggled to save his ornaments but the wife won. He
also lost a gay sash about his waist. The mother pressed the boy to her
heart and whispered passionately to her man:
“We Americano now--our bambino be bigga de boss president!”
Tommaso succeeded finally in quieting her before Vassar noticed the
disturbance.
“Now, Captain,” Vassar called to Billy, “give us the order of the day
for the Boy Scouts of America.”
Billy sprang on the little platform, lifted his smiling face, his hands
tightly gripped behind his back and spoke in firm, boyish tones:
“My only regret is that I have but one life to give for my country!”
“And what do you say to that, children?” Vassar shouted.
“Three cheers for Uncle Sam!” they answered. Three times three they gave
it without the need of a prompter.
Vassar waved a signal to the right and from the dressing-room slowly
marched a procession of children of all nations, dressed in their native
costume, each child bearing the tiny flag of their old-world allegiance.
The line of floating color circled the open space in front of the
platform, and, as they passed Vassar surrendered the old flag and
received from his hand the Stars and Stripes which each waved in answer
to a cheer from the crowd.
When the last nation had surrendered allegiance the procession marched
again around the circle to the continuous cheering of the crowd and took
their places about Vassar who held aloft the regimental standard of the
nation with its golden eagle gleaming from the staff. The little
children crowded close and about them gathered a ring of Boy Scouts and
beyond them the mothers of the kids.
He lifted high the flag and every Scout and grown up and every child
saluted it with uplifted hands and cheered.
“Now, boys and girls!” Vassar cried to the outer circle.
They solemnly responded in chorus:
“I pledge allegiance to my flag and to the Republic for which it
stands--one nation, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.”
“Now, kiddies!” he shouted to the little ones.
The answer came in straggling unison:
“I give my hand and my heart to God and my country. One country, one
language, one flag--”
“And now!” the leader cried:
“Hurrah for the President of the United States!”
With a shout they gave the cheers and the ceremony ended again in a
babel of joyous polyglot chatter.
Vassar found Virginia surrounded by a mob of mothers struggling to shake
hands under the guidance of Angela.
“I must say,” he laughed, “that your methods are quite up to date.”
“I assure you I’m not trying to take advantage of my host to seduce his
constituents. I’m only doing my best to make Angela happy by meeting her
friends--”
“Si, signor--we will vote for the signorina--and you, too, is it not
so?”
“Apparently they need no seduction,” Vassar laughed.
Virginia blushed and lifted her hands in protest.
“Well,” the young leader asked in conciliatory tones, “how did you like
it?”
“I’ve been charmed beyond measure,” was the quick answer. “I’ve got a
new view of my country. I’ve a new view of the possibilities of
political leadership. I’m more determined than ever to wield a ballot--”
“You’re not willing to trust me with that duty?”
“No. We can add something you can never give to these people. These
mothers know instinctively that I can understand them as you could not.”
“And I had hoped,” he said regretfully, “that I might win you for a
helper in this work. You’re determined to be my rival--”
“Not unless you fight--”
“Can’t you see,” he persisted, “that what America needs today is not the
multiplication of her voting population by two--but the breathing of a
conscious national soul into the people and giving that soul expression.
What we need is not more millions of voters but a deeper sense of
responsibility developed in those who already vote. We must show the
world that democracy is a success, that democracy means the best in
government, the best in commerce, the best in art and literature. I
grant you that many of our new foreign voters are ignorant, but, dear
Miss Holland, their wives and mothers are far more ignorant. Why add to
this sum total of inefficiency? New York is in reality a foreign city
set down here in the heart of America. More than one-half of the men of
voting age are foreign-born. Only thirty-eight per cent of them are
naturalized. More than half a million of these men are in no way
identified with our political life. Twenty thousand a year in our city
claim their right of citizenship and become voters. We have before us a
gigantic task to teach these men the meaning of true Americanism. This
work has not been done. It has been left to chance. We must break up
these foreign groups. Eighty per cent of our foreign population live in
groups and take no interest in any problem which does not directly
affect their group life. They neither know nor are known by
American-born citizens. Men like your father should get acquainted with
these people. They are yet speaking a foreign tongue, living within the
narrow ideals of their European origin. In time of supreme trial if this
nation should call on them, what could one expect? What have we a right
to expect?”
Virginia shook her head in hopeless protest.
“Always your nightmare of an imaginary impossible attack by a foreign
foe!”
“I wish it were imaginary,” he answered thoughtfully. “Do you think for
a moment that there is a foot of soil in the old world of Northern and
Central Europe on which I could stand and dare to write the sentences
and mottoes on that blackboard? Do the rulers of Europe believe that all
men are created equal? Remember, dear lady, that Democracy is a babe not
yet out of swaddling clothes. The might of kings is as old as the
recorded history of man. The kingly conception of government and its
divine right to govern is inbred into the human race through thousands
of years until it is accepted without question. The idea becomes as
fixed and automatic as the beat of the human heart.
“The American Republic is but a little over a hundred years old. We
reckon in years, they reckon by centuries. The founding of this nation
was one of the happiest accidents in the history of the world. But it
was an accident. The kings were too busy fighting one another in the
stirring years of the American Revolution to give their attention to
you. Your fathers won on a lucky fluke. And thanks to the barriers of
two vast oceans you grew and waxed strong with incredible rapidity. You
were safe as long as these oceans protected you and no longer. The
genius of man has abolished the ocean barrier. There is no more sea. The
ocean is now the world’s highway and transport by water is swifter and
safer than by land. The oceans no longer protect you. They are a
constant menace to your existence--”
“You are assuming that the world is not civilized--that we are still
living in the Dark Ages,” Virginia interrupted.
“I am assuming only the facts of modern life: that force still rules the
world; that government is force; that there are two forms of government
and only two, and that they are irreconcilable--government by the people
and government of the people by imperial masters. These systems can no
more mix than fire and water. The world must yet be conquered by one of
them. You assume that we have settled our form of government for all
time. We have--provided we are ready to demonstrate to the imperial
rulers that we can defend it against all comers--”
Virginia threw up her hands in a gesture of despair.
“You’re hopeless!”
“Can you not see this?” he pleaded.
“I refuse to see it. I still have faith in God and my fellow man.”
He looked at her flushed exquisite face with deep tenderness--lifted his
eyes and saw Zonia and Marya the center of an admiring group of
children.
“You like my little Zonia?” he asked in apparently irrevelent tones.
“I love her--”
“Her father, my elder brother, lived in Poland’s happiest tomb--in
German Poland--”
He stopped abruptly and gave a bitter little laugh.
“His home took fire one night and burned to the ground. By decree of his
Imperial master he was not permitted to build a dwelling on his own
land. He loved this land, poor fool. His wife and babies loved it. He
couldn’t be dragged away. He took refuge in a barn. Through the summer
they managed to live without a fire inside. They cooked in the open. But
when the winter came and the snows fell, he was forced to smuggle a
little stove into the barn to boil some eggs and cabbage and make tea
for his children. He hid the stove in a deep hole under the floor. Ten
days later an officer of the Imperial government, passing, saw the
smoke, forced his way in and uncovered the secret. The stove had made
the barn a dwelling and he had forfeited his estate and his liberty. He
fought--as any man with a soul must fight--for his own! The end was
sure. He shot the officer. But there were legions of these Imperial
soldiers. They assaulted his frail barricade and riddled his body with
bullets. His faithful wife died with him. And little Zonia and Marya
were sent to me in free America. And so you see I lack faith in some
men--”
He stopped abruptly at the sight of Waldron’s heavy face with its arctic
smile.
The millionaire lifted his hat, bowed slightly and disappeared from the
doorway.
“Come with me to Mr. Waldron’s house, we must have a final conference
there--”
“Waldron’s house?” he asked incredulously.
“Certainly. His library has become our campaign headquarters--”
“You’ll have to excuse me--”
“But I won’t excuse you. We’re going to fight this thing out today.”
“I’ve nothing to say to Waldron.”
“But he has something very important to say to you--”
“All right--he knows where I live--”
Virginia laid her hand on his arm in a gesture of appeal that was
resistless.
“Won’t you come with me?”
The frown slowly faded, and he smiled an answer.
“With you--yes.”
CHAPTER X
Billy volunteered to take the children home, Vassar waved his farewell
to the crowd and hurried to the waiting automobile.
Virginia presented him to the banker.
“Our irreconcilable foe, Mr. Waldron!”
The millionaire merely touched his hat with the barest suggestion of a
military salute and Vassar bowed. It was not until they were seated in
the car that Waldron spoke--the same cold smile about his lips.
“I’ve wanted to meet you for a long time, Mr. Vassar--”
“I’m surprised to hear that,” was the light reply. “Our views could
hardly be the same on any subject within my scope of knowledge--”
Waldron smiled patronizingly.
“Anyhow, let us hope that we’ll get together today--”
“We must,” Virginia responded.
The one thing Vassar couldn’t endure was patronage. The tone Waldron
assumed was offensive beyond endurance. If he tried it again the young
leader had made up his mind to find an excuse, stop the car and go back
to his office.
To his relief the man of money made no further attempt at conversation,
save for an occasional whispered order to his liveried chauffeur.
Vassar’s eyes rested on the military cut of this chauffeur’s clothes
with new resentment. The gilded coat of arms on the door of the tonneau
had not escaped him as he took his seat beside Virginia. Nor was the
lordly manner in which the new master of men condescended to talk with
his servant at the wheel lost on the young leader of democracy.
He wondered what Virginia Holland could see in such a man. He refused
utterly to believe that she could love him. Elemental brute strength and
stark physical courage he undoubtedly possessed. The solid mass of his
bull neck and the cold brilliance of his gray eyes left no doubt on that
score.
There could be but one explanation of her association with Waldron. He
had generously loosed his purse strings and given her cause the
unlimited credit needed under modern conditions to conduct a great
political movement. No one could blame her for that. It was good
politics.
All the same he would give a good deal just now to know whether she
cared for the man. He must yield the devil his due. Waldron was the
type of domineering brute that appealed to many women. He wondered if
Virginia Holland had felt the spell of his commanding character.
For the hundredth time he asked himself the question why should he care.
There was the rub. Devil take it, he did care. He had never been so
foolishly happy in his life as in the hours he had spent by this girl’s
side. It infuriated him to think how easy had been his conquest. But
yesterday he had scorned her name. They had met and talked a few hours
and he had become her lackey. At her bidding he was now on his way to
the house of the man he hated.
He caught himself grinning for sheer joy to find himself seated close
beside her in the smooth gliding car of his enemy. He could have enjoyed
this wonderful ride had they been alone.
The afternoon was one of glorious beauty. The rains of the first days of
July had swept the city clean. The sun had broken the clouds into
billowing banks of snow-white against the dazzling azure of the skies. A
brisk inspiriting breeze swept in from the sea and rippled the waters of
the North River into little white lines of foam. The trees along the
Drive flashed in splendor.
The temptation was all but resistless to touch her hand. He started
with terror at the crazy thought. She was anything but an Amazon, but he
could see her pitching him headforemost into the road for daring the
impertinence. He glanced at her furtively, alarmed lest she had read his
thoughts.
Well, there was no help for it now. He was in for a fight for his life
with this demure, quiet, dangerous little woman, who could sit calmly by
his side mistress of her thoughts and no doubt perfectly conscious of
her power over his.
Anyhow she was worth a fight. It was worth any man’s best to win the
heart of such a woman and to make her his own. Could any man really do
it? Of course he could! With the next breath he doubted it, and trembled
at the happiness he felt bubbling in his soul when he felt the nearness
of her exquisite figure.
“Why so grave, Mr. Congressman?” she asked banteringly.
“To tell you the truth, I’m scared,” he answered in low tones.
“Of the great man in front?” she whispered.
Vassar’s jaw closed with decision.
“Far from it, I assure you!”
“You’re not afraid of an automobile?”
“One more guess--”
“You couldn’t be afraid of little me?” she asked demurely.
“Yesterday I would have said no with a very loud emphasis. I’m free to
confess the more I’ve seen of you the more I dread your opposition--”
She laughed in his face with a deliberate provoking challenge.
“Now that’s unkind of you! I expected a much more gallant answer from a
tall handsome apostle of romance and chivalry.”
“Perhaps I was afraid you’d laugh at me--”
“No. I hold that the age of true chivalry is only dawning--the age in
which man will honor woman by recognizing her as worthy to be his pal
and best friend as well as his toy.”
There was something so genuine to the appeal of her personality that the
man who intellectually disagreed with her philosophy yet found himself
in foolish accord with every demand she made.
Vassar was silent a moment, and glanced at her to see if she were
chaffing or sparring to uncover his defenses.
He was about to say too much--to confess too much and do it clumsily in
the presence of the man he hated when the machine suddenly swung toward
the cliff, swept up to a massive iron gate and stopped.
The chauffeur sounded his horn and an old man dressed in the peasant
costume of the lodge-keeper of a feudal estate of Central Europe emerged
from the cottage built into the walls of the cliff and opened the gates
without a word. He bowed humbly to the lord of the manor. Waldron nodded
carelessly.
The banker’s medieval castle, perched on the highest hill on upper
Manhattan, was one of the sights of the metropolis. Vassar lifted his
eyes and caught the majestic lines of the granite tower thrusting its
grim embattlements into the skies. An ocean-going yacht lay at her
anchor in the river like a huge swan with folded wings. The Italian
boathouse which he had built at the water’s edge was connected with his
castle by an underground passage bored through the granite cliff into a
hall cut out of the stone a hundred feet beneath the foundations of the
structure above. A swift elevator connected this hall with the house.
The machine shot gracefully up the steep winding roadway and stopped
beneath the vaulted porte-cochère.
Liveried flunkies hurried down the stone landing to greet their master
and his guests. There was nothing for them to do but open the door of
the tonneau with obsequious bows.
“Will you kindly make our prisoner as comfortable as possible, Miss
Holland,” Waldron said in his even metallic voice, “while I give some
orders outside. You’ll find the library at your disposal.”
“Thank you,” Virginia answered, mounting the steps without further
ceremony.
A feeling of resentment swept John Vassar. How dare this bully assume
such familiarity with Virginia Holland! She had met him as a patron of
the cause of woman’s suffrage. One would think he had the right to her
soul and body by the way he asked her to act as the hostess of his
establishment. The thought that enraged him was that the banker was so
cocksure of himself, his position. No robber baron of the Middle Ages
could have felt more irresponsible in the exercise of his power. The
consciousness of this power oozed from the fat pores of Waldron’s skin.
He exuded the idea as he breathed.
Vassar’s first impression on entering the great house confirmed his idea
of the man’s character. The whole conception of the place rested
squarely on the royal splendors of the Old World. The lines of the huge
building were a combination of two famous castles of medieval France,
both the homes of kings. The great hall was an exact copy in form and
decoration of the throne room of Napoleon in the palace at Versailles.
His library walls above the bookcases bristled with arms and armor.
Anything more utterly undemocratic could not have been found in the
centers of Europe.
The atmosphere of the place was stifling.
Vassar turned to Virginia with a movement of impatience.
“You like this?” he asked.
“I think it very imposing,” was the diplomatic answer.
“So do I,” he snapped, “and that’s why I loathe it. Such ostentation in
a democracy whose life is just beginning can mean but one thing. The man
who built this castle to crown the highest hill of a city is capable of
building a throne in the East Room of the White House if the time ever
comes that he dares--”
Virginia shook her head good-humoredly.
“I’m afraid you’re prejudiced against our patron saint.”
“No,” Vassar answered steadily, “I’m not prejudiced. I hate him with the
hatred that is uncompromising--that’s all. There’s not room for the two
things for which we stand in this republic. One of us must live, the
other die.”
“I suppose a woman doesn’t look on such a house as this with your eyes,”
she answered smiling.
“No, that’s just it--you don’t--and it’s one of the reasons why I’m
afraid of you--”
Vassar turned to examine the collection of chain armor at the end of the
room without waiting for her answer. He was in a bad humor. The place
had gotten on his nerves.
When he returned again, regretting his curt speech, she was standing at
the entrance talking in low tones to Waldron. His footstep had made no
sound on the cushion of oriental rugs which covered the inlaid marble
floor.
Without so much as a look his way she passed Waldron and left the
library.
The banker walked briskly toward Vassar and waved his short, heavy arm
toward a chair.
“Won’t you sit down, sir?” he asked coldly.
With mechanical precision he opened a jeweled cigarette box and extended
it.
“Thanks,” Vassar answered carelessly, “I have a cigar.”
He struck a match on his heel, lit the cigar and seated himself
leisurely.
Waldron sat down opposite and began his attack without delay.
“Miss Holland has just informed me that you are unalterably opposed to
woman’s suffrage?”
“Until I see it differently, I am,” was the tense reply.
“I take it then that it will be a waste of words for us to discuss that
question?”
“Yes--and before we waste words on any other question I must ask whom
you represent in this conference concerning my career?”
“I’ll tell you with pleasure,” was the quick answer. “I am perhaps the
largest contributor to the cause of woman’s suffrage--”
“Do you believe in it?” Vassar interrupted sharply.
Waldron weighed his answer and spoke with metallic emphasis.
“Whether I do or do not is beside the mark for the moment. You have
settled that issue between us, and my views are of no importance. I am
pressing for a woman’s victory for a more important reason than my faith
in her ballot or my lack of faith in its ultimate effects. The immediate
result of women’s vote will be to make war remote. My big purpose is to
prevent this nation from sinking into the abyss of militarism in which
Europe now flounders--”
“In other words,” Vassar broke in, “you mean to prevent this country
from preparing to defend herself from the power of Imperial Europe?”
Waldron searched his opponent for a moment of intense silence and slowly
answered:
“If you care to put it that way--yes. I represent the combined forces
of peace and sanity in this nation. We have determined that America
shall not be cursed by the military caste. We are determined that our
country shall not follow in the mad blind race of the Old World in
building armaments with which to murder our fellow men. I have made no
secret of my purpose and I am going to win. I am going to defeat your
bill to place our army and navy on the footing of war-cursed Europe--”
“My bill does not propose to establish a military caste,” Vassar
protested. “It only demands a trained citizen soldiery for adequate
defense, armed and ready to enter the field, an effective wall of
patriotic fire if we are assailed. I ask a navy that will be absolutely
sure to sink the fleet of any power that may attack us. I do not ask
that this fleet shall be in constant commission, only that it shall be
built and ready for service.”
“Your demand is preposterous,” Waldron coldly answered. “You ask for a
bond issue of $500,000,000 for naval purposes only--”
“Anything less will be inadequate. We are behind the world in guns,
behind the world in aircraft, behind the world in submarines. We
invented the aeroplane. We invented the machine gun. We invented the
iron-clad. We invented the submarine. We must lead the world in these
arms of defense--not follow, the last lame duck in the march! An
_inadequate_ navy no matter how great its size is worse than none. It
will merely lead us into trouble and murder our defenders. War is now a
merciless science. Skill, not physical courage, wins. The machine has
become the master of the world--”
“Please!” Waldron cried with hand uplifted in a gesture of impatience.
“I know your speech by heart. It’s old. It doesn’t interest me. Come to
the point. If you’ll agree as chairman of the Committee on Military
Affairs to modify your bill to train and arm a million citizen soldiers,
and reduce your naval programme to two battleships, four cruisers,
twenty-four submarines and twenty-four aeroplanes, we can come to
terms--”
Vassar rose, fixed his opponent with a searching look and said:
“I’ll see you in hell first--”
“All right,” Waldron snapped. “I’m going to wipe you off the map.
There’ll be a new chairman of your Committee when Congress meets in
December--”
Vassar held his enemy with a steady gaze.
“You haven’t enough dirty money to buy my district, Waldron,” he
answered. “We’re a humble people on the East Side, but I’ll show you
that there are some things in this town that are not for sale--”
A smile of contempt played about the banker’s cold lips as he rose.
“I’ll be there when you make the demonstration,” he responded with
careful emphasis.
“You’ll excuse me now?” Vassar said politely.
“Certainly. My car will drop you at any address you name.”
“Thank you, I prefer the subway.”
“As you like,” the metallic voice clicked.
CHAPTER XI
Vassar turned with a quick movement, passed into the hall and ran
squarely into Virginia who was about to enter the library.
“Your interview at an end so soon? I took a turn in the garden for only
five minutes. I was to join your conference. You have quarreled?”
“No--just agreed to fight, that’s all--”
“A compromise is impossible?”
“Utterly--”
“I am sorry,” she answered gravely.
The iron doors of the elevator softly opened with a low click and two
slender young men of decidedly foreign features stepped briskly out,
accompanied by the tall, straight figure of Villard. They crossed the
hall and ascended the broad stairway as if at home. The clothes of the
younger men were fitted with extreme care. The waist line was gracefully
modeled. It was evident that they both wore corsets. They walked with
the quick, measured tread of the trained soldier. From their yachting
caps it was evident they had just entered the house through the tunnel
from the river landing. Their slight waxed mustaches particularly
caught Vassar’s attention and brought a smile of contempt. Undoubtedly
they were the pampered darlings of a foreign court, friends of Waldron’s
whom he was cultivating for some purpose. The Congressman wondered what
the devil they could be doing in America when all the Old World was at
war? He also wondered who Villard was--Villard with his fierce upturned
mustache after the style of von Hindenberg. They might be South
Americans or from the Balkan states of course. Waldron’s banking house
was one of the international group and his agents came from every corner
of the globe.
When they had passed Virginia quietly asked:
“May I go downtown with you?”
In the tumult of anger that still raged within over Waldron’s challenge
the incongruity of the proposal struck him with new force. The offer
seemed almost brazen. Under conditions of a normal environment it would
have meant nothing more than a pretty attempt to console him in an hour
of disappointment. Coming at the moment of his departure from the
sinister establishment of the man he hated, it struck him as suggestive
of a secret understanding between the two.
His one desire now was to be alone and breathe clean air.
“You’ll not like the long rough walk to the subway I’m afraid,” he
protested.
“You will not return in the car?” she asked in surprise.
“I prefer to walk--”
“You’ll do nothing of the kind,” she answered firmly. “You’ll go with
me--and I’m not going to walk.”
“You must excuse me”--he persisted.
“I will not. And I’ll never speak to you again unless you obey my orders
for this one afternoon at least.”
He searched her face to see if she meant it, caught the look of
determination and answered in quick tones of apology.
“Of course, if you really wish it, you know that it will give me
pleasure--”
Virginia returned to the library, spoke to Waldron and in a few minutes
they were again seated by each other’s side swiftly gliding down the
Drive.
“Stop at the Claremont,” she called to the chauffeur. “I’m starved. We
would have had lunch served in the library if your lordship had not been
so proud and particular--”
“I couldn’t eat at Waldron’s table. I’d choke,” he answered in low
tones.
“I’m afraid you’re not a good politician after all,” she observed. “You
are too emotional. You allow your temperament to betray you into errors
of diplomacy. You should have cultivated Waldron, flattered his vanity
and studied his character--”
“I know it already--”
“I thought so at first myself,” she answered thoughtfully. “The more I
see of him the less I know him. He’s a puzzle--”
“He’s merely an ape of foreign snobs--that’s all.”
“You utterly misjudge him,” Virginia protested. “He has too much
strength for that. His ambitions are too great.”
“Then he’s more dangerous than I have thought.”
“What do you mean?” she asked in surprise.
“Nothing that I could put into words without making myself ridiculous in
your eyes perhaps, yet the idea grows on me--”
Virginia laughed.
“You can’t do an opponent justice, can you?”
“No--can you?”
The car swept gracefully up the roadway to the rose-embowered white
cottage on the hill. They leaped out and found a table in the corner
overlooking the majestic sweep of the river and Jersey hills beyond.
Vassar was moody in spite of the inspiring view and the radiant face
opposite. Again and again he tried to pull himself out of the dumps and
enjoy this wonderful hour with the most fascinating woman he had ever
met. It was no use. Waldron’s frozen smile, his royal establishment, his
corseted pets, his big friend with the fierce mustache, his white yacht
and the soft click of the doors of that elevator filled his mind with
sinister suggestions.
“I’m so disappointed in you,” Virginia said at last.
“Why?”
“I’d planned to relax a little this afternoon. It’s Saturday you know. I
thought you might be human enough just to play for a few hours. I wanted
to find the real man side of you--not the statesman or the politician--”
“To study me under the microscope as another specimen of the species and
plan my extermination?”
“No--to get acquainted in the simplest kind of old-fashioned way. But I
see it’s no use today. You’re a greater enigma to me than Waldron. But
I’m not going to be beaten so easily. I’m going to find you out now that
I’ve made up my mind. I’ve a proposal to make before we begin the scrap
in your district--”
“A proposal?” he asked mischievously.
“Yes! It’s hardly decent I know. Anyhow, I’m not wholly responsible for
it. You’ve made a wonderful hit with my old soldier Dad. He has talked
nothing else but your bill for an adequate national defense. He has
positively ordered me to make you our guest for a couple of weeks at our
country place on Long Island--”
Vassar blushed like a schoolboy.
“I should be only too happy--”
“I warn you that the Old Guard will talk you into a spell of sickness
about war and the certainty of this country being captured by the
Germans or Japs--”
“He can’t say too much to me on that subject,” Vassar declared.
“And if you’ll bring your father and the children I’m sure we could keep
you until I’ve wormed the last secret out of you--”
“It wouldn’t be imposing on you?”
“You would do us a favor. Zonia would keep Billy at home. Marya and your
father would be an endless source of joy to my mother. We’ve a big old
house and a lot of vacant rooms. You’ll bring them all?”
“My dear Miss Holland,” he answered gratefully, “you overwhelm me with
your kindness. My father and the kids have never been so honored. You
will make them supremely happy--”
“You see,” Virginia interrupted, “I’ve a scheme back of this invitation.
I’ve not only determined to find you out, but I’m a politician whether
you like it or not. I’m going to make it just as difficult as I
possibly can for you to fight me. You’ll walk into the trap with your
eyes wide open--”
“I absolve you from all responsibility for my ruin,” he laughed.
“You’ll join us at Babylon on Sunday?”
“Tomorrow?”
“The sooner the better. We go down this evening--”
The clouds suddenly lifted. Vassar couldn’t keep his face straight. He
was so happy it was absurd. An hour ago he was in the depths of despair.
The foundations of the nation’s life were sinking. The sky had cleared.
The sun was sparkling on the waters of the river in dazzling splendor.
The world was beautiful and the country safe.
His mind was planning absurd programs for each day. He wondered for just
a moment if she could be capable of plotting with Waldron to remove him
from the district for two weeks, to lay the foundations of a movement to
wreck his career--
He looked into the depths of her brown eyes and threw the ugly thought
to the winds.
CHAPTER XII
Vassar determined that every day of the two weeks at Babylon should be
red lettered in his life. He had never taken a vacation; nor had his
father. It was time to adopt this good custom of the country. It was
mid-July. The campaign would not really be under way until October.
There was nothing to worry about. Neither the suffragettes with their
organization nor Waldron with his money could break his hold on the
hearts of his people.
He gave himself up to the sheer joy of living for the first time in
life. Through the long glorious early days he drove with Virginia in her
little dogcart about the beautiful country roads of Long Island. He had
never dreamed the panoramas of ravishing landscape that stretched away
in endless beauty. He found gentle hills and valleys, babbling brooks
and shady woods and always seaward the solemn white sand dunes of the
beach and the changing mirror of the bay reflecting their shining forms.
On days when the wind was right the far-away roar of the surf could be
distinctly heard.
Each day alone with the charming and brilliant woman by his side had
led him deeper and deeper into the mazes of a fascination that had
become resistless. They talked with deep earnestness of the great things
of life and eternity. She made no effort to conceal her keen personal
interest in the man she was studying.
With deliberate purpose she had abandoned herself to the romantic
situation of being sought and courted by a handsome, fascinating man. He
wondered vaguely if she were experimenting with her own character, and
merely using him for the moment for the purpose of chemical reaction? He
shivered at the uncanny idea. It was disconcerting. She might be capable
of such a gruesome process. For the life of him he couldn’t make out as
yet whether such a woman was capable of real passion.
There was no longer any doubt about his own situation. He had faced the
fact squarely. He was in love--madly, passionately, hopelessly--the one
grand passion of mature manhood. Its violence frightened him. He was
afraid to put it to the test with a declaration. He must wait and be
sure of a response on her part. There was too much at stake to bungle
such an issue. If he could win her by surrender on the suffrage
question, he would give her two ballots if she wanted them. He knew her
character too well to believe that such ignoble surrender of principle
merely to please could succeed. She would accept his help in her cause
and despise him for a weakling in her heart.
As the time drew near that he must go he knew with increasing fear the
supreme hour of life had struck. He must put his fate to the test. He
took his seat in a rowboat facing her and drifted into the silver sea of
moon, fully determined. An hour passed and he had only spoken
commonplace nothings. With each effort his courage grew weaker.
If she were like other girls he would have dared it. “Faint heart ne’er
won fair lady,” he kept repeating as he tried in vain to screw his mind
up to the point of speech. It was no use. She was not the fair lady of
song and story. She had a disconcerting way of demanding the reason for
things.
He gave it up at last and spent an evening of supreme happiness drifting
and listening to the soft round flute-like notes of her voice. He would
speak tomorrow. They had two days more. Tomorrow they were to take a
long ride down the smooth road to Southampton in her little runabout.
She was an expert at the wheel of an automobile and they had explored
the whole south side of Long Island in the past five days.
He had grown to love the peace and charm of this wonderful
isle--homes--homes--homes--everywhere! laughing children played beside
the roadways. Smiling boys and girls made hill and valley ring with
joy.
He had promised Zonia and Marya to take the cottage across the turnpike
in front of the spacious lawn of the Holland homestead and let them
spend the summer there. His father had joined in their clamor and he had
consented. The cottage was furnished and a power launch went with it for
a reasonable rent. They were to move down next week. There would be but
two days’ break in the new life they had begun in this fairyland of sun
and sky, trees and flowers, laughing waters and shining seas.
Why should he press his suit? He would wait and see more of her. And
then the crisis came that hurled him headlong into a decision.
CHAPTER XIII
The idea that her child might attain the highest honor within the reach
of any man on earth had stirred Angela to the depths and given new
meaning and dignity to life. She lifted her head. She had borne a child
whose word might bend a million wills to his. The world was a bigger,
nobler place in which to live.
She was stirred with sudden purpose to leave no stone unturned to bring
this dream to pass. She bought books of the lives of the presidents.
Twice she read the life of Abraham Lincoln, the humble backwoodsman
rail-splitter who became president.
But her vivid Italian imagination loved the stories of George
Washington, the first president, best. He was nearest in history to
Columbus, the Italian who discovered America. She read the legends of
little George Washington’s adventures and began to play the mighty drama
of her own son’s career by guiding his feet in the same path.
She had laughed immoderately over George cutting his father’s
cherry-tree. She was sure her bambino was capable of that! If George
cut cherry-trees, of course his father had cherries to eat. She got at
once a lot of cherries and fed them to the boy, laughing and nursing her
dream.
She found a picture of Washington in his Colonial dress. The style
pleased her fancy. She went forthwith, bought the material and made her
boy a suit with cockade hat exactly like it.
Tommaso was amazed on entering the living-room from the fruit store to
find the kid arrayed in the strange garb. Angela was stuffing some
cotton under the cockade hat to make it fit, studying the picture to be
sure of the effect.
When she explained, Tommaso joined in the play with equal zest.
When the boy had exhausted the admiration of his father and mother he
sallied forth into the street to meet his little friends and show his
clothes.
He had scarcely cleared the door when “Sausage” emerged from the Schultz
delicatessen store and the two met halfway. No hard feelings had
lingered from their fight in the old Armory. Sausage’s admiration was
boundless. He had just persuaded little Tommaso to go home and show them
to his own mother when they turned and saw Meyer unloading a truck
filled with curious looking long boxes.
They ran up to investigate just as a case fell and a gun dropped to the
pavement.
The kids rushed to Benda’s to tell Angela and Tommaso.
“I told you that man was no good!” Angela exclaimed. “Go--and see quick
and we tell Vasa’--”
Tommaso hurried across the street and found Meyer standing over the
broken case. Meyer faced the Italian without ceremony:
“Cost your life to open your yap about these guns--see?”
Tommaso snapped his finger in the other’s face:
“Go t’ell!”
He turned on his heel to go, saw his wife and the children near, rushed
back and snapped his finger again in Meyer’s face:
“Go t’ell two times--see--two times!”
Meyer merely held his gaze in a moment of angry silence and turned to
his work.
Tommaso rushed back into his flat, pushed things from the table, seized
a pen and wrote a hurried note to his leader.
CONGRESSMAN VASA:
Men unload guns in our street. He say killa me if I tell. I tell
him go t’ell. I tell him go t’ell two times. I Americano. My kid
he be president--maybe--
TOMMASO BENDA.
He hurried Angela into her best new American cut dress and sent her with
the boy to Long Island to tell Vassar.
The visit all but ended in a tragedy for poor Angela. While searching
the spacious Holland grounds for her leader, the boy suddenly spied a
hatchet with which the master had been mending a box in which he was
cultivating a precious orange-tree that had been carefully guarded in a
hothouse during the winter months.
The kid saw his chance to emulate the example of George Washington. He
lost no time. The tree was well hacked before Holland pounced upon him.
The old man had him by the ear when Angela dashed to the rescue. She saw
the scarred tree with horror and her apologies were profuse.
“Ah, pardon, signor! You see his little suit--he play George Wash--and
cutta the cherry-tree--”
She paused and shook the boy fiercely.
“Ah--you maka me seek!”
Holland began to smile at the roguish beauty of the boy glancing up from
the corners of his dark, beautiful eyes.
Vassar, Virginia, Zonia and Marya hearing the commotion, rushed up.
Angela extended her apologies to all.
“You see, he really think he’s leetle George Wash--I mak him speak his
piece--you like to hear it?”
Her offer was greeted by a chorus of approval.
Angela fixed the child with a stern look.
“Speeka your piece!”
The boy shook his head.
“Speeka-your-piece!” The order was a threat this time and little Tommaso
yielded.
Bowing gracefully, he faced the group and recited with brave accent:
My Country, ’tis of thee
I cutta the cherry-tree,
Sweet land of libertee
My name is George Wash!
He bowed again as all laughed and applauded. Virginia took him in her
arms and kissed him. While she was yet complimenting the boy on his fine
speech Angela whispered to Vassar:
“My man Tommaso--he want to see you, signor! He send this--”
She slipped the note into Vassar’s hand, repeated her apologies and
hurried from the lawn, shaking Tommaso:
“Ah, you leetle mik! You maka me seek--! I tella you play George Wash
and cutta the cherry-tree--and oh, my Mother of God! You play hell and
cutta the _orange_-tree!”
Little Tommaso took the scolding philosophically. Orange or cherry-trees
were all the same to him. He merely answered his mother’s dramatic rage
with a twinkle of his eye until she stooped at last and kissed him.
CHAPTER XIV
Vassar looked at the scrawled note and saw that he must return to the
city. The incident probably meant nothing and yet it brought to his mind
a vague uneasiness.
He instinctively turned to Virginia who was looking at him with curious
interest. She spoke with genuine admiration:
“I had no idea that any politician in America could win the hearts of
his people in the way you hold yours--”
“It’s worth while, isn’t it?”
“Decidedly. It makes my regret all the more keen that you will not
accompany me on my tour of the state--”
“You go soon?” he asked.
“I leave Monday morning for a month. It has been one of my dreams since
we met that I’d win you--and we’d make a sort of triumphal tour
together--”
“You’re joking,” he answered lightly.
“I know now that it is not to be, of course,” she said seriously.
He hadn’t thought of her being on such a fool trip. Waldron no doubt as
her campaign financier would meet her at many points. The thought set
the blood pounding from his heart.
“Shall we sit down a moment?” he suggested.
“By all means if I can persuade you,” she consented.
Behind a rich fir on the lawn stood a massive marble seat. They strolled
to the spot and sat down. Hours of debate they had held here and neither
had yielded an inch. A circular trellis of roses hid the house from view
and sheltered the seat from the gaze of people who might be crossing the
open space. The hedge along the turnpike completely hid them from the
highway.
By a subtle instinct she felt the wave of emotion from his tense mind.
A long silence fell between them. Her last speech had given him the cue
for his question. He had brooded over its possible meaning from the
moment she had expressed the idea. He picked a pebble from the ground,
shot it from his fingers as he had done with marbles when a boy.
Lifting his head with a serious look straight into her brown eyes he
said:
“Did you believe for a moment that I could go with you on such a
campaign tour?”
She met his gaze squarely.
“I thought it too good to be true, of course, and yet your unexpected
sympathy and your--your--shall I say, frankly expressed admiration, led
me into all sorts of silly hopes.”
“And yet you knew on a moment’s reflection that such a surrender of
principle by a man of my character was out of the question.”
“It has turned out to be so,” she answered slowly.
“Could you have respected me had I cut a complete intellectual and moral
somersault merely at the wave of your beautiful hand?”
“I could respect any man who yields to reason,” she fenced.
He smiled.
“I didn’t ask you that--”
“No?”
“You’re fencing. And I must come to the real issue between us. I do it
with fear and trembling and with uncovered head. I had to be true to the
best that’s in me with you for the biggest reason that can sway an
honest man’s soul. I have loved you from the moment we met--”
He stopped short and breathed deeply, afraid to face her. His
declaration had called for no answer. She remained silent. From the
corner of his eye he noted the tightening of her firm lips.
“I’ve tried to tell you so a dozen times this week and failed. I was
afraid, it meant so much to me. I had hoped to be with you another month
at least in this beautiful world of sunlight and flowers, of moon and
sea. I hoped to win you with a little more time and patience. But I
couldn’t wait and see you go on this trip. I had to speak. I love you
with the love a strong man can give but once in life. It’s strange that
of all the women in the world I should have loved the one whose work I
must oppose! You’ll believe me when I tell you that the fiercest battle
I have ever fought was with the Devil when he whispered that I might win
by hedging and trimming and lying diplomatically as men have done before
and many men will do again. At least you respect me for the honesty with
which I have met this issue?”
He had asked her a direct question at last. Her silence had become
unendurable. Her answer was scarcely audible. She only breathed it.
“Yes, I understand and respect you for it--”
His heart gave a throb of hope.
“I don’t ask you if you love me now. I just want to know if I’ve a
chance to win you?”
The impulse to seize her hand was resistless. She made no effort to
withdraw it and he pressed it tenderly.
A wistful smile played about the sensitive mouth and she was slow to
answer.
“Tell me--have I a chance?” he pleaded.
Her voice was far away but clear-toned music. He heard his doom in its
perfect rhythm before the words were complete.
“I can’t see,” she began slowly, “how two people could enter the sweet
intimacy of marriage with a vital difference of opinion dividing them. I
couldn’t. Your honesty and intellectual strength I admire. This honesty
and strength will keep us opponents. Such an union is unthinkable--”
“Not if we love one another,” he protested eagerly. “There is but one
issue in human life between man and woman and that is love. If you love
me, nothing else matters--”
She shook her head.
“It isn’t true. You love me--but other things matter. Otherwise you
would give them up to win your love. I claim to be your equal in brain
and heart if not in muscle. You say that if I love nothing else matters
and yet you say in the same breath that you risk your love to save your
principles. In your heart you know that other things do matter, and with
me they matter deeply. I believe with every beat of my heart that the
progress of the world waits on the advent of women in the organization
of its industries, its politics and its thinking. This consciousness of
her mission in the modern woman is the biggest fact of our century--”
She paused and faced him with a look of iron purpose.
“No matter if I did love you--I’d tear that love out of my heart if it
held me back from the fulfilment of the highest ideal of duty to my
sex--”
“What higher ideal can any woman hold than her home?”
“For the woman whose horizon is no larger there can be none. She can
only see the world in which she moves. To some of us God has given the
wider view. What is one life if it is sacrificed to this higher ideal?
You are leading the renaissance of America. So am I. Our beautiful
country with her teeming millions must rise in her glory and live
forever when you and I have passed on. The soldier sees this vision when
he dies in battle. So I see it today.”
He stooped again and gathered a handful of pebbles, rolling them
thoughtfully in his hand. His eyes were on the ground.
“It isn’t Waldron?” he asked.
She smiled with a touch of mischief.
“No. But I confess such a man might tempt me--”
He threw the pebbles on the ground with a gesture of impatience.
“It’s not true!” he cried, facing her suddenly. With a fierce resolution
he seized her hand.
“I won’t take any such answer,” he breathed desperately. “You’re not
playing this game fairly with me. I’ve torn my heart open to you. You’re
hedging and trimming. I won’t have it. You haven’t dared to deny your
love. You can’t deny it. You love me and you know it and I know it--”
She lifted her free hand in a gesture of protest.
“You love me! I feel it! I know it!” he repeated fiercely.
With quick resolution he swept her into his arms and kissed her lips
again and again. For just an instant he felt her body relax.
The next minute she had freed herself and faced him, her eyes blazing
with anger. Her anger was not a pose. He saw to his horror that he had
staked all on a mad chance and lost.
He stammered something incoherent and mopped his brow lamely.
“I suppose it’s useless for me to say I’m sorry--”
“Quite,” she said with cold emphasis.
“All right I won’t. Because I’m not sorry I did it. I’m only sorry you
resent it. I love you. True love is half madness. I won’t apologize. If
I must die for that one moment, it’s worth it.”
“There can be nothing more between us after this,” she said evenly.
He bowed in silence.
“Please play the little farce of polite society before my father and
mother as you leave tonight. It’s the only favor I ask of you.”
“I understand,” he answered.
CHAPTER XV
The perfection with which Virginia played her part in the little drama
of deception at their parting was a new source of surprise and anger to
Vassar. Her acting was consummate. Neither the children nor her parents
could suspect for a moment that there had been the slightest break in
their relations.
Self-respect compelled him to act the part with equal care in detail.
The old soldier had grown very fond of Marya. He held her in his arms
chattering like a magpie.
“Now don’t you go back on me when you get to town and fail to take that
cottage!” he protested.
“Oh, we’re coming on Tuesday--aren’t we, Uncle John?” she cried.
Virginia watched his face. He caught the look and answered its challenge
by an instant reply.
“Certainly, dear. Everything’s fixed. I can’t be with you much but
grandpa’ll be here every day.”
The child clapped her hands.
“You see”--
“All right,” Holland answered. “I’ll meet you at the station! The fact
is--“ his voice dropped to confidential tones--“between you and me--I
haven’t any little girl. My girl’s grown clean up and out of my world.
She’s going on a wild goose chase over the country and leave her old
daddy here to die alone. But you’ll be my little girl, won’t you,
honey?”
Marya slipped her arms around his neck and whispered:
“I’d like two granddaddies. I never had but one you know--”
Virginia wondered at Vassar’s audacity in persisting in the plan of
thrusting himself and his people under her nose. She had thought he
would have the decency to change his plans now that any further
association between them had become impossible. She listened in vain for
any protest on his part against the plans of happiness between her
father and his little niece. His face was a mask of polite indifference.
She had worked herself into a rage when he extended his hand in parting.
The others were looking or he would have omitted the formality. He made
up his mind to part without a word.
The children and his father turned to enter the coach. Billy was saying
good-bye to Zonia assuring her for the tenth time that he would drive
with his father to the train for them on Tuesday.
With the touch of her hand Vassar’s angry resolution melted. Soul and
body was fused suddenly into a resistless rush of tenderness. If she
felt this she was complete mistress of her emotions. There was no sign.
In a voice of studied coldness she merely said:
“Good-bye.”
His hand closed desperately on hers in spite of her purpose to withdraw
it instantly.
“I won’t say it,” he answered fiercely. “I won’t give you up. You
haven’t treated me fairly. I won’t submit. I’m coming again--do you
hear?”
She stared at him a moment with firmly set lips and answered:
“There is nothing in common between us, Mr. Caveman. We live in
different worlds. We were born in different ages--”
He dropped her hand and sprang to the platform of the moving train
without looking back.
CHAPTER XVI
Arriving at Stuyvesant Square, Vassar decided to go at once and see
Angela’s husband.
The door of his tiny apartment opened on the little crooked street
before the old Armory. He caught the gay colors of Angela’s dress at the
window. She was leaning far out over the flower boxes, and gesticulating
to her man in the street below.
Benda, the center of a group of children, was playing the hand organ
which Pasquale had given the boy. The kids were dancing.
He stopped short his music at the sight of his leader, waved the
children aside and hurried to meet him.
“Ah, you come so soon, signor!” he exclaimed. “I am glad. Angela--she
tell you?”
“Yes. What’s the trouble?”
“You see the house over dere?”
He pointed to the low apartment across the way.
“Yes.”
“Well, signor, men unload and swing boxes--beeg--long boxes inside. One
of them fell and brak--”
He stopped and looked about.
“It was guns, signor!--all bright, new. I ask them what for they put so
many guns in the old house. The boss say I must join his Black Hand
Alliance--“ Benda laughed. “I tell him go t’ell--
“He say it’s war and I die unless I do--I tell him go t’ell two times.
And I send word to you, signor. What you tink?”
“I don’t know. I’ll find the owner of the building and tell you. Thanks,
Tommaso,” he added cordially. “I appreciate your confidence. I’ll see
about it.”
“Si, si, signor!”
With another wave of his hand to the children Benda resumed his concert.
Vassar walked to the door and glanced at the building. There was nothing
to mark it from a number of dingy structures along the East River. A
speculator was probably buying old guns from our government for their
transfer in secret to the agent of a faction in Mexico or South America.
Naturally the trader must use the utmost caution or a Secret Service man
would nip his plans in the bud. He was so sure of the explanation that
he took it for granted, and dismissed the incident from his mind.
He was destined to recall it under conditions that would not be
forgotten.
CHAPTER XVII
Vassar plunged next day into his fight. Waldron had moved rapidly. His
opponents had already nominated an Independent Democrat of foreign
birth, a Bohemian of ability, whom he knew to be a man of ambition and
good address.
The women had begun a house to house canvass of voters and the number of
fairy-tales they had started for the purpose of undermining his position
and influence was a startling revelation of their skill in the art of
lying.
Virginia Holland was booked for a canvass of each election district the
last week in October. He knew what that meant. Waldron had held his
trump card for the supreme moment.
The depths of vituperation, mendacity and open corruption to which the
campaign descended on the part of his opponents was another revelation
to Vassar of woman’s adaptability to practical methods. Never since the
days of Tweed’s régime had the East Side seen anything that approached
it.
He steadfastly refused to lower his standard to their level. That
Virginia Holland knew the methods which Waldron had adopted was
inconceivable. Vassar watched the approach of her canvass with
indifference. If his people were weak enough to fall for Waldron and his
crowd of hirelings, he had no desire longer to represent the district.
He ceased to worry about results. He foresaw that his majority would be
reduced. He decided to let it go at that.
The gulf which separated him now from the woman he loved was apparently
too deep to be bridged. On the last night of the canvass he slipped into
the meeting at which she spoke just to hear her voice again. He half
hoped that she might say something so false and provoking about his
record that he might hate her for it. Her address was one of lofty and
pure appeal for the redemption of humanity through the trained spiritual
power of womanhood. She even expressed her regret at the necessity of
opposing a man of the type of John Vassar.
A hundred of Vassar’s partisans were present and burst into a fierce
round of applause at the mention of his name. He watched the effect with
breathless interest. The cheers were utterly unexpected on the part of
the speaker, and threw her for the moment off her balance. She blushed
and smiled and hesitated, fumbling for words.
Vassar’s heart was pounding like a trip hammer. He could have taken the
boys in his arms and carried them through the streets for that cheer. No
one knew of his presence. He had slipped into a back seat in the gallery
unrecognized in the dim light.
Why had she blushed when they cheered his name? The crowd, of course,
could not know of the secret between them. Would she have blushed from
the mere confusion of mind which the hostile sentiment of her hearers
had provoked? It was possible. And yet the faintest hope thrilled his
heart that she cared for him. He had played the fool to lose his head
that day. He realized it now. Such a woman could not be taken by storm.
Every instinct of pride and intellectual dignity had resented it.
He went home happy over the incident with the memory of her scarlet
cheeks and the sweet seriousness of her voice filling his soul. His
managers brought glowing reports of the situation in his district. It
didn’t matter if he had a chance to win Virginia.
The results proved that his guess of a reduced majority was correct. He
barely pulled through by the skin of his teeth. His margin was a paltry
seven hundred and fifty. At the election two years before it had been
more than six thousand.
When Congress met in December he was confronted with a situation unique
in the history of the Republic. A lobby had gathered in Washington so
distinguished in personnel, so great in numbers, so aggressive in its
purpose to control legislation, that the national representatives were
afraid of their shadows.
The avowed aim of this vast gathering was the defeat of his bill for the
adequate defense of the nation. The outlines of his measures had been
published and had the unanimous backing of the Army and Navy Boards, the
National Security League and all the leaders of the great political
parties.
Both of our ex-Presidents, Roosevelt and Taft, had endorsed it and asked
for its adoption. It was known that the President and his Cabinet
approved its main features. And yet its chances of adoption were
considered extremely doubtful.
The lobby, which had swarmed into Washington, overran its hotels, and
camped in the corridors of the Capitol, was composed of a class of men
and women who had never before ventured on such a mission. What they
lacked of experience they made up in aggressive insolence--an insolence
so cocksure of itself that a Congressman rarely ventured from the floor
of the Chamber if he could avoid it.
The leaders of the movement were apparently acting under the orders of
the Reverend A. Cuthbert Pike, President of the Peace Union. Vassar was
amazed to find that this Union was composed of more than six hundred
chartered peace societies. He had supposed that there might be half a
dozen such associations in the country. To be suddenly confronted by
five thousand delegates representing six hundred organizations was the
shock of his political life. But one society alone, the National
Security League, was there to preach the necessity of insurance against
war by an adequate defense.
Against this lone organization were arrayed in a single group the five
thousand delegates from the six hundred peace societies. They demanded
the defeat of any bill to increase our armaments in any way, shape or
form. Their aim was the ultimate complete disarmament of every fort and
the destruction of our navy.
In co-operation with this host of five thousand fanatics stood the
Honorable Plato Barker with a personal following in the membership of
Congress as amazing as it was dangerous to the future of the Republic.
The admirers of the silver-tongued orator labored under the conviction
that their leader had been inspired of God to guide the destinies of
America. They believed this with the faith of children. For sixteen
years they had accepted his leadership without question and his word was
the law of their life.
Barker was opposed to the launching of another ship of war, or the
mounting of another gun for defense. He was the uncompromising champion
of moral suasion as the solution of all international troubles. He
believed that an eruption of Mount Vesuvius could be soothed by a
poultice and cured permanently by an agreement for arbitration. He
preached this doctrine in season and out of season. The more seriously
out of season the occasion, the louder he preached it.
That he would have a following in Congress was early developed in the
session. Barker was not only on the ground daily; his headquarters had
been supplied with unlimited money for an active propaganda and his
office was thronged by delegates from his mass meetings called in every
state of the Union.
The Socialists had once more swamped the American labor unions with
their missionaries and the labor federations were arrayed solidly
against an increase of our army or navy.
But by far the most serious group of opponents by whom Vassar was
confronted were the United Women Voters of America, marshalled under the
leadership of the brilliant young Joan of Arc of the Federated Clubs.
In the peculiar alignment of factions produced by the crisis of the
world war the women voters held the balance of power. They practically
controlled the Western states while the fear of their influence
dominated the Middle West and seriously shaped public opinion in the
East. Pennsylvania, New Jersey and New York had defeated the amendments
for woman’s suffrage, yet the vote polled by their advocates had been so
large the defeat was practically a triumph of their principles.
A convention of five hundred delegates, representatives of the women
voters, had been called to decide on the casting of the votes of their
senators and representatives. That their orders would be obeyed was a
foregone conclusion. To refuse meant political suicide.
The thing which puzzled Vassar beyond measure was the mysterious
unifying power somewhere in the shadows. The hand of this unseen master
of ceremonies had brought these strangely incongruous forces together in
a harmony so perfect that they spoke and wrote and campaigned as one
man. Behind this master hand there was a single master mind tremendous
in grip, baffling, inscrutable, always alert, always there. That Waldron
was this mysterious force he suspected from the first. On the day he
was booked to make the final address in closing the debate on his bill,
the banker boldly appeared in the open as the responsible leader of the
movement for the defeat of national defense.
Vassar, with a sense of sickening rage, saw him in conference with
Virginia Holland and her executive committee. They held their little
preliminary caucus at the door of the House of Representatives, as if to
insult him with a notice of coming defeat. The young leader knew that if
there were yet a man in the House who could be reached by money, Waldron
would find him. And he knew that there were some who had their price.
The influence of such a man in a free democracy was to Vassar a cause of
constant grief and wonder. That he despised the principles of a
democratic government he scarcely took the trouble to conceal. His pose
was for higher ends than party gains or even the selfish glory of
nation. He was large, his vision world-wide. He pleaded always for the
advancement of humanity. His following was numerous and eminently
respectable. Vassar had never for one moment believed in Waldron’s
adherence to the principles of American democracy. That he would form a
monarchy if given the chance was a certainty. One of his hobbies was the
criminal extravagance and inefficiency of our state and municipal
governments as compared to the imperial kingdoms of the Old World. In
season and out of season he proclaimed the superiority of centralized
power over the ignorant, slipshod ways of the Republic. The Emperor of
Germany and the German ways of ruling were his models.
To accuse Waldron of a conspiracy with the crowned heads of the Old
World would be received with scornful incredulity. And yet there were
moments in his brooding and thinking when Vassar felt that that was the
only rational solution of the man’s life and character. That he was the
personal friend of three crowned heads was well known. That he was in
constant consultation with the ambassadors of a dozen European nations
was also well known. The explanation of this fact, however, was so
simple and plausible that no suspicion of treachery would find credence
in America. His bank had branch establishments in London, Paris, Berlin,
Petrograd, Vienna, Constantinople and Rome.
And yet, why in God’s name, Vassar kept asking himself, should all these
peace societies and all these labor organizations and all these women’s
clubs move heaven and earth in unison to kill this one measure of
defense, and leave our nation at the mercy of any first-class European
power? Their sentimental leanings were against arms and armaments--of
course. But who set them all barking at the same moment? Who had kept
them at it in chorus continuously from the first throb of the patriotic
impulse to put ourselves in readiness to defend our life? Who had held
them together in this fierce and determined assault on the Capitol to
arouse and threaten Congress? No such movement could be caused by
spontaneous combustion. Such an agitation against patriotic defense
could not happen by accident. The world war could not have caused it.
The great war should have been the one influence to have had precisely
the opposite effect. The world war should have spoken to us in thunder
tones:
“Remember Belgium! Eternal vigilance is the price of liberty!”
Instead of this, the advocates of peace suddenly rose as a swarm of
locusts to tell us that, as umbrellas cause rain so guns cause war, and
the only way to save ourselves in a world of snarling, maddened wild
beasts is to lay down our arms and appeal to their reason! This strange
crusade to make the richest nation of the world defenseless was no
accident. The movement was sinister. Vassar felt this on the last day of
his struggle in the House with increased foreboding.
He rose to deliver his final appeal with quivering heart. His eye rested
on Waldron’s stolid, sneering face in the gallery. On his right sat
Barker, on his left Virginia Holland.
Every seat on the floor and in the galleries was packed. Every foot of
standing room above and below was crowded. A solemn hush fell on the
throng as the young leader of the House rose.
He began his address in low tones of intense emotion:
“Mr. Speaker, I rise to give to this House my solemn warning that on the
fate of this bill for the defense of the nation hangs our destiny. I’ve
done my work. I’ve fought a good fight. The decision is in your hands. A
few things I would repeat until they ring their alarm in every soul
within the sound of my voice today.
“I tell you with the certainty of positive knowledge that while we are
the richest nation of the known world we are the least prepared to
defend ourselves under the conditions of modern war. Our navy is
good--what there is of it. But if it is inadequate, it is of no value
whatever. I tell you that it is inadequate and my statement is backed by
every expert in the service. If we were attacked tomorrow by any nation
of Germany’s sea power our ships would sink to their graves, our men to
certain death.
“No braver men walk this earth than ours. They are ready to die for
their country. We have no right to murder them for this reason. If they
die, it should be to some purpose. We should give them the best weapons
on earth and the best training. They have the right to a fair chance
with any foe they face. We have a mobile army of thirty thousand men
with which to defend a hemisphere! We assert our guardianship of all
America. It is known to all men that a modern army of one hundred and
fifty thousand landed on our shores could complete the conquest of the
Atlantic seaboard in twelve days.
“Our friends who clamor for peace in a world at war tell us that an
attack on our nation is a possibility too remote for discussion. The
same men in June, 1914, declared that war in Europe was a physical and
psychological impossibility. Now they tell us with equal solemnity that
this war, which they declared could never be, is so appalling that it
will be the last. They tell us that the world will now disarm and _we
must lead the way_!
“If the world disarms, Europe must lead the way. We are already
practically disarmed.
“Who in Europe will dare to lead in such a movement!
“Will Germany disarm?
“Will she at this late hour surrender her ambitions to expand? Will she
sign the death warrant to the aspirations of the men who created her
mighty Empire? Will she expose her eastern frontier to the raids of
Cossack hordes?
“Could Russia disarm?
“Would she consent to risk the dismemberment of her vast domain?
“Could England with her empire on which the sun does not set--could
England disarm and lay her centers of civilization open to the attack of
black and yellow millions?
“To ask the question is to answer it.
“The disarmament of the modern world is the dream of an unbalanced mind.
“Take any group of nations. If the Allies win, would Germany and
Austria-Hungary agree to disarm? If they should ever tear the German
Empire into pieces could they stamp out the fighting soul of the
Germanic race?
“If Germany and Austria-Hungary win, can England, France, Italy, and
Russia disarm before the menace of world dominion?
“Do you believe that out of the vast horror of this war a compact of
international peace may be signed by all nations?
“Let us remind you that the heart of Europe is aristocratic and
imperial. Their rulers hate democracy as the devil hates holy water. The
lion and the lamb cannot yet lie down together--except the lamb be
inside the lion.
“This nation is the butt of ridicule, jibes, caricatures and coarse
jests of the aristocrats of the Old World. Our government and our people
are cordially loathed.
“International peace can rest only on international democracy. The great
war has brought us face to face with grim realities. We must see the
thing that is--not the thing our fancy says ought to be.
“Belgium has taught us that the only scrap of paper we can be sure of is
one backed by millions of stout hearts with guns in their hands,
aeroplanes above their heads, ships under the seas and afloat and big
black steel eyes high on their shores bent seaward.
“Men of America! I call you from your sleep of fancied safety! The might
of kings is knocking at your doors demanding that you give a reason for
your existence! If you are worthy to live you will prove it by defending
your homes and your flag. If you are not worth saving, your masters will
make your children their servants.
“The fate of a nation is in your hands. The sea is no more. The world
has become a whispering gallery. And such a world cannot remain half
slave and half free. It is for you to decide whether your half shall
sink again into the abyss of centuries of human martyrdom and human
tyranny.
“I warn you that the fight between autocracy and democracy has just
begun. Poland attempted to establish a free commonwealth in Central
Europe. She was ground to powder between imperial powers. The one big
issue in this world today is the might of kings against the liberties of
the people. Never before in human history has imperial power been so
firmly entrenched. And the rulers of Europe know that sooner or later
they must crush American democracy or be crushed by its reflex
influence.”
Vassar ceased to speak and resumed his seat amid a silence that was
painful. His eloquence had swept the House with tremendous force. So
intense was the spell that a demonstration of any kind was impossible. A
murmur of relief rippled the crowd and the hum of whispered comment at
last broke the tension.
Waldron’s keen cold eye had seen the effect of the young leader’s
appeal. He lost no time in taking measures to neutralize its influence.
CHAPTER XVIII
The caucus of the delegates of the Women’s Convention was booked to meet
at six o’clock. The House would hold a night session and the vote on the
Defense Bill would be called between ten and eleven.
To prevent the possibility of any influence from Vassar’s speech
reaching the caucus, Waldron succeeded in changing the hour to three
o’clock. He would prolong the discussion until six and deliver their
orders to the members of Congress in ample time.
Vassar saw him whispering in earnest conference with Barker and
Virginia, guessed instinctively a change of program and in ten minutes
his secretary had confirmed his suspicions.
There was no time to be lost. He made up his mind instantly to throw
pride to the winds and make a personal appeal to the one woman whose
influence in the crisis could dominate the councils of the opposition.
He called a cab and reached the Willard at the moment Barker was handing
Virginia from Waldron’s car.
An instant of hesitating doubt swept him as he thought of the
possibility of a public refusal to meet or confer. He couldn’t believe
she would be so ungracious. He must risk it. The situation was too
critical to stand on ceremony.
He raised his hat and bowed with awkward excitement.
“May I have a few minutes of your time, Miss Holland?” he asked.
She blushed, hesitated and answered nervously.
“Certainly, Mr. Congressman. Your speech was eloquent but unconvincing.
I congratulate you on your style if I can’t agree with your
conclusions.”
Barker laughed heartily and Waldron’s face remained a stolid mask.
“You will excuse me, gentlemen,” she said to her associates. “I’ll see
you in ten minutes--”
She paused and smiled politely to Vassar:
“The ladies’ parlor?”
“Yes,” he answered, leading the way to the elevator, and in two minutes
faced her with his hands tightly gripped behind his back, his eyes
lighted by the fires of tense emotion.
Her control was perfect, if she felt any unusual stir of feeling. He
marvelled at her composure. He had vaguely hoped this first meeting
after their break might lead to a reconciliation. But her bearing was
as coldly impersonal as if he were a book agent trying to sell her a set
of ancient histories.
He throttled a mad impulse to tell her again that he had loved her with
every beat of his heart every moment since they had parted.
“You know, of course,” he began, “that in this crisis you hold the
balance of power in a struggle that may decide the destiny of America?”
“I have been told so--”
“It is so,” he rushed on, “and I’ve come to you for a last appeal to
save the nation from the appalling danger her defenseless condition will
present at the close of this war. My bill will place us beyond the
danger line. If we are reasonably ready for defense no great power will
dare to attack us--”
“Preparation did not prevent the war of the twelve nations--“ she
interrupted sharply.
“Certainly not. Fire engines do not prevent fires, but our organized
fire department can and does prevent the burning of the whole city.
Preparation in Europe did not prevent war. But it did save France from
annihilation. It did save Germany from invasion. It did save England
from death. The lack of it snuffed out the life of Belgium. I only ask
that a million of our boys shall be taught to hold a rule on a mark and
shoot straight--”
“And that mark a human body over whose cradle a mother bent in love. I
do not believe in murder--”
“Neither do I! I’m trying to prevent it. Can’t you see this? Our fathers
shot straight or this Republic had never been born. Your father shot
straight or the Union could never have been preserved. Conflict is the
law of progress, I didn’t make this so, but it’s true, and we must face
the truth. You are the daughter of a soldier. I beg of you for the love
of God and country to save our boys from butchery, our daughters from
outrage and our cities from devastation!”
“I’m going to do exactly that by doing my level best to prevent all
war--”
Vassar lifted his hand and she saw that it was trembling violently.
“Your decision is final?” he asked.
“Absolutely--”
“Then all I can say is,” he responded, “may God save you from ever
seeing the vision my soul has dreamed today!”
She smiled graciously in response to his evident suffering.
“I shall not see it,” was the firm answer. “Your fears are groundless. I
will be a delegate to the first Parliament of Man, the Federation of
the World which this war will create.”
He turned to go, paused, and slowly asked:
“And I may not hope to see you occasionally? You know that I love you
always, right or wrong--”
She shook her head and gazed out of the window for a moment on the
majestic shaft of the Washington Monument white and luminous against the
azure skies of Virginia. Her voice was tender, dreamlike, impersonal.
“Our lives were never quite so far apart as now--”
He turned abruptly and left her, the sense of tragic failure crushing
his heart.
CHAPTER XIX
Woman’s political power was hurled solidly against an increase of
armaments, and Vassar’s Bill for National Defense was defeated.
Waldron’s triumph was complete. His lawyers drew the compromise measure
which Congress was permitted to pass a few weeks later. It made
provision for a modest increase of the Army, Navy and the National
Guard.
The banker’s newspapers led the chorus of approval of this absurd
program and the nation was congratulated on its happy deliverance from
the threatened curse of militarism.
Waldron chartered two trains and took the entire delegation of five
hundred women members of the Convention as his guests. He entertained
them for a week at the best hotels and closed the celebration with a
banquet at his palatial home in honor of Virginia Holland.
At the close of the dinner when the last speaker had finished a
brilliant panegyric of praise for the modern Joan of Arc, the master of
the feast whispered in her ear:
“Will you remain a few minutes when the others have gone? I’ve something
to tell you.”
She nodded her consent and Waldron hurried their departure.
She wondered vaguely what new scheme his fertile brain had hatched, and
followed him into the dimly lighted conservatory without a suspicion of
the sensation he was about to spring. In his manner there was not the
slightest trace of excitement. He found a seat overlooking an entrancing
view of the cold, moonlit river below, and began the conversation in the
most matter of fact way.
“I have a big announcement to make to you, Miss Holland,” he began
evenly.
“Indeed?”
“My life work is rapidly reaching its consummation. You like this
place?”
He adjusted his glasses and waved his hand comprehensively. The gesture
took in the house, the grounds, the yacht, the river and possibly the
city.
Virginia started to the apparently irrelevant question. In her surprise
she forgot to answer.
“You like it?” he repeated.
“Your place,” she stammered, “why, yes, of course, it’s beautiful, and
I think the banquet a triumph of generosity. Our leaders will never
cease sounding your praises. I must say that you’re a master politician.
I wonder that you became a banker--”
Waldron’s cold smile thawed into something like geniality.
“I had good reasons for that choice, you may rest assured. The man who
does things, Miss Holland, leaves nothing to chance which his will may
determine. It was not by accident that I became a multi-millionaire. It
was necessary--”
He stopped abruptly and fixed her with his steel-gray eyes.
“The triumph of my life work is in sight. I may breathe freely for the
first time. I have chosen you to be the queen of this house. I offer you
my hand in marriage--”
Virginia caught her breath in genuine amazement. Never before had he
even hinted that the thought of marriage had entered his imagination. He
had made his proposal with a cocksure insolence which assumed that the
honor was so high the girl had not been born who could refuse it.
A little angry laugh all but escaped before she repressed it. The
situation was dramatic. She would play with him a moment--and test his
sense of humor.
“You honor me beyond my deserts, Mr. Waldron,” she answered naively.
“I must differ with you,” he answered briskly. “On the other hand I am
sure there is not a woman in America who could grace these halls with
your poise, your brilliance, your beauty. The home I have built is
worthy of you--yes. That you will fill the high position to which I have
called you with dignity and grace I am sure--”
She lifted her hand with a movement of impatience--a mischievous smile
playing about her mouth.
“But you haven’t told me that you love me--“ she protested.
“You are a modern woman. You have outgrown the forms of the past--is it
necessary to repeat the formula? Can’t you take that much for granted in
the offer of my hand?”
Virginia shook her head.
“I’ve traveled pretty far from the old ways, I know,” she admitted. “I
can’t give up all the past. I’ve an idea that a man and woman should
love before marriage--”
“If the centuries have taught Europe anything,” he argued, “it is that
reason, not passion, should determine marriage. I hold to the wisdom of
the ages on the point. I ask you to be my wife. Don’t joke. You cannot
refuse me.”
Virginia rose with decision.
“But I do refuse you.”
The banker was too surprised to speak for a moment. It was incredible.
That a girl with a paltry dowry of a hundred thousand should refuse his
offer of millions, his palace in New York, his estates in Europe--a
feeling of blind rage choked him.
“You cannot mean it?” his cold voice clicked.
“Such high honor is not for me,” she firmly replied. “I do not intend to
marry--”
He studied her with keen eyes, rubbed his glasses and readjusted them
again.
“You will accept the position I offer without marriage?” he asked
eagerly.
Her face went white and her body stiffened.
“If you will call the car please--I will go--”
Waldron’s heels came together with a sharp military click, his big neck
bent in the slightest bow, and he led the way into the hall without a
word.
He made no pretense at politeness or apology. He left her to his
servants and mounted the grand stairway in a tumult of blind rage.
CHAPTER XX
For two years the nation drifted without a rational policy of defense,
while the world war continued to drench the earth in blood. The
combination of forces represented by Waldron had succeeded in lulling
the people into a sense of perfect security. We had always been lucky. A
faith that God watched over children and our Republic had become one of
the first articles of our creed.
John Vassar became an officer in the National Security League and
attempted to extend its organization into every election district of the
Union. For two years he had given himself body and soul to the task. At
every turn he found an organized and militant opposition. They had money
to spend and they had leaders who knew how to fight.
In spite of his hatred of Waldron he was compelled to acknowledge his
genius for leadership, and the inflexible quality of his will. Within a
week of the date his Security League was organized in a district, a
fighting “peace” organization appeared overnight to destroy his work.
The optimism of the American people was the solid rock against which his
hopes were constantly dashed.
He ignored the fact that Virginia Holland was the most eloquent and
dangerous opponent of his propaganda. It was the irony of fate that he
should feel it his solemn duty to devote every energy of his life to
combating the cause for which she stood. It was the will of God. He
accepted it now in dumb submission.
In the midst of his campaign for Congressmen pledged to national
defense, the great war suddenly collapsed and the professional peace
advocates filled the world with the tumult of their rejoicing.
It was useless to argue. The danger had passed. Men refused to listen.
Vassar was regarded with a mild sort of pity.
The first rush of events were all with his enemies and critics. The war
had been fought to an impassable deadlock.
Germany entrenched had proven invincible against the offensive assaults
of the Allies. The Allies were equally impotent to achieve an aggressive
victory. When the conviction grew into practical certainty that the
struggle might last for ten years, the German Emperor gave the hint to
the Pope. The Pope sounded the warring nations and an armistice was
arranged.
Embodied in this agreement to suspend hostilities for thirty days was
the startling announcement that the nations at war, desiring to provide
against the recurrence of so terrible and costly an experiment as the
struggle just ending, had further agreed to meet at The Hague in the
first Parliament of Man and establish the Federation of the World!
Waldron proclaimed this achievement the greatest step in human progress
since the dawn of history. He claimed also that his newspapers and his
associates in their fight against armaments had won this victory. He
announced the dawn of the new era of universal peace and good will among
men.
John Vassar was the most thoroughly discredited statesman in the
American Congress. His hobby was the butt of ridicule. Woman’s suffrage
swept the northern section of the eastern seaboard in every state which
held an election in November.
The Parliament of Man met at The Hague. The preliminary session was
composed of the rulers of the leading states, nations and empires of the
world.
Through the influence of Japan, the four hundred millions of China were
excluded.
It was well known in the inner councils of the great powers of Europe
that the real reason for her exclusion was the avowed purpose of the
rulers of Europe and Japan to divide the vast domain of the Orient into
crown dependencies and reserve them for future exploitation.
Their scholars had winked gravely at the charge of a lack of
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