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diff --git a/29880-h/29880-h.htm b/29880-h/29880-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ba74846 --- /dev/null +++ b/29880-h/29880-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,14121 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Crimson Tide, by Robert W. Chambers.</title> + +<style type="text/css"> + @media screen { + hr.pb {margin:30px 0; width:100%; border:none;border-top:thin dashed silver;} + .pagenum {display: inline; font-size: x-small; text-align: right; text-indent: 0; position: absolute; right: 2%; padding: 1px 3px; font-style: normal; font-variant:normal; font-weight:normal; text-decoration: none; background-color: inherit; border:1px solid #eee;} + .pncolor {color: silver;} + } + @media print { + hr.pb {border:none;page-break-after: always;} + .pagenum { display:none; } + } + body {margin-left: 11%; margin-right: 10%;} + p {margin-top: 0.5em; text-align: justify; margin-bottom: 0.5em;} + + blockquote {display: block; margin: .75em 5%; font-size: 100%;} + h1 {font-size:1.4em;} + h1,h2 {text-align:center; font-weight:normal;} + h2 {font-size:1.2em;} + p.tp {font-size:1em; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-align:center;} + + .caption {font-size: 90%; text-align:center;} + .chsp {margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em;} + .figcenter {margin: 2em auto 2em auto; text-align: center; width: auto;} + .figtag {height: 1px;} + .fnanchor {font-size: .8em; text-decoration: none;} + .footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + .footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} + a {text-decoration: none;} + hr.fn {width:3em; text-align:left; margin-left: 0; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; height:1px; border: none; border-bottom: 1px solid black;} + hr.tb {border: none; border-bottom:1px solid black; width: 33%; margin-top: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px;} + p.center {text-align: center !important;} + p.cg {margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-align: left; width: 101%;} + p.ralign {text-align: right !important;} + span.indent10 {margin: 0; padding:0; text-indent:0; width: 4.0em; display: block; float: left;} + span.indent12 {margin: 0; padding:0; text-indent:0; width: 4.8em; display: block; float: left;} + span.indent13 {margin: 0; padding:0; text-indent:0; width: 5.2em; display: block; float: left;} + span.indent14 {margin: 0; padding:0; text-indent:0; width: 5.6em; display: block; float: left;} + span.indent16 {margin: 0; padding:0; text-indent:0; width: 6.4em; display: block; float: left;} + span.indent2 {margin: 0; padding:0; text-indent:0; width: 0.8em; display: block; float: left;} + span.indent4 {margin: 0; padding:0; text-indent:0; width: 1.6em; display: block; float: left;} + span.indent5 {margin: 0; padding:0; text-indent:0; width: 2.0em; display: block; float: left;} + span.indent6 {margin: 0; padding:0; text-indent:0; width: 2.4em; display: block; float: left;} + span.indent7 {margin: 0; padding:0; text-indent:0; width: 2.8em; display: block; float: left;} + span.indent8 {margin: 0; padding:0; text-indent:0; width: 3.2em; display: block; float: left;} + span.indent9 {margin: 0; padding:0; text-indent:0; width: 3.6em; display: block; float: left;} + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; clear: both;} +</style> + +</head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Crimson Tide, by Robert W. Chambers + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Crimson Tide + +Author: Robert W. Chambers + +Illustrator: A. I. Keller + +Release Date: September 1, 2009 [EBook #29880] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CRIMSON TIDE *** + + + + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<div class='figtag'> +<a name='linki_1' id='linki_1'></a> +</div> +<div class='figcenter'> +<img src='images/illus-fpc.jpg' alt='' title='' width='365' height='472' /><br /> +<p class='caption'> +“I HATE IT AS YOU HATED THE BEASTS WHO SLEW YOUR FRIEND”<br /> +</p> +</div> +<hr class='pb' /> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:2.4em;margin-top:20px;margin-bottom:20px;'>THE CRIMSON TIDE</p> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:1.2em;margin-bottom:40px;'>A NOVEL</p> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:1.4em;margin-bottom:40px;'>By ROBERT W. CHAMBERS</p> +<p class='tp' >Author of<br />“The Moonlit Way.”<br />“The Laughing Girl,”<br />“The Restless Sex,” etc.</p> + +<div style='margin:40px auto; text-align:center;'> +<img alt='emblem' src='images/illus-emb.png' /> +</div> + +<p class='tp' >WITH FRONTISPIECE BY</p> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:larger;margin-bottom:40px;'>A. I. KELLER</p> + +<p class='tp' style='font-size:1.4em;margin-bottom:10px;'>A. L. BURT COMPANY</p> + +<p class='tp' style='font-size:larger;margin-bottom:20px;'>Publishers New York</p> + +<p class='tp' style='font-size:smaller;'>Published by arrangement with D. Appleton and Company</p> +<hr class='pb' /> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:smaller;font-variant:small-caps;margin-top:20px;'>copyright, 1919, by</p> +<p class='tp' style='margin-bottom:20px;'>ROBERT W. CHAMBERS</p> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:smaller;'>Copyright, 1919, by</p> +<p class='tp' style='margin-bottom:20px;font-size:smaller;font-variant:small-caps;'>The International Magazine Company</p> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:smaller;margin-bottom:20px;'>PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA</p> +<hr class='pb' /> +<p class='tp' style='margin-bottom:10px;margin-top:20px;'>To</p> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:larger;'>MARGARET ILLINGTON BOWES</p> +<p class='tp' >AND</p> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:larger;'>EDWARD J. BOWES</p> + +<div style='margin:10px auto 20px auto; text-align:center;'> +<img alt='emblem' src='images/illus-ded.png' /> +</div> +<hr class='pb' /> +<table summary=''><tr><td> +<p class='center'>I</p> +<p class='cg'>I’d rather walk with Margaret,<br /> +I’d rather talk with Margaret,<br /> +And anchor in some sylvan nook<br /> +And fish Dream Lake with magic hook<br /> +Than sit indoors and write this book.<br /> +</p> +<p class='center'>II</p> +<p class='cg'>An author’s such an ass, alas!<br /> +To watch the world through window glass<br /> +When out of doors the skies are fair<br /> +And pretty girls beyond compare––<br /> +Like Margaret––are strolling there.<br /> +</p> +<p class='center'>III</p> +<p class='cg'>I’d rather walk with E. J. Bowes,<br /> +I’d rather talk with E. J. Bowes,<br /> +In woodlands where the sunlight gleams<br /> +Across the golden Lake of Dreams<br /> +Than drive a quill across these reams.<br /> +</p> +<p class='center'>IV</p> +<p class='cg'>If I could have my proper wish<br /> +With these two friends I’d sit and fish<br /> +Where sheer cliffs wear their mossy hoods<br /> +And Dream Lake widens in the woods,<br /> +But Fate says “No! Produce your goods!”<br /> +</p> +<p class='center'>ENVOI</p> +<p class='cg'>Inspect my goods and choose a few<br /> +Dear Margaret, and Edward, too;<br /> +Then sink them in the Lake of Dreams<br /> +In dim, gold depths where sunshine streams<br /> +Down from the sky’s unclouded blue,<br /> +And I’ll be much obliged to you.<br /> +</p> +<p class='ralign'>R. W. C.</p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_xi' name='page_xi'></a>xi</span></div> +<p style='text-align:center;margin-top:1.5em;margin-bottom:1em'>FOREWORD</p> +<p>An American ambulance going south stopped on +the snowy road; the driver, an American named +Estridge, got out; his companion, a young +woman in furs, remained in her seat.</p> +<p>Estridge, with the din of the barrage in his ears, +went forward to show his papers to the soldiers who +had stopped him on the snowy forest road.</p> +<p>His papers identified him and the young woman; +and further they revealed the fact that the ambulance +contained only a trunk and some hand luggage; and +called upon all in authority to permit John Henry +Estridge and Miss Palla Dumont to continue without +hindrance the journey therein described.</p> +<p>The soldiers––Siberian riflemen––were satisfied and +seemed friendly enough and rather curious to obtain +a better look at this American girl, Miss Dumont, described +in the papers submitted to them as “American +companion to Marie, third daughter of Nicholas +Romanoff, ex-Tzar.”</p> +<p>An officer came up, examined the papers, shrugged.</p> +<p>“Very well,” he said, “if authority is to be given this +American lady to join the Romanoff family, now under +detention, it is not my affair.”</p> +<p>But he, also, appeared to be perfectly good natured +about the matter, accepting a cigarette from Estridge +and glancing at the young woman in the ambulance +as he lighted it.</p> +<p>“You know,” he remarked, “if it would interest you +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_xii' name='page_xii'></a>xii</span> +and the young lady, the Battalion of Death is over +yonder in the birch woods.”</p> +<p>“The woman’s battalion?” asked Estridge.</p> +<p>“Yes. They make their début to-day. Would you +like to see them? They’re going forward in a few +minutes, I believe.”</p> +<p>Estridge nodded and walked back to the ambulance.</p> +<p>“The woman’s battalion is over in those birch woods, +Miss Dumont. Would you care to walk over and see +them before they leave for the front trenches?”</p> +<p>The girl in furs said very gravely:</p> +<p>“Yes, I wish to see women who are about to go into +battle.”</p> +<p>She rose from the seat, laid a fur-gloved hand on his +offered arm, and stepped down onto the snow.</p> +<p>“To serve,” she said, as they started together +through the silver birches, following a trodden way, +“is not alone the only happiness in life: it is the only +reason for living.”</p> +<p>“I know you think so, Miss Dumont.”</p> +<p>“You also must believe so, who are here as a volunteer +in Russia.”</p> +<p>“It’s a little more selfish with me. I’m a medical +student; it’s a liberal education for me even to drive +an ambulance.”</p> +<p>“There is only one profession nobler than that practised +by the physician, who serves his fellow men,” +she said in a low, dreamy voice.</p> +<p>“Which profession do you place first?”</p> +<p>“The profession of those who serve God alone.”</p> +<p>“The priesthood?”</p> +<p>“Yes. And the religious orders.”</p> +<p>“Nuns, too?” he demanded with the slightest hint +of impatience in his pleasant voice.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_xiii' name='page_xiii'></a>xiii</span></div> +<p>The girl noticed it, looked up at him and smiled +slightly.</p> +<p>“Had my dear Grand Duchess not asked for me, I +should now he entering upon my novitiate among the +Russian nuns.... And she, too, I think, had there +been no revolution. She was quite ready a year ago. +We talked it over. But the Empress would not permit +it. And then came the trouble about the Deaconesses. +That was a grave mistake–––”</p> +<p>She checked herself, then:</p> +<p>“I do not mean to criticise the Empress, you understand.”</p> +<p>“Poor lady,” he said, “such gentle criticism would +seem praise to her now.”</p> +<p>They were walking through a pine belt, and in the +shadows of that splendid growth the snow remained +icy, so that they both slipped continually and she took +his arm for security.</p> +<p>“I somehow had not thought of you, Miss Dumont, +as so austerely inclined,” he said.</p> +<p>She smiled: “Because I’ve been a cheerful companion––even +gay? Well, my gaiety made my heart +sing with the prospect of seeing again my dearest +friend––my closest spiritual companion––my darling +little Grand Duchess.... So I have been, naturally +enough, good company on our three days’ journey.”</p> +<p>He smiled: “I never suspected you of such extreme +religious inclinations,” he insisted.</p> +<p>“Extreme?”</p> +<p>“Well, a novice–––” he hesitated. Then, “And +you mean, ultimately, to take the black veil?”</p> +<p>“Of course. I shall take it some day yet.”</p> +<p>He turned and looked at her, and the man in him +felt the pity of it as do all men when such fresh, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_xiv' name='page_xiv'></a>xiv</span> +virginal youth as was Miss Dumont’s turns an enraptured +face toward that cloister door which never again opens +on those who enter.</p> +<p>Her arm rested warmly and confidently within his; +the cold had made her cheeks very pink and had crisped +the tendrils of her brown hair under the fur toque.</p> +<p>“If,” she said happily, “you have found in me a +friend, it is because my heart is much too small for all +the love I bear my fellow beings.”</p> +<p>“That’s a quaint thing to say,” he said.</p> +<p>“It’s really true. I care so deeply, so keenly, for +my fellow beings whom God made, that there seemed +only one way to express it––to give myself to God and +pass my life in His service who made these fellow creatures +all around me that I love.”</p> +<p>“I suppose,” he said, “that is one way of looking +at it.”</p> +<p>“It seemed to be the only way for me. I came to +it by stages.... And first, as a child, I was impressed +by the loveliness of the world and I used to sit +for hours thinking of the goodness of God. And then +other phases came––socialistic cravings and settlement +work––but you know that was not enough. My heart +was too full to be satisfied. There was not enough +outlet.”</p> +<p>“What did you do then?”</p> +<p>“I studied: I didn’t know what I wanted, what I +needed. I seemed lost; I was obsessed with a desire to +aid––to be of service. I thought that perhaps if I +travelled and studied methods–––”</p> +<p>She looked straight ahead of her with a sad little +reflective smile:</p> +<p>“I have passed by many strange places in the world.... +And then I saw the little Grand Duchess at the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_xv' name='page_xv'></a>xv</span> +Charity Bazaar.... We seemed to love each other +at first glance.... She asked to have me for her +companion.... They investigated.... And so I +went to her.”</p> +<p>The girl’s face became sombre and she bent her dark +eyes on the snow as they walked.</p> +<p>All the world was humming and throbbing with the +thunder of the Russian guns. Flakes continually +dropped from vibrating pine trees. A pale yellow +haze veiled the sun.</p> +<p>Suddenly Miss Dumont lifted her head:</p> +<p>“If anything ever happens to part me from my +friend,” she said, “I hope I shall die quickly.”</p> +<p>“Are you and she so devoted?” he asked gravely.</p> +<p>“Utterly. And if we can not some day take the +vows together and enter the same order and the same +convent, then the one who is free to do so is so pledged.... +I do not think that the Empress will consent to +the Grand Duchess Marie taking the veil.... And +so, when she has no further need of me, I shall make +my novitiate.... There are soldiers ahead, Mr. Estridge. +Is it the woman’s battalion?”</p> +<p>He, also, had caught sight of them. He nodded.</p> +<p>“It is the Battalion of Death,” he said in a low voice. +“Let’s see what they look like.”</p> +<p>The girl-soldiers stood about carelessly, there in the +snow among the silver birches and pines. They looked +like boys in overcoats and boots and tall wool caps, +leaning at ease there on their heavy rifles. Some were +only fifteen years of age. Some had been servants, +some saleswomen, stenographers, telephone operators, +dressmakers, workers in the fields, students at the university, +dancers, laundresses. And a few had been +born into the aristocracy.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_xvi' name='page_xvi'></a>xvi</span></div> +<p>They came, too, from all parts of the huge, sprawling +Empire, these girl-soldiers of the Battalion of +Death––and there were Cossack girls and gypsies +among them––girls from Finland, Courland, from the +Urals, from Moscow, from Siberia––from North, +South, East, West.</p> +<p>There were Jewesses from the Pale and one Jewess +from America in the ranks; there were Chinese girls, +Poles, a child of fifteen from Trebizond, a Japanese +girl, a French peasant lass; and there were Finns, too, +and Scandinavians––all with clipped hair under the +astrakhan caps––sturdy, well shaped, soldierly girls +who handled their heavy rifles without effort and carried +a regulation equipment as though it were a sheaf +of flowers.</p> +<p>Their commanding officer was a woman of forty. +She lounged in front of the battalion in the snow, consulting +with half a dozen officers of a man’s regiment.</p> +<p>The colour guard stood grouped around the battalion +colours, where its white and gold folds swayed languidly +in the breeze, and clots of virgin snow fell upon +it, shaken down from the pines by the cannonade.</p> +<p>Estridge gazed at them in silence. In his man’s +mind one thought dominated––the immense pity of it +all. And there was a dreadful fascination in looking +at these girl soldiers, whose soft, warm flesh was so +soon to be mangled by shrapnel and slashed by bayonets.</p> +<p>“Good heavens,” he muttered at last under his +breath. “Was this necessary?”</p> +<p>“The men ran,” said Miss Dumont.</p> +<p>“It was the filthy boche propaganda that demoralised +them,” rejoined Estridge. “I wonder––<i>are</i> +women more level headed? Is propaganda wasted on +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_xvii' name='page_xvii'></a>xvii</span> +these girl soldiers? Are they really superior to the +male of the species?”</p> +<p>“I think,” said Miss Dumont softly, “that their spiritual +intelligence is deeper.”</p> +<p>“They see more clearly, morally?”</p> +<p>“I don’t know.... I think so sometimes.... We +women, who are born capable of motherhood, seem to +be fashioned also to realise Christ more clearly––and +the holy mother who bore him.... I don’t know if +that’s the reason––or if, truly, in us a little flame +burns more constantly––the passion which instinctively +flames more brightly toward things of the spirit than of +the flesh.... I think it is true, Mr. Estridge, that, +unless taught otherwise by men, women’s inclination +is toward the spiritual, and the ardour of her passion +aspires instinctively to a greater love until the lesser +confuses and perplexes her with its clamorous importunity.”</p> +<p>“Woman’s love for man you call the lesser love?” he +asked.</p> +<p>“Yes, it is, compared to love for God,” she said +dreamily.</p> +<p>Some of the girl-soldiers in the Battalion of Death +turned their heads to look at this young girl in furs, +who had come among them on the arm of a Red Cross +driver.</p> +<p>Estridge was aware of many bib brown eyes, many +grey eyes, some blue ones fixed on him and on his companion +in friendly or curious inquiry. They made him +think of the large, innocent eyes of deer or channel +cattle, for there was something both sweet and wild +as well as honest in the gaze of these girl-soldiers.</p> +<p>One, a magnificent blond six-foot creature with the +peaches-and-cream skin of Scandinavia and the clipped +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_xviii' name='page_xviii'></a>xviii</span> +gold hair of the northland, smiled at Miss Dumont, +displaying a set of superb teeth.</p> +<p>“You have come to see us make our first charge?” +she asked in Russian, her sea-blue eyes all a-sparkle.</p> +<p>Miss Dumont said “Yes,” very seriously, looking at +the girl’s equipment, her blanket roll, gas-mask, boots +and overcoat.</p> +<p>Estridge turned to another girl-soldier:</p> +<p>“And if you are made a prisoner?” he enquired in +a low voice. “Have you women considered that?”</p> +<p>“Nechevo,” smiled the girl, who had been a Red +Cross nurse, and who wore two decorations. She +touched the red and black dashes of colour on her +sleeve significantly, then loosened her tunic and drew +out a tiny bag of chamois. “We all carry poison,” +she said smilingly. “We know the boche well enough +to take that precaution.”</p> +<p>Another girl nodded confirmation. They were perfectly +cheerful about it. Several others drew near and +showed their little bags of poison slung around their +necks inside their blouses. Many of them wore holy +relics and medals also.</p> +<p>Miss Dumont took Estridge’s arm again and looked +over at the big blond girl-soldier, who also had been +smilingly regarding her, and who now stepped forward +to meet them halfway.</p> +<p>“When do you march to the first trenches?” asked +Miss Dumont gravely.</p> +<p>“Oh,” said the blond goddess, “so you are English?” +And she added in English: “I am Swedish. You have +arrived just in time. I t’ink we go forward immediately.”</p> +<p>“God go with you, for Russia,” said Miss Dumont +in a clear, controlled voice.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_xix' name='page_xix'></a>xix</span></div> +<p>But Estridge saw that her dark eyes were suddenly +brilliant with tears. The big blond girl-soldier saw +it, too, and her splendid blue eyes widened. Then, +somehow, she had stepped forward and taken Miss Dumont +in her strong arms; and, holding her, smiled and +gazed intently at her.</p> +<p>“You must not grieve for us,” she said. “We are +not afraid. We are happy to go.”</p> +<p>“I know,” said Palla Dumont; and took the girl-soldier’s +hands in hers. “What is your name?” she +asked.</p> +<p>“Ilse Westgard. And yours?”</p> +<p>“Palla Dumont.”</p> +<p>“English? No?”</p> +<p>“American.”</p> +<p>“Ah! One of our dear Americans! Well, then, you +shall tell your countrymen that you have seen many +women of many lands fighting rifle in hand, so that the +boche shall not strangle freedom in Russia. Will you +tell them, Palla?”</p> +<p>“If I ever return.”</p> +<p>“You shall return. I, also, shall go to America. +I shall seek for you there, pretty comrade. We shall +become friends. Already I love you very dearly.”</p> +<p>She kissed Palla Dumont on both cheeks, holding her +hands tightly.</p> +<p>“Tell me,” she said, “why you are in Russia, and +where you are now journeying?”</p> +<p>Palla looked at her steadily: “I am the American +companion to the Grand Duchess Marie; and I am +journeying to the village where the Imperial family is +detained, because she has obtained permission for me +to rejoin her.”</p> +<p>There was a short silence; the blue eyes of the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_xx' name='page_xx'></a>xx</span> +Swedish girl had become frosty as two midwinter stars. +Suddenly they glimmered warm again as twin violets:</p> +<p>“Kharasho!” she said smiling. “And do you love +your little comrade duchess?”</p> +<p>“Next only to God.”</p> +<p>“That is very beautiful, Palla. She is a child to +be enlightened. Teach her the greater truth.”</p> +<p>“She has learned it, Ilse.”</p> +<p>“<i>She</i>?”</p> +<p>“Yes. And, if God wills it, she, and I also, take the +vows some day.”</p> +<p>“The veil!”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“You! A nun!”</p> +<p>“If God accepts me.”</p> +<p>The Swedish girl-soldier stood gazing upon her as +though fascinated, crushing Palla’s slim hands between +her own.</p> +<p>Presently she shook her head with a wearied smile:</p> +<p>“That,” she said, “is one thing I can not understand––the +veil. No. I can understand <i>this</i>–––” turning +her head and glancing proudly around her at her +girl comrades. “I can comprehend this thing that I +am doing. But not what you wish to do, Palla. Not +such service as you offer.”</p> +<p>“I wish to serve the source of all good. My heart +is too full to be satisfied by serving mankind alone.”</p> +<p>The girl-soldier shook her head: “I try to understand. +I can not. I am sorry, because I love you.”</p> +<p>“I love you, Ilse. I love my fellows.”</p> +<p>After another silence:</p> +<p>“You go to the imperial family?” demanded Ilse +abruptly.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_xxi' name='page_xxi'></a>xxi</span></div> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“I wish to see you again. I shall try.”</p> +<p>The battalion marched a few moments later.</p> +<p>It was rather a bad business. They went over the +top with a cheer. Fifty answered roll call that night.</p> +<p>However, the hun had learned one thing––that +women soldiers were inferior to none.</p> +<p>Russia learned it, too. Everywhere battalions were +raised, uniformed, armed, equipped, drilled. In the +streets of cities the girl-soldiers became familiar +sights: nobody any longer turned to stare at them. +There were several dozen girls in the officers’ school, +trying for commissions. In all the larger cities there +were infantry battalions of girls, Cossack troops, machine +gun units, signallers; they had a medical corps +and transport service.</p> +<p>But never but once again did they go into action. +And their last stand was made facing their own people, +the brain-crazed Reds.</p> +<p>And after that the Battalion of Death became only +a name; and the girl-soldiers bewildered fugitives, +hunted down by the traitors who had sold out to the +Germans at Brest-Litovsk. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_xxiii' name='page_xxiii'></a>xxiii</span></p> +<hr class='pb' /> +<p style='text-align:center;margin-top:1.5em;margin-bottom:1em'>PREFACE</p> +<p>A door opened; the rush of foggy air set the +flames of the altar candles blowing wildly. +There came the clank of armed men.</p> +<p>Then, in the dim light of the chapel, a novice sprang +to her feet, brushing the white veil from her pallid +young face.</p> +<p>At that the ex-Empress, still kneeling, lifted her +head from her devotions and calmly turned it, looking +around over her right shoulder.</p> +<p>The file of Red infantry advanced, shuffling slowly +forward as though feeling their way through the candle-lit +dusk across the stone floor. Their accoutrements +clattered and clinked in the intense stillness. A +slovenly officer, switching a thin, naked sword in his +ungloved fist, led them. Another officer, carrying a +sabre and marching in the rear, halted to slam and +lock the heavy chapel door; then he ran forward to +rejoin his men, while the chapel still reverberated with +the echoes of the clanging door.</p> +<p>A chair or two fell, pushed aside by the leading soldiers +and hastily kicked out of the way as the others +advanced more swiftly now. For there seemed to be +some haste. These men were plainly in a hurry, whatever +their business there might be.</p> +<p>The Tzesarevitch, kneeling beside his mother, got +up from his knees with visible difficulty. The Empress +also rose, leisurely, supporting herself by one hand +resting on the prie-dieu.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_xxiv' name='page_xxiv'></a>xxiv</span></div> +<p>Then several young girls, who had been kneeling behind +her at their devotions, stood up and turned to +stare at the oncoming armed men, now surrounding +them.</p> +<p>The officer carrying the naked sword, and reeking +with fumes of brandy, counted these women in a +loud, thick voice.</p> +<p>“That’s right,” he said. “You’re all present––one! +two! three! four! five! six!––the whole accursed brood!” +pointing waveringly with his sword from one to another.</p> +<p>Then he laughed stupidly, leering out of his inflamed +eyes at the five women who all wore the garbs of the +Sisters of Mercy, their white coiffes and tabliers contrasting +sharply with the sombre habits of the Russian +nuns who had gathered in the candle-lit dusk behind +them.</p> +<p>“What do you wish?” demanded the ex-Empress in a +fairly steady voice.</p> +<p>“Answer to your names!” retorted the officer brutally. +The other officer came up and began to fumble +for a note book in the breast of his dirty tunic. When +he found it he licked the lead of his pencil and squinted +at the ex-Empress out of drunken eyes.</p> +<p>“Alexandra Feodorovna!” he barked in her face. +“If you’re here, say so!”</p> +<p>She remained calm, mute, cold as ice.</p> +<p>A soldier behind her suddenly began to shout:</p> +<p>“That’s the German woman. That’s the friend of +the Staretz Novykh! That’s Sascha! Now we’ve got +her, the thing to do is to shoot her–––”</p> +<p>“Mark her present,” interrupted the officer in command. +“No ceremony, now. Mark the cub Romanoff +present. Mark ’em all––Olga, Tatyana, Marie, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_xxv' name='page_xxv'></a>xxv</span> +Anastasia!––no matter which is which––they’re all Romanoffs–––”</p> +<p>But the same soldier who had interrupted before +bawled out again: “They’re not Romanoffs! There +are no German Romanoffs. There are no Romanoffs +in Russia since a hundred and fifty years–––”</p> +<p>The little Tzesarevitch, Alexis, red with anger, +stepped forward to confront the man, his frail hands +fiercely clenched. The officer in command struck him +brutally across the breast with the flat of his sword, +shoved him aside, strode toward the low door of the +chapel crypt and jerked it open.</p> +<p>“Line them up!” he bawled. “We’ll settle this Romanoff +dispute once for all! Shove them into line! +Hurry up, there!”</p> +<p>But there seemed to be some confusion between the +nuns and the soldiers, as the latter attempted to separate +the ex-Empress and the young Grand Duchesses +from the sisters.</p> +<p>“What’s all that trouble about!” cried the officer +commanding. “Drive back those nuns, I tell you! +They’re Germans, too! They’re Sascha’s new Deaconesses! +Kick ’em out of the way!”</p> +<p>Then the novice, who had cried out in fear when the +Red infantry first entered the chapel, forced her way +out into the file formed by the Empress and her daughters.</p> +<p>“There’s a frightful mistake!” she cried, laying one +hand on the arm of a young girl dressed, like the others, +as a Sister of Mercy. “This woman is Miss Dumont, +my American companion! Release her! <b>I</b> am +the Grand Duchess Marie!”</p> +<p>The girl, whose arm had been seized, looked at the +young novice over her shoulder in a dazed way; then, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_xxvi' name='page_xxvi'></a>xxvi</span> +suddenly her lovely face flushed scarlet; tears sprang +to her eyes; and she said to the infuriated officer:</p> +<p>“It is not true, Captain! I am the Grand Duchess +Marie. She is trying to save me!”</p> +<p>“What the devil is all this row!” roared the officer, +who now came tramping and storming among the prisoners, +switching his sword to and fro with ferocious +impatience.</p> +<p>The little Sister of Mercy, frightened but resolute, +pointed at the novice, who still clutched her by the +arm: “It is not true what she tells you,” she repeated. +“I am the Grand Duchess Marie, and this novice is my +American companion, Miss Dumont, who loves me devotedly +and who now attempts to sacrifice herself in +my place–––”</p> +<p>“I <i>am</i> the Grand Duchess Marie!” interrupted the +novice excitedly. “This young girl dressed like a Sister +of Mercy is only my American companion–––”</p> +<p>“Damnation!” yelled the officer. “I’ll take you +both, then!” But the girl in the Sister of Mercy’s +garb turned and violently pushed the novice from her +so that she stumbled and fell on her knees among the +nuns.</p> +<p>Then, confronting the officer: “You Bolshevik +dog,” she said contemptuously, “don’t you even know +the daughter of your dead Emperor when you see +her!” And she struck him across the face with her +prayer book.</p> +<p>As he recoiled from the blow a soldier shouted: +“There’s your proof! There’s your insolent Romanoff +for you! To hell with the whole litter! Shoot them!” +Instantly a savage roar from the Reds filled that dim +place; a soldier violently pushed the young Tzesarevitch +into the file behind the Empress and held him +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_xxvii' name='page_xxvii'></a>xxvii</span> +there; the Grand Duchess Olga was flung bodily after +him; the other children, in their hospital dresses, were +shoved brutally toward their places, menaced by butt +and bayonet.</p> +<p>“March!” bawled the officer in command.</p> +<p>But now, among the dark-garbed nuns, a slender +white figure was struggling frantically to free herself:</p> +<p>“You red dogs!” she cried in an agonised voice. +“Let that English woman go! It is I you want! Do +you hear! I mock at you! I mock at your resolution! +Boje Tzaria Khrani! Down with the Bolsheviki!”</p> +<p>A soldier turned and fired at her; the bullet smashed +an ikon above her head.</p> +<p>“I am the Grand Duchess Marie!” she sobbed. “I +demand my place! I demand my fate! Let that +American girl go! Do you hear what I say? Red +beasts! Red beasts! I am the Grand Duchess!–––”</p> +<p>The officer who closed the file turned savagely and +shook his heavy cavalry sabre at her: “I’ll come back +in a moment and cut your throat for you!” he yelled.</p> +<p>Then, in the file, and just as the last bayonets were +vanishing through the crypt door, one of the young +girls turned and kissed her hand to the sobbing novice––a +pretty gesture, tender, gay, not tragic, even almost +mischievously triumphant.</p> +<p>It was the adieu of the Grand Duchess Tatyana to +the living world––her last glimpse of it through the +flames of the altar candles gilding the dead Christ on +his jewelled cross––the image of that Christ she was +so soon to gaze upon when those lovely, mischievous +young eyes of hers unclosed in Paradise....</p> +<p>The door of the crypt slammed. A terrible silence +reigned in the chapel.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_xxviii' name='page_xxviii'></a>xxviii</span></div> +<p>Then the novice uttered a cry, caught the foot of +the cross with desperate hands, hung there convulsively.</p> +<p>To her the Mother Superior turned, weeping. But +at her touch the girl, crazed with grief, lifted both +hands and tore from her own face the veil of her novitiate +just begun;––tore her white garments from +her shoulders, crying out in a strangled voice that if a +Christian God let such things happen then He was no +God of hers––that she would never enter His service––that +the Lord Christ was no bridegroom for her; +and, her novitiate was ended––ended together with +every vow of chastity, of humility, of poverty, of even +common humanity which she had ever hoped to take.</p> +<p>The girl was now utterly beside herself; at one moment +flaming and storming with fury among the terrified, +huddling nuns; the next instant weeping, stamping +her felt-shod foot in ungovernable revolt at this +horror which any God in any heaven could permit.</p> +<p>And again and again she called out on Christ to +stop this thing and prove Himself a real God to a pagan +world that mocked Him.</p> +<p>Dishevelled, her rent veil in tatters on her naked +shoulders, she sprang across the chapel to the crypt +door, shook it, tore at it, seized chair after chair and +shattered them to splinters against the solid panels +of oak and iron.</p> +<p>Then, suddenly motionless, she crouched and listened.</p> +<p>“Oh, Mother of God!” she panted, “intervene now––<i>now</i>!––or +never!”</p> +<p>The muffled rattle of a rather ragged volley answered +her prayer.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_xxix' name='page_xxix'></a>xxix</span></div> +<p>Outside the convent a sentry––a Kronstadt sailor––stood. +He also heard the underground racket. He +nodded contentedly to himself. Other shots followed––pistol +shots––singly.</p> +<p>After a few moments a wisp of smoke from the crypt +crept lazily out of the low oubliettes. The day was +grey and misty; rain threatened; and the rifle smoke +clung low to the withered grass, scarcely lifting.</p> +<p>The sentry lighted a third cigarette, one eye on the +barred oubliettes, from which the smoke crawled and +spread out over the grass.</p> +<p>After a while a sweating face appeared behind the +bars and a half-stifled voice demanded why there was +any delay about fetching quick-lime. And, still clinging +to the bars with bloody fingers, he added:</p> +<p>“There’s a damned novice in the chapel. I promised +to cut her throat for her. Go in and get her and +bring her down here.”</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>The novice was nowhere to be found.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>They searched the convent thoroughly; they went +out into the garden and beat the shrubbery, kicking +through bushes and saplings, their cocked rifles poised +for a snap shot.</p> +<p>Peasants, gathering there more thickly now, watched +them stupidly; the throng increased in the convent +grounds. Some Bolshevik soldiers pushed through the +rapidly growing crowd and ran toward a birch wood +east of the convent. Beyond the silvery fringe of +birches, larger trees of a heavy, hard-wood forest +loomed. Among these splendid trees a number of +beeches were being felled on both sides of the road.</p> +<p>“Did you see a White Nun run this way?” demanded +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_xxx' name='page_xxx'></a>xxx</span> +the soldiers of the wood-cutters. The latter shook +their heads:</p> +<p>“Nothing has passed,” they said seriously, “except +some Ural Cossacks riding north like lost souls in a +hurricane.”</p> +<p>An officer of the Red battalion, who had now hastened +up with pistol swinging, flew into a frightful +rage:</p> +<p>“Cossacks!” he bellowed. “You cowardly dogs, +what do you mean by letting Kaledines’ horsemen gallop +over you like that––you with your saws and axes––twenty +lusty comrades to block the road and pull the +Imperialists off their horses! Shame! For all I know +you’ve let a Romanoff escape alive into the world! +That’s probably what you’ve done, you greasy louts!”</p> +<p>The wood-cutters gaped stupidly; the Bolshevik officer +cursed them again and gesticulated with his pistol. +Other soldiers of the Red battalion ran up. One +nudged the officer’s elbow without saluting:</p> +<p>“That other prisoner can’t be found–––”</p> +<p>“What! That Swedish girl!” yelled the officer.</p> +<p>Several soldiers began speaking excitedly:</p> +<p>“While we were in the cellar, they say she ran +away–––”</p> +<p>“Yes, Captain, while we were about that business in +the crypt, Kaledines’ horsemen rode up outside–––”</p> +<p>“Who saw them?” demanded the officer hoarsely. +“God curse you, who saw them?”</p> +<p>Some peasants had now come up. One of them +began:</p> +<p>“Your <i>honour</i>, I saw Prince Kaledines’ riders–––”</p> +<p>“<i>Whose!</i>”</p> +<p>“The Hetman’s–––”</p> +<p>“Your <i>honour</i>! <i>Prince</i> Kaledines! The Hetman! +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_xxxi' name='page_xxxi'></a>xxxi</span> +Damnation! Who do you think you are! Who do +you think I am!” burst out the Red officer in a fury. +“Get out of my way!–––” He pushed the peasants +right and left and strode away toward the convent. +His soldiers began to straggle after him. One of them +winked at the wood-cutters with his tongue in his cheek, +and slung the rifle he carried over his right shoulder +<i>en bandoulière</i>, muzzle downward.</p> +<p>“The Tavarish is in a temper,” he said with a jerk +of his thumb toward the officer. “We arrested that +Swedish girl in the uniform of the woman’s battalion. +One shoots that breed on sight, you know. But we +were in such a hurry to finish with the Romanoffs–––” +He shrugged: “You see, comrades, we should have +taken her into the crypt and shot her along with the +Romanoffs. That’s how one loses these birds––they’re +off if you turn your back to light a cigarette in the +wind.”</p> +<p>One of the wood-cutters said: “Among Kaledines’ +horsemen were two women. One was crop-headed like +a boy, and half naked.”</p> +<p>“A White Nun?”</p> +<p>“God knows. She had some white rags hanging to +her body, and dark hair clipped like a boy’s.”</p> +<p>“That––was––she!” said the soldier with slow conviction. +He turned and looked down the long perspective +of the forest road. Only a raven stalked +there all alone over the fallen leaves.</p> +<p>“Certainly,” he said, “that was our White Nun. +The Cossacks took her with them. They must have +ridden fast, the horsemen of Kaledines.”</p> +<p>“Like a swift storm. Like the souls of the damned,” +replied a peasant.</p> +<p>The soldier shrugged: “If there’s still a Romanoff +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_xxxii' name='page_xxxii'></a>xxxii</span> +loose in the world, God save the world!... And that +big heifer of a Swedish wench!––she was a bad one, +I tell you!––Took six of us to catch her and ten to +hold her by her ten fingers and toes! Hey! God +bless me, but she stands six feet and is made of steel +cased in silk––all white, smooth and iron-hard––the +blond young snow-tiger that she is!––the yellow-haired, +six-foot, slippery beastess! God bless me––God bless +me!” he muttered, staring down the wood-road to its +vanishing point against the grey horizon.</p> +<p>Then he hitched his slung rifle to a more comfortable +position, turned, gazed at the convent across the +fields, which his distant comrades were now approaching.</p> +<p>“A German nest,” he said aloud to himself, “full of +their damned Deaconesses! Hey! I’ll be going along +to see what’s to be done with them, also!”</p> +<p>He nodded to the wood-cutters:</p> +<p>“Vermin-killing time,” he remarked cheerily. “After +the dirty work is done, peace, land enough for everybody, +ease and plenty and a full glass always at one’s +elbows––eh, comrades?”</p> +<p>He strode away across the fields.</p> +<p>It had begun to snow.</p> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_xxxiii' name='page_xxxiii'></a>xxxiii</span></div> +<p style='text-align:center;margin-top:1.5em;margin-bottom:1em'>ARGUMENT</p> +<p>The Cossacks sang as they rode:</p> +<table summary=''><tr><td> +<p class='center'>I</p> +<p class='cg'>“Life is against us<br /> +We are born crying:<br /> +Life that commenced us<br /> +Leaves us all dying.<br /> +<span class='indent7'> </span>We were born crying;<br /> +<span class='indent7'> </span>We shall die sighing.<br /> +<br /> +“Shall we sit idle?<br /> +Follow Death’s dance!<br /> +Pick up your bridle,<br /> +Saddle and lance!<br /> +Cossacks, advance!”</p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>They were from the Urals: they sat their shaggy +little grey horses, lance in hand, stirrup deep in saddle +paraphernalia––kit-bags, tents, blankets, trusses of +straw, a dead fowl or two or a quarter of beef. And +from every saddle dangled a balalaika and the terrible +Cossack whip.</p> +<p>The steel of their lances flashed red in the setting +sun; snow whirled before the wind in blinding pinkish +clouds, powdering horse and rider from head to heel.</p> +<p>Again one rider unslung his balalaika, struck it, +looking skyward as he rode:</p> +<table summary=''><tr><td> +<p class='cg'>“Stars in your courses,<br /> +This is our answer;<br /> +Women and horses,<br /> +Singer and dancer<br /> +<span class='indent9'> </span>Fall to the lancer!<br /> +<span class='indent9'> </span>That is your answer! +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_xxxiv' name='page_xxxiv'></a>xxxiv</span><br /> +<br /> +“Though the Dark Raider<br /> +Rob us of joy–––<br /> +Death, the Invader,<br /> +Come to destroy–––<br /> +<i>Nichevo! Stoi!</i>”</p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>They rode into a forest, slowly, filing among the +silver birches, then trotting out amid the pines.</p> +<p>The Swedish girl towered in her saddle, dwarfing +the shaggy pony. She wore her grey wool cap, overcoat, +and boots. Pistols bulged in the saddle holsters; +sacks of grain and a bag of camp tins lay across pommel +and cantle.</p> +<p>Beside her rode the novice, swathed to the eyes in a +sheepskin greatcoat, and a fur cap sheltering her +shorn head.</p> +<p>Her lethargy––a week’s reaction from the horrors of +the convent––had vanished; and a feverish, restless +alertness had taken its place.</p> +<p>Nothing of the still, white novice was visible now in +her brilliant eyes and flushed cheeks.</p> +<p>Her tragic silence had given place to an unnatural +loquacity; her grief to easily aroused mirth; and the +dark sorrow in her haunted eyes was gone, and they +grew brown and sunny and vivacious.</p> +<p>She talked freely with her comrade, Ilse Westgard; +she exchanged gossip and banter with the Cossacks, +argued with them, laughed with them, sang with them.</p> +<p>At night she slept in her sheepskin in Ilse Westgard’s +vigorous arms; morning, noon and evening she +filled the samovar with snow beside Cossack fires, or +in the rare cantonments afforded in wretched villages, +where whiskered and filthy mujiks cringed to the Cossacks, +whispering to one another: “There is no end +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_xxxv' name='page_xxxv'></a>xxxv</span> +to death; there is no end to the fighting and the dying, +God bless us all. There is no end.”</p> +<p>In the glare of great fires in muddy streets she +stood, swathed in her greatcoat, her cap pushed back, +looking like some beautiful, impudent boy, while the +Cossacks sang “Lada oy Lada!”––and let their slanting +eyes wander sideways toward her, till her frank +laughter set the singers grinning and the <i>gusli</i> was +laid aside.</p> +<p>And once, after a swift gallop to cross a railroad +and an exchange of shots with the Red guards at long +range, the sotnia of the Wild Division rode at evening +into a little hamlet of one short, miserable street, and +shouted for a fire that could be seen as far as Moscow.</p> +<p>That night they discovered vodka––not much––enough +to set them singing first, then dancing. The +troopers danced together in the fire-glare––clumsily, +in their boots, with interims of the <i>pas seul</i> savouring +of the capers of those ancient Mongol horsemen in the +<i>Hezars</i> of Genghis Khan.</p> +<p>But no dancing, no singing, no clumsy capers were +enough to satisfy these riders of the Wild Division, +now made boisterous by vodka and horse-meat. Gossip +crackled in every group; jests flew; they shouted +at the peasants; they roared at their own jokes.</p> +<p>“Comrade novice!––Pretty boy with a shorn head!” +they bawled. “Harangue us once more on law and +love.”</p> +<p>She stood with legs apart and thumbs hooked in her +belt, laughing at them across the fire. And all around +crowded the wretched <i>mujiks</i>, peering at her through +shaggy hair, out of little wolfish eyes.</p> +<p>A Cossack shouted: “My law first! Land for all! +That is what we have, we Cossacks! Land for the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_xxxvi' name='page_xxxvi'></a>xxxvi</span> +people, one and all––land for the <i>mujik</i>; land for the +bourgeois; land for the aristocrat! That law solves +all, clears all questions, satisfies all. It is the Law +of Peace!”</p> +<p>A Cossack shoved a soldier-deserter forward into +the firelight. He wore a patch of red on his sleeve.</p> +<p>“Answer, comrade! Is that the true law? Or have +you and your comrades made a better one in Petrograd?”</p> +<p>The deserter, a little frightened, tried to grin: “A +good law is, kill all generals,” he said huskily. “Afterward +we shall have peace.”</p> +<p>A roar of laughter greeted him; these dark, thickset +Cossacks with slanting eyes were from the Urals. +What did they care how many generals were killed? +Besides, their hetman had already killed himself.</p> +<p>Their officer moved out into the firelight––a reckless +rider but a dull brain––and stood lashing at his +snow-crusted boots with the silver-mounted quirt.</p> +<p>“Like gendarmes,” he said, “we Cossacks are forever +doing the dirty work of other people. Why? It +begins to sicken me. Why are we forever executing +the law! What law? Who made it? The Tzar. And +he is dead, and what is the good of the law he made?</p> +<p>“Why should free Cossacks be policemen any more +when there is no law?</p> +<p>“We played gendarme for the Monarchists. We +answered the distress call of the Cadets and the bourgeoisie! +Where are they? Where is the law they +made?”</p> +<p>He stood switching his dirty boots and swinging +his heavy head right and left with the stupid, lowering +menace of a bull.</p> +<p>“Then came the Mensheviki with their law,” he bellowed +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_xxxvii' name='page_xxxvii'></a>xxxvii</span> +suddenly. “Again we became policemen, galloping +to their whistle. Where are they? Where is +their law?”</p> +<p>He spat on the snow, twirled his quirt.</p> +<p>“There is only one law to govern the land,” he +roared. “It is the law of hands off and mind your +business! It’s a good law.”</p> +<p>“A good law for those who already have something,” +cried a high, thin voice from the throng of peasants.</p> +<p>The Cossacks, who all possessed their portion of +land, yelled with laughter. One of them called out to +the Swedish girl for her opinion, and the fair young +giantess strode gracefully out into the fire-ring, her +cap in her hand and the thick blond ringlets shining +like gold on her beautiful head.</p> +<p>“Listen! Listen to this soldier of the Death Battalion!” +shouted the Cossacks in great glee. “She +will tell us what the law should be!”</p> +<p>She laughed: “We fought for it––we women soldiers,” +she said. “And the law we fought for was +made when the first tyrant fell.</p> +<p>“This is the law: Freedom of mind; liberty of choice; +an equal chance for all; no violence; only orderly debate +to determine the will of the land.”</p> +<p>A Cossack said loudly: “<i>Da volna!</i> Those who +have nothing would take, then, from those who have!”</p> +<p>“I think not!” cried another,“––not in the Urals!”</p> +<p>Thunderous laughter from their comrades and cries +of, “Palla! Let us hear our pretty boy, who has made +for the whole world a law.”</p> +<p>Palla Dumont, her slender hands thrust deep in her +great coat sleeves, and standing like a nun lost in +mystic revery, looked up with gay audacity––not like +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_xxxviii' name='page_xxxviii'></a>xxxviii</span> +a nun at all, now, save for the virginal allure that +seemed a part of the girl.</p> +<p>“There is only one law, Tavarishi,” she said, turning +slightly from her hips as she spoke, to include those behind +her in the circle: “and that law was not made +by man. That law was born, already made, when the +first man was born. It has never changed. It comprehends +everything; includes everything and everybody; +it solves all perplexity, clears all doubts, decides +all questions.</p> +<p>“It is a living law; it exists; it is the key to every +problem; and it is all ready for you.”</p> +<p>The girl’s face had altered; the half mischievous +audacity in defiance of her situation––the gay, impudent +confidence in herself and in these wild comrades +of hers, had given place to something more serious, +more ardent––the youthful intensity that smiles +through the flaming enchantment of suddenly discovered +knowledge.</p> +<p>“It is the oldest of all laws,” she said. “It was born +perfect. It is yours if you accept it. And this law +is the Law of Love.”</p> +<p>A peasant muttered: “One gives where one loves.”</p> +<p>The girl turned swiftly: “That is the soul of the +Law!” she cried, “to give! Is there any other happiness, +Tavarishi? Is there any other peace? Is +there need of any other law?</p> +<p>“I tell you that the Law of Love slays greed! And +when greed dies, war dies. And hunger, and misery +die, too!</p> +<p>“Of what use is any government and its lesser laws +and customs, unless it is itself governed by that paramount +Law?</p> +<p>“Of what avail are your religions, your churches, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_xxxix' name='page_xxxix'></a>xxxix</span> +your priests, your saints, relics, ikons––all your candles +and observances––unless dominated by that Law?</p> +<p>“Of what use is your God unless that Law of Love +also governs Him?”</p> +<p>She stood gazing at the firelit faces, the virginal +half-smile on her lips.</p> +<p>A peasant broke the silence: “Is she a new saint, +then?” he said distinctly.</p> +<p>A Cossack nodded to her, grinning respectfully:</p> +<p>“We always like your sermons, little novice,” he +said. And, to the others: “Nobody wishes to deny +what she says is quite true”––he scratched his head, +still grinning––“only––while there are Kurds in the +world–––”</p> +<p>“And Bolsheviki!” shouted another.</p> +<p>“True! And Turks! God bless us, Tavarishi,” he +added with a wry face, “it takes a stronger stomach +to love these beasts than is mine–––”</p> +<p>In the sudden shout of laughter the girl, Palla, +looked around at her comrade, Ilse.</p> +<p>“Until each accepts the Law of Love,” said the +Swedish girl-soldier, laughing, “it can not be a law.”</p> +<p>“I have accepted it,” said Palla gaily; but her childishly +lovely mouth was working, and she clenched her +hands in her sleeves to control the tremor.</p> +<p>Silent, the smile still stamped on her tremulous lips, +she stood for a few moments, fighting back the deep +emotions enveloping her in surging fire––the same +ardent and mystic emotions which once had consumed +her at the altar’s foot, where she had knelt, a novice, +dreaming of beatitudes ineffable.</p> +<p>If that vision, for her, was ended––its substance but +the shadow of a dream––the passion that created it, +the fire that purified it, the ardent heart that needed +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_xl' name='page_xl'></a>xl</span> +love––love sacred, love unalloyed––needed love still, +burned for it, yearning to give.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>As she lifted her head and looked around her with +dark eyes still a little dazed, there was a sudden commotion +among the <i>mujiks</i>; a Cossack called out something +in a sharp voice; their officer walked hastily out +into the darkness; a shadowy rider spurred ahead of +him.</p> +<p>Suddenly a far voice shouted: “Who goes there! +<i>Stoi!</i>”</p> +<p>Then red flashes came out of the night; Cossacks ran +for their horses; Ilse appeared with Palla’s pony as +well as her own, and halted to listen, the fearless smile +playing over her face.</p> +<p>“Mount!” cried many voices at once. “The Reds!”</p> +<p>Palla flung herself astride her saddle; Ilse galloped +beside her, freeing her pistols; everywhere in the starlight +the riders of the Wild Division came galloping, +loosening their long lances as they checked their horses +in close formation.</p> +<p>Then, with scarcely a sound in the unbroken snow, +they filed away eastward at a gentle trot, under the +pale lustre of the stars. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_1' name='page_1'></a>1</span></p> +<hr class='pb' /> +<h1>THE CRIMSON TIDE</h1> +<div class='chsp' style='padding-top:0'> +<a name='CHAPTER_I' id='CHAPTER_I'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER I</h2> +</div> +<p>On the 7th of November, 1917, the Premier of +the Russian Revolutionary Government was a +hunted fugitive, his ministers in prison, his +troops scattered or dead. Three weeks later, the irresponsible +Reds had begun their shameful career of +treachery, counselled by a pallid, black-eyed man with +a muzzle like a mouse––one L. D. Bronstein, called +Trotzky; and by two others––one a bald, smooth-shaven, +rotund little man with an expression that made +men hesitate, and features not trusted by animals and +children.</p> +<p>The Red Parliament called him Vladimir Ulianov, +and that’s what he called himself. He had proved to +be reticent, secretive, deceitful, diligent, and utterly +unhuman. His lower lip was shaped as though something +dripped from it. Blood, perhaps. His eyes +were brown and not entirely unattractive. But God +makes the eyes; the mouth is fashioned by one’s self.</p> +<p>The world knew him as Lenine.</p> +<p>The third man squinted. He wore a patch of sparse +cat-hairs on his chin and upper lip.</p> +<p>His head was too big; his legs too short, but they +were always in a hurry, always in motion. He had a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_2' name='page_2'></a>2</span> +persuasive and ardent tongue, and practically no +mind. The few ideas he possessed inclined him to violence––always +the substitute for reason in this sort of +agitator. It was this ever latent violence that proved +persuasive. His name was Krylenko. His smile was +a grin.</p> +<p>These three men betrayed Christ on March 3d, 1918.</p> +<p>On the Finland Road, outside of Petrograd, the +Red ragamuffins held a perpetual carmagnole, and all +fugitives danced to their piping, and many paid for +the music.</p> +<p>But though White Guards and Red now operated in +respectively hostile gangs everywhere throughout the +land, and the treacherous hun armies were now in full +tide of their Baltic invasion, there still remained ways +and means of escape––inconspicuous highways and unguarded +roads still open that led out of that white +hell to the icy but friendly seas clashing against the +northward coasts.</p> +<p>Diplomats were inelegantly “beating it.” A kindly +but futile Ambassador shook the snow of Petrograd +from his galoshes and solemnly and laboriously vanished. +Mixed bands of attachés, consular personnel, +casuals, emissaries, newspaper men, and mission specialists +scattered into unfeigned flight toward those +several and distant sections of “God’s Country,” divided +among civilised nations and lying far away somewhere +in the outer sunshine.</p> +<p>Sometimes White Guards caught these fugitives; +sometimes Red Guards; and sometimes the hun nabbed +them on the general hunnish principle that whatever +is running away is fair game for a pot shot.</p> +<p>Even the American Red Cross was “suspect”––treachery +being alleged in its relations with Roumania; +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_3' name='page_3'></a>3</span> +and hun and Bolshevik became very troublesome––so +troublesome, in fact, that Estridge, for example, was +having an impossible time of it, arrested every few +days, wriggling out of it, only to be collared again and +detained.</p> +<p>Sometimes they questioned him concerning gun-running +into Roumania; sometimes in regard to his part +in conducting the American girl, Miss Dumont, to the +convent where the imperial family had been detained.</p> +<p>That the de facto government had requested him to +undertake this mission and to employ an American +Red Cross ambulance in the affair seemed to make no +difference.</p> +<p>He continued to be dogged, spied on, arrested, detained, +badgered, until one evening, leaving the Smolny, +he encountered an American––a slim, short man who +smiled amiably upon him through his glasses, removed +a cigar from his lips, and asked Estridge what was the +nature of his evident and visible trouble.</p> +<p>So they walked back to the hotel together and settled +on a course of action during the long walk. What +this friend in need did and how he did it, Estridge +never learned; but that same evening he was instructed +to pack up, take a train, and descend at a certain +station a few hours later.</p> +<p>Estridge followed instructions, encountered no interference, +got off at the station designated, and +waited there all day, drinking boiling tea.</p> +<p>Toward evening a train from Petrograd stopped at +the station, and from the open door of a compartment +Estridge saw his chance acquaintance of the previous +day making signs to him to get aboard.</p> +<p>Nobody interfered. They had a long, cold, unpleasant +night journey, wedged in between two soldiers +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_4' name='page_4'></a>4</span> +wearing arm-bands, who glowered at a Russian +general officer opposite, and continued to mutter to +each other about imperialists, bourgeoisie, and cadets.</p> +<p>At every stop they were inspected by lantern light, +their papers examined, and sometimes their luggage +opened. But these examinations seemed to be perfunctory, +and nobody was detained.</p> +<p>In the grey of morning the train stopped and some +soldiers with red arm-bands looked in and insulted the +general officer, but offered no violence. The officer +gave them a stony glance and closed his cold, puffy +eyes in disdain. He was blond and looked like a German.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>At the next stop Estridge received a careless nod +from his chance acquaintance, gathered up his luggage +and descended to the frosty platform.</p> +<p>Nobody bothered to open their bags; their papers +were merely glanced at. They had some steaming tea +and some sour bread together.</p> +<p>A little later a large sleigh drove up behind the station; +their light baggage was stowed aboard, they +climbed in under the furs.</p> +<p>“Now,” remarked his calm companion to Estridge, +“we’re all right if the Reds, the Whites and the boches +don’t shoot us up.”</p> +<p>“What are the chances?” inquired Estridge.</p> +<p>“Excellent, excellent,” said his companion cheerily, +“I should say we have about one chance in ten to get +out of this alive. I’ll take either end––ten to one +we don’t get out––ten to two we’re shot up and not +killed––ten to three we are arrested but not killed––one +to ten we pull through with whole skins.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_5' name='page_5'></a>5</span></div> +<p>Estridge smiled. They remained silent, probably +preoccupied with the hazards of their respective fortunes. +It grew colder toward noon.</p> +<p>The young man seated beside Estridge in the sleigh +smoked continually.</p> +<p>He was attached to one of the American missions +sent into Russia by an optimistic administration––a +mission, as a whole, foredoomed to political failure.</p> +<p>In every detail, too, it had already failed, excepting +only in that particular part played by this young man, +whose name was Brisson.</p> +<p>He, however, had gone about his occult business in +a most amazing manner––the manner of a Yankee who +knows what he wants and what his country ought to +want if it knew enough to know it wanted it.</p> +<p>He was the last American to leave Petrograd: he +had taken his time; he left only when he was quite ready +to leave.</p> +<p>And this was the man, now seated beside Estridge, +who had coolly and cleverly taken his sporting chance +in remaining till the eleventh hour and the fifty-ninth +minute in the service of his country. Then, as the +twelfth hour began to strike, he bluffed his way +through.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>During the first two or three days of sleigh travel, +Brisson learned all he desired to know about Estridge, +and Estridge learned almost nothing about Brisson +except that he possessed a most unholy genius for +wriggling out of trouble.</p> +<p>Nothing, nobody, seemed able to block this young +man’s progress. He bluffed his way through White +Guards and Red; he squirmed affably out of the +clutches of wandering Cossacks; he jollied officials of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_6' name='page_6'></a>6</span> +all shades of political opinion; but he always continued +his journey from one étape to the next. Also, he +was continually lighting one large cigar after another. +Buttoned snugly into his New York-made arctic clothing, +and far more comfortable at thirty below zero than +was Estridge in Russian costume, he smoked comfortably +in the teeth of the icy gale or conversed soundly +on any topic chosen. And the range was wide.</p> +<p>But about himself and his mission in Russia he never +conversed except to remark, once, that he could buy +better Russian clothing in New York than in Petrograd.</p> +<p>Indeed, his only concession to the customs of the +country was in the fur cap he wore. But it was the +galoshes of Manhattan that saved his feet from freezing. +He had two pair and gave one to Estridge.</p> +<p>During several hundreds of miles in sleighs, Brisson’s +constant regret was the absence of ferocious +wolves. He desired to enjoy the whole show as depicted +by the geographies. He complained to Estridge +quite seriously concerning the lack of enterprise +among the wolves.</p> +<p>But there seemed to be no wolves in Russia sufficiently +polite to oblige him; so he comforted himself +by patting his stomach where, sewed inside his outer +underclothing, reposed documents destined to electrify +the civilised world with proof infernal of the treachery +of those three men who belong in history and in +hell to the fraternity which includes Benedict Arnold +and Judas.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>One late afternoon, while smoking his large cigar +and hopefully inspecting the neighbouring forest for +wolves, this able young man beheld a sotnia of Ural +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_7' name='page_7'></a>7</span> +Cossacks galloping across the snow toward the flying +sleigh, where he and Estridge sat so snugly ensconced.</p> +<p>There was, of course, only one thing to do, and that +was to halt. Kaledines had blown his brains out, but +his riders rode as swiftly as ever. So the sleigh +stopped.</p> +<p>And now these matchless horsemen of the Wild Division +came galloping up around the sleigh. Brilliant +little slanting eyes glittered under shaggy head-gear; +broad, thick-lipped mouths split into grins at sight of +the two little American flags fluttering so gaily on +the sleigh.</p> +<p>Then two booted and furred riders climbed out of +their saddles, and, under their sheepskin caps, Brisson +saw the delicate features of two young women, one a +big, superb, blue-eyed girl; the other slim, dark-eyed, +and ivory-pale.</p> +<p>The latter said in English: “Could you help us? +We saw the flags on your sleigh. We are trying to +leave the country. I am American. My name is +Palla Dumont. My friend is Swedish and her name +is Ilse Westgard.”</p> +<p>“Get in, any way,” said Brisson briskly. “We can’t +be in a worse mess than we are. I imagine it’s the +same case with you. So if we’re all going to smash, +it’s pleasanter, I think, to go together.”</p> +<p>At that the Swedish girl laughed and aided her +companion to enter the sleigh.</p> +<p>“Good-bye!” she called in her clear, gay voice to the +Cossacks. “When we come back again we shall ride +with you from Vladivostok to Moscow and never see +an enemy!”</p> +<p>When the young women were comfortably ensconced +in the sleigh, the riders of the Wild Division crowded +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_8' name='page_8'></a>8</span> +their horses around them and shook hands with them +English fashion.</p> +<p>“When you come back,” they cried, “you shall find +us riding through Petrograd behind Korniloff!” And +to Brisson and Estridge, in a friendly manner: “Come +also, comrades. We will show you a monument made +out of heads and higher than the Kremlin. That +would be a funny joke and worth coming back to see.”</p> +<p>Brisson said pleasantly that such an exquisite jest +would be well worth their return to Russia.</p> +<p>Everybody seemed pleased; the Cossacks wheeled +their shaggy mounts and trotted away into the woods, +singing. The sleigh drove on.</p> +<p>“This is very jolly,” said Brisson cheerfully. “Wherever +we’re bound for, now, we’ll all go together.”</p> +<p>“Is not America the destination of your long journey?” +inquired the big, blue-eyed girl.</p> +<p>Brisson chuckled: “Yes,” he said, “but bullets sometimes +shorten routes and alter destinations. I think +you ought to know the worst.”</p> +<p>“If that’s the worst, it’s nothing to frighten one,” +said the Swedish girl. And her crystalline laughter +filled the icy air.</p> +<p>She put one persuasive arm around her slender, +dark-eyed comrade:</p> +<p>“To meet God unexpectedly is nothing to scare one, +is it, Palla?” she urged coaxingly.</p> +<p>The other reddened and her eyes flashed: “What +God do you mean?” she retorted. “If I have anything +to say about my destination after death I shall +go wherever love is. And it does not dwell with the +God or in the Heaven that we have been taught to desire +and hope for.”</p> +<p>The Swedish girl patted her shoulder and smiled +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_9' name='page_9'></a>9</span> +in good humoured deprecation at Brisson and Estridge.</p> +<p>“God let her dearest friend die under the rifles of +the Reds,” she explained cheerfully, “and my little +comrade can not reconcile this sad affair with her faith +in Divine justice. So she concludes there isn’t any such +thing. And no Divinity.” She shrugged: “That is +what shakes the faith in youth––the seeming indifference +of the Most High.”</p> +<p>Palla Dumont sat silent. The colour had died out +in her cheeks, her dark, indifferent eyes became fixed.</p> +<p>Estridge opened the fur collar of his coat and pulled +back his fur cap.</p> +<p>“Do you remember me?” he said to Ilse Westgard.</p> +<p>The girl laughed: “Yes, I remember you, now!”</p> +<p>To Palla Dumont he said: “And do <i>you</i> remember?”</p> +<p>At that she looked up incuriously; leaned forward +slowly; gazed intently at him; then she caught both +his hands in hers with a swift, sobbing intake of +breath.</p> +<p>“You are John Estridge,” she said. “You took me +to her in your ambulance!” She pressed his hands +almost convulsively, and he felt her trembling under +the fur robe.</p> +<p>“Is it true,” he said, “––that ghastly tragedy?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“All died?”</p> +<p>“All.”</p> +<p>Estridge turned to Brisson: “Miss Dumont was +companion to the Grand Duchess Marie,” he said in +brief explanation.</p> +<p>Brisson nodded, biting his cigar.</p> +<p>The Swedish girl-soldier said: “They were devoted––the +little Grand Duchess and Palla.... It +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_10' name='page_10'></a>10</span> +was horrible, there in the convent cellar––those young +girls–––” She gazed out across the snow; then,</p> +<p>“The Reds who did it had already made me prisoner.... +They arrested me in uniform after the decree +disbanding us.... I was on my way to join +Kaledines’ Cossacks––a rendezvous.... Well, +the Reds left me outside the convent and went in to do +their bloody work. And I gnawed the rope and ran +into the chapel to hide among the nuns. And there I +saw a White Nun––quite crazed with grief–––”</p> +<p>“I had heard the volley that killed her,” said Palla, +in explanation, to nobody in particular. She sat staring +out across the snow with dry, bright eyes.</p> +<p>Brisson looked askance at her, looked significantly +at the Swedish girl, Ilse Westgard: “And what happened +then?” he inquired, with the pleasant, impersonal +manner of a physician.</p> +<p>Ilse said: “Palla had already begun her novitiate. +But what happened in those terrible moments changed +her utterly.... I think she went mad at the +moment.... Then the Superior came to me +and begged me to hide Palla because the Bolsheviki +had promised to return and cut her throat when they +had finished their bloody business in the crypt.... +So I caught her up in my arms and I ran out into the +convent grounds. And at that very moment, God be +thanked, a sotnia of the Wild Division rode up looking +for me. And they had led horses with them. And we +were in the saddle and riding like maniacs before I +could think. That is all, except, an hour ago we saw +your sleigh.”</p> +<p>“You have been hiding with the Cossacks ever since!” +exclaimed Estridge to Palla.</p> +<p>“That is her history,” replied Ilse, “and mine. And,” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_11' name='page_11'></a>11</span> +she added cheerfully but tenderly, “my little comrade, +here, is very, very homesick, very weary, very deeply and +profoundly unhappy in the loss of her closest friend... +and perhaps in the loss of her faith in God.”</p> +<p>“I am tranquil and I am not unhappy,”––said Palla. +“And if I ever win free of this murderous country I +shall, for the first time in my life, understand what +the meaning of life really is. And shall know how +to live.”</p> +<p>“You thought you knew how to live when you took +the white veil,” said Ilse cheerfully. “Perhaps, after +all, you may make other errors before you learn the +truth about it all. Who knows? You might even care +to take the veil again–––”</p> +<p>“Never!” cried Palla in a clear, hard little voice, +tinged with the scorn and anger of that hot revolt +which sometimes shakes youth to the very source of +its vitality.</p> +<p>Ilse said very calmly to Estridge: “With me it is +my reason and not mere hope that convinces me of +God’s existence. I try to reason with Palla because +one is indeed to be pitied who has lost belief in God–––”</p> +<p>“You are mistaken,” said Palla drily; “––one merely +becomes one’s self when once the belief in that sort +of God is ended.”</p> +<p>Ilse turned to Brisson: “That,” she said, “is what +seems so impossible for some to accept––so terrible––the +apparent indifference, the lack of explanation––God’s +dreadful reticence in this thunderous whirlwind +of prayer that storms skyward day and night from +our martyred world.”</p> +<p>Palla, listening, sat forward and said to Brisson: +“There is only one religion and it has only two precepts––love +and give! The rest––the forms, observances, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_12' name='page_12'></a>12</span> +creeds, ceremonies, threats, promises, are man-made +trash!</p> +<p>“If man’s man-made God pleases him, let him worship +him. That kind of deity does not please me. I +no longer care whether He pleases me or not. He no +longer exists as far as I am concerned.”</p> +<p>Brisson, much interested, asked Palla whether the +void left by discredited Divinity did not bewilder her.</p> +<p>“There is no void,” said the girl. “It is already +filled with my own kind of God, with millions of Gods––my +own fellow creatures.”</p> +<p>“Your fellow beings?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“You think your fellow creatures can fill that void?”</p> +<p>“They have filled it.”</p> +<p>Brisson nodded reflectively: “I see,” he said politely, +“you intend to devote your life to the cult of your +fellow creatures.”</p> +<p>“No, I do not,” said the girl tranquilly, “but I +intend to love them and live my life that way unhampered.” +She added almost fiercely: “And I shall love +them the more because of their ignorant faith in an +all-seeing and tender and just Providence which does +not exist! I shall love them because of their tragic +deception and their helplessness and their heart-breaking +unconsciousness of it all.”</p> +<p>Ilse Westgard smiled and patted Palla’s cheeks: +“All roads lead ultimately to God,” she said, “and yours +is a direct route though you do not know it.”</p> +<p>“I tell you I have nothing in common with the God +you mean,” flashed out the girl.</p> +<p>Brisson, though interested, kept one grey eye on +duty, ever hopeful of wolves. It was snowing hard +now––a perfect geography scene, lacking only the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_13' name='page_13'></a>13</span> +wolves; but the étape was only half finished. There +might be hope.</p> +<p>The rather amazing conversation in the sleigh also +appealed to him, arousing all his instincts of a veteran +newspaper man, as well as his deathless curiosity––that +perpetual flame which alone makes any intelligence +vital.</p> +<p>Also, his passion for all documents––those sewed +under his underclothes, as well as these two specimens +of human documents––were now keeping his lively interest +in life unimpaired.</p> +<p>“Loss of faith,” he said to Palla, and inclined toward +further debate, “must be a very serious thing for +any woman, I imagine.”</p> +<p>“I haven’t lost faith in love,” she said, smilingly +aware that he was encouraging discussion.</p> +<p>“But you say you have lost faith in spiritual love––”</p> +<p>“I did not say so. I did not mean the other kind of +love when I said that love is sufficient religion for me.”</p> +<p>“But spiritual love means Deity–––”</p> +<p>“It does <i>not</i>! Can you imagine the all-powerful +father watching his child die, horribly––and never lifting +a finger! Is that love? Is that power? <i>Is</i> that +Deity?”</p> +<p>“To penetrate the Divine mind and its motives for +not intervening is impossible for us–––”</p> +<p>“That is priest’s prattle! Also, I care nothing now +about Divine motives. Motives are human, not divine. +So is policy. That is why the present Pope is unworthy +of respect. He let his flock die. He deserted +his Cardinal. He let the hun go unrebuked. He betrayed +Christ. I care nothing about any mind weak +enough, politic enough, powerless enough, to ignore +love for motives!</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_14' name='page_14'></a>14</span></div> +<p>“One loves, or one does not love. Loving is giving––” +The girl sat up in the sleigh and the thickening +snowflakes drove into her flushed face. “Loving +is giving,” she repeated, “––giving life to love; giving +<i>up</i> life for love––giving! <i>giving!</i> always giving!––always +forgiving! That is love! That is the only +God!––the indestructible, divine God within each one +of us!”</p> +<p>Brisson appraised her with keen and scholarly +eyes. “Yet,” he said pleasantly, “you do not forgive +God for the death of your friend. Don’t you practise +your faith?”</p> +<p>The girl seemed nonplussed; then a brighter tint +stained her cheeks under the ragged sheepskin cap.</p> +<p>“Forgive God!” she cried. “If there really existed +that sort of God, what would be the use of forgiving +what He does? He’d only do it again. That is His +record!” she added fiercely, “––indifference to human +agony, utter silence amid lamentations, stone deaf, +stone dumb, motionless. It is not in me to fawn and +lick the feet of such an image. No! It is not in me +to believe it alive, either. And I do not! But I know +that love lives: and if there be any gods at all, it must +be that they are without number, and that their substance +is of that immortality born inside us, and which +we call love! Otherwise, to me, now, symbols, signs, +saints, rituals, vows––these things, in my mind, are all +scrapped together as junk. Only, in me, the warm +faith remains––that within me there lives a god of +sorts––perhaps that immortal essence called a soul––and +that its only name is love. And it has given us +only one law to live by––the Law of Love!”</p> +<p>Brisson’s cigar had gone out. He examined it attentively +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_15' name='page_15'></a>15</span> +and found it would be worth relighting when +opportunity offered.</p> +<p>Then he smiled amiably at Palla Dumont:</p> +<p>“What you say is very interesting,” he remarked. +But he was too polite to add that it had been equally +interesting to numberless generations through the many, +many centuries during which it all had been said +before, in various ways and by many, many people.</p> +<p>Lying back in his furs reflectively, and deriving a +rather cold satisfaction from his cigar butt, he let his +mind wander back through the history of theocracy +and of mundane philosophy, mildly amused to recognize +an ancient theory resurrected and made passionately +original once more on the red lips of this young +girl.</p> +<p>But the Law of Love is not destined to be solved +so easily; nor had it ever been solved in centuries dead +by Egyptian, Mongol, or Greek––by priest or princess, +prophet or singer, or by any vestal or acolyte +of love, sacred or profane.</p> +<p>No philosophy had solved the problem of human +woe; no theory convinced. And Brisson, searching +leisurely the forgotten corridors of treasured lore, became +interested to realise that in all the history of +time only the deeds and example of one man had invested +the human theory of divinity with any real +vitality––and that, oddly enough, what this girl +preached––what she demanded of divinity––had been +both preached and practised by that one man alone––Jesus +Christ.</p> +<p>Turning involuntarily toward Palla, he said: “Can’t +you believe in Him, either?”</p> +<p>She said: “He was one of the Gods. But He was +no more divine than any in whom love lives. Had He +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_16' name='page_16'></a>16</span> +been more so, then He would still intervene to-day! +He is powerless. He lets things happen. And we ourselves +must make it up to the world by love. There is +no other divinity to intervene except only our own +hearts.”</p> +<p>But that was not, as the young girl supposed, her +fixed faith, definite, ripened, unshakable. It was a phase +already in process of fading into other phases, each +less stable, less definite, and more dangerous than the +other, leaving her and her ardent mind and heart +always unconsciously drifting toward the simple, primitive +and natural goal for which all healthy bodies +are created and destined––the instinct of the human +being to protect and perpetuate the race by the great +Law of Love.</p> +<p>Brisson’s not unkindly cynicism had left his lips +edged with a slight smile. Presently he leaned back +beside Estridge and said in a low voice:</p> +<p>“Purely pathological. Ardent religious instinct +astray and running wild in consequence of nervous dislocations +due to shock. Merely over-storage of superb +physical energy. Intellectual and spiritual wires overcrowded. +Too many volts.... That girl ought +to have been married early. Only a lot of children can +keep her properly occupied. Only outlet for her kind. +Interesting case. Contrast to the Swedish girl. Fine, +handsome, normal animal that. She could pick me up +between thumb and finger. Great girl, Estridge.”</p> +<p>“She is really beautiful,” whispered Estridge, glancing +at Ilse.</p> +<p>“Yes. So is Mont Blanc. That sort of beauty––the +super-sort. But it’s the other who is pathologically +interesting because her wires are crossed and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_17' name='page_17'></a>17</span> +there’s a short circuit somewhere. Who comes in contact +with her had better look out.”</p> +<p>“She’s wonderfully attractive.”</p> +<p>“She is. But if she doesn’t disentangle her wires +and straighten out she’ll burn out.... What’s +that ahead? A wolf!”</p> +<p>It was the rest house at the end of the étape––a +tiny, distant speck on the snowy plain.</p> +<p>Brisson leaned over and caught Palla’s eye. Both +smiled.</p> +<p>“Well,” he said, “for a girl who doesn’t believe in +anything, you seem cheerful enough.”</p> +<p>“I am cheerful because I <i>do</i> believe in everything +and in everybody.”</p> +<p>Brisson laughed: “You shouldn’t,” he said. “Great +mistake. Trust in God and believe nobody––that’s the +idea. Then get married and close your eyes and see +what God will send you!”</p> +<p>The girl threw back her pretty head and laughed.</p> +<p>“Marriage and priests are of no consequence,” she +said, “but I adore little children!”</p> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_18' name='page_18'></a>18</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_II' id='CHAPTER_II'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER II</h2> +</div> +<p>They were a weary, half-starved and travel-stained +quartette when the Red Guards stopped +them for the last time in Russia and passed +them through, warning them that the White Guards +would surely do murder if they caught them.</p> +<p>The next day the White Guards halted them, but +finally passed them through, counselling them to keep +out of the way of the Red Guards if they wished to +escape being shot at sight.</p> +<p>In the neat, shiny, carefully scrubbed little city of +Helsingfors they avoided the huns by some miracle––one +of Brisson’s customary miracles––but another little +company of Americans and English was halted and detained, +and one harmless Yankee among them was arrested +and packed off to a hun prison.</p> +<p>Also, a large and nervous party of fugitives of +mixed nationalities and professions––consuls, chargés, +attachés, and innocent, agitated citizens––was summarily +grabbed and ordered into indefinite limbo.</p> +<p>But Brisson’s daily miracles continued to materialise, +even in the land of the Finn. By train, by sleigh, +by boat, his quartette floundered along toward safety, +and finally emerged from the white hell of the Red +people into the sub-arctic sun––Estridge with painfully +scanty luggage, Palla Dumont with none at all, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_19' name='page_19'></a>19</span> +Ilse Westgard carrying only her Cossack saddle-bags, +and Brisson with his damning papers still sewed inside +his clothes, and owing Estridge ten dollars for not +getting murdered.</p> +<p>They all had become excellent comrades during those +anxious days of hunger, fatigue and common peril, but +they were also a little tired of one another, as becomes +all friends when subjected to compulsory companionship +for an unreasonable period.</p> +<p>And even when one is beginning to fall in love, one +can become surfeited with the beloved under such circumstances.</p> +<p>Besides, Estridge’s budding sentiment for Ilse Westgard, +and her wholesome and girlish inclination for him, +suffered an early chill. For the poor child had acquired +trench pets from the Cossacks, and had passed +on a few to Estridge, with whom she had been constantly +seated on the front seat.</p> +<p>Being the frankest thing in Russia, she told him +with tears in her blue eyes; and they had a most horrid +time of it before they came finally to a sanitary plant +erected to attend to such matters.</p> +<p>Episodes of that sort discourage sentiment; so does +cold, hunger and discomfort incident on sardine-like +promiscuousness.</p> +<p>Nobody in the party desired to know more than they +already knew concerning anybody else. In fact, there +was little more to know, privacy being impossible. +And the ever instinctive hostility of the two sexes, +always and irrevocably latent, became vaguely apparent +at moments.</p> +<p>Common danger swept it away at times; but reaction +gradually revealed again what is born under the +human skin––the paradox called sex-antipathy. And +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_20' name='page_20'></a>20</span> +yet the men in the party would not have hesitated to +sacrifice their lives in defence of these women, nor +would the women have faltered under the same test.</p> +<p>Brisson was the philosophical stoic of the quartette. +Estridge groused sometimes. Palla, when she thought +herself unnoticed, camouflaged her face in her furs and +cried now and then. And occasionally Ilse Westgard +tried the patience of the others by her healthy capacity +for unfeigned laughter––sometimes during danger-laden +and inopportune moments, and once in the shocking +imminence of death itself.</p> +<p>As, for example, in a vile little village, full of vermin +and typhus, some hunger-crazed peasants, armed with +stolen rifles and ammunition, awoke them where they +lay on the straw of a stable, cursed them for aristocrats, +and marched them outside to a convenient wall, +at the foot of which sprawled half a dozen blood-soaked, +bayoneted and bullet-riddled landlords and land owners +of the district.</p> +<p>And things had assumed a terribly serious aspect +when, to their foolish consternation, the peasants discovered +that their purloined cartridges did not fit their +guns.</p> +<p>Then, in the very teeth of death, Ilse threw back +her blond head and laughed. And there was no mistaking +the genuineness of the girl’s laughter.</p> +<p>Some of their would-be executioners laughed too;––the +hilarity spread. It was all over; they couldn’t +shoot a girl who laughed that way. So somebody +brought a samovar; tea was boiled; and they all went +back to the barn and sat there drinking tea and swapping +gossip and singing until nearly morning.</p> +<p>That was a sample of their narrow escapes. But +Brisson’s only comment before he went to sleep was that +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_21' name='page_21'></a>21</span> +Estridge would probably owe him a dollar within the +next twenty-four hours.</p> +<p>They had a hair-raising time in Helsingfors. On +one occasion, German officers forced Palla’s door at +night, and the girl became ill with fear while soldiers +searched the room, ordering her out of bed and pushing +her into a corner while they ripped up carpets +and tore the place to pieces in a swinishly ferocious +search for “information.”</p> +<p>But they did nothing worse to her, and, for some +reason, left the hotel without disturbing Brisson, whose +room adjoined and who sat on the edge of his bed with +an automatic in each hand––a dangerous opportunist +awaiting events and calmly determined to do some recruiting +for hell if the huns harmed Palla.</p> +<p>She never knew that. And the worst was over now, +and the Scandinavian border not far away. And in +twenty-four hours they were over––Brisson impatient +to get his papers to Washington and planning to +start for England on a wretched little packet-boat, in +utter contempt of mines, U-boats, and the icy menace +of the North Sea.</p> +<p>As for the others, Estridge decided to cable and +await orders in Copenhagen; Palla, to sail for home +on the first available Danish steamer; Ilse, to go to +Stockholm and eventually decide whether to volunteer +once more as a soldier of the proletariat or to turn +propagandist and carry the true gospel to America, +where, she had heard, the ancient liberties of the great +Democracy were becoming imperilled.</p> +<p>The day before they parted company, these four +people, so oddly thrown together out of the boiling +cauldron of the Russian Terror, arranged to dine +together for the last time.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_22' name='page_22'></a>22</span></div> +<p>Theirs were the appetites of healthy wolves; theirs +was the thirst of the marooned on waterless islands; and +theirs, too, was the feverish gaiety of those who had +escaped great peril by land and sea; and who were +still physically and morally demoralized by the glare +and the roar of the hellish conflagration which was +still burning up the world around them.</p> +<p>So they met in a private dining room of the hotel +for dinner on the eve of separation.</p> +<p>Brisson and Estridge had resurrected from their +luggage the remains of their evening attire; Ilse and +Palla had shopped; and they now included in a limited +wardrobe two simple dinner gowns, among more vital +purchases.</p> +<p>There were flowers on the table, no great variety of +food but plenty of champagne to make up––a singular +innovation in apology for short rations conceived by +the hotel proprietor.</p> +<p>There was a victrola in the corner, too, and this +they kept going to stimulate their nerves, which +already were sufficiently on edge without the added +fillip of music and champagne.</p> +<p>“As for me,” said Brisson, “I’m in sight of nervous +dissolution already;––I’m going back to my wife and +children, thank God––” he smiled at Palla. “I’m grateful +to the God you don’t believe in, dear little lady. +And if He is willing, I’ll report for duty in two weeks.” +He turned to Estridge:</p> +<p>“What about you?”</p> +<p>“I’ve cabled for orders but I have none yet. If +they’re through with me I shall go back to New York +and back to the medical school I came from. I hate +the idea, too. Lord, how I detest it!”</p> +<p>“Why?” asked Palla nervously.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_23' name='page_23'></a>23</span></div> +<p>“I’ve had too much excitement. You have too––and +so have Ilse and Brisson. I’m not keen for the +usual again. It bores me to contemplate it. The +thought of Fifth Avenue––the very idea of going back +to all that familiar routine, social and business, makes +me positively ill. What a dull place this world will +be when we’re all at peace again!”</p> +<p>“We won’t be at peace for a long, long while,” said +Ilse, smiling. She lifted a goblet in her big, beautifully +shaped hand and drained it with the vigorous +grace of a Viking’s daughter.</p> +<p>“You think the war is going to last for years?” +asked Estridge.</p> +<p>“Oh, no; not this war. But the other,” she explained +cheerfully.</p> +<p>“What other?”</p> +<p>“Why, the greatest conflict in the world; the social +war. It’s going to take many years and many battles. +I shall enlist.”</p> +<p>“Nonsense,” said Brisson, “you’re not a Red!”</p> +<p>The girl laughed and showed her snowy teeth: “I’m +one kind of Red––not the kind that sold Russia to the +boche––but I’m very, very red.”</p> +<p>“Everybody with a brain and a heart is more or +less red in these days,” nodded Palla. “Everybody +knows that the old order is ended––done for. Without +liberty and equal opportunity civilisation is a farce. +Everybody knows it except the stupid. And they’ll +have to be instructed.”</p> +<p>“Very well,” said Brisson briskly, “here’s to the universal +but bloodless revolution! An acre for everybody +and a mule to plough it! Back to the soil and to hell +with the counting house!”</p> +<p>They all laughed, but their brimming glasses went +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_24' name='page_24'></a>24</span> +up; then Estridge rose to re-wind the victrola. Palla’s +slim foot tapped the parquet in time with the American +fox-trot; she glanced across the table at Estridge, +lifted her head interrogatively, then sprang up and +slid into his arms, delighted.</p> +<p>While they danced he said: “Better go light on that +champagne, Miss Dumont.”</p> +<p>“Don’t you think I can keep my head?” she demanded +derisively.</p> +<p>“Not if you keep up with Ilse. You’re not built +that way.”</p> +<p>“I wish I were. I wish I were nearly six feet tall +and beautiful in every limb and feature as she is. What +wonderful children she could have! What magnificent +hair she must have had before she sheared it for the +Woman’s Battalion! Now it’s all a dense, short mass +of gold––she looks like a lovely boy who requires a +barber.”</p> +<p>“Your hair is not unbecoming, either,” he remarked, +“––short as it is, it’s a mop of curls and very fetching.”</p> +<p>“Isn’t it funny?” she said. “I sheared mine for the +sake of Mother Church; Ilse cut off hers for the honour +of the Army! Now we’re both out of a job––with +only our cropped heads to show for the experience!––and +no more army and no more church––at least, +as far as I am concerned!”</p> +<p>And she threw back hers with its thick, glossy curls +and laughed, looking up at him out of her virginal +brown eyes of a child.</p> +<p>“I’m sorry I cut my hair,” she added presently. “I +look like a Bolshevik.”</p> +<p>“It’s growing very fast,” he said encouragingly.</p> +<p>“Oh, yes, it grows fast,” she nodded indifferently. +“Shall we return to the table? I am rather thirsty.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_25' name='page_25'></a>25</span></div> +<p>Ilse and Brisson were engaged in an animated conversation +when they reseated themselves. The waiter +arrived about that time with another course of poor +food.</p> +<p>Palla, disregarding Estridge’s advice, permitted the +waiter to refill her glass.</p> +<p>“I can’t eat that unappetising entrée,” she insisted, +“and champagne, they say, is nourishing and I’m still +hungry.”</p> +<p>“As you please,” said Brisson; “but you’ve had two +glasses already.”</p> +<p>“I don’t care,” she retorted childishly; “I mean to +live to the utmost in future. For the first time in my +silly existence I intend to be natural. I wonder what +it feels like to become a little intoxicated?”</p> +<p>“It feels rotten,” remarked Estridge.</p> +<p>“Really? <i>How</i> rotten?” She laughed again, laid +her hand on the goblet’s stem and glanced across at +him defiantly, mischievously. However, she seemed +to reconsider the matter, for she picked up a cigarette +and lighted it at a candle.</p> +<p>“Bah!” she exclaimed with a wry face. “It stings!”</p> +<p>But she ventured another puff or two before placing +it upon a saucer among its defunct fellows.</p> +<p>“Ugh!” she complained again with a gay little shiver, +and bit into a pear as though to wash out the contamination +of unaccustomed nicotine.</p> +<p>“Where are you going when we all say good-bye?” +inquired Estridge.</p> +<p>“I? Oh, I’m certainly going home on the first Danish +boat––home to Shadow Hill, where I told you I +lived.”</p> +<p>“And you have nobody but your aunt?”</p> +<p>“Only that one old lady.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_26' name='page_26'></a>26</span></div> +<p>“You won’t remain long at Shadow Hill,” he predicted.</p> +<p>“It’s very pretty there. Why don’t you think I am +likely to remain?”</p> +<p>“You won’t remain,” he repeated. “You’ve slipped +your cable. You’re hoisting sail. And it worries me +a little.”</p> +<p>The girl laughed. “It’s a pretty place, Shadow +Hill, but it’s dull. Everybody in the town is dull, +stupid, and perfectly satisfied: everybody owns at least +that acre which Ilse demands; there’s no discontent at +Shadow Hill, and no reason for it. I really couldn’t +bear it,” she added gaily; “I want to go where there’s +healthy discontent, wholesome competition, natural aspiration––where +things must be bettered, set right, +helped. You understand? That is where I wish to be.”</p> +<p>Brisson heard her. “Can’t you practise your loving +but godless creed at Shadow Hill?” he inquired, amused. +“Can’t you lavish love on the contented and well-to-do?”</p> +<p>“Yes, Mr. Brisson,” she replied with sweet irony, +“but where the poor and loveless fight an ever losing +battle is still a better place for me to practise my +godless creed and my Law of Love.”</p> +<p>“Aha!” he retorted, “––a brand new excuse for living +in New York because all young girls love it!”</p> +<p>“Indeed,” she said with some little heat, “I certainly +do intend to live and not to stagnate! I intend to live +as hard as I can––live and enjoy life with all my +might! Can one serve the world better than by loving +it enough to live one’s own life through to the last +happy rags? Can one give one’s fellow creatures a +better example than to live every moment happily and +proclaim the world good to live in, and mankind good +to live with?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_27' name='page_27'></a>27</span></div> +<p>Ilse whispered, leaning near: “Don’t take any more +champagne, Palla.”</p> +<p>The girl frowned, then looked serious: “No, I won’t,” +she said naïvely. “But it is wonderful how eloquent +it makes one feel, isn’t it?”</p> +<p>And to Estridge: “You know that this is quite +the first wine I have ever tasted––except at Communion. +I was brought up to think it meant destruction. +And afterward, wherever I travelled to study, +the old prejudice continued to guide me. And after +that, even when I began to think of taking the veil, I +made abstinence one of my first preliminary vows.... +And <i>look</i> what I’ve been doing to-night!”</p> +<p>She held up her glass, tasted it, emptied it.</p> +<p>“There,” she said, “I desired to shock you. I don’t +really want any more. Shall we dance? Ilse! Why +don’t you seize Mr. Brisson and make him two-step?”</p> +<p>“Please seize me,” added Brisson gravely.</p> +<p>Ilse rose, big, fresh, smilingly inviting; Brisson inspected +her seriously––he was only half as tall––then +he politely encircled her waist and led her out.</p> +<p>They danced as though they could not get enough +of it––exhilaration due to reaction from the long strain +during dangerous days.</p> +<p>It was already morning, but they danced on. Palla’s +delicate intoxication passed––returned––passed––hovered +like a rosy light in her brain, but faded always +as she danced.</p> +<p>There were snapping-crackers and paper caps; and +they put them on and pelted each other with the drooping +table flowers.</p> +<p>Then Estridge went to the piano and sang an +ancient song, called “The Cork Leg”––not very well––but +well intended and in a gay and inoffensive voice.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_28' name='page_28'></a>28</span></div> +<p>But Ilse sang some wonderful songs which she had +learned in the Battalion of Death.</p> +<p>And that is what was being done when a waiter +knocked and asked whether they might desire to order +breakfast.</p> +<p>That ended it. The hour of parting had arrived.</p> +<p>No longer bored with one another, they shook hands +cordially, regretfully.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>It was not a very long time, as time is computed, +before these four met again.</p> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_29' name='page_29'></a>29</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_III' id='CHAPTER_III'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER III</h2> +</div> +<p>The dingy little Danish steamer <i>Elsinore</i> passed +in at dawn, her camouflage obscured by sea-salt, +her few passengers still prostrated from +the long battering administered by the giant seas of the +northern route.</p> +<p>A lone Yankee soldier was aboard––an indignant +lieutenant of infantry named Shotwell––sent home +from a fighting regiment to instruct the ambitious +rookie at Camp Upton.</p> +<p>He had hailed his assignment with delight, thankfully +rid himself of his cooties, reported in Paris, reported +in London; received orders to depart via Denmark; +and, his mission there fullfilled, he had sailed on +the <i>Elsinore</i>, already disenchanted with his job and +longing to be back with his regiment.</p> +<p>And now, surly from sea-sickness, worried by peace +rumours, but still believing that the war would last +another year and hopeful of getting back before it +ended, he emerged from his stuffy quarters aboard the +<i>Elsinore</i> and gazed without enthusiasm at the minarets +of Coney Island, now visible off the starboard +bow.</p> +<p>Near him, in pasty-faced and shaky groups, huddled +his fellow passengers, whom he had not seen during +the voyage except when lined up for life-drill.</p> +<p>He had not wished to see them, either, nor, probably, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_30' name='page_30'></a>30</span> +had they desired to lavish social attentions on him or +upon one another.</p> +<p>These pallid, discouraged voyagers were few––not +two dozen cabin passengers in all.</p> +<p>Who they might be he had no curiosity to know; he +had not exchanged ten words with any of them during +the entire and nauseating voyage; he certainly did +not intend to do so now.</p> +<p>He favoured them with a savage glance and walked +over to the port side––the Jersey side––where there +seemed to be nobody except a tired Scandinavian +sailor or two.</p> +<p>In the grey of morning the Hook loomed up above +the sea, gloomy as a thunder-head charged with lightning.</p> +<p>After a while the batteries along the Narrows slipped +into view. Farther on, camouflaged ships rode +sullenly at anchor, as though ashamed of their frivolous +and undignified appearance. A battleship was +just leaving the Lower Bay, smoke pouring from every +funnel. Destroyers and chasers rushed by them, headed +seaward.</p> +<p>Then, high over the shore mists and dimly visible +through rising vapours, came speeding a colossal +phantom.</p> +<p>Vague as a shark’s long shadow sheering translucent +depths, the huge dirigible swept eastward and +slid into the Long Island fog.</p> +<p>And at that moment somebody walked plump into +young Shotwell; and the soft, fragrant shock knocked +the breath out of both.</p> +<p>She recovered hers first:</p> +<p>“I’m sorry!” she faltered. “It was stupid. I was +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_31' name='page_31'></a>31</span> +watching the balloon and not looking where I was +going. I’m afraid I hurt you.”</p> +<p>He recovered his breath, saluted ceremoniously, readjusted +his overseas cap to the proper angle.</p> +<p>Then he said, civilly enough: “It was my fault entirely. +It was I who walked into you. I hope I didn’t +hurt you.”</p> +<p>They smiled, unembarrassed.</p> +<p>“That was certainly a big dirigible,” he ventured. +“There are bigger Zeps, of course.”</p> +<p>“Are there really?”</p> +<p>“Oh, yes. But they’re not much good in war, I +believe.”</p> +<p>She turned her trim, small head and looked out +across the bay; and Shotwell, who once had had a +gaily receptive eye for pulchritude, thought her unusually +pretty.</p> +<p>Also, the steady keel of the <i>Elsinore</i> was making +him feel more human now; and he ventured a further +polite observation concerning the pleasures of homecoming +after extended exile.</p> +<p>She turned with a frank shake of her head: “It seems +heartless to say so, but I’m rather sorry I’m back,” +she said.</p> +<p>He smiled: “I must admit,” he confessed, “that I +feel the same way. Of course I want to see my people. +But I’d give anything to be in France at this moment, +and that’s the truth!”</p> +<p>The girl nodded her comprehension: “It’s quite +natural,” she remarked. “One does not wish to come +home until this thing is settled.”</p> +<p>“That’s it exactly. It’s like leaving an interesting +play half finished. It’s worse––it’s like leaving an absorbing +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_32' name='page_32'></a>32</span> +drama in which you yourself are playing an +exciting rôle.”</p> +<p>She glanced at him––a quick glance of intelligent +appraisal.</p> +<p>“Yes, it must have seemed that way to you. But +I’ve been merely one among a breathless audience.... +And yet I can’t bear to leave in the very middle––not +knowing how it is to end. Besides,” she added carelessly, +“I have nobody to come back to except a rather +remote relative, so my regrets are unmixed.”</p> +<p>There ensued a silence. He was afraid she was +about to go, but couldn’t seem to think of anything +to say to detain her.</p> +<p>For the girl was very attractive to a careless and +amiably casual man of his sort––the sort who start +their little journey through life with every intention +of having the best kind of a time on the way.</p> +<p>She was so distractingly pretty, so confidently negligent +of convention––or perhaps disdainful of it––that +he already was regretting that he had not met her at +the beginning of the voyage instead of at the end.</p> +<p>She had now begun to button up her ulster, as though +preliminary to resuming her deck promenade. And he +wanted to walk with her. But because she had chosen +to be informal with him did not deceive him into thinking +that she was likely to tolerate further informality +on his part. And yet he had a vague notion that her +inclinations were friendly.</p> +<p>“I’m sorry,” he said rather stupidly, “that I didn’t +meet you in the beginning.”</p> +<p>The slightest inclination of her head indicated that +although possibly she might be sorry too, regrets were +now useless. Then she turned up the collar of her +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_33' name='page_33'></a>33</span> +ulster. The face it framed was disturbingly lovely. +And he took a last chance.</p> +<p>“And so,” he ventured politely, “you have really +been on board the <i>Elsinore</i> all this time!”</p> +<p>She turned her charming head toward him, considered +him a moment; then she smiled.</p> +<p>“Yes,” she said; “I’ve been on board all the time. +I didn’t crawl aboard in mid-ocean, you know.”</p> +<p>The girl was frankly amused by the streak of boyishness +in him––the perfectly transparent desire of +this young man to detain her in conversation. And, +still amused, she leaned back against the rail. If he +wanted to talk to her she would let him––even help +him. Why not?</p> +<p>“Is that a wound chevron?” she inquired, looking +at the sleeve of his tunic.</p> +<p>“No,” he replied gratefully, “it’s a service stripe.”</p> +<p>“And what does the little cord around your shoulder +signify?”</p> +<p>“That my regiment was cited.”</p> +<p>“For bravery?”</p> +<p>“Well––that was the idea, I believe.”</p> +<p>“Then you’ve been in action.”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“Over the top?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“How many times?”</p> +<p>“Several. Recently it’s been more open work, you +know.”</p> +<p>“And you were not hit?”</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>She regarded him smilingly: “You are like all soldiers +have faced death,” she said. “You are not communicative.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_34' name='page_34'></a>34</span></div> +<p>At that he reddened. “Well, everybody else was +facing it, too, you know. We all had the same experience.”</p> +<p>“Not all,” she said, watching him. “Some died.”</p> +<p>“Oh, of course.”</p> +<p>The girl’s face flushed and she nodded emphatically: +“Of course! And <i>that</i> is our Yankee secret;––embodied +in those two words––‘of course.’ That is exactly why +the boche runs away from our men. The boche doesn’t +know why he runs, but it is because you all say, ‘of +course!––of course we’re here to kill and get killed. +What of it? It’s in the rules of the game, isn’t it? +Very well; we’re playing the game!’</p> +<p>“But the rules of the hun game are different. According +to their rules, machine guns are not charged +on. That is not according to plan. Oh, no! But it is +in your rules of the game. So after the boche has +killed a number of you, and you say, ‘of course,’ and +you keep coming on, it first bewilders the boche, then +terrifies him. And the next time he sees you coming +he takes to his heels.”</p> +<p>Shotwell, amused, fascinated, and entirely surprised, +began to laugh.</p> +<p>“You seem to know the game pretty well yourself,” +he said. “You are quite right. That is the idea.”</p> +<p>“It’s a wonderful game,” she mused. “I can understand +why you are not pleased at being ordered home.”</p> +<p>“It’s rather rotten luck when the outfit had just been +cited,” he explained.</p> +<p>“Oh. I should think you <i>would</i> hate to come back!” +exclaimed the girl, with frank sympathy.</p> +<p>“Well, I was glad at first, but I’m sorry now. I’m +missing a lot, you see.”</p> +<p>“Why did they send you back?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_35' name='page_35'></a>35</span></div> +<p>“To instruct rookies!” he said with a grimace. +“Rather inglorious, isn’t it? But I’m hoping I’ll have +time to weather this detail and get back again before +we reach the Rhine.”</p> +<p>“I want to get back again, too,” she reflected aloud, +biting her lip and letting her dark eyes rest on the +foggy statue of Liberty, towering up ahead.</p> +<p>“What was your branch?” he inquired.</p> +<p>“Oh, I didn’t do anything,” she exclaimed, flushing. +“I’ve been in Russia. And now I must find out at once +what I can do to be sent to France.”</p> +<p>“The war caught you over there, I suppose,” he +hazarded.</p> +<p>“Yes.... I’ve been there since I was twenty. +I’m twenty-four. I had a year’s travel and study +and then I became the American companion of the +little Russian Grand Duchess Marie.”</p> +<p>“They all were murdered, weren’t they?” he asked, +much interested.</p> +<p>“Yes.... I’m trying to forget–––”</p> +<p>“I beg your pardon–––”</p> +<p>“It’s quite all right. I, myself, mentioned it first; +but I can’t talk about it yet. It’s too personal–––” +She turned and looked at the monstrous city.</p> +<p>After a silence: “It’s been a rotten voyage, hasn’t +it?” he remarked.</p> +<p>“Perfectly rotten. I was so ill I could scarcely keep +my place during life-drill.... I didn’t see you +there,” she added with a faint smile, “but I’m sure +you were aboard, even if you seem to doubt that I +was.”</p> +<p>And then, perhaps considering that she had been +sufficiently amiable to him, she gave him his congé with +a pleasant little nod.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_36' name='page_36'></a>36</span></div> +<p>“Could I help you––do anything––” he began. But +she thanked him with friendly finality.</p> +<p>They sauntered in opposite directions; and he did +not see her again to speak to her.</p> +<p>Later, jolting toward home in a taxi, it occurred +to him that it might have been agreeable to see such +an attractively informal girl again. Any man likes +informality in women, except among the women of his +own household, where he would promptly brand it as +indiscretion.</p> +<p>He thought of her for a while, recollecting details +of the episode and realising that he didn’t even know +her name. Which piqued him.</p> +<p>“Serves me right,” he said aloud with a shrug of +finality. “I had more enterprise once.”</p> +<p>Then he looked out into the sunlit streets of Manhattan, +all brilliant with flags and posters and swarming +with prosperous looking people––his own people. +But to his war-enlightened and disillusioned eyes his +own people seemed almost like aliens; he vaguely resented +their too evident prosperity, their irresponsible +immunity, their heedless preoccupation with the petty +things of life. The acres of bright flags fluttering +above them, the posters that made a gay back-ground +for the scene, the sheltered, undisturbed routine of +peace seemed to annoy him.</p> +<p>An odd irritation invaded him; he had a sudden impulse +to stop his taxi and shout, “Fat-heads! Get into +the game! Don’t you know the world’s on fire? Don’t +you know what a hun really is? You’d better look +out and get busy!”</p> +<p>Fifth Avenue irritated him––shops, hotels, clubs, +motors, the well-dressed throngs began to exasperate +him.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_37' name='page_37'></a>37</span></div> +<p>On a side street he caught a glimpse of his own +place of business; and it almost nauseated him to remember +old man Sharrow, and the walls hung with +plans of streets and sewers and surveys and photographs; +and his own yellow oak desk–––</p> +<p>“Good Lord!” he thought. “If the war ends, have +I got to go back to that!–––”</p> +<p>The family were at breakfast when he walked in on +them––only two––his father and mother.</p> +<p>In his mother’s arms he suddenly felt very young +and subdued, and very glad to be there.</p> +<p>“Where the devil did you come from, Jim?” repeated +his father, with twitching features and a grip on his +son’s strong hand that he could not bring himself to +loosen.</p> +<p>Yes, it was pretty good to get home, after all–– ... And +he might not have come back at all. He +realised it, now, in his mother’s arms, feeling very +humble and secure.</p> +<p>His mother had realised it, too, in every waking hour +since the day her only son had sailed at night––that +had been the hardest!––at night––and at an unnamed +hour of an unnamed day!––her only son––gone in the +darkness–––</p> +<p>On his way upstairs, he noticed a red service flag +bearing a single star hanging in his mother’s window.</p> +<p>He went into his own room, looked soberly around, +sat down on the lounge, suddenly tired.</p> +<p>He had three days’ leave before reporting for duty. +It seemed a miserly allowance. Instinctively he glanced +at his wrist-watch. An hour had fled already.</p> +<p>“The dickens!” he muttered. But he still sat there. +After a while he smiled to himself and rose leisurely to +make his toilet.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_38' name='page_38'></a>38</span></div> +<p>“Such an attractively informal girl,” he thought regretfully.</p> +<p>“I’m sorry I didn’t learn her name. Why didn’t I?”</p> +<p>Philosophy might have answered: “But to what purpose? +No young man expects to pick up a girl of his +own kind. And he has no business with other kinds.”</p> +<p>But Shotwell was no philosopher.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>The “attractively informal girl,” on whom young +Shotwell was condescending to bestow a passing regret +while changing his linen, had, however, quite forgotten +him by this time. There is more philosophy in women.</p> +<p>Her train was now nearing Shadow Hill; she already +could see the village in its early winter nakedness––the +stone bridge, the old-time houses of the well-to-do, +Main Street full of automobiles and farmers’ wagons, +a crowded trolley-car starting for Deepdale, the county +seat.</p> +<p>After four years the crudity of it all astonished her––the +stark vulgarity of Main Street in the sunshine, +every mean, flimsy architectural detail revealed––the +dingy trolley poles, the telegraph poles loaded with +unlovely wires and battered little electric light fixtures––the +uncompromising, unrelieved ugliness of street +and people, of shop and vehicle, of treeless sidewalks, +brick pavement, car rails, hydrants, and rusty gasoline +pumps.</p> +<p>Here was a people ignorant of civic pride, knowing +no necessity for beauty, having no standards, no aspirations, +conscious of nothing but the grosser material +needs.</p> +<p>The hopelessness of this American town––and there +were thousands like it––its architectural squalor, its +animal unconsciousness, shocked her after four years +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_39' name='page_39'></a>39</span> +in lands where colour, symmetry and good taste are +indigenous and beauty as necessary as bread.</p> +<p>And the girl had been born here, too; had known no +other home except when at boarding school or on shopping +trips to New York.</p> +<p>Painfully depressed, she descended at the station, +where she climbed into one of the familiar omnibuses +and gave her luggage check to the lively young driver.</p> +<p>Several drummers also got in, and finally a farmer +whom she recognised but who had evidently forgotten +her.</p> +<p>The driver, a talkative young man whom she remembered +as an obnoxious boy who delivered newspapers, +came from the express office with her trunk, +flung it on top of the bus, gossiped with several station +idlers, then leisurely mounted his seat and gathered +up the reins.</p> +<p>Rattling along the main street she became aware of +changes––a brand new yellow brick clothing store––a +dreadful Quick Lunch––a moving picture theatre––other +monstrosities. And she saw familiar faces on +the street.</p> +<p>The drummers got out with their sample cases at +the Bolton House––Charles H. Bolton, proprietor. +The farmer descended at the “Par Excellence Market,” +where, as he informed the driver, he expected to dispose +of a bull calf which he had finally decided “to veal.”</p> +<p>“Which way, ma’am?” inquired the driver, looking +in at her through the door and chewing gum very +fast.</p> +<p>“To Miss Dumont’s on Shadow Street.”</p> +<p>“Oh!...” Then, suddenly he knew her. +“Say, wasn’t you her niece?” he demanded.</p> +<p>“I <i>am</i> Miss Dumont’s niece,” replied Palla, smiling.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_40' name='page_40'></a>40</span></div> +<p>“Sure! I didn’t reckonise you. Used to leave the +<i>Star</i> on your doorstep! Been away, ain’t you? Home +looks kinda good to you, even if it’s kinda lonesome––” +He checked himself as though recollecting +something else. “Sure! You been over in Rooshia +livin’ with the Queen! There was a piece in the <i>Star</i> +about it. Gee!” he added affably. “That was pretty +soft! Some life, I bet!”</p> +<p>And he grinned a genial grin and climbed into his +seat, chewing rapidly.</p> +<p>“He means to be friendly,” thought the heart-sick +girl, with a shudder.</p> +<p>When Palla got out she spoke pleasantly to him as +she paid him, and inquired about his father––a shiftless +old gaffer who used, sometimes, to do garden work +for her aunt.</p> +<p>But the driver, obsessed by the fact that she had +lived with the “Queen of Rooshia,” merely grinned and +repeated, “Pretty soft,” and, shouldering her trunk, +walked to the front door, chewing furiously.</p> +<p>Martha opened the door, stared through her spectacles.</p> +<p>“Land o’ mercy!” she gasped. “It’s Palla!” Which, +in Shadow Hill, is the manner and speech of the “hired +girl,” whose “folks” are “neighbours” and not inferiors.</p> +<p>“How do you do, Martha,” said the girl smilingly; +and offered her gloved hand.</p> +<p>“Well, I’m so’s to be ’round––” She wheeled on the +man with the trunk: “Here, <i>you</i>! Don’t go-a-trackin’ +mud all over my carpet like that! Wipe your feet +like as if you was brought up respectful!”</p> +<p>“Ain’t I wipin’ em?” retorted the driver, in an injured +voice. “Now then, Marthy, where does this here +trunk go to?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_41' name='page_41'></a>41</span></div> +<p>“Big room front––wait, young fellow; you just +follow me and be careful don’t bang the banisters–––”</p> +<p>Half way up she called back over her shoulder: “Your +room’s all ready, Palla––” and suddenly remembered +something else and stood aside on the landing until +the young man with the trunk had passed her; then +waited for him to return and get himself out of the +house. Then, when he had gone out, banging the door, +she came slowly back down the stairs and met Palla +ascending.</p> +<p>“Where is my aunt?” asked Palla.</p> +<p>And, as Martha remained silent, gazing oddly down +at her through her glasses:</p> +<p>“My aunt isn’t ill, is she?”</p> +<p>“No, she ain’t ill. H’ain’t you heard?”</p> +<p>“Heard what?”</p> +<p>“Didn’t you get my letter?”</p> +<p>“<i>Your</i> letter? Why did <i>you</i> write? What is the +matter? Where is my aunt?” asked the disturbed girl.</p> +<p>“I wrote you last month.”</p> +<p>“<i>What</i> did you write?”</p> +<p>“You never got it?”</p> +<p>“No, I didn’t! What has happened to my aunt?”</p> +<p>“She had a stroke, Palla.”</p> +<p>“What! Is––is she dead!”</p> +<p>“Six weeks ago come Sunday.”</p> +<p>The girl’s knees weakened and she sat down suddenly +on the stairs.</p> +<p>“Dead? My Aunt Emeline?”</p> +<p>“She had a stroke a year ago. It made her a little +stiff in one leg. But she wouldn’t tell you––wouldn’t +bother you. She was that proud of you living as you +did with all those kings and queens. ‘No,’ sez she to me, +‘no, Martha, I ain’t a-goin’ to worry Palla. She and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_42' name='page_42'></a>42</span> +the Queen have got their hands full, what with the +wicked way those Rooshian people are behaving. No,’ +sez she, ‘I’ll git well by the time she comes home for +a visit after the war–––’”</p> +<p>Martha’s spectacles became dim. She seated herself +on the stairs and wiped them on her apron.</p> +<p>“It came in the night,” she said, peering blindly at +Palla.... “I wondered why she was late to breakfast. +When I went up she was lying there with her +eyes open––just as natural–––”</p> +<p>Palla’s head dropped and she covered her face with +both hands.</p> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_43' name='page_43'></a>43</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_IV' id='CHAPTER_IV'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER IV</h2> +</div> +<p>There remained, now, nothing to keep Palla in +Shadow Hill.</p> +<p>She had never intended to stay there, anyway; +she had meant to go to France.</p> +<p>But already there appeared to be no chance for that +in the scheme of things. For the boche had begun to +squeal for mercy; the frightened swine was squirting +life-blood as he rushed headlong for the home sty +across the Rhine; his death-stench sickened the world.</p> +<p>Thicker, ranker, reeked the bloody abomination in +the nostrils of civilisation, where Justice strode ahead +through hell’s own devastation, kicking the boche to +death, kicking him through Belgium, through France, +out of Light back into Darkness, back, back to his +stinking sty.</p> +<p>The rushing sequence of events in Europe since Palla’s +arrival in America bewildered the girl and held in abeyance +any plan she had hoped to make.</p> +<p>The whole world waited, too, astounded, incredulous +as yet of the cataclysmic debacle, slowly realising that +the super-swine were but swine––maddened swine, devil +driven. And that the Sea was very near.</p> +<p>No romance ever written approached in wild extravagance +the story of doom now unfolding in the daily +papers.</p> +<p>Palla read and strove to comprehend––read, laid +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_44' name='page_44'></a>44</span> +aside her paper, and went about her own business, which +alone seemed dully real.</p> +<p>And these new personal responsibilities––now that her +aunt was dead––must have postponed any hope of an +immediate departure for France.</p> +<p>Her inheritance under her aunt’s will, the legal details, +the inventory of scattered acreage and real estate, +plans for their proper administration, consultations +with an attorney, conferences with Mr. Pawling, president +of the local bank––such things had occupied and +involved her almost from the moment of her arrival +home.</p> +<p>At first the endless petty details exasperated her––a +girl fresh from the tremendous tragedy of things +where, one after another, empires were crashing amid +the conflagration of a continent. And she could not +now keep her mind on such wretched little personal +matters while her heart battered passionately at her +breast, sounding the exciting summons to active service.</p> +<p>To concentrate her thoughts on mortgages and deeds +when she was burning to be on her way to France––to +confer power of attorney, audit bills for taxes, for +up-keep of line fences, when she was mad to go to New +York and find out how quickly she could be sent to +France––such things seemed more than a girl could +endure.</p> +<p>In Shadow Hill there was scarcely anything to remind +her that the fate of the world was being settled +for all time.</p> +<p>Only for red service flags here and there, here and +there a burly figure in olive-drab swaggering along +Main Street, nothing except war-bread, the shortage +of coal and sugar, and outrageous prices reminded her +that the terrific drama was still being played beyond +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_45' name='page_45'></a>45</span> +the ocean to the diapason of an orchestra thundering +from England to Asia and from Africa to the Arctic.</p> +<p>But already the eternal signs were pointing to the +end. She read the <i>Republican</i> in the morning, the <i>Star</i> +at night. Gradually it became apparent to the girl +that the great conflagration was slowly dying down +beyond the seas; that there was to be no chance of her +returning; that there was to be no need of her services +even if she were already equipped to render any, and +now, certainly, no time for her to learn anything which +might once have admitted her to comradeship in the +gigantic conflict between man and Satan. She was too +late. The world’s tragedy was almost over.</p> +<p>With the signing of the armistice, all dreams of +service ended definitely for her.</p> +<p>False news of the suspension of hostilities should +have, in a measure, prepared her. Yet, the ultimately +truthful news that the war was over made her almost +physically ill. For the girl’s ardent religious fervour +had consumed her emotional energy during the incessant +excitement of the past three years. But now, for this +natural ardour, there was no further employment. +There was no outlet for mind or heart so lately on fire +with spiritual fervour. God was no more; her friend +was dead. And now the war had ended. And nobody +in the world had any need of her––any need of this +woman who needed the world––and love––spiritual perhaps, +perhaps profane.</p> +<p>The false peace demonstration, which set the bells +of Shadow Hill clanging in the wintry air and the mill +whistles blowing from distant villages, left her tired, +dazed, indifferent. The later celebration, based on +official news, stirred her spiritually even less. And she +felt ill.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_46' name='page_46'></a>46</span></div> +<p>There was a noisy night celebration on Main Street, +but she had no desire to see it. She remained indoors +reading the <i>Star</i> in the sitting room with Max, the cat. +She ate no dinner. She cried herself to sleep.</p> +<p>However, now that the worst had come––as she +naïvely informed the shocked Martha next morning––she +began to feel relieved in a restless, feverish way.</p> +<p>A healthful girl accumulates much bodily energy over +night; Palla’s passionate little heart and her active +mind completed a storage battery very quickly charged––and +very soon over-charged––and an outlet was imperative.</p> +<p>Always, so far in her brief career, she had had adequate +outlets. As a child she found satisfaction in violent +exercises; in flinging herself headlong into every +outdoor game, every diversion among the urchins of +her circle. As a school girl her school sports and her +studies, and whatever social pleasures were offered, had +left the safety valve open.</p> +<p>Later, mistress of her mother’s modest fortune, and +grown to restless, intelligent womanhood, Palla had gone +abroad with a married school-friend, Leila Vance. +Under her auspices she had met nice people and had +seen charming homes in England––Colonel Vance +being somebody in the county and even somebody in +London––a diffident, reticent, agriculturally inclined +land owner and colonel of yeomanry. And long ago +dead in Flanders. And his wife a nurse somewhere in +France.</p> +<p>But before the war a year’s travel and study had +furnished the necessary outlet to Palla Dumont. And +then––at a charity bazaar––a passionate friendship had +flashed into sacred flame––a friendship born at sight +between her and the little Grand Duchess Marie.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_47' name='page_47'></a>47</span></div> +<p>War was beginning; Colonel Vance was dead; but +imperial inquiry located Leila. And imperial inquiry +was satisfied. And Palla became the American companion +and friend of the youthful Grand Duchess Marie. +For three years that blind devotion had been her outlet––that +and their mutual inclination for a life to be +dedicated to God.</p> +<p>What was to be her outlet now?––now that the little +Grand Duchess was dead––now that God, as she had +conceived him, had ceased to exist for her––now that +the war was ended, and nobody needed that warm young +heart of hers––that ardent little heart so easily set +throbbing with the passionate desire to give.</p> +<p>The wintry sunlight flooded the familiar sitting room, +setting potted geraniums ablaze, gilding the leather +backs of old books, staining prisms on the crystal chandelier +with rainbow tints, and causing Max, the family +cat, to blink until the vertical pupils of his amber eyes +seemed to disappear entirely.</p> +<p>There was some snow outside––not very much––a +wild bird or two among the naked apple trees; green +edges, still, where snowy lawn and flower border met.</p> +<p>And there was colour in the leafless shrubbery, too––wine-red +stems of dogwood, ash-blue berry-canes, and +the tangled green and gold of willows. And over all a +pale cobalt sky, and a snow-covered hill, where, in the +woods, crows sat cawing on the taller trees, and a slow +goshawk sailed.</p> +<p>A rich land, this, even under ice and snow––a rich, +rolling land hinting of fat furrows and heavy grain; +and of spicy, old-time gardens where the evenings were +heavy with the scent of phlox and lilies.</p> +<p>Palla, her hands behind her back, seeming very childish +and slim in her black gown, stood searching absently +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_48' name='page_48'></a>48</span> +among the books for something to distract her––something +in harmony with the restless glow of hidden fires +hot in her restless heart.</p> +<p>But war is too completely the great destroyer, killing +even the serener pleasures of the mind, corrupting normal +appetite, dulling all interest except in what pertains +to war.</p> +<p>War is the great vandal, too, obliterating even that +interest in the classic past which is born of respect +for tradition. War slays all yesterdays, so that human +interest lives only in the fierce and present moment, or +blazes anew at thought of what may be to-morrow.</p> +<p>Only the chronicles of the burning hour can hold +human attention where war is. For last week is already +a decade ago; and last year a dead century; but to-day +is vital and to-morrow is immortal.</p> +<p>It was so with Palla. Her listless eyes swept the +ranks of handsome, old-time books––old favourites +bound in gold and leather, masters of English prose and +poetry gathered and garnered by her grand-parents +when books were rare in Shadow Hill.</p> +<p>Not even the modern masters appealed to her––masters +of fiction acclaimed but yesterday; virile +thinkers in philosophy, in science; enfranchised poets +who had stridden out upon Olympus only yesterday +to defy the old god’s lightning with unshackled strophes––and +sometimes unbuttoned themes.</p> +<p>But it was with Palla as with others; she drifted +back to the morning paper, wherein lay the interest +of the hour. And nothing else interested her or the +world.</p> +<p>Martha announced lunch. Max accompanied her +on her retreat to the kitchen. Palla loitered, not +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_49' name='page_49'></a>49</span> +hungry, nervous and unquiet under the increasing +need of occupation for that hot heart of hers.</p> +<p>After a while she went out to the dining room, ate +enough, endured Martha to the verge, and retreated +to await the evening paper.</p> +<p>Her attorney, Mr. Tiddley, came at three. They +discussed quit-claims, mortgages, deeds, surveys, and +reported encroachments incident to the decay of ancient +landmarks. And the conversation maddened her.</p> +<p>At four she put on a smart mourning hat and her +black furs, and walked down to see the bank president, +Mr. Pawling. The subject of their conversation was +investments; and it bored her. At five she returned +to the house to receive a certain Mr. Skidder––known +in her childhood as Blinky Skidder, in frank recognition +of an ocular peculiarity––a dingy but jaunty +young man with a sheep’s nose, a shrewd upper lip, +and snapping red-brown eyes, who came breezily in +and said: “Hello, Palla! How’s the girl?” And took +off his faded mackinaw uninvited.</p> +<p>Mr. Skidder’s business had once been the exploitation +of farmers and acreage; his specialty the persuasion +of Slovak emigrants into the acquisition of doubtful +land. But since the war, emigrants were few; +and, as honest men must live, Mr. Skidder had branched +out into improved real estate and city lots. But the +pickings, even here, were scanty, and loans hard to +obtain.</p> +<p>“I’ve changed my mind,” said Palla. “I’m not +going to sell this house, Blinky.”</p> +<p>“Well, for heaven’s sake––ain’t you going to New +York?” he insisted, taken aback.</p> +<p>“Yes, I am. But I’ve decided to keep my house.”</p> +<p>“That,” said Mr. Skidder, snapping his eyes, “is +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_50' name='page_50'></a>50</span> +silly sentiment, not business. But please yourself +Palla. I ain’t saying a word. I ain’t trying to tell +you I can get a lot more for you than your house +is worth––what with values falling and houses empty +and the mills letting men go because there ain’t going +to be any more war orders!––but please yourself, Palla. +I ain’t saying a word to urge you.”</p> +<p>“You’ve said several,” she remarked, smilingly. +“But I think I’ll keep the house for the present, and +I’m sorry that I wasted your time.”</p> +<p>“Please yourself, Palla,” he repeated. “I guess +you can afford to from all I hear. I guess you can +do as you’ve a mind to, now.... So you’re +fixing to locate in New York, eh?”</p> +<p>“I think so.”</p> +<p>“Live in a flat?”</p> +<p>“I don’t know.”</p> +<p>“What are you going to do in New York?” he +asked curiously.</p> +<p>“I’m sure I don’t know. There’ll be plenty to do, +I suppose.”</p> +<p>“You bet,” he said, blinking rapidly, “there’s +always something doing in that little old town.” He +slapped his knee: “Palla,” he said, “I’m thinking of +going into the movie business.”</p> +<p>“Really?”</p> +<p>“Yes, I’m considering it. Slovaks and bum farms +are played out. There’s no money in Shadow Hill––or +if there is, it’s locked up––or the income tax has +paralysed it. No, I’m through. There’s nothing +doing in land; no commissions. And I’m considering +a quick getaway.”</p> +<p>“Where do you expect to go?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_51' name='page_51'></a>51</span></div> +<p>“Say, Palla, when you kiss your old home good-bye, +there’s only one place to go. Get me?”</p> +<p>“New York?” she inquired, amused.</p> +<p>“That’s me! There’s a guy down there I used to +correspond with––a feller named Puma––Angelo Puma––not +a regular wop, as you might say, but there’s +some wop in him, judging by his map––or Mex––or +kike, maybe––or something. Anyway, he’s in the moving +picture business––The Ultra-Fillum Company. I +guess there’s a mint o’ money in fillums.”</p> +<p>She nodded, a trifle bored.</p> +<p>“I got a chance to go in with Angelo Puma,” he +said, snapping his eyes.</p> +<p>“Really?”</p> +<p>“You know, Palla, I’ve made a little money, too, +since you been over there living with the Queen of +Russia.”</p> +<p>“I’m very glad, Blinky.”</p> +<p>“Oh, it ain’t much. And,” he added shrewdly, “it +ain’t so paltry, neither. Thank the Lord, I made +hay while the Slovaks lasted.... So,” he +added, getting up from his chair, “maybe I’ll see you +down there in New York, some day–––”</p> +<p>He hesitated, his blinking eyes redly intent on her +as she rose to her slim height.</p> +<p>“Say, Palla.”</p> +<p>She looked at him inquiringly.</p> +<p>“Ever thought of the movies?”</p> +<p>“As an investment?”</p> +<p>“Well––that, too. There’s big money in it. But +I meant––I mean––it strikes me you’d make a bird of +a movie queen.”</p> +<p>The suggestion mildly amused her.</p> +<p>“I mean it,” he insisted. “Grab it from me, Palla, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_52' name='page_52'></a>52</span> +you’ve got the shape, and you got the looks and you +got the walk and the ways and the education. You +got something peculiar––like you had been born a +rich swell––I mean you kinda naturally act that way––kinda +cocksure of yourself. Maybe you got it living +with that Queen–––”</p> +<p>Palla laughed outright.</p> +<p>“So you think because I’ve seen a queen I ought +to know how to act like a movie queen?”</p> +<p>“Well,” he said, picking up his hat, “maybe if I +go in with Angelo Puma some day I’ll see you again +and we’ll talk it over.”</p> +<p>She shook hands with him.</p> +<p>“Be good,” he called back as she closed the front +door behind him.</p> +<p>The early winter night had fallen over Shadow +Hill. Palla turned on the electric light, stood for +a while looking sombrely at the framed photographs +of her father and mother, then, feeling lonely, went +into the kitchen where Martha was busy with preparations +for dinner.</p> +<p>“Martha,” she said, “I’m going to New York.”</p> +<p>“Well, for the land’s sake–––”</p> +<p>“Yes, and I’m going day after to-morrow.”</p> +<p>“What on earth makes you act like a gypsy, Palla?” +she demanded querulously, seasoning the soup and +tasting it. “Your pa and ma wasn’t like that. They +was satisfied to set and rest a mite after being away. +But you’ve been gone four years ’n more, and now +you’re up and off again, hippity-skip! clippity-clip!–––”</p> +<p>“I’m just going to run down to New York and look +about. I want to look around and see what–––”</p> +<p>“That’s <i>you</i>, Palla! That’s what you allus was +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_53' name='page_53'></a>53</span> +doing as a child––allus looking about you with your +wide brown eyes, to see what you could see in the +world!... You know what curiosity did to the +cat?”</p> +<p>“What?”</p> +<p>“Pinched her paw in the mouse-trap.”</p> +<p>“I’ll be careful,” said the girl, laughing.</p> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_54' name='page_54'></a>54</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_V' id='CHAPTER_V'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER V</h2> +</div> +<p>In touch with his unexciting business again, after +many months of glorious absence, and seated once +more at his abhorred yellow-oak desk, young Shotwell +discovered it was anything except agreeable for +him to gather up the ravelled thrums of civilian life +after the thrilling taste of service over seas.</p> +<p>For him, so long accustomed to excitement, the zest +of living seemed to die with the signing of the armistice.</p> +<p>In fact, since the Argonne drive, all luck seemed +to have deserted him; for in the very middle of operations +he had been sent back to the United States as +instructor; and there the armistice had now caught +him. Furthermore, then, before he realised what +dreadful thing was happening to him, he had been +politely assigned to that vague limbo supposedly inhabited +by a mythical organisation known as The Officers’ +Reserve Corps, and had been given indefinite leave +of absence preliminary to being mustered out of the +service of the United States.</p> +<p>To part from his uniform was agonising, and he +berated the fate that pried him loose from tunic and +puttees. So disgusted was he that, although the Government +allowed three months longer before discarding +uniforms, he shed his in disgust for “cits.”</p> +<p>But James Shotwell, Jr., was not the only man bewildered +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_55' name='page_55'></a>55</span> +and annoyed by the rapidity of events which +followed the first days of demobilisation. Half a +dozen other young fellows in the big real estate offices +of Clarence Sharrow & Co. found themselves yanked +out of uniform and seated once more at their familiar, +uninviting desks of yellow oak––very young men, +mostly, assigned to various camps of special three-month +instruction; and now cruelly interrupted while +scrambling frantically after commissions in machine-gun +companies, field artillery, flying units, and tank +corps.</p> +<p>And there they were, back again at the old grind +before they could realise their horrid predicament––the +majority already glum and restless under the +reaction, and hating Shotwell, who, among them all, +had been the only man to cross the sea.</p> +<p>This war-worn and envied veteran of a few months, +perfectly aware that his military career had ended, +was now trying to accept the situation and habituate +himself to the loathly technique of commerce.</p> +<p>Out of uniform, out of humour, out of touch with +the arts of peace; still, at times, all a-quiver with +the nervous shock of his experience, it was very hard +for him to speak respectfully to Mr. Sharrow.</p> +<p>As instructor to rookie aspirants he would have been +somebody: he had already been somebody as a lieutenant +of infantry in the thunderous scheme of things +in the Argonne.</p> +<p>But in the offices of Clarence Sharrow & Co. he +was merely a rather nice-looking civilian subordinate, +whose duties were to aid clients in the selection and +purchase of residences, advise them, consult with them, +make appointments to show them dwelling houses, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_56' name='page_56'></a>56</span> +vacant or still tenanted, and in every stage of repair +or decrepitude.</p> +<p>On the wall beside his desk hung a tinted map of +the metropolis. Upon a table at his elbow were piled +ponderous tomes depicting the Bronx in all its beauty, +and giving details of suburban sewers. Other volumes +contained maps of the fashionable residential district, +showing every consecrated block and the exact location +as well as the linear dimensions of every awesome +residence and back yard from Washington Square to +Yorkville.</p> +<p>By referring to a note-book which he carried in his +breast pocket, young Shotwell could inform any grand +lady or any pompous or fussy gentleman what was +the “asking price” of any particular residence marked +for sale upon the diagrams of the ponderous tomes.</p> +<p>Also––which is why Sharrow selected him for that +particular job––clients liked his good manners and +his engaging ways.</p> +<p>The average client buys a freshly painted house in +preference to a well-built one, but otherwise clamours +always for a bargain. The richer the client the louder +the clamour. And to such demands Shotwell was always +sympathetic––always willing to inquire whether or not +the outrageous price asked for a dwelling might possibly +be “shaded” a little.</p> +<p>It always could be shaded; but few clients knew +that; and the majority, much flattered at their own +business acumen, entertained kind feelings toward +Sharrow & Co. and sentiments almost cordial toward +young Shotwell when the “shading” process had +proved to be successful.</p> +<p>But the black-eye dealt the residential district long +ago had not yet cleared up. Real property of that +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_57' name='page_57'></a>57</span> +sort was still dull and inactive except for a flare-up +now and then along Park Avenue and Fifth.</p> +<p>War, naturally, had not improved matters; and, as +far as the residential part of their business was concerned, +Sharrow & Co. transacted the bulk of it in +leasing apartments and, now and then, a private house, +usually on the West Side.</p> +<p>That morning, in the offices of Sharrow & Co., a +few clients sat beside the desks of the various men +who specialised in the particular brand of real estate +desired: several neat young girls performed diligently +upon typewriters; old man Sharrow stood at the door +of his private office twirling his eyeglasses by the gold +chain and urbanely getting rid of an undesirable visitor––one +Angelo Puma, who wanted some land for a +moving picture studio, but was persuasively unwilling +to pay for it.</p> +<p>He was a big man, too heavy, youngish, with plump +olive skin, black hair, lips too full and too red under +a silky moustache, and eyes that would have been magnificent +in a woman––a Spanish dancer, for example––rich, +dark eyes, softly brilliant under curling lashes.</p> +<p>He seemed to covet the land and the ramshackle +stables on it, but he wanted somebody to take back +a staggering mortgage on the property. And Mr. +Sharrow shook his head gently, and twirled his eyeglasses.</p> +<p>“For me,” insisted Puma, “I do not care. It is +good property. I would pay cash if I had it. But I +have not. No. My capital at the moment is tied +up in production; my daily expenses, at present, require +what cash I have. If your client is at all reasonable–––”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_58' name='page_58'></a>58</span></div> +<p>“He isn’t,” said Sharrow. “He’s a Connecticut +Yankee.”</p> +<p>For a moment Angelo Puma seemed crestfallen, then +his brilliant smile flashed from every perfect tooth:</p> +<p>“That is very bad for me,” he said, buttoning-his +showy overcoat. “Pardon me; I waste your time––” +pulling on his gloves. “However, if your client should +ever care to change his mind–––”</p> +<p>“One moment,” said Sharrow, whose time Mr. Puma +had indeed wasted at intervals during the past year, +and who heartily desired to be rid of property and +client: “Suppose you deal directly with the owner. +We are not particularly anxious to carry the property; +it’s a little out of our sphere. Suppose I put +you in direct communication with the owner.”</p> +<p>“Delighted,” said Puma, flashing his smile and bowing +from the waist; and perfectly aware that his +badgering had bored this gentleman to the limit.</p> +<p>“I’ll write out his address for you,” said Sharrow, +“––one moment, please–––”</p> +<p>Angelo Puma waited, his glossy hat in one hand, +his silver-headed stick and folded suede gloves in the +other.</p> +<p>Like darkly brilliant searchlights his magnificent +eyes swept the offices of Sharrow & Co.; at a glance +he appraised the self-conscious typists, surmised possibilities +in a blond one; then, as a woman entered from +the street, he rested his gaze upon her. And he kept it +there.</p> +<p>Even when Sharrow came out of his private office +with the slip of paper, Angelo Puma’s eyes still remained +fastened upon the young girl who had spoken +to a clerk and then seated herself in a chair beside the +desk of James Shotwell, Jr.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_59' name='page_59'></a>59</span></div> +<p>“The man’s name,” repeated Sharrow patiently, “is +Elmer Skidder. His address is Shadow Hill, Connecticut.”</p> +<p>Puma turned to him as though confused, thanked +him effusively, took the slip of paper, pulled on his +gloves in a preoccupied way, and very slowly walked +toward the street door, his eyes fixed on the girl who +was now in animated conversation with young Shotwell.</p> +<p>As he passed her she was laughing at something +the young man had just said, and Puma deliberately +turned and looked at her again––looked her full in +the face.</p> +<p>She was aware of him and of his bold scrutiny, of +course––noticed his brilliant eyes, no doubt––but paid +no heed to him––was otherwise preoccupied with this +young man beside her, whom she had neither seen nor +thought about since the day she had landed in New +York from the rusty little Danish steamer <i>Elsinore</i>.</p> +<p>And now, although he had meant nothing at all to +her except an episode already forgotten, to meet him +again had instantly meant something to her.</p> +<p>For this man now represented to her a link with the +exciting past––this young soldier who had been fresh +from the furnace when she had met him on deck as +the <i>Elsinore</i> passed in between the forts in the grey +of early morning.</p> +<p>The encounter was exciting her a little, too, over-emphasising +its importance.</p> +<p>“Fancy!” she repeated, “my encountering you here +and in civilian dress! Were you dreadfully disappointed +by the armistice?”</p> +<p>“I’m ashamed to say I took it hard,” he admitted.</p> +<p>“So did I. I had hoped so to go to France. And +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_60' name='page_60'></a>60</span> +you––oh, I <i>am</i> sorry for you. You were so disgusted +at being detailed from the fighting line to Camp +Upton! And now the war is over. What a void!”</p> +<p>“You’re very frank,” he said. “We’re supposed to +rejoice, you know.”</p> +<p>“Oh, of course. I really do rejoice–––”</p> +<p>They both laughed.</p> +<p>“I mean it,” she insisted. “In my sober senses I +am glad the war is over. I’d be a monster if I were +not glad. But––<i>what</i> is going to take its place? +Because we must have something, you know. One +can’t endure a perfect void, can one?”</p> +<p>Again they laughed.</p> +<p>“It was such a tremendous thing,” she explained. +“I did want to be part of it before it ended. But of +course peace is a tremendous thing, too–––”</p> +<p>And they both laughed once more.</p> +<p>“Anybody overhearing us,” she confided to him, +“would think us mere beasts. Of course you are glad +the war is ended: that’s why you fought. And I’m +glad, too. And I’m going to rent a house in New +York and find something to occupy this void I speak +of. But isn’t it nice that I should come to you about +it?”</p> +<p>“Jolly,” he said. “And now at last I’m going to +learn your name.”</p> +<p>“Oh. Don’t you know it?”</p> +<p>“I wanted to ask you, but there seemed to be no +proper opportunity–––”</p> +<p>“Of course. I remember. There seemed to be no +reason.”</p> +<p>“I was sorry afterward,” he ventured.</p> +<p>That amused her. “You weren’t really sorry, were +you?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_61' name='page_61'></a>61</span></div> +<p>“I really was. I thought of you–––”</p> +<p>“Do you mean to say you remembered me after the +ship docked?”</p> +<p>“Yes. But I’m very sure you instantly forgot me.”</p> +<p>“I certainly did!” she admitted, still much amused +at the idea. “One doesn’t remember everybody one +sees, you know,” she went on frankly,“––particularly +after a horrid voyage and when one’s head is full of +exciting plans. Alas! those wonderful plans of mine!––the +stuff that dreams are made of. And here I +am asking you kindly to find me a modest house with +a modest rental.... And by the way,” she +added demurely, “my name is Palla Dumont.”</p> +<p>“Thank you,” he said smilingly. “Do you care to +know mine?”</p> +<p>“I know it. When I came in and told the clerk +what I wanted, he said I should see Mr. Shotwell.”</p> +<p>“James Shotwell, Jr.,” he said gravely.</p> +<p>“That <i>is</i> amiable. You don’t treasure malice, do +you? I might merely have known you as <i>Mr.</i> Shotwell. +And you generously reveal all from James to Junior.”</p> +<p>They were laughing again. Mr. Sharrow noticed +them from his private office and congratulated himself +on having Shotwell in his employment.</p> +<p>“When may I see a house?” inquired Palla, settling +her black-gloved hands in her black fox muff.</p> +<p>“Immediately, if you like.”</p> +<p>“How wonderful!”</p> +<p>He took out his note-book, glanced through several +pages, asked her carelessly what rent she cared to pay, +made a note of it, and resumed his study of the note-book.</p> +<p>“The East Side?” he inquired, glancing at her with +curiosity not entirely professional.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_62' name='page_62'></a>62</span></div> +<p>“I prefer it.”</p> +<p>From his note-book he read to her the descriptions +and situations of several twenty-foot houses in the +zone between Fifth and Third Avenues.</p> +<p>“Shall we go to see some of them, Mr. Shotwell? +Have you, perhaps, time this morning?”</p> +<p>“I’m delighted,” he said. Which, far from straining +truth, perhaps restrained it.</p> +<p>So he got his hat and overcoat, and they went out +together into the winter sunshine.</p> +<p>Angelo Puma, seated in a taxi across the street, +observed them. He wore a gardenia in his lapel. He +might have followed Palla had she emerged alone from +the offices of Sharrow & Co.</p> +<p>Shotwell Junior had a jolly morning of it. And, +if the routine proved a trifle monotonous, Palla, too, +appeared to amuse herself.</p> +<p>She inspected various types of houses, expensive +and inexpensive, modern and out of date, well built +and well kept and “jerry-built” and dirty.</p> +<p>Prices and rents painfully surprised her, and she +gave up any idea of renting a furnished house, and +so informed Shotwell.</p> +<p>So they restricted their inspection to three-story +unfurnished and untenanted houses, where the neighbourhood +was less pretentious and there was a better +light in the rear.</p> +<p>But they all were dirty, neglected, out of repair, +destitute of decent plumbing and electricity.</p> +<p>On the second floor of one of these Palla stood, +discouraged, perplexed, gazing absently out, across a +filthy back yard full of seedling ailanthus trees and +rubbish, at the rear fire escapes on the tenements +beyond.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_63' name='page_63'></a>63</span></div> +<p>Shotwell, exploring the closely written pages of his +note-book, could discover nothing desirable within the +terms she was willing to make.</p> +<p>“There’s one house on our books,” he said at last, +“which came in only yesterday. I haven’t had time to +look at it. I don’t even know where the keys are. +But if you’re not too tired–––”</p> +<p>Palla gave him one of her characteristic direct looks:</p> +<p>“I’m not too tired, but I’m starved. I could go +after lunch.”</p> +<p>“Fine!” he said. “I’m hungry, too! Shall we go +to Delmonico’s?”</p> +<p>The girl seemed a trifle nonplussed. She had not +supposed that luncheon with clients was included in +a real estate transaction.</p> +<p>She was not embarrassed, nor did the suggestion +seem impertinent. But she said:</p> +<p>“I had expected to lunch at the hotel.”</p> +<p>He reddened a little. Guilt shows its colors.</p> +<p>“Had you rather?” he asked.</p> +<p>“Why, no. I’d rather lunch with you at Delmonico’s +and talk houses.” And, a little amused at this young +man’s transparent guile, she added: “I think it would +be very agreeable for us to lunch together.”</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>She came from the dressing-room fresh and flushed +as a slightly chilled rose, rejoining him in the lobby, +and presently they were seated in the palm room with +a discreet and hidden orchestra playing, “Oh! How I +Hate To Get Up in the Morning,” and rather busy +with a golden Casaba melon between them.</p> +<p>“Isn’t this jolly!” he said, expanding easily, as do +all young men in the warmth of the informal.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_64' name='page_64'></a>64</span></div> +<p>“Very. What an agreeable business yours seems +to be, Mr. Shotwell.”</p> +<p>“In what way?” he asked innocently.</p> +<p>“Why, part of it is lunching with feminine clients, +isn’t it?”</p> +<p>His close-set ears burned. She glanced up with +mischief brilliant in her brown eyes. But he was busy +with his melon. And, not looking at her:</p> +<p>“Don’t you want to know me?” he asked so clumsily +that she hesitated to snub so defenceless a male.</p> +<p>“I don’t know whether I wish to,” she replied, smiling +slightly. “I hadn’t aspired to it; I hadn’t really considered +it. I was thinking about renting a house.”</p> +<p>He said nothing, but, as the painful colour remained +in his face, the girl decided to be a little kinder.</p> +<p>“Anyway,” she said, “I’m enjoying myself. And I +hope you are.”</p> +<p>He said he was. But his voice and manner were so +subdued that she laughed.</p> +<p>“Fancy asking a girl such a question,” she said. +“You shouldn’t ask a woman whether she doesn’t want +to know you. It would be irregular enough, under +the circumstances, to say that you wanted to know +her.”</p> +<p>“That’s what I meant,” he replied, wincing. “Would +you consider it?”</p> +<p>She could not disguise her amusement.</p> +<p>“Yes; I’ll consider it, Mr. Shotwell. I’ll give it my +careful attention. I owe you something, anyway.”</p> +<p>“What?” he asked uncertainly, prepared for further +squelching.</p> +<p>“I don’t know exactly what. But when a man remembers +a woman, and the woman forgets the man, +isn’t something due him?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_65' name='page_65'></a>65</span></div> +<p>“I think there is,” he said so naïvely that Palla was +unable to restrain her gaiety.</p> +<p>“This is a silly conversation,” she said, “––as silly +as though I had accepted the cocktail you so thoughtfully +suggested. We’re both enjoying each other and +we know it.”</p> +<p>“Really!” he exclaimed, brightening.</p> +<p>His boyish relief––everything that this young man +said to her––seemed to excite the girl to mirth. Perhaps +she had been starved for laughter longer than +is good for anybody. Besides, her heart was naturally +responsive––opened easily––was easily engaged.</p> +<p>“Of course I’m inclined to like you,” she said, “or +I wouldn’t be here lunching with you and talking nonsense +instead of houses–––”</p> +<p>“We’ll talk houses!”</p> +<p>“No; we’ll <i>look</i> at them––later.... Do you +know it’s a long, long time since I have laughed with +a really untroubled heart?”</p> +<p>“I’m sorry.”</p> +<p>“Yes, it isn’t good for a girl. Sadness is a sickness––a +physical disorganisation that infects the mind. +It makes a strange emotion of love, too, perverting +it to that mysticism we call religion––and wasting it.... +I suppose you’re rather shocked,” she said +smilingly.</p> +<p>“No.... But have you no religion?”</p> +<p>“Have you?”</p> +<p>“Well––yes.”</p> +<p>“Which?”</p> +<p>“Protestant.... Are you Catholic?”</p> +<p>The girl rested her cheek on her hand and dabbed +absently at her orange ice.</p> +<p>“I was once,” she said. “I was very religious––in +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_66' name='page_66'></a>66</span> +the accepted sense of the term.... It came rather +suddenly;––it seemed to be born as part of a sudden +and close friendship with a girl––began with that friendship, +I think.... And died with it.”</p> +<p>She sat quite silent for a while, then a tremulous +smile edged her lips:</p> +<p>“I had meant to take the veil,” she said. “I did +begin my novitiate.”</p> +<p>“Here?”</p> +<p>“No, in Russia. There are a few foreign cloistered +orders there.... But I had a tragic awakening....” +She bent her head and quoted softly, “‘For the former +things have passed away.’”</p> +<p>The orange ice was melting; she stirred it idly, +watching it dissolve.</p> +<p>“No,” she said, “I had utterly misunderstood the +scheme of things. Divinity is not a sad, a solemn, +a solitary autocrat demanding selfish tribute, blind +allegiance, inexorable self-abasement. It is not an insecure +tyrant offering bribery for the cringing, frightened +servitude demanded.”</p> +<p>She looked up smilingly at the man: “Nor, within us, +is there any soul in the accepted meaning,––no satellite +released at death to revolve around or merge into +some super-divinity. No!</p> +<p>“For I believe,––I <i>know</i>––that the body––every one’s +body––is inhabited by a complete god, immortal, retaining +its divine entity, beholden to no other deity save +only itself, and destined to encounter in a divine democracy +and through endless futures, unnumbered brother +gods––the countless divinities which have possessed and +shall possess those tenements of mankind which we call +our bodies.... You do not, of course, subscribe to +such a faith,” she added, meeting his gaze.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_67' name='page_67'></a>67</span></div> +<p>“Well–––” He hesitated. She said:</p> +<p>“Autocracy in heaven is as unthinkable, as unbelievable, +and as obnoxious to me as is autocracy on earth. +There is no such thing as divine right, here or elsewhere,––no +divine prerogatives for tyranny, for punishment, +for cruelty.”</p> +<p>“How did you happen to embrace such a faith?” he +asked, bewildered.</p> +<p>“I was sick of the scheme of things. Suffering, +cruelty, death outraged my common sense. It is not in +me to say, ‘Thy will be done,’ to any autocrat, heavenly +or earthly. It is not in me to fawn on the hand that +strikes me––or that strikes any helpless thing! No! +And the scheme of things sickened me, and I nearly +died of it–––”</p> +<p>She clenched her hand where it rested on the table, +and he saw her face flushed and altered by the fire +within. Then she smiled and leaned back in her chair.</p> +<p>“In you,” she said gaily, “dwells a god. In me a +goddess,––a joyous one,––a divine thing that laughs,––a +complete and free divinity that is gay and tender, +that is incapable of tyranny, that loves all things both, +great and small, that exists to serve––freely, not for reward––that +owes allegiance and obedience only to the +divine and eternal law within its own godhead. And +that law is the law of love.... And that is my +substitute for the scheme of things. Could you subscribe?”</p> +<p>After a silence he quoted: “<i>Could you and I with +Him conspire</i>–––”</p> +<p>She nodded: “‘<i>To grasp this sorry scheme of things +entire</i>–––’ But there is no ‘<i>Him</i>.’ It’s you and I.... +Both divine.... Suppose we grasp it +and ‘<i>shatter it to bits</i>.’ Shall we?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_68' name='page_68'></a>68</span></div> +<p>“‘<i>And then remould it nearer to the heart’s desire?</i>’”</p> +<p>“Remould it nearer to the logic of common sense.”</p> +<p>Neither spoke for a few moments. Then she drew +a swift, smiling breath.</p> +<p>“We’re getting on rather rapidly, aren’t we?” she +said. “Did you expect to lunch with such a friendly, +human girl? And will you now take her to inspect this +modest house which you hope may suit her, and which, +she most devoutly hopes may suit her, too?”</p> +<p>“This has been a perfectly delightful day,” he said +as they rose.</p> +<p>“Do you want me to corroborate you?”</p> +<p>“Could you?”</p> +<p>“I’ve had a wonderful time,” she said lightly.</p> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_69' name='page_69'></a>69</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_VI' id='CHAPTER_VI'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER VI</h2> +</div> +<p>John Estridge, out of a job––as were a million +odd others now arriving from France by every +transport––met James Shotwell, Junior, one wintry +day as the latter was leaving the real estate offices +of Sharrow & Co.</p> +<p>“The devil,” exclaimed Estridge; “I supposed you, at +least, were safe in the service, Jim! Isn’t your regiment +in Germany?”</p> +<p>“It is,” replied Shotwell wrathfully, shaking hands. +“Where do you come from, Jack?”</p> +<p>“From hell––via Copenhagen. In milder but misleading +metaphor, I come from Holy Russia.”</p> +<p>“Did the Red Cross fire you?”</p> +<p>“No, but they told me to run along home like a +good boy and get my degree. I’m not an M.D., you +know. And there’s a shortage. So I had to come.”</p> +<p>“Same here; I had to come.” And Shotwell, for +Estridge’s enlightenment, held a post-mortem over the +premature decease of his promising military career.</p> +<p>“Too bad,” commented the latter. “It sure was exciting +while it lasted––our mixing it in the great game. +There’s pandemonium to pay in Russia, now;––I rather +hated to leave.... But it was either leave or be +shot up. The Bolsheviki are impossible.... Are +you walking up town?”</p> +<p>They fell into step together.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_70' name='page_70'></a>70</span></div> +<p>“You’ll go back to the P. & S., I suppose,” ventured +Shotwell.</p> +<p>“Yes. And you?”</p> +<p>“Oh, I’m already nailed down to the old oaken desk. +Sharrow’s my boss, if you remember?”</p> +<p>“It must seem dull,” said Estridge sympathetically.</p> +<p>“Rotten dull.”</p> +<p>“You don’t mean business too, do you?”</p> +<p>“Yes, that’s also on the bum.... I did contrive +to sell a small house the other day––and blew myself +to this overcoat.”</p> +<p>“Is that so unusual?” asked Estridge, smiling,“––to +sell a house in town?”</p> +<p>“Yes, it’s a miracle in these days. Tell me, Jack, +how did you get on in Russia?”</p> +<p>“Too many Reds. We couldn’t do much. They’ve +got it in for everybody except themselves.”</p> +<p>“The socialists?”</p> +<p>“Not the social revolutionists. I’m talking about +the Reds.”</p> +<p>“Didn’t they make the revolution?”</p> +<p>“They did not.”</p> +<p>“Well, who are the Reds, and what is it they want?”</p> +<p>“They want to set the world on fire. Then they +want to murder and rob everybody with any education. +Then they plan to start things from the stone age +again. They want loot and blood. That’s really all +they want. Their object is to annihilate civilisation by +exterminating the civilised. They desire to start all +over from first principles––without possessing any––and +turn the murderous survivors of the human massacre +into one vast, international pack of wolves. And +they’re beginning to do it in Russia.”</p> +<p>“A pleasant programme,” remarked Shotwell. “No +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_71' name='page_71'></a>71</span> +wonder you beat it, Jack. I recently met a woman who +had just arrived from Russia. They murdered her best +friend––one of the little Grand Duchesses. She simply +can’t talk about it.”</p> +<p>“That was a beastly business,” nodded Estridge. +“I happen to know a little about it.”</p> +<p>“Were <i>you</i> in that district?”</p> +<p>“Well, no,––not when that thing happened. But some +little time before the Bolsheviki murdered the Imperial +family I had occasion to escort an American girl to +the convent where they were held under detention.... +An exceedingly pretty girl,” he added absently. +“She was once companion to one of the murdered Imperial +children.”</p> +<p>Shotwell glanced up quickly: “Her name, by any +chance, doesn’t happen to be Palla Dumont?”</p> +<p>“Why, yes. Do you know her?”</p> +<p>“I sold her that house I was telling you about. Do +you know her well, Jack?”</p> +<p>Estridge smiled. “Yes and no. Perhaps I know her +better than she suspects.”</p> +<p>Shotwell laughed, recollecting his friend’s inclination +for analysing character and his belief in his ability to +do so.</p> +<p>“Same old scientific vivisectionist!” he said. “So +you’ve been dissecting Palla Dumont, have you?”</p> +<p>“Certainly. She’s a type.”</p> +<p>“A charming one,” added Shotwell.</p> +<p>“Oh, very.”</p> +<p>“But you don’t know her well––outside of having +mentally vivisected her?”</p> +<p>Estridge laughed: “Palla Dumont and I have been +through some rather hair-raising scrapes together. And +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_72' name='page_72'></a>72</span> +I’ll admit right now that she possesses all kinds of +courage––perhaps too many kinds.”</p> +<p>“How do you mean?”</p> +<p>“She has the courage of her convictions and her +convictions, sometimes, don’t amount to much.”</p> +<p>“Go on and cut her up,” said Shotwell, sarcastically.</p> +<p>“That’s the only fault I find with Palla Dumont,” +explained the other.</p> +<p>“I thought you said she was a type?”</p> +<p>“She is,––the type of unmarried woman who continually +develops too much pep for her brain to properly +take care of.”</p> +<p>“You mean you consider Palla Dumont neurotic?”</p> +<p>“No. Nothing abnormal. Perhaps super-normal––pathologically +speaking. Bodily health is fine. But +over-secretion of ardent energy sometimes disturbs one’s +mental equilibrium. The result, in a crisis, is likely +to result in extravagant behavior. Martyrs are made +of such stuff, for example.”</p> +<p>“You think her a visionary?”</p> +<p>“Well, her reason and her emotions sometimes become +rather badly entangled, I fancy.”</p> +<p>“Don’t everybody’s?”</p> +<p>“At intervals. Then the thing to do is to keep perfectly +cool till the fit is over.”</p> +<p>“So you think her impulsive?”</p> +<p>“Well, I should say so!” smiled Estridge. “Of course +I mean nicely impulsive––even nobly impulsive.... +But that won’t help her. Impulse never helped anybody. +It’s a spoke in the wheel––a stumbling block––a +stick to trip anybody.... Particularly a girl.... +And Palla Dumont mistakes impulse for +logic. She honestly thinks that she reasons.” He +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_73' name='page_73'></a>73</span> +smiled to himself: “A disturbingly pretty girl,” he +murmured, “with a tender heart ... which seems +to do all her thinking for her.... How well do +you know her, Jim?”</p> +<p>“Not well. But I’m going to, I hope.”</p> +<p>Estridge glanced up interrogatively, suddenly remembering +all the uncontradicted gossip concerning a +tacit understanding between Shotwell, Jr., and Elorn +Sharrow. It is true that no engagement had been announced; +but none had been denied, either. And Miss +Sharrow had inherited her mother’s fortune. And Shotwell, +Jr., made only a young man’s living.</p> +<p>“You ought to be rather careful with such a girl,” +he remarked carelessly.</p> +<p>“How, careful?”</p> +<p>“Well, she’s rather perilously attractive, isn’t she?” +insisted Estridge smilingly.</p> +<p>“She’s extremely interesting.”</p> +<p>“She certainly is. She’s rather an amazing girl in +her way. More amazing than perhaps you imagine.”</p> +<p>“Amazing?”</p> +<p>“Yes, even astounding.”</p> +<p>“For example?”</p> +<p>“I’ll give you an example. When the Reds invaded +that convent and seized the Czarina and her children, +Palla Dumont, then a novice of six weeks, attempted +martyrdom by pretending that she herself was the little +Grand Duchess Marie. And when the Reds refused +to believe her, she demanded the privilege of dying +beside her little friend. She even insulted the Reds, +defied them, taunted them until they swore to return +and cut her throat as soon as they finished with the +Imperial family. And then this same Palla Dumont, to +whom you sold a house in New York the other day, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_74' name='page_74'></a>74</span> +flew into an ungovernable passion; tried to batter her +way into the cellar; shattered half a dozen chapel +chairs against the oak door of the crypt behind which +preparations for the assassination were taking place; +then, helpless, called on God to interfere and put a +stop to it. And, when deity, as usual, didn’t interfere +with the scheme of things, this girl tore the white veil +from her face and the habit from her body and denounced +as nonexistent any alleged deity that permitted +such things to be.”</p> +<p>Shotwell gazed at Estridge in blank astonishment.</p> +<p>“Where on earth did you hear all that dope?” he +demanded incredulously.</p> +<p>Estridge smiled: “It’s all quite true, Jim. And +Palla Dumont escaped having her slender throat slit +open only because a sotnia of Kaladines’ Cossacks cantered +up, discovered what the Reds were up to in the +cellar, and beat it with Palla and another girl just in +the nick of time.”</p> +<p>“Who handed you this cinema stuff?”</p> +<p>“<i>The other girl.</i>”</p> +<p>“You believe her?”</p> +<p>“You can judge for yourself. This other girl was a +young Swedish soldier who had served in the Battalion +of Death. It’s really cinema stuff, as you say. But +Russia, to-day, is just one hell after another in an +endless and bloody drama. Such picturesque incidents,––the +wildest episodes, the craziest coincidences––are +occurring by thousands every day of the year in Russia.... +And, Jim, it was due to one of those daily +and crazy coincidences that my sleigh, in which I was +beating it for Helsingfors, was held up by that same +sotnia of the Wild Division on a bitter day, near the +borders of a pine forest.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_75' name='page_75'></a>75</span></div> +<p>“And that’s where I encountered Palla Dumont again. +And that’s where I heard––not from her, but from her +soldier comrade, Ilse Westgard––the story I have just +told you.”</p> +<p>For a while they continued to walk up and down +in silence.</p> +<p>Finally Estridge said: “<i>There</i> was a girl for you!”</p> +<p>“Palla Dumont!” nodded Shotwell, still too astonished +to talk.</p> +<p>“No, the other.... An amazing girl.... +Nearly six feet; physically perfect;––what the human +girl ought to be and seldom is;––symmetrical, flawless, +healthy––a super-girl ... like some young +daughter of the northern gods!... Ilse Westgard.”</p> +<p>“One of those women soldiers, you say?” inquired +Shotwell, mildly curious.</p> +<p>“Yes. There were all kinds of women in that Death +Battalion. We saw them,––your friend Palla Dumont +and I,––saw them halted and standing at ease in a +birch wood; saw them marching into fire.... +And there were all sorts of women, Jim; peasant, +bourgeoise and aristocrat;––there were dressmakers, +telephone operators, servant-girls, students, Red Cross +nurses, actresses from the Marinsky, Jewesses from the +Pale, sisters of the Yellow Ticket, Japanese girls, +Chinese, Cossack, English, Finnish, French.... +And they went over the top cheering for Russia!... +They went over to shame the army which had +begun to run from the hun.... Pretty fine, +wasn’t it?”</p> +<p>“Fine!”</p> +<p>“You bet!... After this war––after what +women have done the world over––I wonder whether +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_76' name='page_76'></a>76</span> +there are any asses left who desire to restrict woman +to a ‘sphere’?... I’d like to see Ilse Westgard +again,” he added absently.</p> +<p>“Was she a peasant girl?”</p> +<p>“No. A daughter of well-to-do people. Quite the +better sort, I should say. And she was more thoroughly +educated than the average girl of our own sort.... +A brave and cheerful soldier in the Battalion of Death.... +Ilse Westgard.... Amazing, isn’t it?”</p> +<p>After another brief silence Shotwell ventured: “I suppose +you’d find it agreeable to meet Palla Dumont +again, wouldn’t you?”</p> +<p>“Why, yes, of course,” replied the other pleasantly.</p> +<p>“Then, if you like, she’ll ask us to tea some day––after +her new house is in shape.”</p> +<p>“You seem to be very sure about what Palla Dumont +is likely to do,” said Estridge, smiling.</p> +<p>“Indeed, I’m not!” retorted Shotwell, with emphasis. +“Palla Dumont has a mind of her own,––although you +don’t seem to think so,–––”</p> +<p>“I think she has a <i>will</i> of her own,” interrupted the +other, amused.</p> +<p>“Glad you concede her <i>some</i> mental attribute.”</p> +<p>“I do indeed! I never intimated that she is weak-willed. +She isn’t. Other and stronger wills don’t +dominate hers. Perhaps it would be better if they did +sometimes....</p> +<p>“But no; Palla Dumont arrives headlong at her own +red-hot decisions. It is not the will of others that influences +her; it is their indecision, their lack of willpower, +their very weakness that seems to stimulate and +vitally influence such a character as Palla Dumont’s––”</p> +<p>“––Such a <i>character</i>?” repeated Shotwell. “What +sort of character do you suppose hers to be, anyway? +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_77' name='page_77'></a>77</span> +Between you and your psychological and pathological +surmises you don’t seem to leave her any character at +all.”</p> +<p>“I’m telling you,” said Estridge, “that the girl is +influenced not by the will or desire of others, but by +their necessities, their distress, their needs.... +Or what she believes to be their needs.... And +you may decide for yourself how valuable are the conclusions +of an impulsive, wilful, fearless, generous girl +whose heart regulates her thinking apparatus.”</p> +<p>“According to you, then, she is practically mindless,” +remarked Shotwell, ironically. “You medically minded +gentlemen are wonders!––all of you.”</p> +<p>“You don’t get me. The girl is clever and intelligent +when her accumulated emotions let her brain +alone. When they interfere, her logic goes to smash +and she does exaggerated things––like trying to sacrifice +herself for her friend in the convent there––like +tearing off the white garments of her novitiate and +denouncing deity!––like embracing an extravagant pantheistic +religion of her own manufacture and proclaiming +that the Law of Love is the only law!</p> +<p>“I’ve heard the young lady on the subject, Jim. +And, medically minded or not, I’m medically on to her.”</p> +<p>They walked on together in silence for nearly a +whole block; then Estridge said bluntly:</p> +<p>“She’d be better balanced if she were married and +had a few children. Such types usually are.”</p> +<p>Shotwell made no comment. Presently the other +spoke again:</p> +<p>“The Law of Love! What rot! That’s sheer hysteria. +Follow that law and you become a saint, perhaps, +perhaps a devil. Love sacred, love profane––both, +when exaggerated, arise from the same physical +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_78' name='page_78'></a>78</span> +condition––too much pep for the mind to distribute.</p> +<p>“What happens? Exaggerations. Extravagances. +Hallucinations. Mysticisms.</p> +<p>“What results? Nuns. Hermits. Yogis. Exhorters. +Fanatics. Cranks. <i>Sometimes.</i> For, from the +same chrysalis, Jim, may emerge either a vestal, or +one of those tragic characters who, swayed by this same +remarkable Law of Love, may give ... and burn +on––slowly––from the first lover to the next. And so, +into darkness.”</p> +<p>He added, smiling: “The only law of love subscribed +to by sane people is framed by a balanced brain and +interpreted by common sense. Those who obey any +other code go a-glimmering, saint and sinner, novice +and Magdalene alike.... This is your street, I +believe.”</p> +<p>They shook hands cordially.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>After dining <i>en famille</i>, Shotwell Junior considered +the various diversions offered to young business men +after a day of labour.</p> +<p>There were theatres; there was the Club de Vingt +and similar agreeable asylums; there was also a telephone +to ring, and unpremeditated suggestions to make +to friends, either masculine or feminine.</p> +<p>Or he could read and improve his mind. Or go to +Carnegie Hall with his father and mother and listen to +music of sorts.... Or––he could call up Elorn +Sharrow.</p> +<p>He couldn’t decide; and his parents presently derided +him and departed music-ward without him. He read +an evening paper, discarded it, poked the fire, stood +before it, jingled a few coins and keys in his pocket, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_79' name='page_79'></a>79</span> +still undecided, still rather disinclined to any exertion, +even as far as the club.</p> +<p>“I wonder,” he thought, “what that girl is doing +now. I’ve a mind to call her up.”</p> +<p>He seemed to know whom he meant by “that girl.” +Also, it was evident that he did not mean Elorn Sharrow; +for it was not her number he called and presently +got.</p> +<p>“Miss Dumont?”</p> +<p>“Yes? Who is it?”</p> +<p>“It’s a mere nobody. It’s only your broker–––”</p> +<p>“<i>What!!</i>”</p> +<p>“Your real-estate broker–––”</p> +<p>“Mr. Shotwell! How absurd of you!”</p> +<p>“Why absurd?”</p> +<p>“Because I don’t think of you merely as a real-estate +broker.”</p> +<p>“Then you <i>do</i> sometimes think of me?”</p> +<p>“What power of deduction! What logic! You seem +to be in a particularly frivolous frame of mind. Are +you?”</p> +<p>“No; I’m in a bad one.”</p> +<p>“Why?”</p> +<p>“Because I haven’t a bally thing to do this evening.”</p> +<p>“That’s silly!––with the entire town outside.... +I’m glad you called me up, anyway. I’m tired and +bored and exceedingly cross.”</p> +<p>“What are you doing, Miss Dumont?”</p> +<p>“Absolutely and idiotically nothing. I’m merely +sitting here on the only chair in this scantily furnished +house, and trying to plan what sort of carpets, draperies +and furniture to buy. Can you imagine the scene?”</p> +<p>“I thought you had some things.”</p> +<p>“I haven’t anything! Not even a decent mirror. I +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_80' name='page_80'></a>80</span> +stand on the slippery edge of a bath tub to get a complete +view of myself. And then it’s only by sections.”</p> +<p>“That’s tragic. Have you a cook?”</p> +<p>“I have. But no dining room table. I eat from a +tray on a packing case.”</p> +<p>“Have you a waitress?”</p> +<p>“Yes, and a maid. They’re comfortable. I bought +their furniture immediately and also the batterie-de-cuisine. +It’s only I who slink about like a perplexed +cat, from one empty room to another, in search of +familiar comforts.... But I bought a sofa +to-day.</p> +<p>“It’s a wonderful sofa. It’s here, now. It’s an +antique. But I can’t make up my mind how to upholster +it.”</p> +<p>“Would you care for a suggestion?”</p> +<p>“Please!”</p> +<p>“Well, I’d have to see it–––”</p> +<p>“I thought you’d say that. Really, Mr. Shotwell, +I’d like most awfully to see you, but this place is too +uncomfortable. I told you I’d ask you to tea some +day.”</p> +<p>“Won’t you let me come down for a few moments this +evening–––”</p> +<p>“No!”</p> +<p>“––And pay you a formal little call–––”</p> +<p>“No.... Would you really like to?”</p> +<p>“I would.”</p> +<p>“You wouldn’t after you got here. There’s nothing +for you to sit on.”</p> +<p>“What about the floor?”</p> +<p>“It’s dusty.”</p> +<p>“What about that antique sofa?”</p> +<p>“It’s not upholstered.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_81' name='page_81'></a>81</span></div> +<p>“What do I care! May I come?”</p> +<p>“Do you really wish to?”</p> +<p>“I do.”</p> +<p>“How soon?”</p> +<p>“As fast as I can get there.”</p> +<p>He heard her laughing. Then: “I’ll be perfectly +delighted to see you,” she said. “I was actually thinking +of taking to my bed out of sheer boredom. Are +you coming in a taxi?”</p> +<p>“Why?”</p> +<p>He heard her laughing again.</p> +<p>“Nothing,” she answered, “––only I thought that +might be the quickest way––” Her laughter interrupted +her, “––to bring me the evening papers. I haven’t a +thing to read.”</p> +<p>“<i>That’s</i> why you want me to take a taxi!”</p> +<p>“It is. News is a necessity to me, and I’m famishing.... +What other reason could there be for a taxi? +Did you suppose I was in a hurry to see you?”</p> +<p>He listened to her laughter for a moment:</p> +<p>“All right,” he said, “I’ll take a taxi and bring a +book for myself.”</p> +<p>“And please don’t forget my evening papers or I +shall have to requisition your book.... Or possibly +share it with you on the upholstered sofa.... +And I read very rapidly and don’t like being kept waiting +for slower people to turn the page.... Mr. +Shotwell?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“This is a wonderful floor. Could you bring some +roller skates?”</p> +<p>“No,” he said, “but I’ll bring a music box and we’ll +dance.”</p> +<p>“You’re not serious–––”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_82' name='page_82'></a>82</span></div> +<p>“I am. Wait and see.”</p> +<p>“Don’t do such a thing. My servants would think +me crazy. I’m mortally afraid of them, too.”</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>He found a toy-shop on Third Avenue still open, +and purchased a solemn little music-box that played +ting-a-ling tunes.</p> +<p>Then, in his taxi, he veered over to Fifth Avenue and +Forty-second Street, where he bought roses and a +spray of orchids. Then, adding to his purchases a +huge box of bon-bons, he set his course for the three +story and basement house which he had sold to Palla +Dumont.</p> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_83' name='page_83'></a>83</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_VII' id='CHAPTER_VII'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER VII</h2> +</div> +<p>Shotwell Senior and his wife were dining +out that evening.</p> +<p>Shotwell Junior had no plans––or admitted +none, even to himself. He got into a bath and later into +a dinner jacket, in an absent-minded way, and finally +sauntered into the library wearing a vague scowl.</p> +<p>The weather had turned colder, and there was an +open fire there, and a convenient armchair and the +evening papers.</p> +<p>Perhaps the young gentleman had read them down +town, for he shoved them aside. Then he dropped an +elbow on the table, rested his chin against his knuckles, +and gazed fiercely at the inoffensive <i>Evening Post</i>.</p> +<p>Before any open fire any young man ought to be +able to make up whatever mind he chances to possess. +Yet, what to do with a winter evening all his own +seemed to him a problem unfathomable.</p> +<p>Perhaps his difficulty lay only in selection––there are +so many agreeable things for a young man to do in +Gotham Town on a winter’s evening.</p> +<p>But, oddly enough, young Shotwell was trying to +persuade himself that he had no choice of occupation +for the evening; that he really didn’t care. Yet, always +two intrusive alternatives continually presented themselves. +The one was to change his coat for a spike-tail, +his black tie for a white one, and go to the Metropolitan +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_84' name='page_84'></a>84</span> +Opera. The other and more attractive alternative was +<i>not</i> to go.</p> +<p>Elorn Sharrow would be at the opera. To appear, +now and then, in the Sharrow family’s box was expected +of him. He hadn’t done it recently.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>He dropped one lean leg over the other and gazed +gravely at the fire. He was still trying to convince +himself that he had no particular plan for the evening––that +it was quite likely he might go to the opera +or to the club––or, in fact, almost anywhere his fancy +suggested.</p> +<p>In his effort to believe himself the scowl came back, +denting his eyebrows. Presently he forced a yawn, +unsuccessfully.</p> +<p>Yes, he thought he’d better go to the opera, after +all. He ought to go.... It seemed to be rather +expected of him.</p> +<p>Besides, he had nothing else to do––that is, nothing +in particular––unless, of course–––</p> +<p>But <i>that</i> would scarcely do. He’d been <i>there</i> so +often recently.... No, <i>that</i> wouldn’t do.... +Besides it was becoming almost a habit with him. +He’d been drifting there so frequently of late!... +In fact, he’d scarcely been anywhere at all, recently, +except––except where he certainly was not going that +evening. And that settled it!... So he might as +well go to the opera.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>His mother, in scarf and evening wrap, passing the +library door on her way down, paused in the hall and +looked intently at her only son.</p> +<p>Recently she had been observing him rather closely +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_85' name='page_85'></a>85</span> +and with a vague uneasiness born of that inexplicable +sixth sense inherent in mothers.</p> +<p>Perhaps what her son had faced in France accounted +for the change in him;––for it was being said that +no man could come back from such scenes unchanged;––none +could ever again be the same. And it was +being said, too, that old beliefs and ideals had altered; +that everything familiar was ending;––and that the +former things had already passed away under the +glimmering dawn of a new heaven and a new earth.</p> +<p>Perhaps all this was so––though she doubted it. +Perhaps this son she had borne in agony might become +to her somebody less familiar than the baby she had +nursed at her own breast.</p> +<p>But so far, to her, he continued to remain the same +familiar baby she had always known––the same and +utterly vital part of her soul and body. No sudden +fulfilment of an apocalypse had yet wrought any occult +metamorphosis in this boy of hers.</p> +<p>And if he now seemed changed it was from that simple +and familiar cause instinctively understood by mothers,––trouble!––the +most ancient plague of all and the +only malady which none escapes.</p> +<p>She was a rather startlingly pretty woman, with the +delicate features and colour and the snow-white hair +of an 18th century belle. She stood, now, drawing on +her gloves and watching her son out of dark-fringed +deep blue eyes, until he glanced around uneasily. Then +he rose at once, looking at her with fire-dazzled eyes.</p> +<p>“Don’t rise, dear,” she said; “the car is here and +your father is fussing and fuming in the drawing-room, +and I’ve got to run.... Have you any plans +for the evening?”</p> +<p>“None, mother.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_86' name='page_86'></a>86</span></div> +<p>“You’re dining at home?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“Why don’t you go to the opera to-night? It’s the +Sharrows’ night.”</p> +<p>He came toward her irresolutely. “Perhaps I shall,” +he said. And instantly she knew he did not intend +to go.</p> +<p>“I had tea at the Sharrows’,” she said, carelessly, +still buttoning her gloves. “Elorn told me that she +hadn’t laid eyes on you for ages.”</p> +<p>“It’s happened so.... I’ve had a lot of things +to do–––”</p> +<p>“You and she still agree, don’t you, Jim?”</p> +<p>“Why, yes––as usual. We always get on together.”</p> +<p>Helen Shotwell’s ermine wrap slipped; he caught it +and fastened it for her, and she took hold of both his +hands and drew his arms tightly around her pretty +shoulders.</p> +<p>“What troubles you, darling?” she asked smilingly.</p> +<p>“Why, nothing, mother–––”</p> +<p>“Tell me!”</p> +<p>“Really, there is nothing, dear–––”</p> +<p>“Tell me when you are ready, then,” she laughed and +released him.</p> +<p>“But there isn’t anything,” he insisted.</p> +<p>“Yes, Jim, there is. Do you suppose I don’t know +you after all these years?”</p> +<p>She considered him with clear, amused eyes: “Don’t +forget,” she added, “that I was only seventeen when +you arrived, my son; and I have grown up with you +ever since–––”</p> +<p>“For heaven’s sake, Helen!––” protested Sharrow +Senior plaintively from the front hall below. “Can’t +you gossip with Jim some other time?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_87' name='page_87'></a>87</span></div> +<p>“I’m on my way, James,” she announced calmly. +“Put your overcoat on.” And, to her son: “Go to the +opera. Elorn will cheer you up. Isn’t that a good +idea?”</p> +<p>“That’s––certainly––an idea.... I’ll think +it over.... And, mother, if I seem solemn at +times, please try to remember how rotten every fellow +feels about being out of the service–––”</p> +<p>Her gay, derisive laughter checked him, warning him +that he was not imposing on her credulity. She said +smilingly:</p> +<p>“You have neglected Elorn Sharrow, and you know +it, and it’s on your conscience––whatever else may be +on it, too. And that’s partly why you feel blue. So +keep out of mischief, darling, and stop neglecting +Elorn––that is, if you ever really expect to marry +her–––”</p> +<p>“I’ve told you that I have never asked her; and I +never intend to ask her until I am making a decent +living,” he said impatiently.</p> +<p>“Isn’t there an understanding between you?”</p> +<p>“Why––I don’t think so. There couldn’t be. We’ve +never spoken of that sort of thing in our lives!”</p> +<p>“I think she expects you to ask her some day. +Everybody else does, anyway.”</p> +<p>“Well, that is the one thing I <i>won’t</i> do,” he said, +“––go about with the seat out of my pants and ask +an heiress to sew on the patch for me–––”</p> +<p>“Darling! You <i>can</i> be so common when you try!”</p> +<p>“Well, it amounts to that––doesn’t it, mother? I +don’t care what busy gossips say or idle people expect +me to do! There’s no engagement, no understanding +between Elorn and me. And I don’t care a hang what +anybody–––”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_88' name='page_88'></a>88</span></div> +<p>His mother framed his slightly flushed face between +her gloved hands and inspected him humorously.</p> +<p>“Very well, dear,” she said; “but you need not be +so emphatically excited about it–––”</p> +<p>“I’m not excited––but it irritates me to be expected +to do anything because it’s expected of me––” +He shrugged his shoulders:</p> +<p>“After all,” he added, “if I ever should fall in love +with anybody it’s my own business. And whatever I +choose to do about it will be my own affair. And I +shall keep my own counsel in any event.”</p> +<p>His mother stepped forward, letting both her hands +fall into his.</p> +<p>“Wouldn’t you tell me about it, Jim?”</p> +<p>“I’d tell you before I’d tell anybody else––if it ever +became serious.”</p> +<p>“If <i>what</i> became serious?”</p> +<p>“Well––anything of that sort,” he replied. But a +bright colour stained his features and made him wince +under her intent scrutiny.</p> +<p>She was worried, now, though her pretty, humorous +smile still challenged him with its raillery.</p> +<p>But it was becoming very evident to her that if this +boy of hers were growing sentimental over any woman +the woman was not Elorn Sharrow.</p> +<p>So far she had held her son’s confidence. She must +do nothing to disturb it. Yet, as she looked at him +with the amused smile still edging her lips, she began +for the first time in her life to be afraid.</p> +<p>They kissed each other in silence.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>In the limousine, seated beside her husband, she said +presently: “I wish Jim would marry Elorn Sharrow.”</p> +<p>“He’s likely to some day, isn’t he?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_89' name='page_89'></a>89</span></div> +<p>“I don’t think so.”</p> +<p>“Well, there’s no hurry,” remarked her husband. +“He ought not to marry anybody until he’s thirty, and +he’s only twenty-four. I’m glad enough to have him +remain at home with us.”</p> +<p>“But that’s what worries me; he <i>doesn’t</i>!”</p> +<p>“Doesn’t what?”</p> +<p>“Doesn’t remain at home.”</p> +<p>Her husband laughed: “Well, I meant it merely in +a figurative sense. Of course Jim goes out–––”</p> +<p>“Where?”</p> +<p>“Why, everywhere, I suppose,” said her husband, a +little surprised at her tone.</p> +<p>She said calmly: “I hear things––pick up bits of +gossip––as all women do.... And at a tea the +other day a man asked me why Jim never goes to his +clubs any more. So you see he doesn’t go to any of +his clubs when he goes ‘out’ in the evenings.... +And he’s been to no dances––judging from what is +said to me.... And he doesn’t go to see Elorn +Sharrow any more. She told me that herself. So––where +does he go?”</p> +<p>“Well, but–––”</p> +<p>“Where <i>does</i> he go––every evening?”</p> +<p>“I’m sure I couldn’t answer–––”</p> +<p>“Every evening!” she repeated absently.</p> +<p>“Good heavens, Helen–––”</p> +<p>“And what is on that boy’s mind? There’s something +on it.”</p> +<p>“His business, let us hope–––”</p> +<p>She shook her head: “I know my son,” she remarked.</p> +<p>“So do I. What is particularly troubling you, dear? +There’s something you haven’t told me.”</p> +<p>“I’m merely wondering who that girl was who lunched +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_90' name='page_90'></a>90</span> +with him at Delmonico’s––<i>three times</i>––last week,” +mused his wife.</p> +<p>“Why––she’s probably all right, Helen. A man +doesn’t take the other sort there.”</p> +<p>“So I’ve heard,” she said drily.</p> +<p>“Well, then?”</p> +<p>“Nothing.... She’s very pretty, I understand.... +And wears mourning.”</p> +<p>“What of it?” he asked, amused. She smiled at him, +but there was a trace of annoyance in her voice.</p> +<p>“Don’t you think it very natural that I should wonder +who any girl is who lunches with my son three times +in one week?... And is remarkably pretty, besides?”</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>The girl in question looked remarkably pretty at that +very moment, where she sat at her desk, the telephone +transmitter tilted toward her, the receiver at her ear, +and her dark eyes full of gayest malice.</p> +<p>“Miss Dumont, please?” came a distant and familiar +voice over the wire. The girl laughed aloud; and he +heard her.</p> +<p>“You <i>said</i> you were not going to call me up.”</p> +<p>“Is it <i>you</i>, Palla?”</p> +<p>“How subtle of you!”</p> +<p>He said anxiously. “Are you doing anything this +evening––by any unhappy chance–––”</p> +<p>“I am.”</p> +<p>“Oh, hang it! What <i>are</i> you doing?”</p> +<p>“How impertinent!”</p> +<p>“You know I don’t mean it that way–––”</p> +<p>“I’m not sure. However, I’ll be kind enough to tell +you what I’m doing. I’m sitting here at my desk, +listening to an irritable young man–––”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_91' name='page_91'></a>91</span></div> +<p>“That’s wonderful luck!” he exclaimed joyously.</p> +<p>“Wonderful luck for a girl to sit at a desk and listen +to an irritable young man?”</p> +<p>“If you’ll stop talking bally nonsense for a moment–––”</p> +<p>“If you bully me, I shall stop talking altogether!”</p> +<p>“For heaven’s sake–––”</p> +<p>“I hear you, kind sir; you need not shout!”</p> +<p>He said humbly: “Palla, would you let me drop +in–––”</p> +<p>“Drop into what? Into poetry? Please do!”</p> +<p>“For the love of–––”</p> +<p>“Jim! You told me last evening that you expected +to be at the opera to-night.”</p> +<p>“I’m not going.”</p> +<p>“––So I didn’t expect you to call me!”</p> +<p>“Can’t I see you?” he asked.</p> +<p>“I’m sorry–––”</p> +<p>“The deuce!”</p> +<p>“I’m expecting some people, Jim. It’s your own fault; +I didn’t expect a tête-à-tête with you this evening.”</p> +<p>“Is it a party you’re giving?”</p> +<p>“Two or three people. But my place is full of +flowers and as pretty as a garden. Too bad you can’t +see it.”</p> +<p>“Couldn’t I come to your garden-party?” he asked +humbly.</p> +<p>“You mean just to see my garden for a moment?”</p> +<p>“Yes; let me come around for a moment, anyway––if +you’re dressed. Are you?”</p> +<p>“Certainly I’m dressed. Did you think it was to be +a garden-of-Eden party?”</p> +<p>Her gay, mischievous laughter came distinctly to +him over the wire. Then her mood changed abruptly:</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_92' name='page_92'></a>92</span></div> +<p>“You funny boy,” she said, “don’t you understand +that I want you to come?”</p> +<p>“You enchanting girl!” he exclaimed. “Do you +really mean it?”</p> +<p>“Of course! And if you come at once we’ll have +nearly an hour together before anybody arrives.”</p> +<p>She had that sweet, unguarded way with her at +moments, and it always sent a faint shock of surprise +and delight through him.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Her smiling maid admitted him and took his hat, +coat and stick as though accustomed to these particular +articles.</p> +<p>Palla was alone in the living-room when he was announced, +and as soon as the maid disappeared she gave +him both hands in swift welcome––an impulsive, unconsidered +greeting entirely new to them both.</p> +<p>“You didn’t mind my tormenting you. Did you, +Jim? I was so happy that you did call me up, after +all. Because you know you <i>did</i> tell me yesterday +that you were going to the opera to-night. But all the +same, when the ’phone rang, somehow I knew it was +you––I knew it––somehow–––”</p> +<p>She loosened one hand from his and swung him with +the other toward the piano: “Do you like my flower +garden? Isn’t the room attractive?”</p> +<p>“Charming,” he said. “And you are distractingly +pretty to-night!”</p> +<p>“In this dull, black gown? But, <i>merci</i>, anyway! +See how effective your roses are!––the ones you sent +yesterday and the day before! They’re all opening. +And I went out and bought a lot more, and all that +fluffy green camouflage–––”</p> +<p>She withdrew her other hand from his without embarrassment +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_93' name='page_93'></a>93</span> +and went over to rearrange a sheaf of +deep red carnations, spreading the clustered stems to +wider circumference.</p> +<p>“What is this party you’re giving, anyway?” he +asked, following her across the room and leaning beside +her on the piano, where she still remained very busily +engaged with her decorations.</p> +<p>“An impromptu party,” she exclaimed. “I was shopping +this morning––in fact I was buying pots and +pans for the cook––when somebody spoke to me. And +I recognised a university student whom I had known +in Petrograd after the first revolution––Marya Lanois, +her name is–––”</p> +<p>She moved aside and began to fuss with a huge bowl +of crimson roses, loosening the blossoms, freeing the +foliage, and talking happily all the while:</p> +<p>“Marya Lanois,” she repeated, “––an interesting +girl. And with her was a man I had met––a pianist––Vanya +Tchernov. They told me that another friend +of mine––a girl named Ilse Westgard––is now living +in New York. They couldn’t dine with me, but they’re +coming to supper. So I also called up Ilse Westgard, +she’s coming, too;––and I also asked your friend, Mr. +Estridge. So you see, Monsieur, we shall have a little +music and much valuable conversation, and then I shall +give them some supper–––”</p> +<p>She stepped back from the piano, surveyed her handiwork +critically, then looked around at him for his +opinion.</p> +<p>“Fine,” he said. “How jolly your new house is”––glancing +about the room at the few well chosen pieces +of antique furniture, the harmonious hangings and comfortably +upholstered modern pieces.</p> +<p>“It really is beginning to be livable; isn’t it, Jim?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_94' name='page_94'></a>94</span> +she ventured. “Of course there are many things yet +to buy–––”</p> +<p>They leisurely made the tour of the white-panelled +room, looking with approval at the delicate Georgian +furniture; the mezzotints; the damask curtains of that +beautiful red which has rose-tints in it, too; the charming +old French clock and its lovely gilded garniture; +the deep-toned ash-grey carpet under foot.</p> +<p>Before the mantel, with its wood fire blazing, they +paused.</p> +<p>“It’s so enchantingly homelike,” she exclaimed. “I +already love it all. When I come in from shopping I +just stand here with my hat and furs on, and gaze +about and adore everything!”</p> +<p>“Do you adore me, too?” he asked, laughing at her +warmth. “You see I’m becoming one of your fixtures +here, also.”</p> +<p>In her brown eyes the familiar irresponsible gaiety +began to glimmer:</p> +<p>“I do adore you,” she said, “but I’ve no business to.”</p> +<p>“Why not?”</p> +<p>She seated herself on the sofa and cast a veiled +glance at him, enchantingly malicious.</p> +<p>“Do you think you know me well enough to adore +me?” she inquired with misleading gravity.</p> +<p>“Indeed I do–––”</p> +<p>“Am I as easy to know as that? Jim, you humiliate +me.”</p> +<p>“I didn’t say that you are easy to know–––”</p> +<p>“You meant it!” she insisted reproachfully. “You +think so, too––just because I let myself be picked up––by +a perfectly strange man–––”</p> +<p>“Good heavens, Palla––” he began nervously; but +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_95' name='page_95'></a>95</span> +caught the glimmer in her lowered eyes––saw her child’s +mouth tremulous with mirth controlled.</p> +<p>“Oh, Jim!” she said, still laughing, “do you think +I care how we met? How absurd of you to let me +torment you. You’re altogether too boyish, too self-conscious. +You’re loaded down with all the silly traditions +which I’ve thrown away. I don’t care how we +met. I’m glad we know each other.”</p> +<p>She opened a silver box on a little table at her +elbow, chose a cigarette, lighted it, and offered it to +him.</p> +<p>“I rather like the taste of them now,” she remarked, +making room for him on the sofa beside her.</p> +<p>When he was seated, she reached up to a jar of +flowers on the piano, selected a white carnation, broke +it short, and then drew the stem through his lapel, +patting the blossom daintily into a pom-pon.</p> +<p>“Now,” she said gaily, “if you’ll let me, I’ll straighten +your tie. Shall I?”</p> +<p>He turned toward her; she accomplished that deftly, +then glanced across at the clock.</p> +<p>“We’ve only half an hour longer to ourselves,” she +exclaimed, with that unconscious candour which always +thrilled him. Then, turning to him, she said laughingly: +“Does it really matter how two people meet +when time races with us like that?”</p> +<p>“And do you realise,” he said in a low, tense voice, +“that since I met you every racing minute has been +sweeping me headlong toward you?”</p> +<p>She was so totally unprepared for the deeper emotion +in his voice and bearing––so utterly surprised––that +she merely gazed at him.</p> +<p>“Haven’t you been aware of it, Palla?” he said, looking +her in the eyes.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_96' name='page_96'></a>96</span></div> +<p>“Jim!” she protested, “you are disconcerting! You +never before have taken such a tone toward me.”</p> +<p>She rose, walked over to the clock, examined it +minutely for a few moments. Then she turned, cast a +swift, perplexed glance at him, and came slowly back +to resume her place on the sofa.</p> +<p>“Men should be very, very careful what they say +to me.” As she lifted her eyes he saw them beginning +to glimmer again with that irresponsible humour he +knew so well.</p> +<p>“Be careful,” she said, her brown gaze gay with +warning; “––I’m godless and quite lawless, and I’m +a very dangerous companion for any well-behaved and +orthodox young man who ventures to tell me that +I’m adorable. Why, you might as safely venture to +adore Diana of the Ephesians! And you know what she +did to her admirers.”</p> +<p>“She was really Aphrodite, wasn’t she?” he said, +laughing.</p> +<p>“Aphrodite, Venus, Isis, Lada––and the Ephesian +Diana––I’m afraid they all were hussies. But I’m +a hussy, too, Jim! If you doubt it, ask any well +brought up girl you know and tell her how we met and +how we’ve behaved ever since, and what obnoxious +ideas I entertain toward all things conventional and +orthodox!”</p> +<p>“Palla, are you really serious?––I’m never entirely +sure what is under your badinage.”</p> +<p>“Why, of course I am serious. I don’t believe in +any of the things that you believe in. I’ve often told +you so, though you don’t believe me–––”</p> +<p>“Nonsense!”</p> +<p>“I don’t, I tell you. I did once. But I’m awake. +No ‘threats of hell or hopes of any sugary paradise’ +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_97' name='page_97'></a>97</span> +influence me. Nor does custom and convention. Nor +do the laws and teachings of our present civilisation +matter one straw to me. I’d break every law if it +suited me.”</p> +<p>He laughed and lifted her hand from her lap: “You +funny child,” he said, “you wouldn’t steal, for example––would +you?”</p> +<p>“I don’t desire to.”</p> +<p>“Would you commit perjury?”</p> +<p>“No!”</p> +<p>“Murder?”</p> +<p>“I have a law of my own, kind sir. It doesn’t +happen to permit murder, arson, forgery, piracy, +smuggling–––”</p> +<p>Their irresponsible laughter interrupted her.</p> +<p>“What else wouldn’t you do?” he managed to ask.</p> +<p>“I wouldn’t do anything mean, deceitful, dishonest, +cruel. But it’s not your antiquated laws––it’s my own +and original law that governs my conduct.”</p> +<p>“You always conform to it?”</p> +<p>“I do. But you don’t conform to yours. So I’ll +try to help you remember the petty but always sacred +conventions of our own accepted code–––”</p> +<p>And, with unfeigned malice, she began to disengage +her hand from his––loosened the slim fingers one by +one, all the while watching him sideways with prim +lips pursed and lifted eyebrows.</p> +<p>“Try always to remember,” she said, “that, according +to your code, any demonstration of affection toward +a comparative stranger is exceedingly bad form.”</p> +<p>However, he picked up her hand again, which she +had carelessly left lying on the sofa near his, and again +she freed it, leisurely.</p> +<p>They conversed animatedly, as always, discussing +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_98' name='page_98'></a>98</span> +matters of common interest, yet faintly in her ears +sounded the unfamiliar echo of passion.</p> +<p>It haunted her mind, too––an indefinable undertone +delicately persistent––until at last she sat mute, absent-minded, +while he continued speaking.</p> +<p>Her stillness––her remote gaze, perhaps––presently +silenced him. And after a little while she turned her +charming head and looked at him with that unintentional +provocation born of virginal curiosity.</p> +<p>What had moved him so unexpectedly to deeper +emotion? Had she? Had she, then, that power? And +without effort?––For she had been conscious of none.... +But––if she tried.... Had she the +power to move him again?</p> +<p>Naïve instinct––the emotionless curiosity of total inexperience––everything +embryonic and innocently ruthless +in her was now in the ascendant.</p> +<p>She lifted her eyes and considered him with the +speculative candour of a child. She wished to hear once +more that unfamiliar <i>something</i> in his voice––see it in +his features–––</p> +<p>And she did not know how to evoke it.</p> +<p>“Of what are you thinking, Palla?”</p> +<p>“Of you,” she answered candidly, without other intention +than the truth. And saw, instantly, the indefinable +<i>something</i> born again into his eyes.</p> +<p>Calm curiosity, faintly amused, possessed her––left +him possessed of her hand presently.</p> +<p>“Are you attempting to be sentimental?” she asked.</p> +<p>Very leisurely she began once more to disengage her +hand––loosening the fingers one by one––and watching +him all the while with a slight smile edging her lips. +Then, as his clasp tightened:</p> +<p>“Please,” she said, “may I not have my freedom?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_99' name='page_99'></a>99</span></div> +<p>“Do you want it?”</p> +<p>“You never did this before––touched me––unnecessarily.”</p> +<p>As he made no answer, she fell silent, her dark eyes +vaguely interrogative as though questioning herself as +well as him concerning this unaccustomed contact.</p> +<p>His head had been bent a little. Now he lifted it. +Neither was smiling.</p> +<p>Suddenly she rose to her feet and stood with her +head partly averted. He rose, too. Neither spoke. +But after a moment she turned and looked straight at +him, the virginal curiosity clear in her eyes. And he +took her into his arms.</p> +<p>Her arms had fallen to her side. She endured his lips +gravely, then turned her head and looked at the roses +beside her.</p> +<p>“I was afraid,” she said, “that we would do this. +Now let me go, Jim.”</p> +<p>He released her in silence. She walked slowly to the +mantel and set one slim foot on the fender.</p> +<p>Without looking around at him she said: “Does this +spoil me for you, Jim?”</p> +<p>“You darling–––”</p> +<p>“Tell me frankly. Does it?”</p> +<p>“What on earth do you mean, Palla! Does it spoil +<i>me</i> for you?”</p> +<p>“I’ve been thinking.... No, it doesn’t. But +I wondered about you.”</p> +<p>He came over to where she stood.</p> +<p>“Dear,” he said unsteadily, “don’t you know I’m +very desperately in love with you?”</p> +<p>At that she turned her enchanting little head toward +him.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_100' name='page_100'></a>100</span></div> +<p>“If you are,” she said, “there need be nothing desperate +about it.”</p> +<p>“Do you mean you care enough to marry me, you +darling?” he asked impetuously. “Will you, Palla?”</p> +<p>“Why, no,” she said candidly. “I didn’t mean that. +I meant that I care for you quite as much as you care +for me. So you need not be desperate. But I really +don’t think we are in love––I mean sufficiently––for +anything serious.”</p> +<p>“Why don’t you think so!” he demanded impatiently.</p> +<p>“Do you wish me to be quite frank?”</p> +<p>“Of course!”</p> +<p>“Very well.” She lifted her head and let her clear +eyes rest on his. “I like you,” she said. “I even like––what +we did. I like you far better than any man +I ever knew. But I do not care for you enough to give +up my freedom of mind and of conduct for your asking. +I do not care enough for you to subscribe to your +religion and your laws. And that’s the tragic truth.”</p> +<p>“But what on earth has all that to do with it? I +haven’t asked you to believe as I believe or to subscribe +to any law–––”</p> +<p>Her enchanting laughter filled the room: “Yes, you +have! You asked me to marry you, didn’t you?”</p> +<p>“Of course!”</p> +<p>“Well, I can’t, Jim, because I don’t believe in the +law of marriage, civil or religious. If I loved you +I’d live with you unmarried. But I’m afraid to try it. +And so are you. Which proves that I’m not really in +love with you, or you with me–––”</p> +<p>The door bell rang.</p> +<p>“But I do care for you,” she whispered, bending +swiftly toward him. Her lips rested lightly on his a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_101' name='page_101'></a>101</span> +moment, then she turned and walked out into the centre +of the room.</p> +<p>The maid announced: “Mr. Estridge!”</p> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_102' name='page_102'></a>102</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_VIII' id='CHAPTER_VIII'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER VIII</h2> +</div> +<p>Young Shotwell, still too incredulous to be either +hurt or angry, stood watching Palla welcoming +her guests, who arrived within a few minutes of +each other.</p> +<p>First came Estridge,––handsome, athletic, standing +over six feet, and already possessed of that winning and +reassuring manner which means success for a physician.</p> +<p>“It’s nice of you to ask me, Palla,” he said. “And +is Miss Westgard really coming to-night?”</p> +<p>“But here she is now!” exclaimed Palla, as the maid +announced her. “––Ilse! You astonishing girl! How +long have you been in New York?”</p> +<p>And Shotwell beheld the six-foot goddess for the +first time––gazed with pleasurable awe upon this young +super-creature with the sea-blue eyes and golden hair +and a skin of roses and cream.</p> +<p>“Fancy, Palla!” she said, “I came immediately back +from Stockholm, but you had sailed on the <i>Elsinore</i>, +and I was obliged to wait!––Oh!––” catching sight of +Estridge as he advanced––“I am so very happy to see +you again!”––giving him her big, exquisitely sculptured +hand. “Except for Mr. Brisson, we are quite +complete in our little company of death!” She laughed +her healthy, undisturbed defiance of that human enemy +as she named him, gazed rapturously at Palla, acknowledged +Shotwell’s presentation in her hearty, engaging +way, then turned laughingly to Estridge:</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_103' name='page_103'></a>103</span></div> +<p>“The world whirls like a wheel in a squirrel cage +which we all tread:––only to find ourselves together +after travelling many, many miles at top speed!... +Are you well, John Estridge?”</p> +<p>“Fairly,” he laughed, “but nobody except the immortals +could ever be as well as you, Ilse Westgard!”</p> +<p>She laughed in sheer exuberance of her own physical +vigour: “Only that old and toothless nemesis of +Loki can slay me, John Estridge!” And, to Palla: +“I had some slight trouble in Stockholm. Fancy!––a +little shrimp of a man approached me on the street one +evening when there chanced to be nobody near.</p> +<p>“And the first I knew he was mouthing and grinning +and saying to me in Russian: ‘I know you, hired +mercenary of the aristocrats!––I know you!––big white +battle horse that carried the bloody war-god!’</p> +<p>“I was too astonished, my dear; I merely gazed +upon this small and agitated toad, who continued to +run alongside and grimace and pull funny faces at +me. He appeared to be furious, and he said some +very vile things to me.</p> +<p>“I was disgusted and walked faster, and he had to +run. And all the while he was squealing at me: ‘I know +you! You keep out of America, do you hear? If +you sail on that steamer, we follow you and kill you! +You hear it what I say? We kill! Kill! Kill!–––’”</p> +<p>She threw up her superb head and laughed:</p> +<p>“Can you see him––this insect––Palla!––so small +and hairy, with crazy eyes like little sparks among the +furry whiskers!––and running, running at heel, underfoot, +one side and then the other, and squealing ‘Kill! +Kill? Kill’–––”</p> +<p>She had made them see the picture and they all +laughed.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_104' name='page_104'></a>104</span></div> +<p>“But all the same,” she added, turning to Estridge, +“from that evening I became conscious that people were +watching me.</p> +<p>“It was the same in Copenhagen and in Christiania––always +I felt that somebody was watching me.”</p> +<p>“Did you have any trouble?” asked Estridge.</p> +<p>“Well––there seemed to be so many unaccountable +delays, obstacles in securing proper papers, trouble +about luggage and steamer accommodations––petty +annoyances,” she added. “And also I am sure that +letters to me were opened, and others which I should +have received never arrived.”</p> +<p>“You believe it was due to the Reds?” asked Palla. +“Have they emissaries in Scandinavia?”</p> +<p>“My dear, their agents and spies swarm everywhere +over the world!” said Ilse calmly.</p> +<p>“Not here,” remarked Shotwell, smiling.</p> +<p>“Oh,” rejoined Ilse quickly, “I ask your pardon, +but America, also, is badly infested by these people. +As their Black Plague spreads out over the entire +world, so spread out the Bolsheviki to infect all with +the red sickness that slays whole nations!”</p> +<p>“We have a few local Reds,” he said, unconvinced, +“but I had scarcely supposed–––”</p> +<p>The bell rang: Miss Lanois and Mr. Tchernov were +announced, greeted warmly by Palla, and presented.</p> +<p>Both spoke the beautiful English of educated Russians; +Vanya Tchernov, a wonderfully handsome youth, +saluted Palla’s hand in Continental fashion, and met the +men with engaging formality.</p> +<p>Shotwell found himself seated beside Marya Lanois, +a lithe, warm, golden creature with greenish golden +eyes that slanted, and the strawberry complexion that +goes with reddish hair.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_105' name='page_105'></a>105</span></div> +<p>“You are happy,” she said, “with all your streets +full of bright flags and your victorious soldiers arriving +home by every troopship. Ah!––but Russia is the +most unhappy of all countries to-day, Mr. Shotwell.”</p> +<p>“It’s terribly sad,” he said sympathetically. “We +Americans don’t seem to know whether to send an +army to help you, or merely to stand aside and let +Russia find herself.”</p> +<p>“You should send troops!” she said. “Is it not +so, Ilse?”</p> +<p>“Sane people should unite,” replied the girl, her +beautiful face becoming serious. “It will arrive at +that the world over––the sane against the insane.”</p> +<p>“And it is only the bourgeoisie that is sane,” said +Vanya Tchernov, in his beautifully modulated voice. +“The extremes are both abnormal––aristocrats and +Bolsheviki alike.”</p> +<p>“We social revolutionists,” said Marya Lanois, +“were called extremists yesterday and are called reactionists +to-day. But we are the world’s balance. +This war was fought for our ideals; your American +soldiers marched for them: the hun failed because of +them.”</p> +<p>“And there remains only one more war,” said Ilse +Westgard,––“the war against those outlaws we call +Capital and Labour––two names for two robbers that +have disturbed the world’s peace long enough!”</p> +<p>“Two tyrants,” said Marya, “who trample us to +war upon each other––who outrage us, crush us, cripple +us with their ferocious feuds. What are the Bolsheviki? +‘Those who want more.’ Then the name belongs +as well to the capitalists. They, also, are Bolsheviki––‘men +who always want more!’ And these are the +two quarrelling Bolsheviki giants who trample +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_106' name='page_106'></a>106</span> +us––Lord Labour, Lord Capital––the devil of envy against +the devil of greed!––war to the death! And, to the +survivor, the bones!”</p> +<p>Shotwell, a little astonished to hear from the red +lips of this warm young creature the bitter cynicisms +of the proletariat, asked her to define more clearly where +the Bolsheviki stood, and for what they stood.</p> +<p>“Why,” she said, lying back on the sofa and adjusting +her lithe body to a more luxurious position among +the pillows, “it amounts to this, Mr. Shotwell, that a +new doctrine is promulgated in the world––the cult +of the under-dog.</p> +<p>“And in all dog-fights, if the under-dog ever gets +on top, then he, also, will try to kill the ci-devant who +has now become the under-dog.” And she laughed at +him out of her green eyes that slanted so enchantingly.</p> +<p>“You mean that there always will be an under-dog +in the battle between capital and labour?”</p> +<p>“Surely. Their snarling, biting, and endless battle +is a nuisance.” She smiled again: “We should knock +them both on the head.”</p> +<p>“You know,” explained Ilse, “that when we speak +of the two outlaws as Capital and Labour, we don’t +mean legitimate capital and genuine labour.”</p> +<p>“They never fight,” added Tchernov, smiling, “because +they are one and the same.”</p> +<p>“Of course,” remarked Marya, “even the united +suffer occasionally from internal pains.”</p> +<p>“The remedy,” added Vanya, “is to consult a physician. +That is––arbitration.”</p> +<p>Ilse said: “Force is good! But one uses it legitimately +only against rabid things.” She turned affectionately +to Palla and took her hands: “Your wonderful +Law of Love solves all phenomena except insanity. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_107' name='page_107'></a>107</span> +With rabies it can not deal. Only force remains to +solve that problem.”</p> +<p>“And yet,” said Palla, “so much insanity can be +controlled by kind treatment.”</p> +<p>Estridge agreed, but remarked that strait-jackets +and padded cells would always be necessary in the world.</p> +<p>“As for the Bolsheviki,” said Marya, turning her +warm young face to Shotwell with a lissome movement +of the shoulders, almost caressing, “in the beginning +we social revolutionists agreed with them and believed +in them. Why not? Kerensky was an incapable +dreamer––so sensitive that if you spoke rudely to +him he shrank away wounded to the soul.</p> +<p>“That is not a leader! And the Cadets were plotting, +and the Cossacks loomed like a tempest on the horizon. +And then came Korniloff! And the end.”</p> +<p>“The peace of Brest,” explained Vanya, in his gentle +voice, “awoke us to what the Red Soviets stood for. +We saw Christ crucified again. And understood.”</p> +<p>Marya sat up straight on the sofa, running her +dazzling white fingers over her hair––hair that seemed +tiger-red, and very vaguely scented.</p> +<p>“For thirty pieces of silver,” she said, “Judas sold +the world. What Lenine and Trotsky sold was paid +for in yellow metal, and there were more pieces.”</p> +<p>Ilse said: “Babushka is dying of it. That is enough +for me.”</p> +<p>Vanya replied: “Where the source is infected, drinkers +die at the river’s mouth. Little Marie Spiridonova +perished. Countess Panina succumbed. Alexandria +Kolontar will die from its poison. And, as these died, +so shall Ivan and Vera die also, unless that polluted +source be cleansed.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_108' name='page_108'></a>108</span></div> +<p>Marya rested her tawny young head on the cushions +again and smiled at Shotwell:</p> +<p>“It’s confusing even to Russians,” she said, “––like +a crazy Bakst spectacle at the Marinsky. I wonder +what you must think of us.”</p> +<p>But on her expressive mouth the word “us” might +almost have meant “me,” and he paid her the easy compliment +which came naturally to him, while she looked +at him out of lazy and very lovely eyes as green as +beryls.</p> +<p>“<i>Tiche</i>,” she murmured, smiling, “<i>ce n’est pas moi +l’état, monsieur</i>.” And laughed while her indolent +glance slanted sideways on Vanya, and lingered there +as though in leisurely but amiable appraisal.</p> +<p>The girl was evidently very young, but there seemed +to be an indefinable something about her that hinted +of experience beyond her years.</p> +<p>Palla had been looking at her––from Shotwell to +her––and Marya’s sixth sense was already aware of it +and asking why.</p> +<p>For between two females of the human species the +constant occult interplay is like steady lighting. With +invisible antennæ they touch one another incessantly, +delicately exploring inside that grosser aura which is +all that the male perceives.</p> +<p>And finally Marya looked back at Palla.</p> +<p>“May Mr. Tchernov play for us?” asked Palla, smiling, +as though some vague authority in the matter +were vested in this young girl with the tiger-hair.</p> +<p>Her eyes closed indolently, and opened again as +though digesting the subtlety: then, disdainfully accepting +the assumption: “Oh, Vanya,” she called out +carelessly, “play a little for us.”</p> +<p>The handsome youth bowed in his absent, courteous +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_109' name='page_109'></a>109</span> +way. There was about him a simplicity entirely winning +as he seated himself at the piano.</p> +<p>But his playing revealed a maturity and nobility +of mind scarcely expected of such gentleness and youth.</p> +<p>Never had Palla heard Beethoven until that moment.</p> +<p>He did not drift. There was no caprice to offend +when he turned with courtly logic from one great +master to another.</p> +<p>Only when Estridge asked for something “typically +Russian” did the charming dignity of the sequence +break. Vanya laughed and looked at Marya Lanois:</p> +<p>“That means you must sing,” he said.</p> +<p>She sang, resting where she was among the silken +cushions;––the song, one of those epics of ancient +Moscow, lauded Ivan IV. and the taking of Kazan.</p> +<p>The music was bizarre; the girl’s voice bewitching; +and though the song was of the <i>Beliny</i>, it had been +made into brief couplets, and it ended very quickly.</p> +<p>Laughing at the applause, she sang a song of the +<i>Skomorokhi</i>; then a cradle song, infinitely tender and +strange, built upon the Chinese scale; and another––a +Cossack song––built, also, upon the pentatonic scale.</p> +<p>Discussions intruded then; the diversion ended the +music.</p> +<p>Palla presently rose, spoke to Vanya and Estridge, +and came over to where Jim Shotwell sat beside Marya.</p> +<p>Interrupted, they both looked up, and Jim rose as +Estridge also presented himself to Marya.</p> +<p>Palla said: “If you will take me out, Jim, we can +show everybody the way.” And to Marya: “Just a +little supper, you know––but the dining room is below.”</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Her pretty drawing-room was only partly furnished––an +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_110' name='page_110'></a>110</span> +expensive but genuine set of old Aubusson being +her limit for the time.</p> +<p>But beyond, in the rear, the little glass doors opened +on a charming dining-room, the old Georgian mahogany +of which was faded to a golden hue. Curtains, +too, were golden shot with palest mauve; and two +Imperial Chinese panels of ancient silk, miraculously +embroidered and set with rainbow Ho-ho birds, were +the only hangings on the walls. And they seemed to +illuminate the room like sunshine.</p> +<p>Shotwell, who knew nothing about such things but +envisaged them with reverence, seated Palla and presently +took his place beside her.</p> +<p>His neighbour on his left was Marya, again––an arrangement +which Palla might have altered had it +occurred to her upstairs.</p> +<p>Estridge, very animated, and apparently happy, recalled +to Palla their last dinner together, and their +dance.</p> +<p>Palla laughed: “You said I drank too much champagne, +John Estridge! Do you remember?”</p> +<p>“You bet I do. You had a cunning little bunn, +Palla–––”</p> +<p>“I did not! I merely asked you and Mr. Brisson +what it felt like to be intoxicated.”</p> +<p>“You did your best to be a sport,” he insisted, +“but you almost passed away over your first cigarette!”</p> +<p>“Darling!” cried Ilse, “don’t let them tease you!”</p> +<p>Palla, rather pink, laughingly denied any aspirations +toward sportdom; and she presently ventured a +glance at Shotwell, to see how he took all this.</p> +<p>But already Marya had engaged him in half smiling, +low-voiced conversation; and Palla looked at her golden-green +eyes and warm, rich colouring, cooled by a skin +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_111' name='page_111'></a>111</span> +of snow. Tiger-golden, the <i>rousse</i> ensemble; the +supple movement of limb and body fascinated her; +but most of all the lovely, slanting eyes with their +glint of beryl amid melting gold.</p> +<p>Estridge spoke to Marya; as the girl turned slightly, +Palla said to Shotwell:</p> +<p>“Do you find them interesting––my guests?”</p> +<p>He turned instantly to her, but it seemed to her as +though there were a slight haze in his eyes––a fixedness––which +cleared, however, as he spoke.</p> +<p>“They are delightful––all of them,” he said. “Your +blond goddess yonder is rather overpowering, but +beautiful to gaze upon.”</p> +<p>“And Vanya?”</p> +<p>“Charming; astonishing.”</p> +<p>“Lovable,” she said.</p> +<p>“He seems so.”</p> +<p>“And––Marya?”</p> +<p>“Rather bewildering,” he replied. “Fascinating, I +should say. Is she very learned?”</p> +<p>“I don’t know.”</p> +<p>“She’s been in the universities.”</p> +<p>“Yes.... I don’t know how learned she is.”</p> +<p>“She is very young,” he remarked.</p> +<p>It was on the tip of Palla’s tongue to say something; +and she remained silent––lest this man misinterpret her +motive––and, perhaps, lest her own conscience misinterpret +it, too.</p> +<p>Ilse said it to Estridge, however, frankly insouciant:</p> +<p>“You know Marya and Vanya are married––that is, +they live together.”</p> +<p>And Shotwell heard her.</p> +<p>“Is that true?” he said in a low voice to Palla.</p> +<p>“Why, yes.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_112' name='page_112'></a>112</span></div> +<p>He remained silent so long that she added: “The tie +is not looser than the old-fashioned one. More rigid, +perhaps, because they are on their honour.”</p> +<p>“And if they tire of each other?”</p> +<p>“You, also, have divorce,” said the girl, smiling.</p> +<p>“Do you?”</p> +<p>“It is beastly to live together where love does not +exist. People who believe as they do––as I do––merely +separate.”</p> +<p>“And contract another alliance if they wish?”</p> +<p>“Do not your divorcees remarry if they wish?”</p> +<p>“What becomes of the children?” he demanded +sullenly.</p> +<p>“What becomes of them when your courts divorce +their parents?”</p> +<p>“I see. It’s all a parody on lawful regularity.”</p> +<p>“I’m sorry you speak of it that way–––”</p> +<p>The girl’s face flushed and she extended her hand +toward her wine glass.</p> +<p>“I didn’t intend to hurt you, Palla,” he said.</p> +<p>She drew a quick breath, looked up, smiled: “You +didn’t mean to,” she said. Then into her brown eyes +came the delicious glimmer:</p> +<p>“May I whisper to you, Jim? Is it too rude?”</p> +<p>He inclined his head and felt the thrill of her breath:</p> +<p>“Shall we drink one glass together––to each other +alone?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“To a dear comradeship, and close!... And +not too desperate!” she added, as her glance flashed +into hidden laughter.</p> +<p>They drank, not daring to look toward each other. +And Palla’s careless gaze, slowly sweeping the circle, +finally met Marya’s––as she knew it must. Both smiled, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_113' name='page_113'></a>113</span> +touching each other at once with invisible antennæ––always +searching, exploring under the glimmering aura +what no male ever discovered or comprehended.</p> +<p>There was, in the living room above, a little more +music––a song or two before the guests departed.</p> +<p>Marya, a little apart, turned to Shotwell:</p> +<p>“You find our Russian folk-song amusing?”</p> +<p>“Wonderful!”</p> +<p>“If, by any chance, you should remember that I am +at home on Thursdays, there is a song I think that +might interest you.” She let her eyes rest on him +with a curious stillness in their depths:</p> +<p>“The song is called <i>Lada</i>,” she said in a voice so +low that he just heard her. The next moment she was +taking leave of Palla; kissed her. Vanya enveloped +her in her wrap.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Estridge called up a taxi; and presently went away +with Ilse.</p> +<p>Very slowly Palla came back to the centre of the +room, where Shotwell stood. The scent of flowers was +in his nostrils, his throat; the girl herself seemed saturated +with their perfume as he took her into his arms.</p> +<p>“So you didn’t like my friends, Jim,” she ventured.</p> +<p>“Yes, I did.”</p> +<p>“I was afraid they might have shocked you.”</p> +<p>He said drily: “It isn’t a case of being shocked. It’s +more like being bored.”</p> +<p>“Oh. My friends bore you?”</p> +<p>“Their morals do.... Is Ilse that sort, too?”</p> +<p>“That sort?”</p> +<p>“You know what I mean.”</p> +<p>“I suppose she is.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_114' name='page_114'></a>114</span></div> +<p>“Not inclined to bother herself with the formalities +of marriage?”</p> +<p>“I suppose not.”</p> +<p>“It’s a mischievous, ridiculous, immoral business!” he +said hotly. “Why, to look at you––at Ilse––at Miss +Lanois–––”</p> +<p>“We don’t look like very immoral people, do we?” +she said, laughingly.</p> +<p>The light raillery in her laughter angered him, and +he released her and began to pace the room nervously.</p> +<p>“See here, Palla,” he said roughly, “suppose I accept +you at your own valuation!”</p> +<p>“I value myself very highly, Jim.”</p> +<p>“So do I. That’s why I ask you to marry me.”</p> +<p>“And I tell you I don’t believe in marriage,” she +rejoined coolly.</p> +<p>“A magistrate can marry us–––”</p> +<p>“It makes no difference. A ceremony, civil or religious, +is entirely out of the question.”</p> +<p>“You mean,” he said, incensed, “that you refuse to +be married by any law at all?”</p> +<p>“My own law is sufficient.”</p> +<p>“Well––well, then,” he stammered; “––what––what +sort of procedure–––”</p> +<p>“None.”</p> +<p>“You’re crazy,” he said; “<i>you</i> wouldn’t do that!”</p> +<p>“If I were in love with you I’d not be afraid.”</p> +<p>Her calm candour infuriated him:</p> +<p>“Do you imagine that you and I could ever get away +with a situation like that!” he blazed out.</p> +<p>“Why do you become so irritable and excited, Jim? +We’re not going to try–––”</p> +<p>“Damnation! I should think not!” he retorted, so +violently that her mouth quivered. But she kept her +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_115' name='page_115'></a>115</span> +head averted until the swift emotion was under control.</p> +<p>Then she said in a low voice: “If you really think +me immoral, Jim, I can understand your manner toward +me. Otherwise–––”</p> +<p>“Palla, dear! Forgive me! I’m just worried +sick–––”</p> +<p>“You funny boy,” she said with her quick, frank +smile, “I didn’t mean to worry you. Listen! It’s all +quite simple. I care for you very much indeed. I +don’t mind your––caressing––me––sometimes. But I’m +not in love. I just care a lot for you.... But +not nearly enough to love you.”</p> +<p>“Palla, you’re hopeless!”</p> +<p>“Why? Because I am so respectful toward love? +Of course I am. A girl who believes as I do can’t +afford to make a mistake.”</p> +<p>“Exactly,” he said eagerly, “but under the law, if +a mistake is made every woman has her remedy–––”</p> +<p>“Her <i>remedy</i>! What do you mean? You can’t +pass one of those roses through the flame of that fire +and still have your rose, can you?”</p> +<p>He was silent.</p> +<p>“And that’s what happens under <i>your</i> laws, as well +as outside of them. No! I don’t love you. Under +your law I’d be afraid to marry you. Under mine +I’m deathly afraid.... Because––I know––that +where love is there can be no fear.”</p> +<p>“Is that your answer, Palla?”</p> +<p>“Yes, Jim.”</p> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_116' name='page_116'></a>116</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_IX' id='CHAPTER_IX'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER IX</h2> +</div> +<p>He had called her up the following morning from +the office, and had told her that he thought he +had better not see her for a while.</p> +<p>And she had answered with soft concern that he must +do what he thought best without considering her.</p> +<p>What other answer he expected is uncertain; but her +gentle acquiescence in his decision irritated him and he +ended the conversation in a tone of boyish resentment.</p> +<p>To occupy his mind there was, that day, not only +the usual office routine, but some extra business most +annoying to Sharrow. For Angelo Puma had turned +up again, as shiny and bland as ever, flashing his +superb smile over clerk and stenographer impartially.</p> +<p>So Sharrow shunted him to Mr. Brooke, that sort +of property being his specialty; and Brooke called in +Shotwell.</p> +<p>“Go up town with that preposterous wop and settle +this business one way or another, once for all,” he +whispered. “A crook named Skidder owns the property; +but we can’t do anything with him. The office +is heartily sick of both Skidder and Puma; and Sharrow +desires to be rid of them.”</p> +<p>Then, very cordially, he introduced Puma to young +Shotwell; and they took Puma’s handsome car and went +up town to see what could be done with the slippery +owner of the property in question, who was now permanently +located in New York.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_117' name='page_117'></a>117</span></div> +<p>On the way, Puma, smelling oppressively aromatic +and looking conspicuously glossy as to hair, hat, and +boots, also became effusively voluble. For he had +instantly recognised Shotwell as the young man with +whom that disturbingly pretty girl had been in consultation +in Sharrow’s offices; and his mind was now +occupied with a new possibility as well as with the +property which he so persistently desired to acquire.</p> +<p>“With me,” he said in his animated, exotic way, and +all creased with smiles, “my cinema business is not business +alone! No! It is Art! It is the art hunger that +ever urges me onward, not the desire for commercial +gain. For me, beauty is ever first; the box-office last! +You understand, Mr. Shotwell? With me, art is +supreme! Yes. And afterward my crust of bread.”</p> +<p>“Well, then,” said Jim, “I can’t see why you don’t +pay this man Skidder what he asks for the property.”</p> +<p>“I tell you why. I make it clear to you. For argument––Skidder +he has ever the air of one who does +not care to sell. It is an attitude! I know! But he +has that air. Well! I say to him, ‘Mr. Skidder, I +offer you––we say for argument, one dollar! Yes?’ +Well, he do not say yes or no. He do not say, ‘I take +a dollar and also one quarter. Or a dollar and a +half. Or two dollars.’ No. He squint and answer: +‘I am not anxious to sell!’ My God! What can one +say? What can one do?”</p> +<p>“Perhaps,” suggested Jim, “he really doesn’t want +to sell.”</p> +<p>“Ah! That is not so. No. He is sly, Mr. Skidder, +like there never has been in my experience a man more +sly. What is it he desires? I ask. I do not know. +But all the time he inquire about my business if it pays, +and is there much money in it. Also, I hear, by channels, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_118' name='page_118'></a>118</span> +that he makes everywhere inquiries if the film +business shall pay.”</p> +<p>“Maybe he wants to try it himself.”</p> +<p>“Also, that has occurred to me. But to him I say +nothing. No. He is too sly. Me, I am all art and +all heart. Me, I am frank like there never was a man +in my business! But Skidder, he squint at me. My +God, those eye! And I do not know what is in his +thought.”</p> +<p>“Well, Mr. Puma, what do you wish me to do? As +I understand it, you are our client, and if I buy for +you this Skidder property I shall look to you, of course, +for my commission. Is that what you understand?”</p> +<p>“My God! Why should he not pay that commission +if you are sufficiently obliging to buy from him his +property?”</p> +<p>“It isn’t done that way,” explained Jim drily.</p> +<p>“You suppose you can buy me this property? Yes?”</p> +<p>“I don’t know. Of course, I can buy anything for +you if you’ll pay enough.”</p> +<p>“My God! I do not enjoy commercial business. No. +I enjoy art. I enjoy qualities of the heart. I–––” +He looked at Jim out of his magnificent black eyes, +touched his full lips with a perfumed handkerchief.</p> +<p>“Yes, sir,” he said, flashing a brilliant smile, “I am +all heart. But my heart is for art alone! I dedicate +it to the film, to the moving picture, to beauty! It +is my constant preoccupation. It is my only thought. +Art, beauty, the picture, the world made happier, +better, for the beauty which I offer in my pictures. +It is my only thought. It is my life.”</p> +<p>Jim politely suppressed a yawn and said that a +life devoted purely to art was a laudable sacrifice.</p> +<p>“As example!” explained Puma, all animation and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_119' name='page_119'></a>119</span> +childlike frankness; “I pay my artists what they ask. +What is money when it is a question of art? I must +have quality; I must have beauty––” He shrugged: +“I must pay. Yes?”</p> +<p>“One usually pays for pulchritude.”</p> +<p>“Ah! As example! I watch always on the streets +as I pass by. I see a face. It has beauty. It has +quality. I follow. I speak. I am frank like there +never was a man. I say, ‘Mademoiselle, you shall not +be offended. No. Art has no frontiers. It is my +art, not I who address you. I am Angelo Puma. The +Ultra-Film Company is mine. In you I perceive possibilities. +This is my card. If it interests you to have +a test, come! Who knows? It may be your life’s +destiny. The projection room should tell. Adieu!’”</p> +<p>“Is that the way you pick stars?” asked Jim +curiously.</p> +<p>“Stars? Bah! I care nothing for stars. No. I +should go bankrupt. Why? Beauty alone is my star. +Upon it I drape the mantle of Art!”</p> +<p>He kissed his fat finger-tips and gazed triumphantly +at Jim.</p> +<p>“You see? Out of the crowd of passersby I pick +the perfect and unconscious rosebud. In my temple +it opens into perfect bloom. And Art is born! And +I am content. You comprehend?”</p> +<p>Jim said that he thought he did.</p> +<p>“As example,” exclaimed Puma vivaciously, “while +in conversation once with Mr. Sharrow, I beheld entering +your office a young lady in mourning. Hah! +Instantly I was all art!” Again he kissed his gloved +fingers. “A face for a picture! A form for the +screen! I perceive. I am convinced.... You +recall the event, perhaps, Mr. Shotwell?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_120' name='page_120'></a>120</span></div> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>“A young lady in mourning, seated beside your desk? +I believe she was buying from you a house.”</p> +<p>“Oh.”</p> +<p>“Her name––Miss Dumont––I believe.”</p> +<p>Jim glanced at him. “Miss Dumont is not likely to do +anything of that sort,” he said.</p> +<p>“And why?”</p> +<p>“You mean go into the movies?” He laughed. “She +wouldn’t bother.”</p> +<p>“But––my God! It is Art! What you call movies, +and, within, this young lady may hide genius. And +genius belongs to Art. And Art belongs to the world!”</p> +<p>The unthinkable idea of Palla on the screen was +peculiarly distasteful to him.</p> +<p>“Miss Dumont has no inclination for the movies,” +he said.</p> +<p>“Perhaps, Mr. Shotwell,” purred Puma, “if your +amiable influence could induce the young lady to have +a test made–––”</p> +<p>“There isn’t a chance of it,” said Jim bluntly. Their +limousine stopped just then. They got out before one +of those new apartment houses on the upper West Side.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Mr. Skidder, it appeared, was in and would receive +them.</p> +<p>A negro servant opened the door and ushered them +into a parlour where Mr. Elmer Skidder, sprawling +over the débris of breakfast, laid aside newspaper and +coffee cup and got up to receive them in bath robe and +slippers.</p> +<p>And when they were all seated: “Now, Mr. Skidder,” +said Jim, with his engaging frankness, “the simplest +way is the quickest. My client, Mr. Puma, wants to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_121' name='page_121'></a>121</span> +purchase your property; and he is, I understand, +prepared to pay considerably more than it is worth. +We all have a very fair idea of its actual value. +Our appraiser, yours, and other appraisers from +other companies and corporations seem, for a wonder, +to agree in their appraisal of this particular property.</p> +<p>“Now, how much more than it is worth do you expect +us to offer you?”</p> +<p>Skidder had never before been dealt with in just this +way. He squinted at Jim, trying to appraise him. +But within his business experience in a country town +no similar young man had he encountered.</p> +<p>“Well,” he said, “I ain’t asking you to buy, am I?”</p> +<p>“We understand that,” rejoined Jim, good humouredly; +“<i>we</i> are asking <i>you</i> to sell.”</p> +<p>“You seem to want it pretty bad.”</p> +<p>“We do,” said the young fellow, laughing.</p> +<p>“All right. Make your offer.”</p> +<p>Jim named the sum.</p> +<p>“No, sir!” snapped Skidder, picking up his newspaper.</p> +<p>“Then,” remarked Jim, looking: frankly at Puma, +“that definitely lets us out.” And, to Skidder: “Many +thanks for permitting us to interrupt your breakfast. +No need to bother you again, Mr. Skidder.” And he +offered his hand in smiling finality.</p> +<p>“Look here,” said Skidder, “the property is worth +all I ask.”</p> +<p>“If it’s worth that to you,” said Jim pleasantly, +“you should keep it.” And he turned away toward +the door, wondering why Puma did not follow.</p> +<p>“Are you two gentlemen in a rush?” demanded +Skidder.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_122' name='page_122'></a>122</span></div> +<p>“I have other business, of course,” said Jim.</p> +<p>“Sit down. Hell! Will you have a drink?”</p> +<p>When they were again seated, Skidder squinted +sideways at Angelo Puma.</p> +<p>“Want a partner?” he inquired.</p> +<p>“Please?” replied Puma, as though mystified.</p> +<p>“Want more capital to put into your fillum concern?” +demanded Skidder.</p> +<p>Puma, innocently perplexed, asked mutely for an explanation +out of his magnificent dark eyes.</p> +<p>“I got money,” asserted Skidder.</p> +<p>Puma’s dazzling smile congratulated him upon the +accumulation of a fabulous fortune.</p> +<p>“I had you looked up,” continued Skidder. “It +listened good. And––I got money, too. And I got +that property in my vest pocket. See. And there’s +a certain busted fillum corporation can be bought for +a postage stamp––all ’ncorporated ’n everything. You +get me?”</p> +<p>No; Mr. Puma, who was all art and heart, could +not comprehend what Mr. Skidder was driving at.</p> +<p>“This here busted fillum company is called the <i>Super-Picture +Fillums</i>,” said Skidder. “What’s the matter +with you and me buying it? Don’t you ever do a little +tradin’?”</p> +<p>Jim rose, utterly disgusted, but immensely amused +at himself, and realising, now, how entirely right +Sharrow had been in desiring to be rid of this man +Skidder, and of Puma and the property in question.</p> +<p>He said, still smiling, but rather grimly: “I see, now, +that this is no place for a broker who lives by his commissions.” +And he bade them adieu with perfect good +humour.</p> +<p>“Have a seegar?” inquired Skidder blandly.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_123' name='page_123'></a>123</span></div> +<p>“Why do you go, sir?” asked Puma innocently. No +doubt, being all heart and art, he did not comprehend +that brokers can not exist on cigars alone.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>His commission had gone glimmering. Sharrow, evidently +foreseeing something of that sort, had sent him +out with Puma to meet Skidder and rid the office of +the dubious affair.</p> +<p>This Jim understood, and yet he was not particularly +pleased to be exploited by this bland pair who had come +suddenly to an understanding under his very nose––the +understanding of two petty, dickering, crossroad traders, +which coolly excluded any possibility both of his +services and of his commission.</p> +<p>“No; only a kike lawyer is required now,” he said +to himself, as he crossed the street and entered Central +Park. “I’ve been properly trimmed by a perfumed +wop and a squinting yap,” he thought with intense +amusement. “But we’re well clear of them for good.”</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>The park was wintry and unattractive. Few pedestrians +were abroad, but motors sparkled along distant +drives in the sunshine.</p> +<p>Presently his way ran parallel to one of these drives. +And he had been walking only a little while when a +limousine veered in, slowing down abreast of him, and +he saw a white-gloved hand tapping the pane.</p> +<p>He felt himself turning red as he went up, hat in +hand, to open the door and speak to the girl inside.</p> +<p>“What on earth are you doing?” she demanded, +laughingly, “––walking all by your wild lone in the +park on a wintry day!”</p> +<p>He explained. She made room for him and he got in.</p> +<p>“We rather hoped you’d be at the opera last night,” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_124' name='page_124'></a>124</span> +she said, but without any reproach in her voice.</p> +<p>“I meant to go, Elorn––but something came up to +prevent it,” he added, flushing again. “Were they +singing anything new?”</p> +<p>“Yes, but you missed nothing,” she reassured him +lightly. “Where on earth have you kept yourself +these last weeks? One sees you no more among the +haunts of men.”</p> +<p>He said, in the deplorable argot of the hour: “Oh, +I’m off all that social stuff.”</p> +<p>“But I’m not social stuff, am I?”</p> +<p>“No. I’ve meant to call you up. Something always +seems to happen––I don’t know, Elorn, but ever since +I came back from France I haven’t been up to seeing +people.”</p> +<p>She glanced at him curiously.</p> +<p>He sat gazing out of the window, where there was +nothing to see except leafless trees and faded grass +and starlings and dingy sparrows.</p> +<p>The girl was more worth his attention––one of those +New York examples, built on lean, rangy, thoroughbred +lines––long limbed, small of hand and foot and head, +with cinder-blond hair, greyish eyes, a sweet but too +generous mouth, and several noticeable freckles.</p> +<p>Minute grooming and a sure taste gave her that +ultra-smart appearance which does everything for a +type that is less attractive in a dinner gown, and still +less in negligée. And which, after marriage, usually +lets a straight strand of hair sprawl across one ear.</p> +<p>But now, coiffeur, milliner, modiste, and her own +maiden cleverness kept her immaculate––the true +Gotham model found nowhere else.</p> +<p>They chatted of parties already past, where he had +failed to materialise, and of parties to come, where +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_125' name='page_125'></a>125</span> +she hoped he would appear. And he said he would.</p> +<p>They chatted about their friends and the gossip +concerning them.</p> +<p>Traffic on Fifth Avenue was rather worse than usual. +The competent police did their best, but motors and +omnibuses, packed solidly, moved only by short spurts +before being checked again.</p> +<p>“It’s after one o’clock,” she said, glancing at her +tiny platinum wrist-watch. “Here’s Delmonico’s, Jim. +Shall we lunch together?”</p> +<p>He experienced a second’s odd hesitation, then: “Certainly,” +he said. And she signalled the chauffeur.</p> +<p>The place was beginning to be crowded, but there +was a table on the Fifth Avenue side.</p> +<p>As they crossed the crowded room toward it, women +looked up at Elorn Sharrow, instantly aware that +they saw perfection in hat, gown and fur, and a face +and figure not to be mistaken for any imitation of +the Gotham type.</p> +<p>She wore silver fox––just a stole and muff. Every +feminine eye realised their worth.</p> +<p>When they were seated:</p> +<p>“I want,” she said gaily, “some consommé and a +salad. You, of course, require the usual nourishment +of the carnivora.”</p> +<p>But it seemed not. However, he ordered a high-ball, +feeling curiously depressed. Then he addressed himself +to making the hour agreeable, conscious, probably, +that reparation was overdue.</p> +<p>Friends from youthful dancing-class days, these two +had plenty to gossip about; and gradually he found +himself drifting back into the lively, refreshing, piquant +intimacy of yesterday. And realised that it was very +welcome.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_126' name='page_126'></a>126</span></div> +<p>For, about this girl, always a clean breeze seemed +to be blowing; and the atmosphere invariably braced +him up.</p> +<p>And she was always responsive, whether or not +agreeing with his views; and he was usually conscious +of being at his best with her. Which means much to +any man.</p> +<p>So she dissected her pear-salad, and he enjoyed his +whitebait, and they chatted away on the old footing, +quite oblivious of people around them.</p> +<p>Elorn was having a very happy time of it. People +thought her captivating now––freckles, mouth and all––and +every man there envied the fortunate young +fellow who was receiving such undivided attention from +a girl like this.</p> +<p>But whether in Elorn’s heart there really existed +all the gaiety that laughed at him out of her grey +eyes, is a question. Because it seemed to her that, at +moments, a recurrent shadow fell across his face. And +there were, now and then, seconds suggesting preoccupation +on his part, when it seemed to her that his +gaze grew remote and his smile a trifle absent-minded.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>She was drawing on her gloves; he had scribbled +his signature across the back of the check. Then, as +he lifted his head to look for their waiter, he found +himself staring into the brown eyes of Palla Dumont.</p> +<p>The heavy flush burnt his face––burnt into it, so +it seemed to him.</p> +<p>She was only two tables distant. When he bowed, +her smile was the slightest; her nod coolly self-possessed. +She was wearing orchids. There seemed to +be a girl with her whom he did not know.</p> +<p>Why the sudden encounter should have upset him +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_127' name='page_127'></a>127</span> +so––why the quiet glance Elorn bestowed upon Palla +should have made him more uncomfortable still, he +could not understand.</p> +<p>He lighted a cigarette.</p> +<p>“A wonderfully pretty girl,” said Elorn serenely. +“I mean the girl you bowed to.”</p> +<p>“Yes, she is very charming.”</p> +<p>“Who is she, Jim?”</p> +<p>“I met her on the steamer coming back. She is a +Miss Dumont.”</p> +<p>Elorn’s smile was a careless dismissal of further +interest. But in her heart perplexity and curiosity +contended with concern. For she had seen Jim’s face. +And had wondered.</p> +<p>He laid away his half-consumed cigarette. She was +quite ready to go. She rose, and he laid the stole +around her shoulders. She picked up her muff.</p> +<p>As she passed through the narrow aisle, she permitted +herself a casual side-glance at this girl in black; +and Palla looked up at her, kept her quietly in range +of her brown eyes to the limit of breeding, then her +glance dropped as Jim passed; and he heard her +speaking serenely to the girl beside her.</p> +<p>At the revolving doors, Elorn said: “Shall I drop +you at the office, Jim?”</p> +<p>“Thanks––if you don’t mind.”</p> +<p>In the car he talked continually, not very entertainingly, +but there was more vivacity about him than +there had been.</p> +<p>“Are you doing anything to-night?” he inquired.</p> +<p>She was, of course. Yet, she felt oddly relieved +that he had asked her.... But the memory of +the strange expression in his face persisted in her mind.</p> +<p>Who was this girl with whom he had crossed the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_128' name='page_128'></a>128</span> +ocean? And why should he lose his self-possession on +unexpectedly encountering her?</p> +<p>Had there been anything about Palla––the faintest +hint of inferiority of any sort––Elorn Sharrow could +have dismissed the episode with proud, if troubled, +philosophy. For many among her girl friends had +cub brothers. And the girl had learned that men are +men––sometimes even the nicest––although she could +not understand it.</p> +<p>But this brown-eyed girl in black was evidently her +own sort––Jim’s sort. And that preoccupied her; and +she lent only an inattentive ear to the animated monologue +of the man beside her.</p> +<p>Before the offices of Sharrow & Co. her car stopped.</p> +<p>“I’m sorry, Jim,” she said, “that I’m so busy this +week. But we ought to meet at many places, unless +you continue to play the recluse. Don’t you really +go anywhere any more?”</p> +<p>“No. But I’m going,” he said bluntly.</p> +<p>“Please do. And call me up sometimes. Take a +sporting chance whenever you’re free. We ought to +get in an hour together now and then. You’re coming +to my dance of course, are you not?”</p> +<p>“Of course I am.”</p> +<p>The girl smiled in her sweet, generous way and gave +him her hand again.</p> +<p>And he went into the office feeling rather miserable +and beginning to realise why.</p> +<p>For in spite of what he had said to Palla about +the wisdom of absenting himself, the mere sight of her +had instantly set him afire.</p> +<p>And now he wanted to see her––needed to see her. +A day was too long to pass without seeing her. An +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_129' name='page_129'></a>129</span> +evening without her––and another––and others, appalled +him.</p> +<p>And all the afternoon he thought of her, his mind +scarcely on his business at all.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>His parents were dining at home. He was very +gay that evening––very amusing in describing his misadventures +with Messrs. Puma and Skidder. But his +mother appeared to be more interested in the description +of his encounter with Elorn.</p> +<p>“She’s such a dear,” she said. “If you go to the +Speedwells’ dinner on Thursday you’ll see her again. +You haven’t declined, I hope; have you, Jim?”</p> +<p>It appeared that he had.</p> +<p>“If you drop out of things this way nobody will +bother to ask you anywhere after a while. Don’t you +know that, dear?” she said. “This town forgets overnight.”</p> +<p>“I suppose so, mother. I’ll keep up.”</p> +<p>His father remarked that it was part of his business +to know the sort of people who bought houses.</p> +<p>Jim agreed with him. “I’ll surely kick in again,” he +promised cheerfully.... “I think I’ll go to the +club this evening.”</p> +<p>His mother smiled. It was a healthy sign. Also, +thank goodness, there were no girls in black at the club.</p> +<p>At the club he resolutely passed the telephone booths +and even got as far as the cloak room before he +hesitated.</p> +<p>Then, very slowly, he retraced his steps; went into +the nearest booth, and called a number that seemed +burnt into his brain. Palla answered.</p> +<p>“Are you doing anything, dear?” he asked––his +usual salutation.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_130' name='page_130'></a>130</span></div> +<p>“Oh. It’s you!” she said calmly.</p> +<p>“It is. Who else calls you dear? May I come +around for a little while?”</p> +<p>“Have you forgotten what you–––”</p> +<p>“No! May I come?”</p> +<p>“Not if you speak to me so curtly, Jim.”</p> +<p>“I’m sorry.”</p> +<p>She deliberated so long that her silence irritated +him.</p> +<p>“If you don’t want me,” he said, “please say so.”</p> +<p>“I certainly don’t want you if you are likely to be +ill-tempered, Jim.”</p> +<p>“I’m not ill-tempered.... I’ll tell you what’s +the trouble if I may come. May I?”</p> +<p>“Is anything troubling you?”</p> +<p>“Of course.”</p> +<p>“I’m so sorry!”</p> +<p>“Am I to come?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>She herself admitted him. He laid his hat and coat +on a chair in the hall and followed her upstairs to the +living-room.</p> +<p>When she had seated herself she looked up at him +interrogatively, awaiting his pleasure. He stood a +moment with his back to the fire, his hands twisting +nervously behind him. Then:</p> +<p>“My trouble,” he explained naïvely, “is that I am +restless and unhappy when I remain away from you.”</p> +<p>The girl laughed. “But, Jim, you seemed to be +having a perfectly good time at Delmonico’s this +noon.”</p> +<p>He reddened and gave her a disconcerted look.</p> +<p>“I don’t see,” she added, “why any man shouldn’t +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_131' name='page_131'></a>131</span> +have a good time with such an attractive girl. May +I ask who she is?”</p> +<p>“Elorn Sharrow,” he replied bluntly.</p> +<p>Palla’s glance had sometimes wandered over social +columns in the papers and periodicals, and she was not +ignorant concerning the identity and local importance +of Miss Sharrow.</p> +<p>She looked up curiously at Jim. He was so very +good to look at! Better, even, to know. And Miss +Sharrow was his kind. They had seemed to belong +together. And it came to Palla, hazily, and for the +first time, that she herself seemed to belong nowhere in +particular in the scheme of things.</p> +<p>But that was quite all right. She had now established +for herself a habitation. She had some friends––would +undoubtedly make others. She had her interests, +her peace of mind, and her independence. And +behind her she had the dear and tragic past––a passionate +memory of a dead girl; a terrible remembrance of +a dead God.</p> +<p>The heart of the world alone could make up to her +these losses. For now she was already preparing to +seek it in her own way, under her own Law of Love.</p> +<p>“Jim,” she said almost timidly, “I have not intended +to make you unhappy. Don’t you understand that?”</p> +<p>He seated himself: she lighted a cigarette for him.</p> +<p>“I suppose you can’t help doing it,” he said glumly.</p> +<p>“I really can’t, it seems. I don’t love you. I wish I +did.”</p> +<p>“Do you mean that?”</p> +<p>“Of course I do.... I wish I were in love with +you.”</p> +<p>After a moment she said: “I told you how much I +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_132' name='page_132'></a>132</span> +care for you. But––if you think it is easier for you––not +to see me–––”</p> +<p>“I can’t seem to stay away.”</p> +<p>“I’m glad you can’t––for my sake; but I’m troubled +on your account. I do so adore to be with you! But––but +if–––”</p> +<p>“Hang it all!” he exclaimed, forcing a wry smile. +“I act like an unbaked fool! You’ve gone to my head, +Palla, and I behave like a drunken kid.... I’ll +buck up. I’ve got to. I’m not the blithering, balmy, +moon-eyed, melancholy ass you think me–––”</p> +<p>Her quick laughter rang clear, and his echoed it, +rather uncertainly.</p> +<p>“You poor dear,” she said, “you’re nearest my heart +of anybody. I told you so. It’s only that one thing +I don’t dare do.”</p> +<p>He nodded.</p> +<p>“Can’t you really understand that I’m afraid?”</p> +<p>“Afraid!” he repeated. “I should think you might +be, considering your astonishing point of view. I +should think you’d be properly scared to death!”</p> +<p>“I am. No girl, afraid, should ever take such a +chance. Love and Fear cannot exist together. The +one always slays the other.”</p> +<p>He looked at her curiously, remembering what +Estridge had told him about her––how, on that terrible +day in the convent chapel, this girl’s love had +truly slain the fear within her as she faced the Red +assassins and offered to lay down her life for her +friend. Than which, it is said, there is no greater +love....</p> +<p>“Of what are you thinking?” she asked, watching his +expression.</p> +<p>“Of you––you strange, generous, fearless, wilful +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_133' name='page_133'></a>133</span> +girl!” Then he squared his shoulders and shook them +as though freeing himself of something oppressive.</p> +<p>“What you <i>may</i> need is a spanking!” he suggested +coolly.</p> +<p>“Good heavens, Jim!–––”</p> +<p>“But I’m afraid you’re not likely to get it. And what +is going to happen to you––and to me––I don’t know––I +don’t know, Palla.”</p> +<p>“May I prophesy?”</p> +<p>“Go to it, Miriam.”</p> +<p>“Behold, then: I shall never care for any man more +than I care now for you; I shall never care more for +you than I do now.... And if you are sweet-tempered +and sensible, we shall be very happy with +each other.... Even after you marry.... +Unless your wife misunderstands–––”</p> +<p>“My wife!” he repeated derisively.</p> +<p>“Miss Sharrow, for instance.”</p> +<p>He turned a dull red; the girl’s heart missed a beat, +then hurried a little before it calmed again under her +cool recognition and instant disdain of the first twinge +of jealousy she could remember since childhood.</p> +<p>The absurdity of it, too! After all, it was this +man’s destiny to marry. And, if it chanced to be that +girl–––</p> +<p>“You know,” he said in a detached, musing way, “it +is well for you to remember that I shall never marry +unless I marry you.... Life is long. There are +other women.... I may forget you––at intervals.... +But I shall never marry except with +you, Palla.”</p> +<p>Her smile forced the gravity from her lips and eyes:</p> +<p>“If you behave like a veiled prophet you’ll end by +scaring me,” she said.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_134' name='page_134'></a>134</span></div> +<p>But he merely gathered her into his arms and kissed +her––laid back her head and looked down into her face +and kissed her lips, without haste, as though she belonged +to him.</p> +<p>Her head rested quite motionless on his shoulder. +Perhaps she was still too taken aback to do anything +about the matter. Her heart had hurried a little––not +much––stimulated, possibly, by the rather agreeable +curiosity which invaded her––charmingly expressive, +now, in her wide brown eyes.</p> +<p>“So that’s the way of it,” he concluded, still looking +down at her. “There are other women in the world. +And life is long. But I marry you or nobody. And +it’s my opinion that I shall not die unmarried.”</p> +<p>She smiled defiantly.</p> +<p>“You don’t seem to think much of my opinions,” she +said.</p> +<p>“Are you more friendly to mine?”</p> +<p>“Certain opinions of yours,” he retorted, “originated +in the diseased bean of some crazy Russian––never +in your mind! So of course I hold them in contempt.”</p> +<p>She saw his face darken, watched it a moment, then +impulsively drew his head down against hers.</p> +<p>“I do care for your opinions,” she said, her cheek, +delicately warm, beside his. “So, even if you can not +comprehend mine, be generous to them. I’m sincere. I +try to be honest. If you differ from me, do it kindly, +not contemptuously. For there is no such thing as +‘noble contempt!’ There is respectability in anger and +nobility in tolerance. But none in disdain, for they +are contradictions.”</p> +<p>“I tell you,” he said, “I despise and hate this loose +socialistic philosophy that makes a bonfire of everything +the world believes in!”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_135' name='page_135'></a>135</span></div> +<p>“Don’t hate other creeds; merely conform to your +own, Jim. It will keep you very, very busy. And give +others a chance to live up to their beliefs.”</p> +<p>He felt the smile on her lips and cheek:</p> +<p>“I can’t live up to my belief if I marry you,” she +said. “So let us care for each other peacefully––accepting +each other as we are. Life is long, as you say.... +And there are other women.... And +ultimately you will marry one of them. But until +then–––”</p> +<p>He felt her lips very lightly against his––cool young +lips, still and fragrant and sweet.</p> +<p>After a moment she asked him to release her; and +she rose and walked across the room to the mirror.</p> +<p>Still busy with her hair, she turned partly toward +him:</p> +<p>“Apropos of nothing,” she said, “a man was exceedingly +impudent to me on the street this evening. A +Russian, too. I was so annoyed!”</p> +<p>“What do you mean?”</p> +<p>“It happened just as I started to ascend the steps.... There +was a man there, loitering. I supposed +he meant to beg. So I felt for my purse, but he jumped +back and began to curse me roundly for an aristocrat +and a social parasite!”</p> +<p>“What did he say?”</p> +<p>“I was so amazed––quite stupefied. And all the while +he was swearing at me in Russian and in English, and +he warned me to keep away from Marya and Vanya +and Ilse and mind my own damned business. And he +said, also, that if I didn’t there were people in New +York who knew how to deal with any friend of the +Russian aristocracy.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_136' name='page_136'></a>136</span></div> +<p>She patted a curly strand of hair into place, and +came toward him in her leisurely, lissome way.</p> +<p>“Fancy the impertinence of that wretched Red! And +I understand that both Vanya and Marya have received +horribly insulting letters. And Ilse, also. Isn’t it +most annoying?”</p> +<p>She seated herself at the piano and absently began +the Adagio of the famous sonata.</p> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_137' name='page_137'></a>137</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_X' id='CHAPTER_X'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER X</h2> +</div> +<p>There was still, for Palla, much shopping to do. +The drawing room she decided to leave, for the +present, caring as she did only for a few genuine +and beautiful pieces to furnish the pretty little French +grey room.</p> +<p>The purchase of these ought to be deferred, but she +could look about, and she did, wandering into antique +shops of every class along Fifth and Madison Avenues +and the inviting cross streets.</p> +<p>But her chiefest quest was still for pots and pans +and china; for napery, bed linen, and hangings; also +for her own and more intimate personal attire.</p> +<p>To her the city was enchanting and not at all as she +remembered it before she had gone abroad.</p> +<p>New York, under its canopy of tossing flags and +ablaze with brilliant posters, swarmed with unfamiliar +people. Every other pedestrian seemed to be a soldier; +every other vehicle contained a uniform.</p> +<p>There were innumerable varieties of military dress in +the thronged streets; there was the universal note of +khaki and olive drab, terminating in leather vizored +barrack cap or jaunty overseas service cap, and in +spiral puttees, leather ones, or spurred boots.</p> +<p>Silver wings of aviators glimmered on athletic +chests; chevrons, wound stripes, service stripes, an endless +variety of insignia.</p> +<p>Here the grey-green and oxidised metal of the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_138' name='page_138'></a>138</span> +marines predominated; there, the conspicuous sage-green +and gold of naval aviators. On campaign hats +were every hue of hat cord; the rich gilt and blue of +naval officers and the blue and white of their jackies +were everywhere to be encountered.</p> +<p>And then everywhere, also, the brighter hue and +exotic cut of foreign uniforms was apparent––splashes +of gayer tints amid khaki and sober civilian garb––the +beautiful <i>garance</i> and horizon-blue of French officers; +the familiar “brass hat” of the British; the grey-blue +and maroon of Italians. And there were stranger +uniforms in varieties inexhaustible––the schapska-shaped +head-gear of Polish officers, the beret of Czecho-Slovaks. +And everywhere, too, the gay and well-known +red pom-pon bobbed on the caps of French blue-jackets, +and British marines stalked in pairs, looking every +inch the soldier with their swagger sticks and their +vizorless forage-caps.</p> +<p>Always, it seemed to Palla, there was military music +to be heard above the roar of traffic––sometimes the +drums and bugles of foreign detachments, arrived in +aid of “drives” and loans of various sorts.</p> +<p>Ambulances painted grey and bright blue, and +driven by smartly uniformed young women, were everywhere.</p> +<p>And to women’s uniforms there seemed no end, ranging +all the way from the sober blue of the army nurse +and the pretty white of the Red Cross, to bizarre but +smart effects carried smartly by well set up girls representing +scores of service corps, some invaluable, some +of doubtful utility.</p> +<p>Eagle huts, canteens, soldiers’ rest houses, Red +Cross quarters, clubs, temporary barracks, peppered +the city. Everywhere the service flags were visible, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_139' name='page_139'></a>139</span> +also, telling their proud stories in five-pointed symbols––sometimes +tragic, where gold stars glittered.</p> +<p>Never had New York seemed to contain so many +people; never had the overflow so congested avenue +and street, circle and square, and the wretchedly inadequate +and dirty street-car and subway service.</p> +<p>And into the heart of it all went Palla, engulfed in +the great tides of Fifth Avenue, drifting into quieter +back-waters to east and west, and sometimes caught +and tossed about in the glittering maelstrom of Broadway +when she ventured into the theatre district.</p> +<p>Opera, comedy, musical show and cinema interested +her; restaurant and cabaret she had evaded, so far, +but what most excited and fascinated her was the people +themselves––these eager, restless moving millions +swarming through the city day and night, always in +motion under blue skies or falling rain, perpetually in +quest of what the world eternally offered, eternally +concealed––that indefinite, glimmering thing called +“heart’s desire.”</p> +<p>To discover, to comprehend, to help, to guide their +myriad aspirations in the interminable and headlong +hunt for happiness, was, to Palla, the most vital problem +in the world.</p> +<p>For her there existed only one solution of this problem: +the Law of Love.</p> +<p>And in this world-wide Hunt for Happiness, where +scrambling millions followed the trail of Heart’s Desire, +she saw the mad huntsman, Folly, leading, and +Black Care, the whipper-in; and, at the bitter end, +only the bones of the world’s woe; and a Horseman +seated on his Pale Horse.</p> +<p>But the problem that still remained was how to +swerve the headlong hunt to the true trail toward the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_140' name='page_140'></a>140</span> +only goal where the world’s quarry, happiness, lies +asleep.</p> +<p>How to make service the Universal Heart’s Desire? +How to transfigure self-love into Love?</p> +<p>To preach her faith from the street corners––to cry +it aloud in the wilderness where no ear heeded––violence, +aggression, the campaign militant, had never +appealed to the girl.</p> +<p>Like her nation, only when cornered did she blaze +out and strike. But to harangue, threaten, demand +of the world that it accept the Law of Service and of +Love, seemed to her a mockery of the faith she had +embraced, which, unless irrevocably in liaison with freedom, +was no faith at all.</p> +<p>So, for Palla, the solution lay in loyalty to the faith +she professed; in living it; in swaying ignorance by +example; in overcoming incredulity by service, scepticism +by love.</p> +<p>Love and Service? Why, all around her among these +teeming millions were examples––volunteers in khaki, +their sisters in the garments of mercy! Why must the +world stop there? This was the right scent. Why +should the hunt swerve for the devil’s herring drawn +across the trail?</p> +<p>One for all; all for one! She had read it on one of +the war-posters. Somebody had taken the splendid +Guardsman’s creed and had made it the slogan for this +war against darkness.</p> +<p>And that was her creed––the true faith––the Law of +Love. Then, was it good only in war? Why not make +it the nation’s creed? Why not emblazon it on the +wall of every city on earth?––one for all; all for one; +Love, Service, Freedom!</p> +<p>Before such a faith, autocracy and tyranny die. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_141' name='page_141'></a>141</span> +Under such a law every evil withers, every question is +unravelled. There are no more problems of poverty +and riches, none of greed and oppression.</p> +<p>The tyranny of convention, of observance, of taboo, +of folkways, ends. And into the brain of all living +beings will be born the perfect comprehension of their +own indestructible divinity.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Part of this she ventured to say to Ilse Westgard +one day, when they had met for luncheon in a modest +tea-room on Forty-third Street.</p> +<p>But Ilse, always inclined toward militancy, did not +entirely agree with Palla.</p> +<p>“To embody in one’s daily life the principles of one’s +living faith is scarcely sufficient,” she said. “Good is a +force, not an inert condition. So is evil. And we +should not sit still while evil moves.”</p> +<p>“Example is not inertia,” protested Palla.</p> +<p>“Example, alone, is sterile, I think,” said the ex-girl-soldier +of the Battalion of Death, buttering a crescent. +She ate it with the delightful appetite of flawless +health, and poured out more chocolate.</p> +<p>“For instance, dear,” she went on, “the forces of evil––of +degeneration, ignorance, envy, ferocity, are gathering +like a tornado in Russia. Virtuous example, +sucking its thumbs and minding its own business, will +be torn to fragments when the storm breaks.”</p> +<p>“The Bolsheviki?”</p> +<p>“The Reds. The Terrorists, I mean. You know as +well as I do what they really are––merely looters skulking +through the smoke of a world in flames––buzzards +on the carcass of a civilisation dead. But, Palla, they +do not sit still and suck their thumbs and say, ‘I am a +Terrorist. Behold me and be converted.’ No, indeed! +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_142' name='page_142'></a>142</span> +They are moving, always in motion, preoccupied by +their hellish designs.”</p> +<p>“In Russia, yes,” admitted Palla.</p> +<p>“Everywhere, dearest. Here, also.”</p> +<p>“I believe there are scarcely any in America,” insisted +Palla.</p> +<p>“The country crawls with them,” retorted Ilse. +“They work like moles, but already if you look about +you can see the earth stirring above their tunnels. +They are here, everywhere, active, scheming, plotting, +whispering treason, stirring discontent, inciting envy, +teaching treason.</p> +<p>“They are the Russians––Christians and Jews––who +have filtered in here to do the nation mischief. They +are the Germans who blew up factories, set fires, scuttled +ships. They are foreigners who came here +poisoned with envy; who have acquired nothing; whose +greed and ferocity are whetted and ready for a universal +conflagration by which they alone could profit.</p> +<p>“They are the labour leaders who break faith and +incite to violence; they are the I. W. W.; they are the +Black Hand, the Camorra; they are the penniless who +would slay and rob; the landless who would kill and +seize; the ignorant, nursing suspicion; the shiftless, +brooding crimes to bring them riches quickly.</p> +<p>“And, Palla, your Law of Love and Service is good. +But not for these.”</p> +<p>“What law for them, then?”</p> +<p>“Education. Maybe with machine guns.”</p> +<p>Palla shook her head. “Is that the way to educate +defectives?”</p> +<p>“When they come at you <i>en masse</i>, yes!”</p> +<p>Palla laughed. “Dear,” she said, “there is no +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_143' name='page_143'></a>143</span> +nation-wide Terrorist plot. These mental defectives +are not in mass anywhere in America.”</p> +<p>“They are in dangerous groups everywhere. And +every group is devoting its cunning to turning the +working masses into a vast mob of the Black Hundred! +They did it in Russia. They are working for it all +over the world. You do not believe it?”</p> +<p>“No, I don’t, Ilse.”</p> +<p>“Very well. You shall come with me this evening. +Are you busy?”</p> +<p>The thought of Jim glimmered in her mind. He +might feel aggrieved. But he ought to begin to realise +that he couldn’t be with her every evening.</p> +<p>“No, I haven’t any plans, Ilse,” she said, “no definite +engagement, I mean. Will you dine at home with me?”</p> +<p>“Early, then. Because there is a meeting which you +and I shall attend. It is an education.”</p> +<p>“An anarchist meeting?”</p> +<p>“Yes, Reds. I think we should go––perhaps take +part–––”</p> +<p>“What?”</p> +<p>“Why not? I shall not listen to lies and remain +silent!” said Ilse, laughing. “The Revolution was +good. But the Bolsheviki are nothing but greedy +thieves and murderers. You and I know that. If +anybody teaches people the contrary, I certainly shall +have something to say.”</p> +<p>Palla desired to purchase silk for sofa pillows, having +acquired a chaise-longue for her bedroom.</p> +<p>So she and Ilse went out into the sunshine and multi-coloured +crowd; and all the afternoon they shopped +very blissfully––which meant, also, lingering before +store windows, drifting into picture-galleries, taking +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_144' name='page_144'></a>144</span> +tea at Sherry’s, and finally setting out for home +through a beflagged avenue jammed with traffic.</p> +<p>Dusk fell early but the drooping, orange-tinted +globes which had replaced the white ones on the Fifth +Avenue lamps were not yet lighted; and there still remained +a touch of sunset in the sky when they left the +bus.</p> +<p>At the corner of Palla’s street, there seemed to be +an unusual congestion, and now, above the noise of +traffic, they caught the sound of a band; and turned +at the curb to see, supposing it to be a military music.</p> +<p>The band was a full one, not military, wearing a +slatternly sort of uniform but playing well enough as +they came up through the thickening dusk, marching +close to the eastern curb of the avenue.</p> +<p>They were playing <i>The Marseillaise</i>. Four abreast, +behind them, marched a dingy column of men and +women, mostly of foreign aspect and squatty build, +carrying a flag which seemed to be entirely red.</p> +<p>Palla, perplexed, incredulous, yet almost instantly +suspecting the truth, stared at the rusty ranks, at the +knots of red ribbon on every breast.</p> +<p>Other people were staring, too, as the unexpected +procession came shuffling along––late shoppers, business +men returning home, soldiers––all paused to gaze +at this sullen visaged battalion clumping up the avenue.</p> +<p>“Surely,” said Palla to Ilse, “these people can’t be +Reds!”</p> +<p>“Surely they are!” returned the tall, fair girl calmly. +Her face had become flushed, and she stepped to the +edge of the curb, her blue, wrathful eyes darkening +like sapphires.</p> +<p>A soldier came up beside her. Others, sailors and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_145' name='page_145'></a>145</span> +soldiers, stopped to look. There was a red flag passing. +Suddenly Ilse stepped from the sidewalk, +wrenched the flag from the burly Jew who carried it, +and, with the same movement, shattered the staff across +her knee.</p> +<p>Men and women in the ranks closed in on her; a +shrill roar rose from them, but the soldiers and sailors, +cheering and laughing, broke into the enraged ranks, +tearing off red rosettes, cuffing and kicking the infuriated +Terrorists, seizing every seditious banner, flag, +emblem and placard in sight.</p> +<p>Female Reds, shrieking with rage, clawed, kicked and +bit at soldier, sailor and civilian. A gaunt man, with a +greasy bunch of hair under a bowler, waved dirty +hands above the mêlée and shouted that he had the +Mayor’s permission to parade.</p> +<p>Everywhere automobiles were stopping, crowds of +people hurrying up, policemen running. The electric +lights snapped alight, revealed a mob struggling there +in the yellowish glare.</p> +<p>Ilse had calmly stepped to the sidewalk, the fragments +of flag and staff in her white-gloved hands; and, +as she saw the irresponsible soldiers and blue-jackets +wading lustily into the Reds––saw the lively riot which +her own action had started––an irresistible desire to +laugh seized her.</p> +<p>Clear and gay above the yelling of Bolsheviki and +the “Yip––yip!” of the soldiers, peeled her infectious +laughter. But Palla, more gentle, stood with dark eyes +dilated, fearful of real bloodshed in the furious scene +raging in the avenue before her.</p> +<p>A little shrimp of a Terrorist, a huge red rosette +streaming from his buttonhole, suddenly ran at Ilse +and seized the broken staff and the rags of the red flag. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_146' name='page_146'></a>146</span> +And Palla, alarmed, caught him by the coat-collar +and dragged him screeching and cursing away from her +friend, rebuking him in a firm but excited voice.</p> +<p>Ilse came over, shouldering her superb figure through +the crowd; looked at the human shrimp a moment; then +her laughter pealed anew.</p> +<p>“That’s the man who abused me in Denmark!” she +said. “Oh, Palla, <i>look</i> at him! Do you really believe +you could educate a thing like that!”</p> +<p>The man had wriggled free, and now he turned a +flat, whiskered visage on Palla, menaced her with both +soiled fists, inarticulate in his fury.</p> +<p>But police were everywhere, now, sweeping this miniature +riot from the avenue, hustling the Reds uptown, +checking the skylarking soldiery, sending amused or +indignant citizens about their business.</p> +<p>A burly policeman said to Ilse with a grin: “I’ll +take what’s left of that red flag, Miss;” and the girl +handed it to him still laughing.</p> +<p>Soldiers wearing overseas caps cheered her and Palla. +Everybody on the turbulent sidewalk was now laughing.</p> +<p>“D’yeh see that blond nab the red flag outer that +big kike’s fists?” shouted one soldier to his sweating +bunkie. “Some skirt!”</p> +<p>“God love the Bolsheviki she grabs by the slack o’ +the pants!” cried a blue-jacket who had lost his cap. +A roar followed.</p> +<p>“Only one flag in this little old town!” yelled a +citizen nursing a cut cheek with reddened handkerchief.</p> +<p>“G’wan, now!” grumbled a policeman, trying to look +severe; “it’s all over; they’s nothing to see. Av ye +got homes–––”</p> +<p>“Yip! Where do we go from here?” demanded a +marine.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_147' name='page_147'></a>147</span></div> +<p>“Home!” repeated the policeman; “––that’s the +answer. G’wan, now, peaceable––lave these ladies +pass!–––”</p> +<p>Ilse and Palla, still walled in by a grinning, admiring +soldiery, took advantage of the opening and fled, followed +by cheers as far as Palla’s door.</p> +<p>“Good heavens, Ilse,” she exclaimed in fresh dismay, +as she began to realise the rather violent rôles they both +had played, “––is that your idea of education for the +masses?”</p> +<p>A servant answered the bell and they entered the +house. And presently, seated on the chaise-longue in +Palla’s bedroom, Ilse Westgard alternately gazed upon +her ruined white gloves and leaned against the cane +back, weak with laughter.</p> +<p>“How funny! How degrading! But how funny!” +she kept repeating. “That large and enraged Jew with +the red flag!––the wretched little Christian shrimp you +carried wriggling away by the collar! Oh, Palla! +Palla! Never shall I forget the expression on your +face––like a bored housewife, who, between thumb and +forefinger, carries a dead mouse by the tail–––”</p> +<p>“He was trying to kick you, my dear,” explained +Palla, beginning to remove the hairpins from her hair.</p> +<p>Ilse touched her eyes with her handkerchief.</p> +<p>“They might have thrown bombs,” she said. “It’s +all very well to laugh, darling, but sometimes such +affairs are not funny.”</p> +<p>Palla, seated at her dresser, shook down a mass of +thick, bright-brown hair, and picked up her comb.</p> +<p>“I am wondering,” she said, turning partly toward +Ilse, “what Jim Shotwell would think of me.”</p> +<p>“Fighting on the street!”––her laughter rang out +uncontrolled. And Palla, too, was laughing rather +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_148' name='page_148'></a>148</span> +uncertainly, for, as her recollection of the affair became +more vivid, her doubts concerning the entire procedure +increased.</p> +<p>“Of course,” she said, “that red flag was outrageous, +and you were quite right in destroying it. One could +hardly buttonhole such a procession and try to educate +it.”</p> +<p>Ilse said: “One can usually educate a wild animal, +but never a rabid one. You’ll see, to-night.”</p> +<p>“Where are we going, dear?”</p> +<p>“We are going to a place just west of Seventh +Avenue, called the Red Flag Club.”</p> +<p>“Is it a club?”</p> +<p>“No. The Reds hire it several times a week and +try to fill it with people. There is the menace to this +city and to the nation, Palla––for these cunning fomenters +of disorder deluge the poorer quarters of the +town with their literature. That’s where they get +their audiences. And that is where are being born the +seeds of murder and destruction.”</p> +<p>Palla, combing out her hair, gazed absently into +the mirror.</p> +<p>“Why should not we do the same thing?” she asked.</p> +<p>“Form a club, rent a room, and talk to people?”</p> +<p>“Yes; why not?” asked Palla.</p> +<p>“That is exactly why I wish you to come with me +to-night––to realise how we should combat these criminal +and insane agents of all that is most terrible in +Europe.</p> +<p>“And you are right, Palla; that is the way to fight +them. That is the way to neutralise the poison they +are spreading. That is the way to educate the masses +to that sane socialism in which we both believe. It can +be done by education. It can be done by matching +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_149' name='page_149'></a>149</span> +them with club for club, meeting for meeting, speech +for speech. And when, in some local instances, it can +not be done that way, then, if there be disorder, force!”</p> +<p>“It can be done entirely by education,” said Palla. +“But remember!––Marx gave the forces of disorder +their slogan––‘Unite!’ Only a rigid organisation of +sane civilisation can meet that menace.”</p> +<p>“You are very right, darling, and a club to combat +the Bolsheviki already exists. Vanya and Marya +already have joined; there are workmen and working +women, college professors and college graduates among +its members. Some, no doubt, will be among the audience +at the Red Flag Club to-night.</p> +<p>“I shall join this club. I think you, also, will wish +to enroll. It is called only ‘Number One.’ Other +clubs are to be organised and numbered.</p> +<p>“And now you see that, in America, the fight against +organised rascality and exploited insanity has really +begun.”</p> +<p>Palla, her hair under discipline once more, donned +a fresh but severe black gown. Ilse unpinned her +hat, made a vigorous toilet, then lighted a cigarette +and sauntered into the living room where the telephone +was ringing persistently.</p> +<p>“Please answer,” said Palla, fastening her gown +before the pier glass.</p> +<p>Presently Ilse called her: “It’s Mr. Shotwell, dear.”</p> +<p>Palla came into the room and picked up the receiver:</p> +<p>“Yes? Oh, good evening, Jim! Yes.... Yes, +I am going out with Ilse.... Why, no, I had no +engagement with you, Jim! I’m sorry, but I didn’t +understand––No; I had no idea that you expected to +see me––wait a moment, please!”––she put one hand +over the transmitter, turned to Ilse with flushed cheeks +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_150' name='page_150'></a>150</span> +and a shyly interrogative smile: “Shall I ask him to +dine with us and go with us?”</p> +<p>“If you choose,” called Ilse, faintly amused.</p> +<p>Then Palla called him: “––Jim! Come to dinner at +once. And wear your business clothes.... What?... Yes, +your every day clothes.... What?... Why, +because I ask you, Jim. Isn’t +that a reason?... Thank you.... Yes, +come immediately.... Good-bye, de–––”</p> +<p>She coloured crimson, hung up the receiver, and +picked up the evening paper, not daring to glance at +Ilse.</p> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_151' name='page_151'></a>151</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XI' id='CHAPTER_XI'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XI</h2> +</div> +<p>When Shotwell arrived, dinner had already +been announced, and Palla and Ilse Westgard +were in the unfurnished drawing-room, the +former on a step-ladder, the latter holding that collapsible +machine with one hand and Palla’s ankle with +the other.</p> +<p>Palla waved a tape-measure in airy salute: “I’m +trying to find out how many yards it takes for my +curtains,” she explained. But she climbed down and +gave him her hand; and they went immediately into +the dining-room.</p> +<p>“What’s all this nonsense about the Red Flag Club?” +he inquired, when they were seated. “Do you and Ilse +really propose going to that dirty anarchist joint?”</p> +<p>“How do you know it’s dirty?” demanded Palla, +“––or do you mean it’s only morally dingy?”</p> +<p>Both she and Ilse appeared to be in unusually +lively spirits, and they poked fun at him when he objected +to their attending the meeting in question.</p> +<p>“Very well,” he said, “but there may be a free fight. +There was a row on Fifth Avenue this evening, where +some of those rats were parading with red flags.”</p> +<p>Palla laughed and cast a demure glance at Ilse.</p> +<p>“What is there to laugh at?” demanded Jim. “There +was a small riot on Fifth Avenue! I met several men +at the club who witnessed it.”</p> +<p>The sea-blue eyes of Ilse were full of mischief. He +was aware of Palla’s subtle exhilaration, too.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_152' name='page_152'></a>152</span></div> +<p>“Why hunt for a free fight?” he asked.</p> +<p>“Why avoid one if it’s free?” retorted Ilse, gaily.</p> +<p>They all laughed.</p> +<p>“Is that your idea of liberty?” he asked Palla.</p> +<p>“What is all human progress but a free fight?” she +retorted. “Of course,” she added, “Ilse means an +intellectual battle. If they misbehave otherwise, I shall +flee.”</p> +<p>“I don’t see why you want to go to hear a lot of +Reds talk bosh,” he remarked. “It isn’t like you, +Palla.”</p> +<p>“It <i>is</i> like me. You see you don’t really know me, +Jim,” she added with smiling malice.</p> +<p>“The main thing,” said Ilse, “is for one to be one’s +self. Palla and I are social revolutionists. Revolutionists +revolt. A revolt is a row. There can be +no row unless people fight.”</p> +<p>He smiled at their irresponsible gaiety, a little puzzled +by it and a little uneasy.</p> +<p>“All right,” he said, as coffee was served; “but it’s +just as well that I’m going with you.”</p> +<p>The ex-girl-soldier gave him an amused glance, +lighted a cigarette, glanced at her wrist-watch, then +rose lightly to her graceful, athletic height, saying +that they ought to start.</p> +<p>So they went away to pin on their hats, and Jim +called a taxi.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>The hall was well filled when they arrived. There +was a rostrum, on which two wooden benches faced a +table and a chair in the centre. On the table stood +a pitcher of drinking water, a soiled glass, and a jug +full of red carnations.</p> +<p>A dozen men and women occupied the two benches. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_153' name='page_153'></a>153</span> +At the table a man sat writing. He held a lighted +cigar in one hand; a red silk handkerchief trailed from +his coat pocket.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>As Ilse and Palla seated themselves on an empty +bench and Shotwell found a place beside them, somebody +on the next bench beyond leaned over and bade +them good evening in a low voice.</p> +<p>“Mr. Brisson!” exclaimed Palla, giving him her hand +in unfeigned pleasure.</p> +<p>Brisson shook hands, also, with Ilse, cordially, and +then was introduced to Jim.</p> +<p>“What are you doing here?” he inquired humorously +of Palla. “And, by the way,”––dropping his +voice––“these Reds don’t exactly love me, so don’t +use my name.”</p> +<p>Palla nodded and whispered to Jim: “He secured all +that damning evidence at the Smolny for our Government.”</p> +<p>Brisson and Ilse were engaged in low-voiced conversation: +Palla ventured to look about her.</p> +<p>The character of the gathering was foreign. There +were few American features among the faces, but those +few were immeasurably superior in type––here and +there the intellectual, spectacled visage of some educated +visionary, lured into the red tide and left there drifting;––here +and there some pale girl, carelessly dressed, +seated with folded hands, and intense gaze fixed on +space.</p> +<p>But the majority of these people, men and women, +were foreign in aspect––round, bushy heads with no +backs to them were everywhere; muddy skins, unhealthy +skins, loose mouths, shifty eyes!––everywhere around +her Palla saw the stigma of degeneracy.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_154' name='page_154'></a>154</span></div> +<p>She said in a low voice to Jim: “These poor things +need to be properly housed and fed before they’re +taught. Education doesn’t interest empty stomachs. +And when they’re given only poison to stop the pangs––what +does civilisation expect?”</p> +<p>He said: “They’re a lot of bums. The only education +they require is with a night-stick.”</p> +<p>“That’s cruel, Jim.”</p> +<p>“It’s law.”</p> +<p>“One of your laws which does not appeal to me,” +she remarked, turning to Brisson, who was leaning +over to speak to her.</p> +<p>“There are half a dozen plain-clothes men in the +audience,” he said. “There are Government detectives +here, too. I rather expect they’ll stop the proceedings +before the programme calls for it.”</p> +<p>Jim turned to look back. A file of policemen entered +and carelessly took up posts in the rear of the +hall. Hundreds of flat-backed heads turned, too; hundreds +of faces darkened; a low muttering arose from +the benches.</p> +<p>Then the man at the table on the rostrum got up +abruptly, and pulled out his red handkerchief as though +to wipe his face.</p> +<p>At the sudden flourish of the red fabric, a burst of +applause came from the benches. Orator and audience +were <i>en rapport</i>; the former continued to wave the +handkerchief, under pretence of swabbing his features, +but the intention was so evident and the applause so enlightening +that a police officer came part way down +the aisle and held up a gilded sleeve.</p> +<p>“Hey!” he called in a bored voice, “Cut that out! +See!”</p> +<p>“That man on the platform is Max Sondheim,” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_155' name='page_155'></a>155</span> +whispered Brisson. “He’ll skate on thin ice before he’s +through.”</p> +<p>Sondheim had already begun to speak, ignoring the +interruption from the police:</p> +<p>“The Mayor has got cold feet,” he said with a sneer. +“He gave us a permit to parade, but when the soldiers +attacked us his police clubbed us. That’s the kind of +government we got.”</p> +<p>“Shame!” cried a white-faced girl in the audience.</p> +<p>“Shame?” repeated Sondheim ironically. “What’s +shame to a cop? They got theirs all the same–––”</p> +<p>“That’s enough!” shouted the police captain sharply. +“Any more of that and I’ll run you in!”</p> +<p>Sondheim’s red-rimmed eyes measured the officer in +silence for a moment.</p> +<p>“I have the privilege,” he said to his audience, “of +introducing to you our comrade, Professor Le Vey.”</p> +<p>“Le Vey,” whispered Brisson in Palla’s ear. “He’s +a crack-brained chemist, and they ought to nab him.”</p> +<p>The professor rose from one of the benches on the +rostrum and came forward––a tall, black-bearded man, +deathly pale, whose protruding, bluish eyes seemed +almost stupid in their fixity.</p> +<p>“Words are by-products,” he said, “and of minor +importance. Deeds educate. T. N. T., also, is a byproduct, +and of no use in conversation unless employed +as an argument––” A roar of applause drowned his +voice: he gazed at the audience out of his stupid pop-eyes.</p> +<p>“Tyranny has kicked you into the gutter,” he went +on. “Capital makes laws to keep you there and hires +police and soldiers to enforce those laws. This is +called civilisation. Is there anything for you to do +except to pick yourselves out of the gutter and destroy +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_156' name='page_156'></a>156</span> +what kicked you into it and what keeps you there?”</p> +<p>“No!” roared the audience.</p> +<p>“Only a clean sweep will do it,” said Le Vey. “If +you have a single germ of plague in the world, it will +multiply. If you leave a single trace of what is called +civilisation in the world, it will hatch out more tyrants, +more capitalists, more laws. So there is only one remedy. +Destruction. Total annihilation. Nothing less +can purify this rotten hell they call the world!”</p> +<p>Amid storms of applause he unrolled a manuscript +and read without emphasis:</p> +<p>“Therefore, the Workers of the World, in council +assembled, hereby proclaim at midnight to-night, +throughout the entire world:</p> +<p>“1. That all debts, public and private, are cancelled.</p> +<p>“2. That all leases, contracts, indentures and similar +instruments, products of capitalism, are null and +void.</p> +<p>“3. All statutes, ordinances and other enactments +of capitalist government are repealed.</p> +<p>“4. All public offices are declared vacant.</p> +<p>“5. The military and naval organisations will immediately +dissolve and reorganise themselves upon a +democratic basis for speedy mobilisation.</p> +<p>“6. All working classes and political prisoners will +be immediately freed and all indictments quashed.</p> +<p>“7. All vacant and unused land shall immediately +revert to the people and remain common property until +suitable regulations for its disposition can be made.</p> +<p>“8. All telephones, telegraphs, cables, railroads, +steamship lines and other means of communication and +transportation shall be immediately taken over by the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_157' name='page_157'></a>157</span> +workers and treated henceforth as the property of the +people.</p> +<p>“9. As speedily as possible the workers in the various +industries will proceed to take over these industries +and organise them in the spirit of the new epoch now +beginning.</p> +<p>“10. The flag of the new society shall be plain red, +marking our unity and brotherhood with similar republics +in Russia, Germany, Austria and elsewhere–––”</p> +<p>“That’ll be about all from you, Professor,” interrupted +the police captain, strolling down to the platform. +“Come on, now. Kiss your friends good-night!”</p> +<p>A sullen roar rose from the audience; Le Vey lifted +one hand:</p> +<p>“I told you how to argue,” he said in his emotionless +voice. “Anybody can talk with their mouths.” And +he turned on his heel and went back to his seat on the +bench.</p> +<p>Sondheim stood up:</p> +<p>“Comrade Bromberg!” he shouted.</p> +<p>A small, shabby man arose from a bench and shambled +forward. His hair grew so low that it left him +practically no forehead. Whiskers blotted out the remainder +of his features except two small and very +bright eyes that snapped and sparkled, imbedded in +the hairy ensemble.</p> +<p>“Comrades,” he growled, “it has come to a moment +when the only law worth obeying is the law of +force!–––”</p> +<p>“You bet!” remarked the police captain, genially, +and, turning his back, he walked away up the aisle +toward the rear of the hall, while all around him from +the audience came a savage muttering.</p> +<p>Bromberg’s growling voice grew harsher and deeper +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_158' name='page_158'></a>158</span> +as he resumed: “I tell you that there is only one law +left for proletariat and tyrant alike! It is the law +of force!”</p> +<p>As the audience applauded fiercely, a man near them +stood up and shouted for a hearing.</p> +<p>“Comrade Bromberg is right!” he cried, waving his +arms excitedly. “There is only one real law in the +world! The fit survive! The unfit die! The strong +take what they desire! The weak perish. That is the +law of life! That is the–––”</p> +<p>An amazing interruption checked him––a clear, crystalline +peal of laughter; and the astounded audience +saw a tall, fresh, yellow-haired girl standing up midway +down the hall. It was Ilse Westgard, unable to +endure such nonsense, and quite regardless of Brisson’s +detaining hand and Shotwell’s startled remonstrance.</p> +<p>“What that man says is absurd!” she cried, her +fresh young voice still gay with laughter. “He looks +like a Prussian, and if he is he ought to know where +the law of force has landed his nation.”</p> +<p>In the ominous silence around her, Ilse turned and +gaily surveyed the audience.</p> +<p>“The law of force is the law of robbers,” she said. +“That is why this war has been fought––to educate +robbers. And if there remain any robbers they’ll have +to be educated. Don’t let anybody tell you that the +law of force is the law of life!–––”</p> +<p>“Who are you?” interrupted Bromberg hoarsely.</p> +<p>“An ex-soldier of the Death Battalion, comrade,” +said Ilse cheerfully. “I used a rifle in behalf of the +law of education. Sometimes bayonets educate, sometimes +machine guns. But the sensible way is to have +a meeting, and everybody drink tea and smoke cigarettes +and discuss their troubles without reserve, and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_159' name='page_159'></a>159</span> +then take a vote as to what is best for everybody concerned.”</p> +<p>And she seated herself with a smile just as the inevitable +uproar began.</p> +<p>All around her now men and women were shouting +at her; inflamed faces ringed her; gesticulating fists +waved in the air.</p> +<p>“What are you––a spy for Kerensky?” yelled a man +in Russian.</p> +<p>“The bourgeoisie has its agents here!” bawled a red-haired +Jew. “I offer a solemn protest–––”</p> +<p>“Agent provocateur!” cried many voices. “Pay no +attention to her! Go on with the debate!”</p> +<p>An I. W. W.––a thin, mean-faced American––half +arose and pointed an unwashed finger at Ilse.</p> +<p>“A Government spy,” he said distinctly. “Keep your +eye on her, comrades. There seems to be a bunch of +them there–––”</p> +<p>“Sit down and shut up!” said Shotwell, sharply. +“Do you want to start a riot?”</p> +<p>“You bet I’ll start something!” retorted the man, +showing his teeth like a rat. “What the hell did you +come here for–––”</p> +<p>“Silence!” bawled Bromberg, hoarsely, from the platform. +“That woman is recognised and known. Pay no +attention to her, but listen to me. I tell you that +your law is the law of hatred!–––”</p> +<p>Palla attempted to rise. Jim tried to restrain her: +she pushed his arm aside, but he managed to retain +his grasp on her arm.</p> +<p>“Are you crazy?” he whispered.</p> +<p>“That man lies!” she said excitedly. “Don’t you hear +him preaching hatred?”</p> +<p>“Well, it’s not your business–––”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_160' name='page_160'></a>160</span></div> +<p>“It <i>is</i>! That man is lying to these ignorant people! +He’s telling them a vile untruth! Let me go, Jim–––”</p> +<p>“Better keep cool,” whispered Brisson, leaning over. +“We’re all in dutch already.”</p> +<p>Palla said to him excitedly: “I’m afraid to stand up +and speak, but I’m going to! I’d be a coward to sit +here and let that man deceive these poor people–––”</p> +<p>“Listen to Bromberg!” motioned Ilse, her blue eyes +frosty and her cheeks deeply flushed.</p> +<p>The orator had come down into the aisle. Every +venomous word he was uttering now he directed straight +at the quartette.</p> +<p>“Russia is showing us the way,” he said in his growling +voice. “Russia makes no distinctions but takes +them all by the throat and wrings their necks––aristocrats, +bourgeoisie, cadets, officers, land owners, intellectuals––all +the vermin, all the parasites! And that +is the law, I tell you! The unfit perish! The strong +inherit the earth!–––”</p> +<p>Palla sprang to her feet: “Liar!” she said hotly. +“Did not Christ Himself tell us that the meek shall +inherit the earth!”</p> +<p>“Christ?” thundered Bromberg. “Have you come +here to insult us with legends and fairy-tales about a +god?”</p> +<p>“Who mentioned God?” retorted Palla in a clear +voice. “Unless we ourselves are gods there is none! +But Christ did live! And He was as much a god as +we are. And no more. But He was wiser! And what +He told us is the truth! And I shall not sit silent +while any man or woman teaches robbery and murder. +That’s what you mean when you say that the law of +the stronger is the only law! If it is, then the poor +and ignorant are where they belong–––”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_161' name='page_161'></a>161</span></div> +<p>“They won’t be when they learn the law of life!” +roared Bromberg.</p> +<p>“There is only one law of life!” cried Palla, turning +to look around her at the agitated audience. “The +only law in the world worth obedience is the Law of +Love and of Service! No other laws amount to anything. +Under that law every problem you agitate here +is already solved. There is no injustice that cannot +be righted under it! There is no aspiration that cannot +be realised!”</p> +<p>She turned on Bromberg, her hazel eyes very bright, +her face surging with colour.</p> +<p>“You came here to pervert the exhortation of Karl +Marx, and unite under the banner of envy and greed +every unhappy heart!</p> +<p>“Very well. Others also can unite to combat you. +A league of evil is not the only league that can be +formed under this roof. Nor are the soldiers and police +the only or the better weapons to use against you. +What you agitators and mischief makers are really +afraid of is that somebody may really educate your +audiences. And that’s exactly what such people as I +intend to do!”</p> +<p>A score or more of people had crowded around her +while she was speaking. Shotwell and Brisson, too, +had risen and stepped to her side. And the entire audience +was on its feet, craning hundreds of necks and +striving to hear and see.</p> +<p>Somewhere in the crowd a shrill American voice +cried: “Throw them guys out! They got Wall Street +cash in their pockets!”</p> +<p>Sondheim levelled a finger at Brisson:</p> +<p>“Look out for that man!” he said. “He published +those lies about Lenine and Trotsky, and he’s here +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_162' name='page_162'></a>162</span> +from Washington to lie about us in the newspapers!”</p> +<p>The I. W. W. lurched out of his seat and shoved +against Shotwell.</p> +<p>“Get the hell out o’ here,” he snarled; “––go on! +Beat it! And take your lady-friends, too.”</p> +<p>Brisson said: “No use talking to them. You’d better +take the ladies out while the going is good.”</p> +<p>But as they moved there was an angry murmur: +the I. W. W. gave Palla a violent shove that sent her +reeling, and Shotwell knocked him unconscious across +a bench.</p> +<p>Instantly the hall was in an uproar: there was a +savage rush for Brisson, but he stopped it with levelled +automatic.</p> +<p>“Get the ladies out!” he said coolly to Shotwell, +forcing a path forward at his pistol’s point.</p> +<p>Plain clothes men were active, too, pushing the excited +Bolsheviki this way and that and clearing a lane +for Palla and Ilse.</p> +<p>Then, as they reached the rear of the hall, there +came a wild howl from the audience, and Shotwell, looking +back, saw Sondheim unfurl a big red flag.</p> +<p>Instantly the police started for the rostrum. The +din became deafening as he threw one arm around +Palla and forced her out into the street, where Ilse and +Brisson immediately joined them.</p> +<p>Then, as they looked around for a taxi, a little +shrimp of a man came out on the steps of the hall and +spat on the sidewalk and cursed them in Russian.</p> +<p>And, as Palla, recognising him, turned around, he +shook his fists at her and at Ilse, promising that they +should be attended to when the proper moment arrived.</p> +<p>Then he spat again, laughed a rather ghastly and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_163' name='page_163'></a>163</span> +distorted laugh, and backed into the doorway behind +him.</p> +<p>They walked east––there being no taxi in sight. +Ilse and Brisson led; Palla followed beside Jim.</p> +<p>“Well,” said the latter, his voice not yet under complete +control, “don’t you think you’d better keep away +from such places in the future?”</p> +<p>She was still very much excited: “It’s abominable,” +she exclaimed, “that this country should permit such +lies to be spread among the people and do nothing to +counteract this campaign of falsehood! What is going +to happen, Jim, unless educated people combine to +educate the ignorant?”</p> +<p>“How?” he asked contemptuously.</p> +<p>“By example, first of all. By the purity and general +decency of their own lives. I tell you, Jim, that the +unscrupulous greed of the educated is as dangerous +and vile as the murderous envy of the Bolsheviki. +We’ve got to reform ourselves before we can educate +others. And unless we begin by conforming to the Law +of Love and Service, some day the Law of Hate and +Violence will cut our throats for us.”</p> +<p>“Palla,” he said, “I never dreamed that you’d do +such a thing as you did to-night.”</p> +<p>“I was afraid,” she said with a nervous tightening +of her arm under his, “but I was still more afraid of +being a coward.”</p> +<p>“You didn’t have to answer that crazy anarchist!”</p> +<p>“Somebody had to. He lied to those poor creatures. +I––I couldn’t stand it!––” Her voice broke a little. +“And if there is truly a god in me, as I believe, then +I should show Christ’s courage ... lacking His +wisdom,” she added so low that he scarcely heard her.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_164' name='page_164'></a>164</span></div> +<p>Ilse, walking ahead with Brisson, looked back over +her shoulder at Palla laughing.</p> +<p>“Didn’t I tell you that there are some creatures you +can’t educate? What do you think of your object +lesson, darling?”</p> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_165' name='page_165'></a>165</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XII' id='CHAPTER_XII'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XII</h2> +</div> +<p>On a foggy afternoon, toward midwinter, John +Estridge strolled into the new Overseas Club, +which, still being in process of incubation, occupied +temporary quarters on Madison Avenue.</p> +<p>Officers fresh from abroad and still in uniform predominated; +tunics were gay with service and wound +chevrons, citation cords, stars, crosses, strips of striped +ribbon.</p> +<p>There was every sort of head-gear to be seen there, +too, from the jaunty overseas <i>bonnet de police</i>, piped +in various colours, to the corded campaign hat and +leather-visored barrack-cap.</p> +<p>Few cavalry officers were in evidence, but there were +plenty of spurs glittering everywhere––to keep their +owners’ heels from slipping off the desks, as the pleasantry +of the moment had it.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Estridge went directly to a telephone booth, and +presently got his connection.</p> +<p>“It’s John Estridge, as usual,” he said in a bantering +tone. “How are you, Ilse?”</p> +<p>“John! I’m so glad you called me! Thank you +so much for the roses! They’re exquisite!––matchless!–––”</p> +<p>“Not at all!”</p> +<p>“What?”</p> +<p>“If you think they’re matchless, just hold one up +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_166' name='page_166'></a>166</span> +beside your cheek and take a slant at your mirror.”</p> +<p>“I thought you were not going to say such things +to me!”</p> +<p>“I thought I wasn’t.”</p> +<p>“Are you alone?” She laughed happily. “Where +are you, Jack?”</p> +<p>“At the Overseas Club. I stopped on my way from +the hospital.”</p> +<p>“Y––es.”</p> +<p>A considerable pause, and then Ilse laughed again–––a +confused, happy laugh.</p> +<p>“Did you think you’d––come over?” she inquired.</p> +<p>“Shall I?”</p> +<p>“What do <i>you</i> think about it, Jack?”</p> +<p>“I suppose,” he said in a humourous voice, “you’re +afraid of that tendency which you say I’m beginning +to exhibit.”</p> +<p>“The tendency to drift?”</p> +<p>“Yes;––toward those perilous rocks you warned me +of.”</p> +<p>“They <i>are</i> perilous!” she insisted.</p> +<p>“You ought to know,” he rejoined; “you’re sitting +on top of ’em like a bally Lorelei!”</p> +<p>“If that’s your opinion, hadn’t you better steer for +the open sea, John?”</p> +<p>“Certainly I’d better. But you look so sweet up +there, with your classical golden hair, that I think +I’ll risk the rocks.”</p> +<p>“Please don’t! There’s a deadly whirlpool under +them. I’m looking down at it now.”</p> +<p>“What do you see at the bottom, Ilse? Human +bones?”</p> +<p>“I can’t see the bottom. It’s all surface, like a +shining mirror.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_167' name='page_167'></a>167</span></div> +<p>“I’ll come over and take a look at it with you.”</p> +<p>“I think you’ll only see our own faces reflected.... +I think you’d better not come.”</p> +<p>“I’ll be there in about half an hour,” he said gaily.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>He sauntered out and on into the body of the club, +exchanging with friends a few words here, a smiling +handclasp there; and presently he seated himself near +a window.</p> +<p>For a while he rested his chin on his clenched hand, +staring into space, until a waiter arrived with his +order.</p> +<p>He signed the check, drained his glass, and leaned +forward again with both elbows on his knees, twirling +his silver-headed stick between nervous hands.</p> +<p>“After all,” he said under his breath, “it’s too late, +now.... I’m going to see this thing through.”</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>As he rose to go he caught sight of Jim Shotwell, +seated alone by another window and attempting to read +an evening paper by the foggy light from outside. He +walked over to him, fastening his overcoat on the way. +Jim laid aside his paper and gave him a dull glance.</p> +<p>“How are things with you?” inquired Estridge, carelessly.</p> +<p>“All right. Are you walking up town?”</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>Jim’s sombre eyes rested on the discarded paper, +but he did not pick it up. “It’s rotten weather,” he +said listlessly.</p> +<p>“Have you seen Palla lately?” inquired Estridge, +looking down at him with a certain curiosity.</p> +<p>“No, not lately.”</p> +<p>“She’s a very busy girl, I hear.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_168' name='page_168'></a>168</span></div> +<p>“So I hear.”</p> +<p>Estridge seated himself on the arm of a leather chair +and began to pull on his gloves. He said:</p> +<p>“I understand Palla is doing Red Cross and canteen +work, besides organising her celebrated club;––what +is it she calls it?––Combat Club No. 1?”</p> +<p>“I believe so.”</p> +<p>“And you haven’t seen her lately?”</p> +<p>Shotwell glanced at the fog and shrugged his shoulders: +“She’s rather busy––as you say. No, I haven’t +seen her. Besides, I’m rather out of my element among +the people one runs into at her house. So I simply +don’t go any more.”</p> +<p>“Palla’s parties are always amusing,” ventured +Estridge.</p> +<p>“Very,” said the other, “but her guests keep you +guessing.”</p> +<p>Estridge smiled: “Because they don’t conform to +the established scheme of things?”</p> +<p>“Perhaps. The scheme of things, as it is, suits me.”</p> +<p>“But it’s interesting to hear other people’s views.”</p> +<p>“I’m fed up on queer views––and on queer people,” +said Jim, with sudden and irritable emphasis. “Why, +hang it all, Jack, when a fellow goes out among apparently +well bred, decent people he takes it for granted +that ordinary, matter of course social conventions prevail. +But nobody can guess what notions are seething +in the bean of any girl you talk to at Palla’s house!”</p> +<p>Estridge laughed: “What do you care, Jim?”</p> +<p>“Well, I wouldn’t care if they all didn’t seem so +exactly like one’s own sort. Why, to look at them, +talk to them, you’d never suppose them queer! The +young girl you take in to dinner usually looks as +though butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. And the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_169' name='page_169'></a>169</span> +chances are that she’s all for socialism, self-determination, +trial marriages and free love!</p> +<p>“Hell’s bells! I’m no prude. I like to overstep conventions, +too. But this wholesale wrecking of the +social structure would be ruinous for a girl like Palla.”</p> +<p>“But Palla doesn’t believe in free love.”</p> +<p>“She hears it talked about by cracked illuminati.”</p> +<p>“Rain on a duck’s back, Jim!”</p> +<p>“Rain drowns young ducks.”</p> +<p>“You mean all this spouting will end in a deluge?”</p> +<p>“I do. And then look for dead ducks.”</p> +<p>“You’re not very respectful toward modernism,” remarked +Estridge, smiling.</p> +<p>Then Jim broke loose:</p> +<p>“Modernism? You yourself said that all these crazy +social notions––crazy notions in art, literature, music––arise +from some sort of physical degeneration, or from +the perversion or checking of normal physical functions.”</p> +<p>“Usually they do–––”</p> +<p>“Well,” continued Shotwell, “it’s mostly due to perversion, +in my opinion. Women have had too much +of a hell of a run for their money during this war. +They’ve broken down all the fences and they’re loose +and running all over the world.</p> +<p>“If they’d only kept their fool heads! But no. +Every germ in the wind lodged in their silly brains! +Biff. They want sex equality and a pair of riding +breeches! Bang! They kick over the cradle and +wreck the pantry.</p> +<p>“Wifehood? Played out! Motherhood? In the discards! +Domestic partnership?––each sex to its own +sphere? Ha-ha! That was all very well yesterday. +But woman as a human incubator and brooder is an +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_170' name='page_170'></a>170</span> +obsolete machine. Why the devil should free and +untramelled womanhood hatch out young?</p> +<p>“If they choose to, casually, all right. But it’s +purely a matter for self-determination. If a girl cares +to take off her Sam Brown belt and her puttees long +enough to nurse a baby, it’s a matter that concerns +her, not humanity at large. Because the social revolution +has settled all such details as personal independence +and the same standard for both sexes. So, +<i>a bas</i> Madame Grundy! <i>A la lanterne</i> with the old +régime! No––hang it all, I’m through!”</p> +<p>“Don’t you like Palla any more?” inquired Estridge, +still laughing.</p> +<p>Jim gave him a singular look: “Yes.... Do +you like Ilse Westgard?”</p> +<p>Estridge said coolly: “I am accepting her as she is. +I like her that much.”</p> +<p>“Oh. Is that very much?” sneered the other.</p> +<p>“Enough to marry her if she’d have me,” replied +Estridge pleasantly.</p> +<p>“And she won’t do that, I suppose?”</p> +<p>“Not so far.”</p> +<p>Jim eyed him sullenly: “Well, I don’t accept Palla +as she is––or thinks she is.”</p> +<p>“She’s sincere.”</p> +<p>“I understand that. But no girl can get away with +such notions. Where is it all going to land her? +What will she be?”</p> +<p>Estridge quoted: “‘It hath not yet appeared what +we shall be.’”</p> +<p>Shotwell rose impatiently, and picked up his overcoat: +“All I know is that when two healthy people care +for each other it’s their business––their <i>business</i>, I repeat––to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_171' name='page_171'></a>171</span> +get together legally and do the decent thing +by the human race.”</p> +<p>“Breed?”</p> +<p>“Certainly! Breed legally the finest, healthiest, best +of specimens;––and as many as they can feed and +clothe! For if they don’t––if we don’t––I mean our +own sort––the land will be crawling with the robust +get of all these millions of foreigners, who already +have nearly submerged us in America; and whose spawn +will, one day, smother us to death.</p> +<p>“Hang it all, aren’t they breeding like vermin now? +All yellow dogs do––all the unfit produce big litters. +That’s the only thing they ever do––accumulate +progeny.</p> +<p>“And what are we doing?––our sort, I mean? I’ll +tell you! Our sisters are having such a good time that +they won’t marry, if they can avoid it, until they’re +too mature to get the best results in children. Our +wives, if they condescend to have any offspring at all, +limit the output to one. Because more than one <i>might</i> +damage their beauty. Hell! If the educated classes +are going to practise race suicide and the Bolsheviki +are going to breed like lice, you can figure out the +answer for yourself.”</p> +<p>They walked to the foggy street together. Shotwell +said bitterly:</p> +<p>“I do care for Palla. I like Ilse. All the women +one encounters at Palla’s parties are gay, accomplished, +clever, piquant. The men also are more or less amusing. +The conversation is never dull. Everybody seems +to be well bred, sincere, friendly and agreeable. But +there’s something lacking. One feels it even before one +is enlightened concerning the ultra-modernism of these +admittedly interesting people. And I’ll tell you what +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_172' name='page_172'></a>172</span> +it is. Actually, deep in their souls, they don’t believe +in themselves.</p> +<p>“Take Palla. She says there is no God––no divinity +except in herself. And I tell you she may think she +believes it, but she doesn’t.</p> +<p>“And her school-girl creed––Love and Service! Fine. +Only there’s a prior law––self-preservation; and another––race +preservation! By God, how are you going +to love and serve if girls stop having babies?</p> +<p>“And as for this silly condemnation of the marriage +ceremony, merely because some sanctified Uncle Foozle +once inserted the word ‘obey’ in it––just because, under +the marriage laws, tyranny and cruelty have been practised––what +callow rot!</p> +<p>“Laws can be changed; divorce made simple and +non-scandalous as it should be; all rights safeguarded +for the woman; and still have something legal and +recognised by one of those necessary conventions which +make civilisation possible.</p> +<p>“But this irresponsible idea of procedure through +mere inclination––this sauntering through life under +no law to safeguard and govern, except the law of +personal preference––that’s anarchy! That code spells +demoralisation, degeneracy and disaster!... And +the whole damned thing to begin again––a slow development +of the human race, once more, out of the chaos +of utter barbarism.”</p> +<p>Estridge, standing there on the sidewalk in the fog, +smiled:</p> +<p>“You’re very eloquent, Jim. Why don’t you say +all this to Palla?”</p> +<p>“I did. I told her, too, that the root of the whole +thing was selfishness. And it is. It’s a refusal to play +the game according to rule. There are only two sexes +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_173' name='page_173'></a>173</span> +and one of ’em is fashioned to bear young, and the other +is fashioned to hustle for mother and kid. You can’t +alter that, whether it’s fair or not. It’s the game as +we found it. The rules were already provided for +playing it. The legal father and mother are supposed +to look out for their own legal progeny. And any +alteration of this rule, with a view to irresponsible +mating and turning the offspring over to the community +to take care of, would create an unhuman race, +unconscious of the highest form of love––the love for +parents.</p> +<p>“A fine lot we’d be as an incubated race!”</p> +<p>Estridge laughed: “I’ve got to go,” he said, “And, +if you care for Palla as you say you do, you oughtn’t +to leave her entirely alone with her circle of modernist +friends. Stick around! It may make you mad, but if +she likes you, at least she won’t commit an indiscretion +with anybody else.”</p> +<p>“I wish I could find my own sort as amusing,” said +Jim, naïvely. “I’ve been going about recently––dances, +dinners, theatres––but I can’t seem to keep my mind +off Palla.”</p> +<p>Estridge said: “If you’d give your sense of humour +half a chance you’d be all right. You take yourself +too solemnly. You let Palla scare you. That’s not +the way. The thing to do is to have a jolly time with +her, with them all. Accept her as she thinks she is. +There’s no damage done yet. Time enough to throw +fits if she takes the bit and bolts–––”</p> +<p>He extended his hand, cordially but impatiently:</p> +<p>“You remember I once said that girl ought to be +married and have children? If you do the marrying +part she’s likely to do the rest very handsomely. And +it will be the making of her.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_174' name='page_174'></a>174</span></div> +<p>Jim held on to his hand:</p> +<p>“Tell me what to do, Jack. She isn’t in love with me. +And she wouldn’t submit to a legal ceremony if she +were. You invoke my sense of humour. I’m willing +to give it an airing, only I can’t see anything funny +in this business.”</p> +<p>“It <i>is</i> funny! Palla’s funny, but doesn’t know it. +You’re funny! They’re all funny––unintentionally. +But their motives are tragically immaculate. So stick +around and have a good time with Palla until there’s +really something to scare you.”</p> +<p>“And then?”</p> +<p>“How the devil do I know? It’s up to you, of +course, what you do about it.”</p> +<p>He laughed and strode away through the fog.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>It had seemed to Jim a long time since he had seen +Palla. It wasn’t very long. And in all that interminable +time he had not once called her up on the telephone––had +not even written her a single line. Nor had she +written to him.</p> +<p>He had gone about his social business in his own +circle, much to his mother’s content. He had seen +quite a good deal of Elorn Sharrow; was comfortably +back on the old, agreeable footing; tried desperately +to enjoy it; pretended that he did.</p> +<p>But the days were long in the office; the evenings +longer, wherever he happened to be; and the nights, +alas! were becoming interminable, now, because he slept +badly, and the grey winter daylight found him unrefreshed.</p> +<p>Which, recently, had given him a slightly battered +appearance, commented on jestingly by young rakes +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_175' name='page_175'></a>175</span> +and old sports at the Patroon’s Club, and also observed +by his mother with gentle concern.</p> +<p>“Don’t overdo it, Jim,” she cautioned him, meaning +dances that ended with breakfasts and that sort of +thing. But her real concern was vaguer than that––deeper, +perhaps. And sometimes she remembered the +girl in black.</p> +<p>Lately, however, that anxiety had been almost entirely +allayed. And her comparative peace of mind +had come about in an unexpected manner.</p> +<p>For, one morning, entering the local Red Cross +quarters, where for several hours she was accustomed +to sew, she encountered Mrs. Speedwell and her lively +daughter, Connie––her gossiping informants concerning +her son’s appearance at Delmonico’s with the mysterious +girl in black.</p> +<p>“Well, what do you suppose, Helen?” said Mrs. +Speedwell, mischievously. “Jim’s pretty mystery in +black is here!”</p> +<p>“Here?” repeated Mrs. Shotwell, flushing and looking +around her at the rows of prophylactic ladies, all sewing +madly side by side.</p> +<p>“Yes, and she’s prettier even than I thought her +in Delmonico’s,” remarked Connie. “Her name is Palla +Dumont, and she’s a friend of Leila Vance.”</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>During the morning, Mrs. Shotwell found it convenient +to speak to Leila Vance; and they exchanged +a pleasant word or two––merely the amiable civilities +of two women who recognise each other socially as +well as personally.</p> +<p>And it happened in that way, a few days later, that +Helen Shotwell met this pretty friend of Leila Vance––Palla +Dumont––the girl in black.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_176' name='page_176'></a>176</span></div> +<p>And Palla had looked up from her work with her +engaging smile, saying: “I know your son, Mrs. Shotwell. +Is he quite well? I haven’t seen him for such a +long time.”</p> +<p>And instantly the invisible antennæ of these two +women became busy exploring, probing, searching, +and recognising in each other all that remains forever +incomprehensible to man.</p> +<p>For Palla somehow understood that Jim had never +spoken of her to his mother; and yet that his mother +had heard of her friendship with her son.</p> +<p>And Helen knew that Palla was quietly aware of +this, and that the girl’s equanimity remained undisturbed.</p> +<p>Only people quite sure of themselves preserved serenity +under the merciless exploration of the invisible feminine +antennæ. And it was evident that the girl in +black had nothing to conceal from her in regard to +her only son––whatever that same son might think he +ought to make an effort to conceal from his mother.</p> +<p>To herself Helen thought: “Jim has had his wings +singed, and has fled the candle.”</p> +<p>To Palla she said: “Mrs. Vance tells me such interesting +stories of your experiences in Russia. Really, +it’s like a charming romance––your friendship for the +poor little Grand Duchess.”</p> +<p>“A tragic one,” said Palla in a voice so even that +Helen presently lifted her eyes from her sewing to read +in her expression something more than the mere words +that this young girl had uttered. And saw a still, pale +face, sensitive and very lovely; and the needle flying +over a bandage no whiter than the hand that held it.</p> +<p>“It was a great shock to you––her death,” said +Helen.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_177' name='page_177'></a>177</span></div> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“And––you were there at the time! How dreadful!”</p> +<p>Palla lifted her brown eyes: “I can’t talk about it +yet,” she said so simply that Helen’s sixth sense, always +alert for information from the busy, invisible antennæ, +suddenly became convinced that there were no more +hidden depths to explore––no motives to suspect, no +pretense to expose.</p> +<p>Day after day she chose to seat herself between +Palla and Leila Vance; and the girl began to fascinate +her.</p> +<p>There was no effort to please on Palla’s part, other +than that natural one born of sweet-tempered consideration +for everybody. There seemed to be no pretence, +no pose.</p> +<p>Such untroubled frankness, such unconscious candour +were rather difficult to believe in, yet Helen was +now convinced that in Palla these phenomena were quite +genuine. And she began to understand more clearly, as +the week wore on, why her son might have had a hard +time of it with Palla Dumont before he returned to +more familiar pastures, where camouflage and not candour +was the rule in the gay and endless game of blind-man’s +buff.</p> +<p>“This girl,” thought Helen Shotwell to herself, +“could easily have taken Jim away from Elorn Sharrow +had she chosen to do so. There is no doubt about her +charm and her goodness. She certainly is a most unusual +girl.”</p> +<p>But she did not say this to her only son. She did +not even tell him that she had met his girl in black. +And Palla had not informed him; she knew that; because +the girl herself had told her that she had not +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_178' name='page_178'></a>178</span> +seen Jim for “a long, long time.” It really was not +nearly as long as Palla seemed to consider it.</p> +<p>Helen lunched with Leila Vance one day. The former +spoke pleasantly of Palla.</p> +<p>“She’s such a darling,” said Mrs. Vance, “but the +child worries me.”</p> +<p>“Why?”</p> +<p>“Well, she’s absorbed some ultra-modern Russian +notions––socialistic ones––rather shockingly radical. +Can you imagine it in a girl who began her novitiate +as a Carmelite nun?”</p> +<p>Helen said: “She does not seem to have a tendency +toward extremes.”</p> +<p>“She has. That awful affair in Russia seemed to +shock her from one extreme to another. It’s a long +way from the cloister to the radical rostrum.”</p> +<p>“She spoke of this new Combat Club.”</p> +<p>“She organised it,” said Leila. “They have a hall +where they invite public discussion of social questions +three nights a week. The other three nights, a rival +and very red club rents the hall and howls for anarchy +and blood.”</p> +<p>“Isn’t it strange?” said Helen. “One can not imagine +such a girl devoting herself to radical propaganda.”</p> +<p>“Too radical,” said Leila. “I’m keeping an uneasy +eye on that very wilful and wrong-headed child. Why, +my dear, she has the most fastidious, the sweetest, the +most chaste mind, and yet the things she calmly discusses +would make your hair curl.”</p> +<p>“For example?” inquired Helen, astonished.</p> +<p>“Well, for example, they’ve all concluded that it’s +time to strip poor old civilisation of her tinsel customs, +thread-worn conventions, polite legends, and pleasant +falsehoods.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_179' name='page_179'></a>179</span></div> +<p>“All laws are silly. Everybody is to do as they +please, conforming only to the universal law of Love +and Service. Do you see where that would lead some +of those pretty hot-heads?”</p> +<p>“Good heavens, I should think so!”</p> +<p>“Of course. But they can’t seem to understand that +the unscrupulous are certain to exploit them––that the +most honest motives––the purest––invite that certain +disaster consequent on social irregularities.</p> +<p>“Palla, so far, is all hot-headed enthusiast––hot-hearted +theorist. But I remember that she did take +the white veil once. And, as I tell you, I shall try to +keep her within range of my uneasy vision. Because,” +she added, “she’s really a perfect darling.”</p> +<p>“She is a most attractive girl,” said Helen slowly; +“but I think she’d be more attractive still if she were +happily married.”</p> +<p>“And had children.”</p> +<p>Their eyes met, unsmilingly, yet in silent accord.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Their respective cars awaited them at the Ritz and +took them in different directions. But all the afternoon +Helen Shotwell’s mind was occupied with what she now +knew of Palla Dumont. And she realised that she +wished the girl were back in Russia in spite of all her +charm and fascination––yes, on account of it.</p> +<p>Because this lovely, burning asteroid might easily +cross the narrow orbit through which her own social +world spun peacefully in its orderly progress amid +that metropolitan galaxy called Society.</p> +<p>Leila Vance was part of that galaxy. So was her +own and only son. Wandering meteors that burnt so +prettily might yet do damage.</p> +<p>For Helen, having known this girl, found it not any +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_180' name='page_180'></a>180</span> +too easy to believe that her son could have relinquished +her completely in so disturbingly brief a time.</p> +<p>Had she been a young man she knew that she would +not have done so. And, knowing it, she was troubled.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Meanwhile, her only son was troubled, too, as he +walked slowly homeward through the winter fog.</p> +<p>And by the time he was climbing his front steps +he had concluded to accept this girl as she was––or +thought she was––to pull no more long faces or sour +faces, but to go back to her, resolutely determined +to enjoy her friendship and her friends too; and give +his long incarcerated sense of humour an airing, even +if he suffered acutely while it revelled.</p> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_181' name='page_181'></a>181</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XIII' id='CHAPTER_XIII'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XIII</h2> +</div> +<p>Palla’s activities seemed to exhilarate her physically +and mentally. Body and brain were now +fully occupied; and, if the profit to her soul were +dubious, nevertheless the restless spirit of the girl now +had an outlet; and at home and in the Combat Club she +planned and discussed and investigated the world’s woes +to her ardent heart’s content.</p> +<p>Physically, too, Red Cross and canteen work gave +her much needed occupation; and she went everywhere +on foot, never using bus, tram or taxicab. The result +was, in spite of late and sometimes festive hours, that +Palla had become something more than an unusually +pretty girl, for there was much of real beauty in her +full and charming face and in her enchantingly rounded +yet lithe and lissome figure.</p> +<p>About the girl, also, there seemed to be a new freshness +like fragrance––a virginal sweetness––that indefinable +perfume of something young and vigorous that +is already in bud.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>That morning she went over to the dingy row of +buildings to sign the lease of the hall for three evenings +a week, as quarters for Combat Club No. 1.</p> +<p>The stuffy place where the Red Flag Club had met +the night before was still reeking with stale smoke and +the effluvia of the unwashed; but the windows were +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_182' name='page_182'></a>182</span> +open and a negro was sweeping up a litter of defunct +cigars.</p> +<p>“Yaas’m, Mr. Puma’s office is next do’,” he replied +to Palla’s inquiry; “––Sooperfillum Co’poration. +Yaas’m.”</p> +<p>Next door had been a stable and auction ring, and +odours characteristic still remained, although now the +ring had been partitioned, boarded over and floored, and +Mr. Hewitt’s glass rods full of blinding light were +suspended above the studio ceilings of the Super-Picture +Corporation.</p> +<p>Palla entered the brick archway. An office on the +right bore the name of Angelo Puma; and that large, +richly coloured gentleman hastily got out of his desk +chair and flashed a pair of magnificent as well as astonished +eyes upon Palla as she opened the door and +walked in.</p> +<p>When she had seated herself and stated her business, +Puma, with a single gesture, swept from the office +several men and a stenographer, and turned to Palla.</p> +<p>“Is it you, then, who are this Combat Club which +would rent from me the hall next door!” he exclaimed, +showing every faultless tooth in his head.</p> +<p>Palla smiled: “I am empowered by the club to sign +a lease.”</p> +<p>“That is sufficient!” exclaimed Puma, with a superb +gesture. “So! It is signed! Your desire is enough. +The matter is accomplished when you express the wish!”</p> +<p>Palla blushed a little but smilingly affixed her signature +to the papers elaborately presented by Angelo +Puma.</p> +<p>“A lease?” he remarked, with a flourish of his large, +sanguine, and jewelled hand. “A detail merely for your +security, Miss Dumont. For me, I require only the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_183' name='page_183'></a>183</span> +expression of your slightest wish. That, to me, is a +command more binding than the seal of the notary!”</p> +<p>And he flashed his dazzling smile on Palla, who was +tucking her copy of the agreement into her muff.</p> +<p>“Thank you so much, Mr. Puma,” she said, almost +inclined to laugh at his extravagances. And she laid +down a certified check to cover the first month’s rental.</p> +<p>Mr. Puma bowed; his large, heavily lashed black +eyes were very brilliant; his mouth much too red under +the silky black moustache.</p> +<p>“For me,” he said impulsively, “art alone matters. +What is money? What is rent? What are all the annoying +details of commerce? Interruptions to the soul-flow! +Checks to the fountain jet of inspiration! Art +only is important. Have you ever seen a cinema +studio, Miss Dumont?”</p> +<p>Palla never had.</p> +<p>“Would it interest you, perhaps?”</p> +<p>“Thank you––some time–––”</p> +<p>“It is but a step! They are working. A peep will +take but a moment––if you please––a thousand excuses +that I proceed to show you the way!–––”</p> +<p>She stepped through a door. From a narrow anteroom +she saw the set-scene in a ghastly light, where +men in soiled shirt-sleeves dragged batteries of electric +lights about, each underbred face as livid as the visage +of a corpse too long unburied.</p> +<p>There were women there, too, looking a little more +human in their makeups under the horrible bluish glare. +Camera men were busy; a cadaverous and profane director, +with his shabby coat-collar turned up, was talking +loudly in a Broadway voice and jargon to a bewildered +girl wearing a ball gown.</p> +<p>As Puma led Palla through the corridor from partition +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_184' name='page_184'></a>184</span> +to partition, disclosing each set with its own scene +and people––the whole studio full of blatant noise and +ghastly faces or painted ones, Palla thought she had +never before beheld such a concentration of every type +of commonness in her entire existence. Faces, shapes, +voices, language, all were essentially the properties of +congenital vulgarity. The language, too, had to be +sharply rebuked by Puma once or twice amid the +wrangling of director, camera man and petty subordinates.</p> +<p>“So intense are the emotions evoked by a fanatic +devotion to art,” he explained to Palla, “that, at +moments, the old, direct and vigorous Anglo-Saxon +tongue is heard here, unashamed. What will you? It +is art! It is the fervour that forgets itself in blind +devotion––in rapturous self-dedication to the god of +Truth and Beauty!”</p> +<p>As she turned away, she heard from a neighbouring +partition the hoarse expostulations of one of Art’s +blind acolytes: “Say, f’r Christ’s sake, Delmour, what +the hell’s loose in your bean! Yeh done it wrong an’ +yeh know damn well yeh done it wrong–––”</p> +<p>Puma opened another door: “One of our projection +rooms, Miss Dumont. If it is your pleasure to see a +few reels run off–––”</p> +<p>“Thank you, but I really must go–––”</p> +<p>The office door stood open and she went out that way. +Mr. Puma confronted her, moistly brilliant of eye:</p> +<p>“For me, Miss Dumont, I am frank like there never +was a child in arms! Yes. I am all art; all heart. +For me, beauty is God!––” he kissed his fat fingers +and wafted the caress toward the dirty ceiling.</p> +<p>“Please excuse,” he said with his powerful smile, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_185' name='page_185'></a>185</span> +“but have you ever, perhaps, thought, Miss Dumont, +of the screen as a career?”</p> +<p>“I?” asked Palla, surprised and amused. “No, Mr. +Puma, I haven’t.”</p> +<p>“A test! Possibly, in you, latent, sleeps the exquisite +apotheosis of Art incarnate! Who can tell? +You have youth, beauty, a mind! Yes. Who knows +if, also, happily, genius slumbers within? Yes?”</p> +<p>“I’m very sure it doesn’t,” replied Palla, laughing.</p> +<p>“Ah! Who can be sure of anything––even of heaven!” +cried Puma.</p> +<p>“Very true,” said Palla, trying to speak seriously, +“But the career of a moving picture actress does not +attract me.”</p> +<p>“The emoluments are enormous!”</p> +<p>“Thank you, no–––”</p> +<p>“A test! We try! It would be amusing for you to +see yourself upon the screen as you are, Miss Dumont? +As you <i>are</i>––young, beautiful, vivacious–––”</p> +<p>He still blocked her way, so she said, laying her +gloved hand on the knob:</p> +<p>“Thank you very much. Some day, perhaps. But +I really must go–––”</p> +<p>He immediately bowed, opened the glass door, and +went with her to the brick arch.</p> +<p>“I do not think you know,” he said, “that I have +entered partnership with a friend of yours?”</p> +<p>“A friend of mine?”</p> +<p>“Mr. Elmer Skidder.”</p> +<p>“Oh,” she exclaimed, smilingly, “I hope the partnership +will be a fortunate one. Will you kindly inform +Mr. Skidder of my congratulations and best wishes for +his prosperity? And you may say that I shall be glad +to hear from him about his new enterprise.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_186' name='page_186'></a>186</span></div> +<p>To Mr. Puma’s elaborate leave-taking she vouchsafed +a quick, amused nod, then hurried away eastward +to keep her appointment at the Canteen.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>About five o’clock she experienced a healthy inclination +for tea and wavered between the Plaza and home. +Ilse and Marya were with her, but an indefinable something +caused her to hesitate, and finally to let them +go to the Plaza without her.</p> +<p>What might be the reason of this sudden whim for an +unpremeditated cup of tea at home she scarcely took +the trouble to analyse. Yet, she was becoming conscious +of a subtle and increasing exhilaration as she +approached her house and mounted the steps.</p> +<p>Suddenly, as she fitted the latch-key, her heart leaped +and she knew why she had come home.</p> +<p>For a moment her fast pulse almost suffocated her. +Was she mad to return here on the wildest chance that +Jim might have come––might be inside, waiting? And +what in the world made her suppose so?––for she had +neither seen him nor heard from him in many days.</p> +<p>“I’m certainly a little crazy,” she thought as she +opened the door. At the same moment her eyes fell on +his overcoat and hat and stick.</p> +<p>Her skirt was rather tight, but her limbs were supple +and her feet light, and she ran upstairs to the living +room.</p> +<p>As he rose from an armchair she flung her arms out +with a joyous little cry and wrapped them tightly +around his neck, muff, reticule and all.</p> +<p>“You darling,” he was saying over and over in a +happy but rather stupid voice, and crushing her narrow +hands between his; “––you adorable child, you wonderful +girl–––”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_187' name='page_187'></a>187</span></div> +<p>“Oh, I’m so glad, Jim! Shall we have tea?... +You dear fellow! I’m so very happy that you came! +Wait a moment––” she leaned wide from him and touched +an electric bell. “Now you’ll have to behave properly,” +she said with delightful malice.</p> +<p>He released her; she spoke to the maid and then +went over with him to the sofa, flinging muff, stole +and purse on a chair.</p> +<p>“Pure premonition,” she explained, stripping the +gloves from her hands. “Ilse and Marya were all for +the Plaza, but something sent me homeward! Isn’t +it really very strange, Jim? Why, I almost had an +inclination to run when I turned into our street––not +even knowing why, of course–––”</p> +<p>“You’re so sweet and generous!” he blurted out. +“Why don’t you raise hell with me?”</p> +<p>“You know,” she said demurely, “I don’t raise hell, +dear.”</p> +<p>“But I’ve behaved so rottenly–––”</p> +<p>“It really wasn’t friendly to neglect me so entirely.”</p> +<p>He looked down––laid one hand on hers in silence.</p> +<p>“I understand, Jim,” she said sweetly. “Is it all +right now?”</p> +<p>“It’s all right.... Of course I haven’t +changed.”</p> +<p>“Oh.”</p> +<p>“But it’s all right.”</p> +<p>“Really?”</p> +<p>“Yes.... What is there for me to do but +to accept things as they are?”</p> +<p>“You mean, ‘accept <i>me</i> as I am!’ Oh, Jim, it’s so +dear of you. And you know well enough that I care +for no other man as I do for you–––”</p> +<p>The waitress with the tea-tray cut short that sort of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_188' name='page_188'></a>188</span> +conversation. Palla’s appetite was a healthy one. She +unpinned her hat and flung it on the piano. Then she +nestled down sideways on the sofa, one leg tucked under +the other knee, her hair in enough disorder to worry any +other girl––and began to tuck away tea and cakes. +Sometimes, in animated conversation, she gesticulated +with a buttered bun––once she waved her cup to emphasise +her point:</p> +<p>“The main idea, of course, is to teach the eternal +law of Love and Service,” she explained. “But, Jim, +I have become recently, and in a measure, militant.”</p> +<p>“You’re going to love the unwashed with a club?”</p> +<p>“You very impudent boy! We’re going to combat +this new and terrible menace––this sinister flood that +threatens the world––the crimson tide of anarchy!”</p> +<p>“Good work, darling! I enlist for a machine gun +uni–––”</p> +<p>“Listen! The battle is to be entirely verbal. Our +Combat Club No. 1, the first to be established––is open +to anybody and everybody. All are at liberty to enter +into the discussions. We who believe in the Law of Love +and Service shall have our say every evening that the +club is open–––”</p> +<p>“The Reds may come and take a crack at you.”</p> +<p>“The Reds are welcome. We wish to face them +across the rostrum, not across a barricade!”</p> +<p>“Well, you dear girl, I can’t see how any Red is +going to resist you. And if any does, I’ll knock his +bally block off–––”</p> +<p>“Oh, Jim, you’re so vernacularly inclined! And you’re +very flippant, too–––”</p> +<p>“I’m not really,” he said in a lower voice. “Whatever +you care about could not fail to appeal to me.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_189' name='page_189'></a>189</span></div> +<p>She gave him a quick, sweet glance, then searched +the tea-tray to reward him.</p> +<p>As she gave him another triangle of cinnamon toast, +she remembered something else. It was on the tip of +her tongue, now; and she checked herself.</p> +<p><i>He</i> had not spoken of it. Had his mother mentioned +meeting her at the Red Cross? If not––was it merely +a natural forgetfulness on his mother’s part? Was +her silence significant?</p> +<p>Nibbling pensively at her cinnamon toast, Palla pondered +this. But the girl’s mind worked too directly +for concealment to come easy.</p> +<p>“I’m wondering,” she said, “whether your mother +mentioned our meeting at the Red Cross.” And she +knew immediately by his expression that he heard it +for the first time.</p> +<p>“I was introduced at our headquarters by Leila +Vance,” said Palla, in her even voice; “and your mother +and she are acquaintances. That is how it happened, +Jim.”</p> +<p>He was still somewhat flushed but he forced a smile: +“Did you find my mother agreeable, Palla?”</p> +<p>“Yes. And she is so beautiful with her young face +and pretty white hair. She always sits between Leila +and me while we sew.”</p> +<p>“Did you say you knew me?”</p> +<p>“Yes, of course.”</p> +<p>“Of course,” he repeated, reddening again.</p> +<p>No man ever has successfully divined any motive +which any woman desires to conceal.</p> +<p>Why his mother had not spoken of Palla to him he +did not know. He was aware, of course, that nobody +within the circle into which he had been born would +tolerate Palla’s social convictions. Had she casually +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_190' name='page_190'></a>190</span> +and candidly revealed a few of them to his mother +in the course of the morning’s conversation over their +sewing?</p> +<p>He gave Palla a quick look, encountered her slightly +amused eyes, and turned redder than ever.</p> +<p>“You dear boy,” she said, smiling, “I don’t think +your very charming mother would be interested in +knowing me. The informality of ultra-modern people +could not appeal to her generation.”</p> +<p>“Did you––talk to her about–––”</p> +<p>“No. But it might happen. You know, Jim, I +have nothing to conceal.”</p> +<p>The old troubled look had come back into his face. +She noticed it and led the conversation to lighter +themes.</p> +<p>“We danced last night after dinner,” she said. +“There were some amusing people here for dinner. +Then we went to see such a charming play––<i>Tea for +Three</i>––and then we had supper at the Biltmore and +danced.... Will you dine with me to-morrow?”</p> +<p>“Of course.”</p> +<p>“Do you think you’d enjoy it?––a lot of people who +entertain the same shocking beliefs that I do?”</p> +<p>“All right!” he said with emphasis. “I’m through +playing the rôle of death’s-head at the feast. I told +you that I’m going to take you as you are and enjoy +you and our friends––and quit making an ass of +myself–––”</p> +<p>“Dear, you never did!”</p> +<p>“Oh, yes, I did. And maybe I’m a predestined ass. +But every ass has a pair of heels and I’m going to +flourish mine very gaily from now on!”</p> +<p>She protested laughingly at his self-characterisation, +and bent toward him a little, caressing his sleeve in +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_191' name='page_191'></a>191</span> +appeal, or shaking it in protest as he denounced himself +and promised to take the world more gaily in the +future.</p> +<p>“You’ll see,” he remarked, rising to take his leave: +“I may even call the bluff of some of your fluffy ultra-modern +friends and try a few trial marriages with each +of ’em–––”</p> +<p>“Oh, Jim, you’re absolutely horrid! As if my friends +believed in such disgusting ideas!”</p> +<p>“They do––some of ’em.”</p> +<p>“They don’t!”</p> +<p>“Well, then, I do!” he announced so gravely that she +had to look at him closely in the rather dim lamplight +to see whether he was jesting.</p> +<p>She walked to the top of the staircase with him; +let him take her into his arms; submitted to his kiss. +Always a little confused by his demonstrations, nevertheless +her hand retained his for a second longer, as +though shyly reluctant to let him go.</p> +<p>“I am so glad you came,” she said. “Don’t neglect +me any more.”</p> +<p>And so he went his way.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>His mother discovered him in the library, dressed +for dinner. Something, as he rose––his manner of looking +at her, perhaps––warned her that they were not +perfectly <i>en rapport</i>. Then the subtle, invisible antennæ, +exploring caressingly what is so palpable in the +heart of man, told her that once more she was to deal +with the girl in black.</p> +<p>When his mother was seated, he said: “I didn’t know +you had met Palla Dumont, mother.”</p> +<p>Helen hesitated: “Mrs. Vance’s friend? Oh, yes; +she comes to the Red Cross with Leila Vance.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_192' name='page_192'></a>192</span></div> +<p>“Do you like her?”</p> +<p>In her son’s eyes she was aware of that subtle and +unconscious appeal which all mothers of boys are, some +day, fated to see and understand.</p> +<p>Sometimes the appeal is disguised, sometimes it is +so subtle that only mothers are able to perceive it.</p> +<p>But what to do about it is the perennial problem. +For between lack of sympathy and response there are +many nuances; and opposition is always to be avoided.</p> +<p>Helen said, pleasantly, that the girl appeared to +be amiable and interesting.</p> +<p>“I know her merely in that way,” she continued. “We +sit there sewing slings, pads, compresses, and bandages, +and we gossip at random with our neighbours.”</p> +<p>“I like her very much,” said Jim.</p> +<p>“She does seem to be an attractive girl,” said his +mother carelessly.... “Are you going to Yama +Farms for the week end?”</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>“Oh, I’m sorry. The Speedwells’ party is likely to +be such a jolly affair, and I hear there’s lots of snow +up there.”</p> +<p>“I haven’t met Mrs. Vance,” said her son. “Is she +nice?”</p> +<p>“Leila Vance? Why, of course.”</p> +<p>“Who is she?”</p> +<p>“She married an embassy attaché, Captain Vance. +He was in the old army––killed at Mons four years +ago.”</p> +<p>“She and Palla are intimate?”</p> +<p>“I believe they are good friends,” remarked his +mother, deciding not to attempt to turn the current +of conversation for the moment.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_193' name='page_193'></a>193</span></div> +<p>“Mother?”</p> +<p>“Yes, dear.”</p> +<p>“I am quite sure I never met a girl I like as well.”</p> +<p>Helen laughed: “That is a trifle extravagant, isn’t +it?”</p> +<p>“No.... I asked her to marry me.”</p> +<p>Helen’s heart stood still, then a bright flush stained +her face.</p> +<p>“She refused me,” said the boy.</p> +<p>His mother said very quietly: “Of course this is +news to us, Jim.”</p> +<p>“Yes, I didn’t tell you. I couldn’t, somehow. But +I’ve told you now.”</p> +<p>“Dearest,” she said, dropping her hand over his, +“don’t think me unsympathetic if I say that it really is +better that she refused you.”</p> +<p>“I understand, mother.”</p> +<p>“I hope you do.”</p> +<p>“Oh, yes. But I don’t think you do. Because I +am still in love with her.”</p> +<p>“You poor dear!”</p> +<p>“It’s rotten luck, isn’t it?”</p> +<p>“Time heals––” She checked herself, turned and +kissed him.</p> +<p>“After all,” she said, “a soldier learns how to take +things.”</p> +<p>And presently: “I do wish you’d go up to Yama +Farms.”</p> +<p>“That,” he said, “would be the obvious thing to do. +Anything to keep going and keep your mind ticking +away until you’re safely wound up again.... But +I’m not going, dear.”</p> +<p>Helen looked at him in silence, not wondering what +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_194' name='page_194'></a>194</span> +he might be going to do with his week-end instead, +because she already guessed.</p> +<p>Before she said anything more his father came in; +and a moment later dinner was announced.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Jim slept soundly for the first night in a long time. +His mother scarcely closed her eyes at all.</p> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_195' name='page_195'></a>195</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XIV' id='CHAPTER_XIV'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XIV</h2> +</div> +<p>There had been a row at the Red Flag Club––a +matter of differing opinions between members––nothing +sufficient to attract the police, but +enough to break several heads, benches and windows. +And it was evident that some gentleman’s damaged nose +had bled all over the linoleum in the lobby.</p> +<p>Elmer Skidder, arriving at the studio next morning +in his brand new limousine, heard about the shindy +and went into the club to inspect the wreckage. Then, +mad all through, he started out to find Puma. But a +Sister Art had got the best of Angelo Puma in a +questionable cabaret the night before, and he had not +yet arrived at the studio of the Super-Picture Corporation.</p> +<p>Skidder, thrifty by every instinct, and now smarting +under his wrongs at the hands––and feet––of the Red +Flag Club, went away in his gorgeous limousine to find +Sondheim, who paid the rental and who lived in the +Bronx.</p> +<p>It was a long way; every mile and every gallon of +gasoline made Skidder madder; and when at length +he arrived at the brand new, jerry-built apartment +house inhabited by Max Sondheim, he had concluded +that the Red Flag Club was an undesirable tenant and +that it must be summarily kicked out.</p> +<p>Sondheim was still in bed, but a short-haired and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_196' name='page_196'></a>196</span> +pallid young woman, with assorted spots on her complexion, +bade Skidder enter, and opened the chamber +door for him.</p> +<p>The bedroom, which smelled of sour fish, was very +cold, very dirty, and very blue with cigar smoke. The +remains of a delicatessen breakfast stood on a table +near the only window, which was tightly shut, and +under the sill of which a radiator emitted explosive +symptoms of steam to come.</p> +<p>Sondheim sprawled under the bed-covers, smoking; +two other men sat on the edge of the bed––Karl Kastner +and Nathan Bromberg. Both were smoking porcelain +pipes. Three slopping quarts of beer decorated +the wash stand.</p> +<p>Skidder, who had halted in the doorway as the full +aroma of the place smote him, now entered at the curt +suggestion of Sondheim, but refused a chair.</p> +<p>“Say, Sondheim,” he began, “I been to the club this +morning, and I’ve seen what you’ve done to the place.”</p> +<p>“Well?” demanded Sondheim, in a growling voice, +“what haf we done?”</p> +<p>“Oh, nothing;––smashed the furniture f’r instance. +That’s all. But it don’t go with me. See?”</p> +<p>Kastner got up and gave him a sinister, near-sighted +look: “If ve done damach ve pay,” he remarked.</p> +<p>“Sure you’ll pay!” blustered Skidder. “And that’s +all right, too. But no more for yours truly. I’m +through. Here’s where your bunch quits the hall for +keeps. Get me?”</p> +<p>“Please?” inquired Kastner, turning a brick red.</p> +<p>“I say I’m through!” blustered Skidder. “You gotta +get other quarters. It don’t pay us to keep on buying +benches and mending windows, even if you cough up +for ’em. It don’t pay us to rent the hall to your club +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_197' name='page_197'></a>197</span> +and get all this here notoriety, what with your red flags +and the <i>po</i>-lice hanging around and nosin’ into everything–––”</p> +<p>“Ach wass!” snapped Kastner, “of vat are you +speaking? Iss it for you to concern yourself mit our +club und vat iss it ve do?”</p> +<p>“Say, who d’yeh think you’re talkin’ to?” retorted +Skidder, his eyes snapping furiously. “Grab this from +me, old scout?––I’m half owner of that hall and I’m +telling you to get out! Is that plain?”</p> +<p>“So?” Kastner sneered at him and nudged Sondheim, +who immediately sat up in bed and levelled an +unwashed hand at Skidder.</p> +<p>“You think you fire us?” he shouted, his eyes inflamed +and his dirty fingers crisping to a talon. “You +go home and tell Puma what you say to us. Then +you learn something maybe, what you don’t know +already!”</p> +<p>“I’ll learn <i>you</i> something!” retorted Skidder. “Just +wait till I show Puma the wreckage–––”</p> +<p>“Let him look at it and be damned!” roared Bromberg. +“Go home and show it to him! And see if he +talks about firing us!”</p> +<p>“Say,” demanded Skidder, astonished, “do you fellows +think you got any drag with Angy Puma?”</p> +<p>“Go back and ask him!” growled Bromberg. “And +don’t try to come around here and get fresh again. +Listen! You go buy what benches you say we broke +and send the bill to me, and keep your mouth shut and +mind your fool business!”</p> +<p>“I’ll mind my own and yours too!” screamed Skidder, +seized by an ungovernable access of fury. “Say, you +poor nut!––you sick mink!––you stale hunk of cheese!––if +you come down my way again I’ll kick your shirttail +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_198' name='page_198'></a>198</span> +for you! Get that?” And he slammed the door and +strode out in a flaming rage.</p> +<p>But when, still furiously excited, he arrived once more +at the office,––and when Puma, who had just entered, +had listened in sullen consternation to his story, he +received another amazing and most unpleasant shock. +For Puma told him flatly that the tenancy of the Red +Flag Club suited him; that no lease could be broken, +except by mutual consent of partners; and that he, +Skidder, had had no business to go to Sondheim with +any such threat of eviction unless he had first consulted +his partner’s wishes.</p> +<p>“Well, what––what––” stammered Skidder––“what +the hell drag have those guys got with you?”</p> +<p>“Why is it you talk foolish?” retorted Puma sharply. +“Drag? Did Sondheim say–––”</p> +<p>“No! <i>I</i> say it. I ask you what have those crazy +nuts got on you that you stand for all this rumpus?”</p> +<p>Puma’s lustrous eyes, battered but still magnificent, +fixed themselves on Skidder.</p> +<p>“Go out,” he said briefly to his stenographer. Then, +when the girl had gone, and the glass door closed behind +her, he turned heavily and gazed at Skidder some +more. And, after a few moments’ silence: “Go on,” he +said. “What did Sondheim say about me?”</p> +<p>Skidder’s small, shifty eyes were blinking furiously +and his essentially suspicious mind was also operating +at full speed. When he had calculated what to say he +took the chance, and said:</p> +<p>“Sondheim gave me to understand that he’s got such +a hell of a pull with you that I can’t kick him out +of my property. What do you know about that, +Angelo?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_199' name='page_199'></a>199</span></div> +<p>“Go on,” said Puma impatiently, “what else did he +say about me?”</p> +<p>“Ain’t I telling you?”</p> +<p>“Tell more.”</p> +<p>Skidder had no more to tell, so he manufactured +more.</p> +<p>“Well,” he continued craftily, “I didn’t exactly get +what that kike said.” But his grin and his manner gave +his words the lie, as he intended they should. “Something +about your being in dutch––” He checked himself +as Puma’s black eyes lighted with a momentary +glare.</p> +<p>“What? He tells you I am in with Germans!”</p> +<p>“Naw;––in dutch!”</p> +<p>Puma’s sanguinary skin reddened; his puffy fingers +fished for a cigar in the pocket of his fancy waistcoat; +he found one and lighted it, not looking at his partner. +Then he picked up the morning paper.</p> +<p>Skidder shrugged; stood up, pretending to yawn; +started to open the door.</p> +<p>“Elmer?”</p> +<p>“Yeh? What y’want?”</p> +<p>“I want to know exactly what Max Sondheim said +to you about me.”</p> +<p>“Well, you better go ask Sondheim.”</p> +<p>“No. I ask you––my friend––my associate in business–––”</p> +<p>“A fine associate!––when I can’t kick in when I want +to kick out a bunch of nuts that’s wrecking the hall, +just because they got a drag with you–––”</p> +<p>“Listen. I am frank like there never was a–––”</p> +<p>“Sure. Go on!”</p> +<p>“I say it! Yes! I am frank like hell. From my +friend and partner I conceal nothing–––”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_200' name='page_200'></a>200</span></div> +<p>“Not even the books,” grinned Skidder.</p> +<p>“Elmer. You pain me. I who am all heart! Elmer, +I ask it of you if you will so kindly tell me what it is +that Sondheim has said to you about this ‘drag.’”</p> +<p>“He said,” replied the other viciously, “that he had +you cinched. He said you’d hand me the ha-ha when +I saw you. And you’ve done it.”</p> +<p>“Pardon. I did not say to you a ha-ha, Elmer. I +was surprised when you have told me how you have gone +to Sondheim so roughly, without one word to me–––”</p> +<p>“You was soused to the gills last night. I didn’t +know when you’d show up at the studio–––”</p> +<p>“It was not just to me that you go to Sondheim in +this so surprising manner, without informing me.” He +looked at his cigar; the wrapper was broken and he +licked the place with a fat tongue. “Elmer?”</p> +<p>“That’s me,” replied the other, who had been slyly +watching him. “Spit it out, Angy. What’s on your +mind?”</p> +<p>“I tell you, Elmer!”</p> +<p>Puma’s face became suddenly wreathed in guileless +smiles: “Me, I am frank like there never––but no +matter,” he added; “listen attentively to what I shall +say to you secretly, that I also desire to be rid of this +Red Flag Club.”</p> +<p>“Well, then–––”</p> +<p>“A moment! I am embarrass. Yes. You ask why? +I shall tell you. It is this. Formerly I have reside in +Mexico. My business has been in Mexico City. I have +there a little cinema theatre. In 1913 I arrive in New +York. You ask me why I came? And I am frank +like––” his full smile burst on Skidder––“like a heaven +angel! But it is God’s truth I came here to make of +the cinema a monument to Art.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_201' name='page_201'></a>201</span></div> +<p>“And make your little pile too, eh, Angy?”</p> +<p>“As you please. But this I affirm to you, Elmer; of +politics I am innocent like there never was a cherubim! +Yes! And yet your Government has question me. +Why? you ask so naturally. My God! I know no one +in New York. I arrive. I repair to a recommended +hotel. I make acquaintance––unhappily––with people +who are under a suspicion of German sympathy!”</p> +<p>“What the devil did you do that for?” demanded +Skidder.</p> +<p>Puma spread his jewelled fingers helplessly.</p> +<p>“How am I to know? I encounter people. I seek +capital for my art. Me, I am all heart: I suspect +nobody. I say: ‘Gentlemen, my art is my life. Without +it I cease to exist. I desire capital; I desire sympathy; +I desire intelligent recognition and practical +aid.’ Yes. In time some gentlemen evince confidence. +I am offered funds. I produce, with joy, my first picture. +Ha! The success is extravagant! But––alas!”</p> +<p>“What tripped you?”</p> +<p>“Alas,” repeated Puma, “your Government arrests +some gentlemen who have lend to me much funds. Why? +Imagine my grief, my mortification! They are suspect +of German propaganda! Oh, my God!”</p> +<p>“How is it they didn’t pinch <i>you</i>?” asked Skidder +coldly, and beginning to feel very uneasy.</p> +<p>“Me? No! They investigate. They discover only +Art!”</p> +<p>Skidder squinted at him nervously. If he had heard +anything of that sort in connection with Puma he never +would have flirted with him financially.</p> +<p>“Well, then, what’s this drag they got with you?––Sondheim +and the other nuts?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_202' name='page_202'></a>202</span></div> +<p>“I tell you. Letters quite innocent but polite they +have in possession–––”</p> +<p>“Blackmail, by heck!”</p> +<p>“I must be considerate of Sondheim.”</p> +<p>“Or he’ll squeal on you. Is that it?”</p> +<p>Puma’s black eyes were flaring up again; the heavy +colour stained his face.</p> +<p>“Me, I am–––”</p> +<p>“All right. Sondheim’s got something on you, then. +Has he?”</p> +<p>“It is nothing. Yet, it has embarrass me–––”</p> +<p>“That ratty kike! I get you, Angy. You were +played. Or maybe you did some playing too. Aw! +wait!”––as Puma protested––“I’m getting you, by +gobs. Sure. And you’re rich, now, and business is +pretty good, and you wish Sondheim would let you +alone.”</p> +<p>“Yes, surely.”</p> +<p>“How much hush-cash d’yeh pay him?”</p> +<p>“I?”</p> +<p>“Yaas, you! Come on, now, Angy. What does he +stick you up for per month?”</p> +<p>Puma’s face became empurpled: “He is a scoundrel,” +he said thickly. “Me––I wish to God and Jesus Christ +I saw the last of him!” He got up, and his step was +lithe as a leopard’s as he paced the room, ranging the +four walls as though caged. And, for the first time, +then Skidder realised that this velvet-eyed, velvet-footed +man might possibly be rather dangerous––dangerous +to antagonise, dangerous to be associated +with in business.</p> +<p>“Say,” he blurted out, “what else did you let me +in for when I put my money into your business? Think +I’m going to be held up by any game like that? Think +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_203' name='page_203'></a>203</span> +I’m going to stand for any shake-down from that +gang? Watch me.”</p> +<p>Puma stopped and looked at him stealthily: “What +is it you would do, Elmer?”</p> +<p>But Skidder offered no suggestion. He remained, +however, extremely uneasy. For it was plain enough +that Puma had been involved in dealings sufficiently +suspicious to warrant Government surveillance.</p> +<p>All Skidder’s money and real estate were now invested +in Super-Pictures. No wonder he was anxious. +No wonder Puma, also, seemed worried.</p> +<p>For, whatever he might have done in the past of a +shady nature, now he had become prosperous and financially +respectable and, if let alone, would doubtless continue +to make a great deal of money for Skidder as +well as for himself. And Skidder, profoundly troubled, +wondered whether his partner had ever been guiltily +involved in German propaganda, and had escaped Government +detection only to fall a victim, in his dawning +prosperity, to blackmailing associates of earlier days.</p> +<p>“That mutt Sondheim looks like a bad one to me, +and the other guy––Kastner,” he observed gloomily.</p> +<p>“It is better that we should not offend them.”</p> +<p>“Just as you say, brother.”</p> +<p>“I say it. Yes. We shall be wise to turn to them +a pleasing face.”</p> +<p>“Sure. The best thing to do for a while is to stall +along,” nodded Skidder, “––but always be ready for +a chance to hand it to them. That’s safest; wait till +we get the goods on them. Then slam it to ’em +plenty!”</p> +<p>“If they annoy me too much,” purred Puma, displaying +every dazzling tooth, “it may not be so agreeable +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_204' name='page_204'></a>204</span> +for them. I am bad man to crowd.... +Meanwhile–––”</p> +<p>“Sure; we’ll stall along, Angy!”</p> +<p>They opened the glass door and went out into the +studio. And Puma began again on his favourite theme, +the acquiring of Broadway property and the erection +of a cinema theatre. And Skidder, with his limited +imagination of a cross-roads storekeeper, listened cautiously, +yet always conscious of agreeable thrills whenever +the subject was mentioned.</p> +<p>And, although he knew that capital was shy and +that conditions were not favourable, his thoughts always +reverted to a man he might be willing to go into +such a scheme with––the president of the Shadow Hill +Trust Company, Alonzo Pawling.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>At that very moment, too, it chanced that Mr. +Pawling’s business had brought him to New York––in +fact, his business was partly with Palla Dumont, and +they were now lunching together at the Ritz.</p> +<p>Alonzo Pawling stood well over six feet. He still +had all his hair––which was dyed black––and also an +inky pair of old-fashioned side whiskers. For the +beauty of his remaining features less could be said, +because his eyes were a melancholy and faded blue, his +nose very large and red, and his small, loose mouth +seemed inclined to sag, as though saturated with moisture.</p> +<p>Many years a widower he had, when convenient opportunity +presented itself, never failed to offer marriage +to Palla Dumont. And when, as always, she +refused him in her frank, amused fashion, they returned +without embarrassment to their amiable footing of +many years––she as child of his old friend and neighbour, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_205' name='page_205'></a>205</span> +Judge Dumont, he as her financial adviser, and +banker.</p> +<p>As usual, Mr. Pawling had offered Palla his large, +knotty hand in wedlock that morning. And now that +this inevitable preliminary was safely over, they were +approaching the end of a business luncheon on entirely +amiable terms with each other.</p> +<p>Financial questions had been argued, investments decided +upon, news of the town discussed, and Palla was +now telling him about Elmer Skidder and his new and +apparently prosperous venture into moving pictures.</p> +<p>“He came to see me last evening,” she said, smiling +at the recollection, “and he arrived in a handsome limousine +with an extra man on the front––oh, very gorgeous, +Mr. Pawling!––and we had tea and he told me +how prosperous he had become in the moving picture +business.”</p> +<p>“I guess,” said Mr. Pawling, “that there’s a lot of +money in moving pictures. But nobody ever seems to +get any of it except the officials of the corporation and +their favourite stars.”</p> +<p>“It seems to be an exceedingly unattractive business,” +said Palla, recollecting her unpleasant impressions +at the Super-Picture studios.</p> +<p>“The right end of it,” said Mr. Pawling, “is to own +a big theatre.”</p> +<p>She smiled: “You wouldn’t advise me to make such +an investment, would you?”</p> +<p>Mr. Pawling’s watery eyes rested on her reflectively +and he sucked in his lower lips as though trying to +extract the omnipresent moisture.</p> +<p>“I dunno,” he said absently.</p> +<p>“Mr. Skidder told me that he would double his invested +capital in a year,” she said.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_206' name='page_206'></a>206</span></div> +<p>“I guess he was bragging.”</p> +<p>“Perhaps,” she rejoined, laughing, “but I should +not care to make such an investment.”</p> +<p>“Did he ask you?”</p> +<p>“No. But it seemed to me that he hinted at something +of that nature. And I was not at all interested +because I am contented with my little investments and +my income as it is. I don’t really need much money.”</p> +<p>Mr. Pawling’s pendulous lip, released, sagged wetly +and his jet-black eyebrows were lifted in a surprised +arch.</p> +<p>“You’re the first person I ever heard say they had +enough money,” he remarked.</p> +<p>“But I have!” she insisted gaily.</p> +<p>Mr. Pawling’s sad horse-face regarded her with faded +surprise. He passed for a rich man in Shadow Hill.</p> +<p>“Where is Elmer’s place of business?” he inquired +finally, producing a worn note-book and a gold pencil. +And he wrote down the address.</p> +<p>There was in all the world only one thing that seriously +worried Mr. Pawling, and that was this worn +note-book. Almost every day of his life he concluded to +burn it. He lived in a vague and daily fear that it +might be found on him if he died suddenly. Such +things could happen––automobile or railroad accidents––any +one of numberless mischances.</p> +<p>And still he carried it, and had carried it for years––always +in a sort of terror while the recent Mrs. +Pawling was still alive––and in dull but perpetual +anxiety ever since.</p> +<p>There were in it pages devoted to figures. There +were, also, memoranda of stock transactions. There +were many addresses, too, mostly feminine.</p> +<p>Now he replaced it in the breast pocket of his frock-coat, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_207' name='page_207'></a>207</span> +and took out a large wallet strapped with a +rubber band.</p> +<p>While he was paying the check, Palla drew on her +gloves; and, at the Madison Avenue door, stood chatting +with him a moment longer before leaving for the +canteen.</p> +<p>Then, smilingly declining his taxi and offering her +slender hand in adieu, she went westward on foot as +usual. And Mr. Pawling’s directions to the chauffeur +were whispered ones as though he did not care to have +the world at large share in his knowledge of his own +occult destination.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Palla’s duty at the canteen lasted until six o’clock +that afternoon, and she hurried on her way home because +people were dining there at seven-thirty.</p> +<p>With the happy recollection that Jim, also, was dining +with her, she ran lightly up the steps and into the +house; examined the flowers which stood in jars of +water in the pantry, called for vases, arranged a centre-piece +for the table, and carried other clusters of +blossoms into the little drawing-room, and others still +upstairs.</p> +<p>Then she returned to criticise the table and arrange +the name-cards. And, this accomplished, she ran upstairs +again to her own room, where her maid was +waiting.</p> +<p>Two or three times in a year––not oftener––Palla +yielded to a rare inclination which assailed her only +when unusually excited and happy. That inclination +was to whistle.</p> +<p>She whistled, now, while preparing for the bath; +whistled like a blackbird as she stood before the pier-glass +before the maid hooked her into a filmy, rosy +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_208' name='page_208'></a>208</span> +evening gown––her first touch of colour since assuming +mourning.</p> +<p>The bell rang, and the waitress brought an elaborate +florist’s box. There were pink orchids in it and +Jim’s card;––perfection.</p> +<p>How could he have known! She wondered rapturously, +realising all the while that they’d have gone +quite as well with her usual black.</p> +<p>Would he come early? She had forgotten to ask it. +Would he? For, in that event––and considering his +inclination to take her into his arms––she decided to +leave off the orchids until the more strenuous rites of +friendship had been accomplished.</p> +<p>She was carrying the orchids and the long pin attached, +in her left hand, when the sound of the doorbell +filled her with abrupt and delightful premonitions. +She ventured a glance over the banisters, then returned +hastily to the living room, where he discovered her and +did exactly what she had feared.</p> +<p>Her left hand, full of orchids, rested on his shoulder; +her cool, fresh lips rested on his. Then she retreated, +inviting inspection of the rosy dinner gown; and +fastened her orchids while he was admiring it.</p> +<p>Her guests began to arrive before either was quite +ready, so engrossed were they in happy gossip. And +Palla looked up in blank surprise that almost amounted +to vexation when the bell announced that their tête-à-tête +was ended.</p> +<p>Shotwell had met the majority of Palla’s dinner +guests. Seated on her right, he received from his +hostess information concerning some of those he did +not know.</p> +<p>“That rather talkative boy with red hair is Larry +Rideout,” she said in a low voice. “He edits a weekly +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_209' name='page_209'></a>209</span> +called <i>The Coming Race</i>. The Post Office authorities +have refused to pass it through the mails. It’s rather +advanced, you know.”</p> +<p>“Who is the girl on his right––the one with the +chalky map?”</p> +<p>“Questa Terrett. Don’t you think her pallor is +fascinating?”</p> +<p>“No. What particular stunt does she perform?”</p> +<p>“Don’t be flippant. She writes.”</p> +<p>“Ads?”</p> +<p>“Jim! She writes poems. Haven’t you seen any of +them?”</p> +<p>“I don’t think so.”</p> +<p>“They’re rather modern poems. The lines don’t rhyme +and there’s no metrical form,” explained Palla.</p> +<p>“Are they any good?”</p> +<p>“They’re a little difficult to understand. She leaves +out so many verbs and nouns–––”</p> +<p>“I know. It’s a part of her disease–––”</p> +<p>“Jim, please be careful. She is taken seriously–––”</p> +<p>“Taken seriously ill? There, dear, I won’t guy your +guests. What an absolutely deathly face she has!”</p> +<p>“She is considered beautiful.”</p> +<p>“She has the profile of an Egyptian. She’s as dead-white +as an Egyptian leper–––”</p> +<p>“Hush!”</p> +<p>“Hush it is, sweetness! Who’s the good-looking chap +over by Ilse?”</p> +<p>“Stanley Wardner.”</p> +<p>“And his star trick?”</p> +<p>“He’s a secessionist sculptor.”</p> +<p>“What’s that?”</p> +<p>“He is one of the ultra-modern men who has seceded +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_210' name='page_210'></a>210</span> +from the Society of American Sculptors to form, with +a few others, a new group.”</p> +<p>“Is he any good?”</p> +<p>“Well, Jim, I don’t know,” she said candidly. “I +don’t think I am quite in sympathy with his work.”</p> +<p>“What sort is it?”</p> +<p>“If I understand him, he is what is termed, I believe, +a concentrationist. For instance, in a nude figure +which he is exhibiting in his studio, it’s all a rough +block of marble except, in the middle of the upper part, +there is a nose.”</p> +<p>“A nose!”</p> +<p>“Really, it is beautifully sculptured,” insisted Palla.</p> +<p>“But––good heavens!––isn’t there any other anatomical +feature to that block of marble?”</p> +<p>“I explained that he is a concentrationist. His +school believes in concentrating on a single feature only, +and in rendering that feature as minutely and perfectly +as possible.”</p> +<p>Jim said: “He looks as sane as a broker, too. You +never can tell, can you, sweetness?”</p> +<p>He glanced at several other people whose features +were not familiar, but Palla’s explanations of her +friends had slightly discouraged him and he made no +further inquiries.</p> +<p>Vanya Tchernov was there, dreamy and sweet-mannered; +Estridge sat by Ilse, looking a trifle careworn, +as though hospital work were taking it out of +him. Marya Lanois was there, too, with her slightly +slanting green eyes and her tiger-red hair––attracting +from him a curious sort of stealthy admiration, inexplicable +to him because he knew he was so entirely in +love with Palla.</p> +<p>A woman of forty sat on his right––he promptly +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_211' name='page_211'></a>211</span> +forgot her name each time he heard it––who ate fastidiously +and chose birth-control as the subject for conversation. +And he dodged it in vain, for her conversation +had become a monologue, and he sat fiddling +with his food, very red, while the silky voice, so agreeable +in pitch and intonation, slid smoothly on.</p> +<p>Afterward Palla explained that she was a celebrated +sociologist, but Jim remained shy of her.</p> +<p>Other people came in after dinner. Vanya seated +himself at the piano and played from one of his unpublished +scores. Ilse sang two Scandinavian songs +in her fresh, wholesome, melodious voice––the song +called <i>Ygdrasil</i>, and the <i>Song of Thokk</i>. Wardner had +brought a violin, and he and Vanya accompanied +Marya’s Asiatic songs, but with some difficulty on the +sculptor’s part, as modern instruments are scarcely +adapted to the sort of Russian music she chose to sing.</p> +<p>Marya had a way, when singing, which appeared +almost insolent. Seated, or carelessly erect, her supple +figure fell into lines of indolently provocative grace; +and the warm, golden notes welling from her throat +seemed to be flung broadcast and indifferently to her +listeners, as alms are often flung, without interest, +toward abstract poverty and not to the poor breathing +thing at one’s elbow.</p> +<p>She sang, in her preoccupied way, one of her savage, +pentatonic songs, more Mongol than Cossack; then she +sang an impudent <i>burlatskiya</i> lazily defiant of her +listeners; then a so-called “dancing song,” in which +there was little restraint in word or air.</p> +<p>The subtly infernal enchantment of girl and music +was felt by everybody; but several among the illuminati +and the fair ultra-modernettes had now reached +their limit of breadth and tolerance, and were becoming +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_212' name='page_212'></a>212</span> +bored and self-conscious, when abruptly Marya’s figure +straightened to a lovely severity, her mouth opened +sweetly as a cherub’s, and, looking up like a little, +ruddy bird, she sang one of the ancient <i>Kolyadki</i>, +Vanya alone understanding as his long, thin fingers +wandered instinctively into an improvised accompaniment:</p> +<table summary=''><tr><td> +<p class='center cg'>I</p> +<p class='cg'><br /> +“Young tears<br /> +Your fears disguise;<br /> +He is not coming!<br /> +Sweet lips<br /> +Let slip no sighs;<br /> +Cease, heart, your drumming!<br /> +He is not coming,<br /> +<span class='indent14'> </span><a name='FNanchor_0001' id='FNanchor_0001'></a><a href='#Footnote_0001' class='fnanchor'>[A]</a><i>Lada!</i><br /> +He is not coming.<br /> +<i>Lada oy Lada!</i><br /> +<br /> +“Gaze not in wonder,––<br /> +Yonder no rider comes;<br /> +Hark how the kettle-drums<br /> +Mock his hoofs’ thunder;<br /> +Hark to their thudding,<br /> +Pretty breasts budding,––<br /> +Setting the Buddhist bells<br /> +Clanking and banging,––<br /> +Wheels at the hidden wells<br /> +Clinking and clanging!<br /> +(<i>Lada oy Lada!</i>)<br /> +Plough the flower under;<br /> +Tear it asunder!<br /> +<br /> +“Young eyes<br /> +In swift surprise,<br /> +What terror veils you?<br /> +Clear eyes,<br /> +Who gallops here? +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_213' name='page_213'></a>213</span><br /> +What wolf assails you?<br /> +What horseman hails you,<br /> +<span class='indent16'> </span><i>Lada!</i><br /> +What pleasure pales you?<br /> +<i>Lada oy Lada!</i><br /> +<br /> +“Knight who rides boldly,<br /> +May Erlik impale you,––<br /> +Your mother bewail you,<br /> +If you use her coldly!<br /> +Health to the wedding!<br /> +Joy to the bedding!<br /> +Set all the Christian bells<br /> +Swinging and ringing––<br /> +Monks in their stony cells<br /> +Chanting and singing<br /> +(<i>Lada oy Lada!</i>)<br /> +Bud of the rose,<br /> +Gently unclose!”</p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>Marya, her gemmed fingers bracketed on her hips, the +last sensuous note still afloat on her lips, turned her +head so that her rounded chin rested on her bare shoulder; +and looked at Shotwell. He rose, applauding with +the others, and found a chair for her.</p> +<p>But when she seated herself, she addressed Ilse on +the other side of him, leaning so near that he felt the +warmth of her hair.</p> +<p>“Who was it wrestled with Loki? Was it Hel, goddess +of death? Or was it Thor who wrestled with that +toothless hag, Thokk?”</p> +<p>Ilse explained.</p> +<p>The conversation became general, vaguely accompanied +by Vanya’s drifting improvisations, where he +still sat at the piano, his lost gaze on Marya.</p> +<p>Bits of the chatter around him came vaguely to Shotwell––the +birth-control lady’s placid inclination toward +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_214' name='page_214'></a>214</span> +obstetrics; Wardner on concentration, with Palla +listening, bending forward, brown eyes wide and curious +and snowy hands framing her face; Ilse partly turned +where she was seated, alert, flushed, half smiling at what +John Estridge, behind her shoulder, was saying to her,––some +improvised nonsense, of which Jim caught a +fragment:</p> +<table summary=''><tr><td> +<p class='cg'>“If he who dwells in Midgard<br /> +With cunning can not floor her,<br /> +What hope that Mistress Westgard<br /> +Will melt if I implore her?<br /> +<br /> +“And yet I’ve come to Asgard,<br /> +And hope I shall not bore her<br /> +If I tell Mistress Westgard<br /> +How deeply I adore her–––”</p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>Through the hum of conversation and capricious +laughter, Vanya’s vague music drifted like wind-blown +thistle-down, and his absent regard never left Marya, +where she rested among the cushions in low-voiced dialogue +with Jim.</p> +<p>“I had hoped,” she smiled, “that you had perhaps +remembered me––enough to stop for a word or two some +day at tea-time.”</p> +<p>He had had no intention of going; but he said that +he had meant to and would surely do so,––the while she +was leisurely recognising the lie as it politely uncoiled.</p> +<p>“Why won’t you come?” she asked under her breath.</p> +<p>“I shall certainly–––”</p> +<p>“No; you won’t come.” She seemed amused: “Tell +me, are you too a concentrationist?” And her beryl-green +eyes barely flickered toward Palla. Then she +smiled and laid her hand lightly on her breast: “I, +on the contrary, am a Diffusionist. It’s merely a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_215' name='page_215'></a>215</span> +matter of how God grinds the lens. But prisms colour +one’s dull white life so gaily!”</p> +<p>“And split it up,” he said, smiling.</p> +<p>“And disintegrate it,” she nodded, “––so exquisitely.”</p> +<p>“Into rainbows.”</p> +<p>“You do not believe that there is hidden gold there?” +And, looking at him, she let one hand rest lightly +against her hair.</p> +<p>“Yes. I believe it,” he said, laughing at her enchanting +effrontery. “But, Marya, when the rainbow +goes a-glimmering, the same old grey world is there +again. It’s always there–––”</p> +<p>“Awaiting another rainbow!”</p> +<p>“But storms come first.”</p> +<p>“Is another rainbow not worth the storm?”</p> +<p>“Is it?” he demanded.</p> +<p>“Shall we try?” she asked carelessly.</p> +<p>He did not answer. But presently he looked across +at Vanya.</p> +<p>“Who is there who would not love him?” said Marya +serenely.</p> +<p>“I was wondering.”</p> +<p>“No need. All love Vanya. I, also.”</p> +<p>“I thought so.”</p> +<p>“Think so. For it is quite true.... Will you +come to tea alone with me some afternoon?”</p> +<p>He looked at her; reddened. Marya turned her head +leisurely, to hear what Palla was saying to her. At the +sound of her voice, Jim turned also, and saw Palla +bending near his shoulder.</p> +<p>“I’m sorry,” she was saying to Marya, “but Questa +Terrett desires to know Jim–––”</p> +<p>“Is it any wonder,” said Marya, “that women should +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_216' name='page_216'></a>216</span> +desire to know him? Alas!––” She laughed and +turned to Ilse, who seated herself as Jim stood up.</p> +<p>Palla, her finger-tips resting lightly on his arm, +said laughingly: “Our youthful and tawny enchantress +seemed unusually busy with you this evening. Has +she turned you into anything very disturbing?”</p> +<p>“Would you care?”</p> +<p>“Of course.”</p> +<p>“Enough to come to earth and interfere?”</p> +<p>“Good heavens, has it gone as far as that!” she +whispered in gay consternation. “And could I really +arrive in time, though breathless?”</p> +<p>He laughed: “You don’t need to stir from your +niche, sweetness. I swept your altar once. I’ll keep +the fire clean.”</p> +<p>“You adorable thing––” He felt the faintest pressure +of her fingers; then he heard himself being presented +to Questa Terrett.</p> +<p>The frail and somewhat mortuary beauty of this +slim poetess, with her full-lipped profile of an Egyptian +temple-girl and her pale, still eyes, left him guessing––rather +guiltily––recollecting his recent but meaningless +disrespect.</p> +<p>“I don’t know,” she said, “just why you are here. +Soldiers are no novelty. Is somebody in love with you?”</p> +<p>It was a toss-up whether he’d wither or laugh, but +the demon of gaiety won out.</p> +<p>She also smiled.</p> +<p>“I asked you,” she added, “because you seem to be +quite featureless.”</p> +<p>“Oh, I’ve a few eyes and noses and that sort–––”</p> +<p>“I mean psychologically accentless.”</p> +<p>“Just plain man?”</p> +<p>“Yes. That is all you are, isn’t it?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_217' name='page_217'></a>217</span></div> +<p>“I’m afraid it is,” he admitted, quite as much amused +as she appeared to be.</p> +<p>“I see. Some crazy girl here is enamoured of you. +Otherwise, you scarcely belong among modern intellectuals, +you know.”</p> +<p>At that he laughed outright.</p> +<p>She said: “You really are delightful. You’re just a +plain, fighting male, aren’t you?”</p> +<p>“Well, I haven’t done much fighting–––”</p> +<p>“Unimaginative, too! You could have led yourself +to believe you had done a lot,” she pointed out. “And +maybe you could have interested me.”</p> +<p>“I’m sorry. But suppose you try to interest <i>me</i>?”</p> +<p>“Don’t I? I’ve tried.”</p> +<p>“Do your best,” he encouraged her cheerfully. “You +never can be sure I’m not listening.”</p> +<p>At that she laughed: “You nice youth,” she said, +“if you’d talk that way to your sweetheart she’d sit +up and listen.... Which I’m afraid she doesn’t, +so far.”</p> +<p>He felt himself flushing, but he refused to wince +under her amused analysis.</p> +<p>“You’ve simply got to have imagination, you know,” +she insisted. “Otherwise, you don’t get anywhere at +all. Have you read my smears?”</p> +<p>“Smears?”</p> +<p>“Bacteriologists take a smear of something on a +glass slide and slip it under a microscope. My poems +are like that. The words are the bacteria. Few can +identify them.”</p> +<p>“Are you serious?”</p> +<p>“Entirely.”</p> +<p>He maintained his gravity: “Would you be kind +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_218' name='page_218'></a>218</span> +enough to take a smear and let me look?” he inquired +politely.</p> +<p>“Certainly: the experiment is called ‘Unpremeditation.’”</p> +<p>She dropped one thin and silken knee over the other +and crossed her hands on it as she recited her poem.</p> +<table summary=''><tr><td> +<p class='center cg'>“UNPREMEDITATION.”</p> +<p class='cg'><br /> +“In the tube.<br /> +Several,<br /> +With intonation.<br /> +Red, red, red.<br /> +A square fabric<br /> +Once white<br /> +With intention.<br /> +Soiled, soiled, soiled.<br /> +Six hundred hundred million<br /> +Swarm like vermin,<br /> +Without intention.<br /> +Redder. Redder.<br /> +Drip, drip, drip.<br /> +A goes west,<br /> +B goes east,<br /> +C goes north,<br /> +Pink, pink, pink.<br /> +Two white squares.<br /> +And a coat-sleeve.<br /> +Without intention,<br /> +Intonations.<br /> +Pinker. Redder.<br /> +Six hundred hundred million.<br /> +Billions. Trillions.<br /> +A week. Two weeks.<br /> +Otherwise?<br /> +Eternity.”</p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>Jim’s features had become a trifle glassy. “You do +skip a few words,” he said, “don’t you?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_219' name='page_219'></a>219</span></div> +<p>“Words are animalculæ. Some skip, some gyrate, +some sub-divide.”</p> +<p>He put a brave face on the matter: “If you’re not +really guying me,” he ventured, “would you tell me +a little about your poem?”</p> +<p>“Why, yes,” she replied amiably. “To put it redundantly, +then, I have sketched in my poem a man +in the subway, with influenza, which infects others in +his vicinity.”</p> +<p>She rose, smiled, and sauntered off, leaving him +utterly unable to determine whether or not he had +been outrageously imposed upon. Palla rescued him, +and he went with her, a little wild-eyed, downstairs to +the nearly empty and carpetless drawing-room, where +a music box was playing and people were already +dancing.</p> +<p>Toward midnight, Marya, passing Jim on her way +to the front door, leaned wide from Vanya’s arm:</p> +<p>“Let us at least discuss my rainbow theory,” she +said, laughing, and her face a shade too close to his; +and continued on, still clinging to the sleeve of Vanya’s +fur-lined coat.</p> +<p>Ilse was the last to leave, with Estridge waiting +behind her to hold her wrap.</p> +<p>She came up to Palla, took both her hands in an +odd, subdued, wistful way.</p> +<p>After a moment she kissed her, and, close to her ear: +“Wait, darling.”</p> +<p>Palla did not understand.</p> +<p>Ilse said: “I mean––wait before you ever take any +step to––to prove any theory––or belief.”</p> +<p>Still Palla did not comprehend.</p> +<p>“With––Jim,” said Ilse in a low voice.</p> +<p>“Oh. Why, of course. But––it could never happen.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_220' name='page_220'></a>220</span></div> +<p>“Why?”</p> +<p>Palla said honestly: “One reason is because he +wouldn’t anyway.”</p> +<p>“You must not be certain.”</p> +<p>“I am. I’m absolutely certain.”</p> +<p>Ilse gazed at her, then laughed and pressed her hand. +“Are you cold?” asked Palla.</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>“I thought I felt you shiver, dearest.”</p> +<p>Ilse flushed and held out her arms for the sleeves +of her fur coat, which Estridge was holding.</p> +<p>They went away together, leaving Palla alone with +Shotwell, among the fading flowers.</p> +<div class='footnote'><a name='Footnote_0001' id='Footnote_0001'></a><a href='#FNanchor_0001'><span class='label'>[A]</span></a> +<p>The ancient Slavonic Venus.</p> +</div> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_221' name='page_221'></a>221</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XV' id='CHAPTER_XV'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XV</h2> +</div> +<p>“So,” said Puma, “you are quite convinced he has +much wealth. Yes?”</p> +<p>“You betcha,” replied Elmer Skidder. “That +pious guy has got all kinds of it. Why, Alonzo D. +Pawling can buy you and me like we were two subway +tickets and then forget which pocket he put us in.”</p> +<p>“He also is a sport? Yes?”</p> +<p>“On the quiet. Oh, I got his number some years ago. +Ran into him once in New York, where you used to +knock three times and ring twice before they slid the +panel on you.”</p> +<p>“A bank president?”</p> +<p>“Did you ever know one that didn’t?” grinned +Skidder, inserting pearl studs in his shirt.</p> +<p>“It is very bad––for a shake-down,” mused Puma, +smoothing his glossy top hat with one of Skidder’s +silk mufflers.</p> +<p>“Aw, you can’t scare Alonzo D. Pawling. Say, +Angy, what dames have you commandeered?”</p> +<p>“I ask Barclay and West. Also, they got another––Vanna +Brown.”</p> +<p>“Pictures?”</p> +<p>“No, she has a friend.”</p> +<p>Skidder continued to attire himself in an over-braided +evening dress; Puma, seated behind him, gazed +absently at his partner’s features reflected in the looking +glass.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_222' name='page_222'></a>222</span></div> +<p>“A theatre on Broadway,” he mused. “You say he +has seemed interested, Elmer?”</p> +<p>“He didn’t run away screaming.”</p> +<p>“How did he behave?”</p> +<p>“Well, it’s hard to size up Alonzo D. Pawling. He’s +a fly guy, Angy. What a man says at a little supper +for four, with a peach pulling his Depews and a good +looker sticking gardenias in his buttonhole, ain’t what +he’s likely to say next day in your office.”</p> +<p>“You have accompany him to Broadway and you +have shown him the parcel?”</p> +<p>“I sure did.”</p> +<p>“You explain how we can not lose out? You mention +the option?”</p> +<p>Skidder cast aside his white tie and tried another, +constructed on the butterfly plan.</p> +<p>“I put the whole thing up to him,” he said. “No +use stalling with Alonzo D. Pawling. I know him too +well. So I let out straight from the shoulder, and he +knows the scheme we’ve got in mind and he knows we +want his money in it. That’s how it stands to-night.”</p> +<p>Puma nodded and softly joined his over-manicured +finger-tips:</p> +<p>“We give him a good time,” he said. “We give him +a little dinner like there never was in New York. Yes?”</p> +<p>“You betcha.”</p> +<p>“Barclay is a devil. You think she please him?”</p> +<p>“Alonzo D. Pawling is some bird himself,” remarked +Skidder, picking up his hat and turning to Puma, +who rose with lithe briskness, put on his hat, and began +to pull at his white gloves.</p> +<p>They went down to the street, where Puma’s car was +waiting.</p> +<p>“I stop at the office a moment,” he said, as they entered +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_223' name='page_223'></a>223</span> +the limousine. “You need not get out, Elmer.”</p> +<p>At the studio he descended, saying to Skidder that +he’d be back in a moment.</p> +<p>But it was very evident when he entered his office +that he had not expected to find Max Sondheim there; +and he hesitated on the threshold, his white-gloved +hand still on the door-knob.</p> +<p>“Come in, Puma; I want to see you,” growled Sondheim, +retaining his seat but pocketing <i>The Call</i>, which +he had been reading.</p> +<p>“To-morrow,” said Puma coolly; “I have no +time–––”</p> +<p>“No, <i>now</i>!” interrupted Sondheim.</p> +<p>They eyed each other for a moment in silence, then +Puma shrugged:</p> +<p>“Very well,” he said. “But be quick, if you +please–––”</p> +<p>“Look here,” interrupted the other in a menacing +voice, “you’re getting too damned independent, telling +me to be quick! I had a date with you here at five +o’clock. You thought you wouldn’t keep it and you +left at four-thirty. But I stuck around till you ’phoned +in that you’d stop here to get some money. It’s seven +o’clock now, and I’ve waited for you. And I guess +you’ve got enough time to hear what I’m going to +say.”</p> +<p>Puma looked at him without any expression at all +on his sanguine features. “Go on,” he said.</p> +<p>“What I got to say to you is this,” began Sondheim. +“There’s a kind of a club that uses our hall on +off nights. It’s run by women.”</p> +<p>Puma waited.</p> +<p>“They meet this evening at eight in our hall,––your +hall, if you choose.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_224' name='page_224'></a>224</span></div> +<p>Puma nodded carelessly.</p> +<p>“All right. Put them out.”</p> +<p>“What?”</p> +<p>“Put ’em out!” growled Sondheim. “We don’t want +them there to-night or any other night.”</p> +<p>“You ask me to evict respectable people who pay me +rent?”</p> +<p>“I don’t ask you; I <i>tell</i> you.”</p> +<p>Puma turned a deep red: “And whose hall do you +think it is?” he demanded in a silky voice.</p> +<p>“Yours. That’s why I tell you to get rid of that +bunch and their Combat Club.”</p> +<p>“Why have you ask me such a–––”</p> +<p>“Because they’re fighting us and you know it. That’s +a good enough reason.”</p> +<p>“I shall not do so,” said Puma, moistening his lips +with his tongue.</p> +<p>“Oh, I guess you will when you think it over,” sneered +Sondheim, getting up from his chair and stuffing his +newspaper into his overcoat pocket. He crossed the +floor and shot an ugly glance at Puma <i>en passant</i>. +Then he jerked open the door and went out briskly.</p> +<p>Puma walked into the inner waiting room, where a +telephone operator sat reading a book.</p> +<p>“Where’s McCabe?” he asked.</p> +<p>“Here he comes now, Governor.”</p> +<p>The office manager sauntered up, eating a slice of +apple pie, and Puma stepped forward to meet him.</p> +<p>“For what reason have you permit Mr. Sondheim +to wait in my office?” he demanded.</p> +<p>“He said you told him to go in and wait there.”</p> +<p>“He is a liar! Hereafter he shall wait out here. +You understand, McCabe?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_225' name='page_225'></a>225</span></div> +<p>“Yes, sir. You’re always out when he calls, ain’t +you?”</p> +<p>Puma meditated a few moments: “No. When he calls +you shall let me know. Then I decide. But he shall +not wait in my office.”</p> +<p>“Very good, sir.” And, as Puma turned to go: “The +police was here again this evening, sir.”</p> +<p>“Why?”</p> +<p>“They heard of the row in the hall last night.”</p> +<p>“What did you tell them?”</p> +<p>“Oh, the muss was all swept up––windows fixed and +the busted benches in the furnace, so I said there had +been no row as far as I knew, and I let ’em go in and +nose around.”</p> +<p>“Next time,” said Puma, “you shall say to them that +there was a very bad riot.”</p> +<p>“Sir?”</p> +<p>“A big fight,” continued Puma. “And if there is +only a little damage you shall make more. And you +shall show it to the police.”</p> +<p>“I get you, Governor. I’ll stage it right; don’t +worry.”</p> +<p>“Yes, you shall stage it like there never was in +all of France any ruins like my hall! And afterward,” +he said, half to himself, “we shall see what we shall +see.”</p> +<p>He went back to his office, took a packet of hundred +dollar bills from the safe, and walked slowly out to +where the limousine awaited him.</p> +<p>“Say, what the hell––” began Skidder impatiently; +but Puma leaped lightly to his seat and pulled the fur +robe over his knees.</p> +<p>“Now,” he said, in excellent humour, “we pick up Mr. +Pawling at the Astor.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_226' name='page_226'></a>226</span></div> +<p>“Where are the ladies?”</p> +<p>“They join us, Hotel Rajah. It will be, I trust, +an amusing evening.”</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>About midnight, dinner merged noisily into supper +in the private dining room reserved by Mr. Puma for +himself and guests at the new Hotel Rajah.</p> +<p>There had been intermittent dancing during the +dinner, but now the negro jazz specialists had been dismissed +with emoluments, and a music-box substituted; +and supper promised to become even a more lively repetition +of the earlier banquet.</p> +<p>Puma was superb––a large, heavy man, he danced +as lightly as any ballerina; and he and Tessa Barclay +did a Paraguayan dance together, with a leisurely and +agile perfection of execution that elicited uproarious +demonstrations from the others.</p> +<p>Not a whit winded, Puma resumed his seat at table, +laughing as Mr. Pawling insisted on shaking hands +with him.</p> +<p>“You are far too kind to my poor accomplishments,” +he said in deprecation. “It was not at all difficult, that +Paraguayan dance.”</p> +<p>“It was art!” insisted Mr. Pawling, his watery eyes +brimming with emotion. And he pressed the pretty +waist of Tessa Barclay.</p> +<p>“Art,” rejoined Puma, laying a jewelled hand on his +shirt-front, “is an ecstatic outburst from within, like +the song of the bird. Art is simple; art is not difficult. +Where effort begins, art ends. Where self-expression +becomes a labour, art already has perished!”</p> +<p>He thumped his shirt-front with an impassioned and +highly-coloured fist.</p> +<p>“What is art?” he cried, “if it be not pleasure? And +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_227' name='page_227'></a>227</span> +pleasure ceases where effort begins. For me, I am all +heart, all art, like there never was in all the history +of the Renaissance. As expresses itself the little innocent +bird in song, so in my pictures I express myself. +It is no effort. It is in me. It is born. Behold! Art +has given birth to Beauty!”</p> +<p>“And the result,” added Skidder, “is a <i>ne plus ultra +par excellence</i> which gathers in the popular coin every +time. And say, if we had a Broadway theatre to run +our stuff, and Angelo Puma to soopervise the combine––oh +boy!––” He smote Mr. Pawling upon his bony +back and dug him in the ribs with his thumb.</p> +<p>Mr. Pawling’s mouth sagged and his melancholy +eyes shifted around him from Tessa Barclay––who was +now attempting to balance a bon-bon on her nose and +catch it between her lips––to Vanna Brown, teaching +Miss West to turn cart-wheels on one hand.</p> +<p>Evidently Art had its consolations; and the single +track genius who lived for art alone got a bonus, too. +Also, what General Sherman once said about Art +seemed to be only too obvious.</p> +<p>A detail, however, worried Mr. Pawling. Financially, +he had always been afraid of Jews. And the nose of +Angelo Puma made him uneasy every time he looked +at it.</p> +<p>But an inch is a mile on a man’s nose; and his +own was bigger, yet entirely Yankee; so he had about +concluded that there was no racial occasion for financial +alarm.</p> +<p>What he should have known was that no Jew can +compete with a Connecticut Yankee; but that any +half-cast Armenian is master of both. Especially +when born in Mexico of a Levantine father.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_228' name='page_228'></a>228</span></div> +<p>Now, in spite of Angelo Puma’s agile gaiety and +exotic exuberances, his brain remained entirely occupied +with two matters. One of these concerned the +possibility of interesting Mr. Pawling in a plot of +ground on Broadway, now defaced by several taxpayers.</p> +<p>The other matter which fitfully preoccupied him was +his unpleasant and unintentional interview with Sondheim.</p> +<p>For it had come to a point, now, that the perpetual +bullying of former associates was worrying Mr. Puma +a great deal in his steadily increasing prosperity.</p> +<p>The war was over. Besides, long ago he had prudently +broken both his pledged word and his dangerous +connections in Mexico, and had started what he believed +to be a safe and legitimate career in New York, +entirely free from perilous affiliations.</p> +<p>Government had investigated his activities; Government +had found nothing for which to order his internment +as an enemy alien.</p> +<p>It had been a close call. Puma realised that. But +he had also realised that there was no law in Mexico +ten miles outside of Mexico City;––no longer any German +power there, either;––when he severed all connections +with those who had sent him into the United +States camouflaged as a cinema promoter, and under +instruction to do all the damage he could to everything +American.</p> +<p>But he had not counted on renewing his acquaintance +with Karl Kastner and Max Sondheim in New +York. Nor did they reveal themselves to him until he +had become too prosperous to denounce them and risk +investigation and internment under the counter-accusations +with which they coolly threatened him.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_229' name='page_229'></a>229</span></div> +<p>So, from the early days of his prosperity in New +York, it had been necessary for him to come to an +agreement with Sondheim and Kastner. And the more +his prosperity increased the less he dared to resent +their petty tyranny and blackmail, because, whether or +not they might suffer under his public accusations, it +was very certain that internment, if not imprisonment +for a term of years, would be the fate reserved for himself. +And that, of course, meant ruin.</p> +<p>So, although Puma ate and drank and danced with +apparent abandon, and flashed his dazzling smile over +everybody and everything, his mind, when not occupied +by Alonzo D. Pawling, was bothered by surmises concerning +Sondheim. And also, at intervals, he thought +of Palla Dumont and the Combat Club, and he wondered +uneasily whether Sondheim’s agents had attempted +to make any trouble at the meeting in his hall +that evening.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>There had been some trouble. The meeting being +a public one, under municipal permission, Kastner had +sent a number of his Bolshevik followers there, instructed +to make what mischief they could. They were +recruited from all sects of the Reds, including the American +Bolsheviki, known commonly as the I. W. W. Also, +among them were scattered a few pacifists, hun-sympathisers, +conscientious objectors and other birds of +analogous plumage, quite ready for interruptions and +debate.</p> +<p>Palla presided, always a trifle frightened to find +herself facing any audience, but ashamed to avoid the +delegated responsibility.</p> +<p>Among others on the platform around her were Ilse +and Marya and Questa Terrett and the birth-control +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_230' name='page_230'></a>230</span> +lady––Miss Thane––neat and placid and precise as +usual, and wearing long-distance spectacles for a more +minute inspection of the audience.</p> +<p>Palla opened the proceedings in a voice which was +clear, and always became steadier under heckling.</p> +<p>Her favourite proposition––the Law of Love and Service––she +offered with such winning candour that the +interruption of derisive laughter, prepared by several +of Kastner’s friends, was postponed; and Terry Hogan, +I. W. W., said to Jerry Smith, I. W. W.:</p> +<p>“God love her, she’s but a baby. Lave her chatter.”</p> +<p>However, a conscientious objector got up and asked +her whether she considered that the American army +abroad had conformed to her Law of Love and Service, +and when she answered emphatically that every soldier +in the United States army was fulfilling to the highest +degree his obligations to that law, both pacifists and +conscientious objectors dissented noisily, and a student +from Columbia College got up and began to harangue +the audience.</p> +<p>Order was finally obtained: Palla added a word or +two and retired; and Ilse Westgard came forward.</p> +<p>Somebody in the audience called out: “Say, just because +you’re a good-looker it don’t mean you got a +brain!”</p> +<p>Ilse threw back her golden head and her healthy +laughter rang uncontrolled.</p> +<p>“Comrade,” she said, “we all have to do the best we +can with what brain we have, don’t we?”</p> +<p>“Sure!” came from her grinning heckler, who seemed +quite won over by her good humour.</p> +<p>So, an armistice established, Ilse plunged vigorously +into her theme:</p> +<p>“Let me tell you something which you all know in +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_231' name='page_231'></a>231</span> +your hearts: any class revolution based on violence and +terrorism is doomed to failure.”</p> +<p>“Don’t be too sure of that!” shouted a man.</p> +<p>“I am sure of it. And you will never see any reign +of terror in America.”</p> +<p>“But you may see Bolshevism here––Bolshevist propaganda––Bolshevist +ideas penetrating. You may see +these ideas accepted by Labor. You may see strikes––the +most senseless and obsolete weapon ever wielded +by thinking men; you may see panics, tie-ups, stagnation, +misery. But you never shall see Bolshevism triumphant +here, or permanently triumphant anywhere.</p> +<p>“Because Bolshevism is autocracy!”</p> +<p>“The hell it is!” yelled an I. W. W.</p> +<p>“Yes,” said Ilse cheerfully, “as you have said it +is hell. And hell is an end, not a means, not a remedy.</p> +<p>“Because it is the negation of all socialism; the death +of civilisation. And civilisation has an immortal destiny; +and that destiny is socialism!”</p> +<p>A man interrupted, but she asked him so sweetly for +a few moments more that he reseated himself.</p> +<p>“Comrades,” she said, “I know something about Bolshevism +and revolution. I was a soldier of Russia. +I carried a rifle and full pack. I was part of what is +history. And I learned to be tolerant in the trenches; +and I learned to love this unhappy human race of ours. +And I learned what is Bolshevism.</p> +<p>“It is one of many protests against the exploitation +of men by men. It is one of the many reactions against +intolerable wrong. It is not a policy; it is an outburst +against injustice; against the stupidity of present conditions, +where the few monopolise the wealth created by +the many; and the many remain poor.</p> +<p>“And Bolshevism is the remedy proposed––the violent +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_232' name='page_232'></a>232</span> +superimposition of a brand new autocracy upon +the ruins of the old!</p> +<p>“It does not work. It never can work, because it +imposes the will of one class upon all other classes. +It excludes all parties excepting its own from government. +It is, therefore, not democratic. It is a tyranny, +imposing upon capital and labour alike its will.</p> +<p>“And I tell you that Labour has just won the greatest +of all wars. Do you suppose Labour will endure the +autocracy of the Bolsheviki? The time is here when +a more decent division is going to be made between +the employer and the labourer.</p> +<p>“I don’t care what sort of production it may be, +the producer is going to receive a much larger share; +the employer a much smaller. And the producer is +going to enjoy a better standard of living, opportunities +for leisure and self-cultivation; and the three spectres +that haunt him from childhood to grave––lack of +money to make a beginning; fear for a family left on +its own resources by his death; terror of poverty in +old age––shall vanish.</p> +<p>“Against these three evil ghosts that haunt his bedside +when the long day is done, there are going to be +guarantees. Because those who won for us this righteous +war, whether abroad or at home, are going to +have something to say about it.</p> +<p>“And it will be they, not the Bolsheviki––it will +be labourer and employer, not incendiary and assassin, +who shall determine what is to be the policy of this +Republic toward those to whom it owes its salvation!”</p> +<p>A man stood up waving his arms: “All right! All +right! The question is whether the sort of government +we have is worth saving. You talk very flip +about the Bolsheviki, but I’ll tell you they’ll run this +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_233' name='page_233'></a>233</span> +country yet, and every other too, and run ’em to suit +themselves! It’s our turn; you’ve had your inning. +Now, you’ll get a dose of what you hand to us if we +have to ram it down with a gun barrel!”</p> +<p>There was wild cheering from Kastner’s men scattered +about the hall; cries of “That’s the stuff! Take away +their dough! Kick ’em out of their Fifth Avenue +castles and set ’em to digging subways!”</p> +<p>Ilse said calmly: “Thank you very much for proving +my contention for all these people who have been so +kind as to listen to me.</p> +<p>“I said to you that Bolshevism is merely a new and +more immoral autocracy which wishes to confiscate all +property, annihilate all culture and set up in the public +places a new god––the god of Ignorance!</p> +<p>“You have been good enough to corroborate me. And +I and my audience now know that Bolshevism is on its +way to America, and that its agents are already here.</p> +<p>“It is in view of such a danger that this Combat Club +has been organised. And it was time to organise it.</p> +<p>“It is evident, too, that the newspapers agree with +us. Let us read you what one of them has to say:</p> +<blockquote> +<p>“‘We fully realise the atrocity of the Bolshevik propaganda, +which is really the doctrine of communism and +anarchy. We realise the perilous ferment which endangers +civilisation. But in the countries which have +held fast to moral standards during the war we believe +the factors of safety are sufficiently great, the forces of +sanity are far stronger than those of chaos–––’”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Here, those whose rôle it was to interrupt with derisive +laughter, broke out at a preconcerted signal. +But Ilse read on:</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_234' name='page_234'></a>234</span></div> +<blockquote> +<p>“‘In a word, as a mere matter of self-interest and +common sense, we can only see the people, as a whole, +in any country, as opposed to anarchy in any form. In +our own land, even granted that there are a hundred +thousand ”red“ agitators, or say a quarter of a million––and +we have no real belief that this is so––what are +these in a population of one hundred and five millions? +Are the ninety and nine sane, moral, law abiding men +and women going to allow themselves to be stampeded +into ruin by a handful of criminals and lunatics?</p> +<p>“‘We do not for a moment believe it. These agitators +and incendiaries have a sort of maniacal impetus that +fills the air with dust and noise and alarms the credulous. +Perhaps it may be wise to counteract this with a +little quiet promotion of ideas of safety and prosperity, +based on order and law. It may be well to calm the +nerves of the timorous and it can do no harm to set in +motion a counter wave of horror and repulsion against +those who are planning to lead the world back to conditions +of tribal savagery. Educational work is always +beneficent. Let us have much of that but no panic. +The power of truth and reason is in calm confidence.’”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>And now a bushy-headed man got on his feet and +levelled his forefinger at Ilse: “Take shame for your-selluf!” +he shouted. “I know you! You fought mit +Korniloff! You took orders from Kerensky, from aristocrats, +from cadets!”</p> +<p>Ilse said pleasantly. “I fought for Russia, my friend. +And when the robbers and despoilers of Russia became +the stronger, I took a vacation.”</p> +<p>Some people laughed, but a harsh voice cried: “We +know what you did. You rescued the friend of the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_235' name='page_235'></a>235</span> +Romanoffs––that Carmelite nun up there on the platform +behind you, who calls herself Miss Dumont!”</p> +<p>And from the other side of the hall another man +bawled out: “You and the White Nun have done enough +mischief. And you and your club had better get out +of here while the going is good!”</p> +<p>Estridge, who was standing in the rear of the hall +with Shotwell, came down along the aisle. Jim followed.</p> +<p>“Who said that?” he demanded, scanning the faces +on that side while Shotwell looked among the seats +beyond.</p> +<p>Nobody said anything, for John Estridge stood over +six feet and Jim looked physically very fit.</p> +<p>Estridge, standing in the aisle, said in his cool, penetrating +voice:</p> +<p>“This club is a forum for discussion. All are free +to argue any point. Only swine would threaten violence.</p> +<p>“Now go on and argue. Say what you like. But +the next man who threatens these ladies or this club +with violence will have to leave the hall.”</p> +<p>“Who’ll put him out?” piped an unidentified voice.</p> +<p>Then the two young men laughed; and their mirth +was not reassuring to the violently inclined.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>There were disturbances during the evening, but no +violence, and only a few threats––those that made them +remaining in prudent incognito.</p> +<p>Miss Thane made a serene, precise and perfectly +logical address upon birth control.</p> +<p>Somebody yelled that the millionaires didn’t have to +resort to it, being already sufficiently sterile to assure +the dwindling of their class.</p> +<p>A woman rose and said she had always done what +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_236' name='page_236'></a>236</span> +she pleased in the matter, law or no law, but that if it +were true the Bolsheviki in America were but a quarter +of a million to a hundred million of the bourgeoisie, +then it was time to breed and breed to the limit.</p> +<p>“And let the kids starve?” cried another woman––a +mere girl. “That isn’t the way. The way to do is to +even things with a hundred million hand grenades!”</p> +<p>Instantly the place was in an uproar; but Palla +came forward and said that the meeting was over, and +Estridge and Shotwell and two policemen kept the +aisles fairly clear while the wrangling audience made +their way to the street.</p> +<p>“Aw, it’s all lollipop!” said a man. “What d’ yeh +expect from a bunch of women?”</p> +<p>“The Red Flag Club is better,” rejoined another. +“Say, bo! There’s somethin’ doin’ when Sondheim +hands it out!”</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Ilse went away with Estridge. Palla came along +among the other women, and turned aside to offer her +hand to Jim.</p> +<p>“Did you expect to take me home?” she asked demurely.</p> +<p>“Didn’t you expect me to?” he inquired uneasily.</p> +<p>“I? Why should I?” She slipped her arm into his +with a little nestling gesture. “And it’s a very odd +thing, Jim, that they left the chafing dish on the table. +And that before she went to bed my waitress laid +covers for two.”</p> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_237' name='page_237'></a>237</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XVI' id='CHAPTER_XVI'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XVI</h2> +</div> +<p>“Are you worried about this Dumont girl?” asked +Shotwell Senior abruptly.</p> +<p>His wife did not look up from her book. +After an interval:</p> +<p>“Yes,” she said, “I am.”</p> +<p>Her husband watched her over the top of his newspaper.</p> +<p>“I can’t believe there’s anything in it,” he said. +“But it’s a shame that Jim should worry you so.”</p> +<p>“He doesn’t mean to.”</p> +<p>“Probably he doesn’t, but what’s the difference? +You’re unhappy and he’s the reason of it. And it isn’t +as though he were a cub any longer, either. He’s old +enough to know what he’s about. He’s no Willy +Baxter.”</p> +<p>“That is what makes me anxious,” said Helen Shotwell. +“Do you know, dear, that he hasn’t dined here +once this week, yet he seems to go nowhere else––nowhere +except to her.”</p> +<p>“What sort of woman is she?” he demanded, wiping +his eyeglasses as though preparing to take a long-distance +look at Palla.</p> +<p>“I know her only at the Red Cross.”</p> +<p>“Well, is she at all common?”</p> +<p>“No.... That is why it is difficult for me to +talk to Jim about her. There’s nothing of that sort +to criticise.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_238' name='page_238'></a>238</span></div> +<p>“No social objections to the girl?”</p> +<p>“None. She’s an unusual girl.”</p> +<p>“Attractive?”</p> +<p>“Unfortunately.”</p> +<p>“Well, then–––”</p> +<p>“Oh, James, I <i>want</i> him to marry Elorn! And if +he’s going to make himself conspicuous over this +Dumont girl, I don’t think I can bear it!”</p> +<p>“What <i>is</i> the objection to the girl, Helen?” he asked, +flinging his paper onto a table and drawing nearer +the fire.</p> +<p>“She isn’t at all our kind, James–––”</p> +<p>“But you just said–––”</p> +<p>“I don’t mean socially. And still, as far as that +goes, she seems to care nothing whatever for position +or social duties or obligations.”</p> +<p>“That’s not so unusual in these days,” he remarked. +“Lots of nice girls are fed up on the social aspects of +life.”</p> +<p>“Well, for example, she has not made the slightest +effort to know anybody worth knowing. Janet Speedwell +left cards and then asked her to dinner, and received +an amiable regret for her pains. No girl can +afford to decline invitations from Janet, even if her +excuse is a club meeting.</p> +<p>“And two or three other women at the Red Cross +have asked her to lunch at the Colony Club, and have +made advances to her on Leila Vance’s account, but she +hasn’t responded. Now, you know a girl isn’t going +to get on by politely ignoring the advances of such +women. But she doesn’t even appear to be aware of +their importance.”</p> +<p>“Why don’t you ask her to something?” suggested +her husband.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_239' name='page_239'></a>239</span></div> +<p>“I did,” she said, a little sharply. “I asked her and +Leila Vance to dine with us. I intended to ask Elorn, +too, and let Jim realise the difference if he isn’t already +too blind to see.”</p> +<p>“Did she decline?”</p> +<p>“She did,” said Helen curtly.</p> +<p>“Why?”</p> +<p>“It happened that she had asked somebody to dine +with her that evening. And I have a horrid suspicion +it was Jim. If it was, she could have postponed it. +Of course it was a valid excuse, but it annoyed me to +have her decline. That’s what I tell you, James, she +has a most disturbing habit of declining overtures +from everybody––even from–––”</p> +<p>Helen checked herself, looked at her husband with an +odd smile, in which there was no mirth; then:</p> +<p>“You probably are not aware of it, dear, but that +girl has also declined Jim’s overtures.”</p> +<p>“Jim’s what?”</p> +<p>“Invitation.”</p> +<p>“Invitation to do what?”</p> +<p>“Marry him.”</p> +<p>Shotwell Senior turned very red.</p> +<p>“The devil she did! How do you know?”</p> +<p>“Jim told me.”</p> +<p>“That she turned him down?”</p> +<p>“She declined to marry him.”</p> +<p>Her husband seemed unable to grasp such a fact. +Never had it occurred to Shotwell Senior that any +living, human girl could decline such an invitation +from his only son.</p> +<p>After a painful silence: “Well,” he said in a perplexed +and mortified voice, “she certainly seems to be, +as you say, a most unusual girl.... But––if +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_240' name='page_240'></a>240</span> +it’s settled––why do you continue to worry, Helen?”</p> +<p>“Because Jim is very deeply in love with her.... +And I’m sore at heart.”</p> +<p>“Hard hit, is he?”</p> +<p>“Very unhappy.”</p> +<p>Shotwell Senior reddened again: “He’ll have to face +it,” he said.... “But that girl seems to be a +fool!”</p> +<p>“I––wonder.”</p> +<p>“What do you mean?”</p> +<p>“A girl may change her mind.” She lifted her head +and looked with sad humour at her husband, whom she +also had kept dangling for a while. Then:</p> +<p>“James, dear, our son <i>is</i> as fine as we think him. +But he’s just a splendid, wholesome, everyday, unimaginative +New York business man. And he’s fallen in +love with his absolute antithesis. Because this girl is +all ardent imagination, full of extravagant impulses, +very lovely to look at, but a perfectly illogical fanatic!</p> +<p>“Mrs. Vance has told me all about her. She really +belongs in some exotic romance, not in New York. She’s +entirely irresponsible, perfectly unstable. There is in +her a generous sort of recklessness which is quite likely +to drive her headlong into any extreme. And what +sort of mate would such a girl be for a young man +whose ambition is to make good in the real estate +business, marry a nice girl, have a pleasant home and +agreeable children, and otherwise conform to the +ordinary conventions of civilisation?”</p> +<p>“I think,” remarked her husband grimly, “that she’d +keep him guessing.”</p> +<p>“She would indeed! And that’s not all, James. For +I’ve got to tell you that the girl entertains some rather +weird and dreadful socialistic notions. She talks +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_241' name='page_241'></a>241</span> +socialism––a mild variety––from public platforms. She +admits very frankly that she entertains no respect for +accepted conventions. And while I have no reason to +doubt her purity of mind and personal chastity, the +unpleasant and startling fact remains that she proposes +that humanity should dispense with the marriage ceremony +and discard it and any orthodox religion as +obsolete superstitions.”</p> +<p>Her husband stared at her.</p> +<p>“For heaven’s sake,” he began, then got frightfully +red in the face once more. “What that girl needs +is a plain spanking!” he said bluntly. “I’d like to see +her or any other girl try to come into this family on +any such ridiculous terms!”</p> +<p>“She doesn’t seem to want to come in on any terms,” +said Helen.</p> +<p>“Then what are you worrying about?”</p> +<p>“I am worrying about what might happen if she +ever changed her mind.”</p> +<p>“But you say she doesn’t believe in marriage!”</p> +<p>“She doesn’t.”</p> +<p>“Well, that boy of ours isn’t crazy,” insisted Shotwell +Senior.</p> +<p>But his mother remained silent in her deep misgiving +concerning the sanity of the simpler sex, when mentally +upset by love. For it seemed very difficult to understand +what to do––if, indeed, there was anything for +her to do in the matter.</p> +<p>To express disapproval of Palla to Jim or to the +girl herself––to show any opposition at all––would, +she feared, merely defeat its own purpose and alienate +her son’s confidence.</p> +<p>The situation was certainly a most disturbing one, +though not at present perilous.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_242' name='page_242'></a>242</span></div> +<p>And Helen would not permit herself to believe that +it could ever really become an impossible situation––that +this young girl would deliberately slap civilisation +in the face; or that her only son would add a kick +to the silly assault and take the ruinous consequences +of social ostracism.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>The young girl in question was at that moment +seated before her piano, her charming head uplifted, +singing in the silvery voice of an immaculate angel, +to her own accompaniment, the heavenly Mass of Saint +Hildé:</p> +<table summary=''><tr><td> +<p class='cg'><span class='indent6'> </span>“Love me,<br /> +<span class='indent4'> </span>Adorable Mother!<br /> +<span class='indent6'> </span>Mary,<br /> +<span class='indent4'> </span>I worship no other.<br /> +<span class='indent6'> </span>Save me,<br /> +<span class='indent4'> </span>O, graciously save me<br /> +<span class='indent6'> </span>I pray!<br /> +Let my Darkness be turned into Day<br /> +By the Light of Thy Grace<br /> +<span class='indent4'> </span>And Thy Face,<br /> +<span class='indent6'> </span>I pray!”</p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>She continued the exquisite refrain on the keys for +a while, then slowly turned to the man beside her.</p> +<p>“The one Mass I still love,” she murmured absently, +“––memories of childhood, I suppose––when the Sisters +made me sing the solo––I was only ten years old.” +... She shrugged her shoulders: “You know, in +those days, I was a little devil,” she said seriously.</p> +<p>He smiled.</p> +<p>“I really was, Jim,––all over everything and wild +as a swallow. I led the pack; Shadow Hill held us in +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_243' name='page_243'></a>243</span> +horror. I remember I fought our butcher’s boy once––right +in the middle of the street–––”</p> +<p>“Why?”</p> +<p>“He did something to a cat which I couldn’t stand.”</p> +<p>“Did you whip him?”</p> +<p>“Oh, Jim, it was horrid. We both were dreadfully +battered. And the constable caught us both, and I +shall never, never forget my mother’s face!–––”</p> +<p>She gazed down at the keys of the piano, touched +them pensively.</p> +<p>“The very deuce was in me,” she sighed. “Even +now, unless I’m occupied with all my might, something +begins––to simmer in me–––”</p> +<p>She turned and looked at him: “––A sort of enchanted +madness that makes me wild to seize the whole +world and set it right!––take it into my arms and defend +it––die for it––or slay it and end its pain.”</p> +<p>“Too much of an armful,” he said with great gravity. +“The thing to do is to select an individual and take +<i>him</i> to your heart.”</p> +<p>“And slay him?” she inquired gaily.</p> +<p>“Certainly––like the feminine mantis––if you find +you don’t like him. Individual suitors must take their +chances of being either eaten or adored.”</p> +<p>“Jim, you’re so funny.”</p> +<p>She swung her stool, rested her elbow on the piano, +and gazed at him interrogatively, the odd, half-smile +edging her lips and eyes. And, after a little <i>duetto</i> +of silence:</p> +<p>“Do you suppose I shall ever come to care for you––imprudently?” +she asked.</p> +<p>“I wouldn’t let you.”</p> +<p>“How could you help it? And, as far as that goes, +how could I, if it happened?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_244' name='page_244'></a>244</span></div> +<p>“If you ever come to care at all,” he said, “you’ll +care enough.”</p> +<p>“That is the trouble with you,” she retorted, “you +don’t care enough.”</p> +<p>A slight flush stained his cheek-bones: “Sometimes,” +he said, “I almost wish I cared less. And that would +be what you call enough.”</p> +<p>Colour came into her face, too:</p> +<p>“Do you know, Jim, I really don’t know how much I +do care for you? It sounds rather silly, doesn’t it?”</p> +<p>“Do you care more than you did at first?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“Much more?”</p> +<p>“I told you I don’t know how much.”</p> +<p>“Not enough to marry me?”</p> +<p>“Must we discuss that again?”</p> +<p>He got up, went out to the hall, pulled a book from +his overcoat pocket, and returned.</p> +<p>“Would you care to hear what the greatest American +says on the subject, Palla?”</p> +<p>“On the subject of marriage?”</p> +<p>“No; he takes the marriage for granted. It’s what +he has to say concerning the obligations involved.”</p> +<p>“Proceed, dear,” she said, laughingly.</p> +<p>He read, eliminating what was not necessary to make +his point:</p> +<p>“‘A race is worthless and contemptible if its men +cease to work hard and, at need, to fight hard; and if +its women cease to breed freely. If the best classes do +not reproduce themselves the nation will, of course, go +down.</p> +<p>“‘When the ordinary decent man does not understand +that to marry the woman he loves, as early as +he can, is the most desirable of all goals; when the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_245' name='page_245'></a>245</span> +ordinary woman does not understand that all other +forms of life are but makeshift substitutes for the life +of the wife, the mother of healthy children; then the +State is rotten at heart.</p> +<p>“‘The woman who shrinks from motherhood is as low +a creature as a man of the professional pacifist, or +poltroon, type, who shirks his duty as a soldier.</p> +<p>“‘The only full life for man or woman is led by +those men and women who together, with hearts both +gentle and valiant, face lives of love and duty, who see +their children rise up to call them blessed, and who +leave behind them their seed to inherit the earth.</p> +<p>“‘No celibate life approaches such a life in usefulness. +The mother comes ahead of the nun.</p> +<p>“‘But if the average woman does not marry and +become the mother of enough healthy children to permit +the increase of the race; and if the average man +does not marry in times of peace and do his full duty +in war if need arises, then the race is decadent and +should be swept aside to make room for a better one.</p> +<p>“‘Only that nation has a future whose sons and +daughters recognise and obey the primary laws of their +racial being!’”</p> +<p>He closed the book and laid it on the piano.</p> +<p>“Now,” he said, “either we’re really a rotten and +decadent race, and might as well behave like one, or +we’re sound and sane.”</p> +<p>Something unusual in his voice––in the sudden grim +whiteness of his face––disturbed Palla.</p> +<p>“I want you to marry me,” he said. “You care for +no other man. And if you don’t love me enough to +do it, you’ll learn to afterward.”</p> +<p>“Jim,” she said gently, and now rather white herself, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_246' name='page_246'></a>246</span> +“that is an outrageous thing to say to me. Don’t you +realise it?”</p> +<p>“I’m sorry. But I love you––I need you so that I’m +fit for nothing else. I can’t keep my mind on my +work; I can’t think of anybody––anything but you.... +If you didn’t care for me more or less I +wouldn’t come whining to you. I wouldn’t come now +until I’d entirely won your heart––except that––if I +did––and if you refused me marriage and offered the +other thing––I’d be about through with everything! +And I’d know damned well that the nation wasn’t worth +the powder to blow it to hell if such women as you +betray it!”</p> +<p>The girl flushed furiously; but her voice seemed fairly +under control.</p> +<p>“Hadn’t you better go, Jim, before you say anything +more?”</p> +<p>“Will you marry me?”</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>He stood up very straight, unstirring, for a long +time, not looking at her.</p> +<p>Then he said “good-bye,” in a low voice, and went +out leaving her quite pale again and rather badly +scared.</p> +<p>As the lower door closed, she sprang to the landing +and called his name in a frightened voice that had no +carrying power.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Later she telephoned to his several clubs. At eleven +she called each club again; and finally telephoned to +his house.</p> +<p>At midnight he had not telephoned in reply to the +messages she had left requesting him to call her.</p> +<p>Her anxiety had changed to a vague bewilderment. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_247' name='page_247'></a>247</span> +Her dismayed resentment at what he had said to her +was giving place to a strange and unaccustomed sense +of loneliness.</p> +<p>Suddenly an overwhelming desire to be with Ilse +seized her, and she would have called a taxi and started +immediately, except for the dread that Jim might telephone +in her absence.</p> +<p>Yet, she didn’t know what it was that she wanted of +him, except to protest at his attitude toward her. Such +a protest was due them both––an appeal in behalf of the +friendship which meant so much to her––which, she +had abruptly discovered, meant far more to her than +she supposed.</p> +<p>At midnight she telephoned to Ilse. A sleepy maid +replied that Miss Westgard had not yet returned.</p> +<p>So Palla called a taxi, pinned on her hat and struggled +into her fur coat, and, taking her latch-key, +started for Ilse’s apartment, feeling need of her in a +blind sort of way––desiring to listen to her friendly +voice, touch her, hear her clear, sane laughter.</p> +<p>A yawning maid admitted her. Miss Westgard had +dined out with Mr. Estridge, but had not yet returned.</p> +<p>So Palla, wondering a little, laid aside her coat and +went into the pretty living room.</p> +<p>There were books and magazines enough, but after +a while she gave up trying to read and sat staring +absently at a photograph of Estridge in uniform, which +stood on the table at her elbow.</p> +<p>Across it was an inscription, dated only a few days +back: “To Ilse from Jack, on the road to Asgard.”</p> +<p>Then, as she gazed at the man’s handsome features, +for the first time a vague sense of uneasiness invaded +her.</p> +<p>Of a gradually growing comradeship between these +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_248' name='page_248'></a>248</span> +two she had been tranquilly aware. And yet, now, it +surprised her to realise that their comradeship had +drifted into intimacy.</p> +<p>Lying back in her armchair, her thoughts hovered +about these two; and she went back in her mind to +recollect something of the beginning of this intimacy;––and +remembered various little incidents which, at the +time, seemed of no portent.</p> +<p>And, reflecting, she recollected now what Ilse had +said to her after the last party she had given––and +which Palla had not understood.</p> +<p>What had Ilse meant by asking her to “wait”? Wait +for what?... Where was Ilse, now? Why did +she remain out so late with John Estridge? It was +after one o’clock.</p> +<p>Of course they must be dancing somewhere or other. +There were plenty of dances to go to.</p> +<p>Palla stirred restlessly in her chair. Evidently Ilse +had not told her maid that she meant to be out late, +for the girl seemed to have expected her an hour ago.</p> +<p>Palla’s increasing restlessness finally drove her to +the windows, where she pulled aside the shades and +stood looking out into the silent night.</p> +<p>The night was cold and clear and very still. Rarely +a footfarer passed; seldom a car. And the stillness of +the dark city increased her nervousness.</p> +<p>New York has rare phases of uncanny silence, when, +for a space, no sound disturbs the weird stillness.</p> +<p>The clang of trains, the feathery whirr of motors, +the echo of footsteps, the immense, indefinable breathing +vibration of the iron monster, drowsing on its rock between +three rivers and the sea, ceases utterly. And a vast +stillness reigns, mournful, ominous, unutterably sad.</p> +<p>Palla looked down into the empty street. The dark +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_249' name='page_249'></a>249</span> +chill of it seemed to rise and touch her; and she shivered +unconsciously and turned back into the lighted room.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>It was two o’clock. Her eyes were heavy, her heart +heavier. Why should everything suddenly happen to +her in that way? Where had Jim gone when he left +her? And who was it answered the telephone at his +house when she had called up and asked to speak to him? +It was a woman’s voice––a maid, no doubt––yet, for +an instant, she had fancied that the voice resembled +his mother’s.</p> +<p>But it couldn’t have been, for Palla had given her +name, and Mrs. Shotwell would have spoken to her––unless––perhaps +his mother––disapproved of something––of +her calling Jim at such an hour.... Or of +something ... perhaps of their friendship ... +of herself, perhaps–––</p> +<p>She heard the clock strike and looked across at the +mantel.</p> +<p>What was Ilse doing at half-past two in the morning? +Where could she be?</p> +<p>Palla involuntarily turned her head and looked at +the photograph. Of course Ilse was safe with a man +like John Estridge.... That is to say ...</p> +<p>Without warning, her face grew hot and the crimson +tide mounted to the roots of her hair, dyeing throat +and temples.</p> +<p>A sort of stunning reaction followed as the tide +ebbed; she found herself stupidly repeating the word +“safe,” as though to interpret what it meant.</p> +<p>Safe? Yes, Ilse was safe. She knew how to take +care of herself ... unless....</p> +<p>Again the crimson tide invaded her skin to the +temples.... A sudden and haunting fear came +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_250' name='page_250'></a>250</span> +creeping after it had ebbed once more, leaving her +gazing fixedly into space through the tumult of her +thoughts. And always in dull, unmeaning repetition +the word “safe” throbbed in her ears.</p> +<p>Safe? Safe from what? From the creed they both +professed? From their common belief? From the consequences +of living up to it?</p> +<p>At the thought, Palla sprang to her feet and stood +quivering all over, both hands pressed to her throat, +which was quivering too.</p> +<p>Where was Ilse? What had happened? Had she +suddenly come face to face with that creed of theirs––that +shadowy creed which they believed in, perhaps +because it seemed so unreal!––because the ordeal by +fire seemed so vague, so far away in that ghostly +bourne which is called the future, and which remains +always so inconceivably distant to the young––star-distant, +remote as inter-stellar dust––aloof as death.</p> +<p>It was three o’clock. There were velvet-dark smears +under Palla’s eyes, little colour in her lips. The weight of +fatigue lay heavily on her young shoulders; on her mind, +too, partly stupefied by the violence of her emotions.</p> +<p>Once she had risen heavily, had gone into the maid’s +room and had told her to go to bed, adding that she +herself would wait for Miss Westgard.</p> +<p>That, already, was nearly an hour ago, and the gilt +hands of the clock were already creeping around the +gilded dial toward the half hour.</p> +<p>As it struck on the clear French bell, a key turned +in the outside door; then the door closed; and Palla +rose trembling from her chair as Ilse entered, her +golden hair in lovely disorder, the evening cloak partly +flung from her shoulders.</p> +<p>There was a moment’s utter silence. Then Ilse +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_251' name='page_251'></a>251</span> +stepped swiftly forward and took Palla in her arms.</p> +<p>“My darling! What has happened?” she asked. +“Why are you here at this hour? You look dreadfully +ill!–––”</p> +<p>Palla’s head dropped on her breast.</p> +<p>“What is it?” whispered Ilse. “Darling––darling––you +did––you did wait––didn’t you?”</p> +<p>Palla’s voice was scarcely audible: “I don’t know +what you mean.... I was only frightened about +you.... I’ve been so unhappy.... And Jim +said––good-bye––and I can’t––find him–––”</p> +<p>“I want you to answer me! Are you in love with him?”</p> +<p>“No.... I don’t––think so–––”</p> +<p>Ilse drew a deep breath.</p> +<p>“It’s all right, then,” she said.</p> +<p>Then, suddenly, Palla seemed to understand what +Ilse had meant when she had said, “Wait!”</p> +<p>And she lifted her head and looked blindly into the +sea-blue eyes––blindly, desperately, striving to see +through those clear soul-windows what it might be +that was looking out at her.</p> +<p>And, gazing, she knew that she dared not ask Ilse +where she had been.</p> +<p>The latter smiled; but her voice was very tender +when she spoke.</p> +<p>“We’ll telephone your maid in the morning. You +must go to bed, Palla.”</p> +<p>“Alone?”</p> +<p>Ilse turned carelessly and laid her cloak across a +chair. There was a second chamber beyond her own. +She went into it, turned down the bed and called Palla, +who came slowly after her.</p> +<p>They kissed each other in silence. Then Ilse went +back to her own room.</p> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_252' name='page_252'></a>252</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XVII' id='CHAPTER_XVII'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XVII</h2> +</div> +<p>“Jim,” said his mother, “Miss Dumont called you +on the telephone at an unusual hour last night. +You had gone to your room, and on the chance +that you were asleep I did not speak to you.”</p> +<p>That was all––sufficient explanation to discount any +reproach from her son incident on his comparing notes +with the girl in question. Also just enough in her +action to convey to the girl a polite hint that the Shotwell +family was not at home to people who telephoned +at that unconventional hour.</p> +<p>On his way to business that morning, Jim telephoned +to Palla, but, learning she was not at home, let the +matter rest.</p> +<p>In his sullen and resentful mood he no longer cared––or +thought he didn’t, which resulted in the same +thing––the accumulation of increasing bitterness during +a dull, rainy working day at the office, and a dogged +determination to keep clear of this woman until effort +to remain away from her was no longer necessary.</p> +<p>For the thing was utterly hopeless; he’d had enough. +And in his bruised heart and outraged common sense +he was boyishly framing an indictment of modern +womanhood––lumping it all and cursing it out––swearing +internally at the entire enfranchised pack which +the war had set afoot and had licensed to swarm all +over everything and raise hell with the ancient and +established order of things.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_253' name='page_253'></a>253</span></div> +<p>The stormy dark came early; and in this frame of +mind when he left the office he sulkily avoided the club.</p> +<p>He very rarely drank anything; but, not knowing +what to do, he drifted into the Biltmore bar.</p> +<p>He met a man or two he knew, but declined all suggestions +for the evening, turned up his overcoat collar, +and started through the hotel toward the northern exit.</p> +<p>And met Marya Lanois face to face.</p> +<p>She was coming from the tea-room with two or three +other people, but turned immediately on seeing him +and came toward him with hand extended.</p> +<p>“Dear me,” she said, “you look very wet. And you +don’t look particularly well. Have you arrived all +alone for tea?”</p> +<p>“I had my tea in the bar,” he said. “How are you, +Marya?––but I musn’t detain you––” he glanced at +the distant group of people who seemed to be awaiting +her.</p> +<p>“You are not detaining me,” she said sweetly.</p> +<p>“Your people seem to be waiting–––”</p> +<p>“They may go to the deuce. Are you quite alone?”</p> +<p>“I––yes–––”</p> +<p>“Shall we have tea together?”</p> +<p>He laughed. “But you’ve had yours–––”</p> +<p>“Well, you know there are other things that one +sometimes drinks.”</p> +<p>There seemed no way out of it. They went into the +tea-room together and seated themselves.</p> +<p>“How is Vanya?” he inquired.</p> +<p>“Vanya gives a concert to-night in Baltimore.”</p> +<p>“And you didn’t go!”</p> +<p>“No. It was rainy. Besides, I hear Vanya play +when I desire to hear him.”</p> +<p>Their order was served.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_254' name='page_254'></a>254</span></div> +<p>“So you wouldn’t go to Baltimore,” said Jim smilingly. +“It strikes me, Marya, that you can be a coldblooded +girl when you wish to be.”</p> +<p>“After all, what do you know about me?”</p> +<p>He laughed: “Oh, I don’t mean that I’ve got your +number–––”</p> +<p>“No. Because I have many numbers. I am a complicated +combination,” she added, smiling; “––yet after +all, a combination only. And quite simple when one +discovers the key to me.”</p> +<p>“I think I know what it is,” he said.</p> +<p>“What is it?”</p> +<p>“Mischief.”</p> +<p>They laughed. Marya, particularly, was intensely +amused. She was extremely fetching in her bicorne +toque and narrow gown of light turquoise, and her +golden beaver scarf and muff.</p> +<p>“Mischief,” she repeated. “I should say not. There +seems to be already sufficient mischief loose in the world, +with the red tide rising everywhere––in Russia, in Germany, +Austria, Italy, England––yes, and here also the +crimson tide of Bolshevism begins to move.... +Tell me; you are coming to the club to-morrow evening, +I hope.”</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>“Oh. Why?”</p> +<p>“No,” he repeated, almost sullenly. “I’ve had enough +of queerness for a while–––”</p> +<p>“Jim! Do you dare include me?”</p> +<p>He had to laugh at her pretence of fury: “No, +Marya, you’re just a pretty mischief-maker, I suppose–––”</p> +<p>“Then what do you mean by ‘queerness’? Don’t +you think it’s sensible to combat Bolshevism and fight +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_255' name='page_255'></a>255</span> +it with argument and debate on its own selected camping +ground? Don’t you think it is high time somebody +faced this crimson tide––that somebody started to build +a dyke against this threatened inundation?”</p> +<p>“The best dykes have machine guns behind them, not +orators,” he said bluntly.</p> +<p>“My friend, I have seen that, also. And to what +have machine guns led us in Petrograd, in Moscow, in +Poland, Finland, Courland––” She shrugged her +pretty shoulders. “No. I have seen enough blood.”</p> +<p>He said: “I have seen a little myself.”</p> +<p>“Yes, I know. But a soldier is always a soldier, as +a hound is always a hound. The blood of the quarry +is what their instinct follows. Your goal is death; we +only seek to tame.”</p> +<p>“The proper way to check Bolshevism in America is +to police the country properly, and kick out the outrageous +gang of domestic Bolsheviki who have exploited +us, tricked us, lied to us, taxed us unfairly, and in +spite of whom we have managed to help our allies win +this war.</p> +<p>“Then, when this petty, wretched, crooked bunch +has been swept out, and the nation aired and disinfected, +and when the burden of taxation is properly +distributed, and business dares lift its head again, then +start your debates and propaganda and try to educate +your enemies if you like. But keep your machine guns +oiled.”</p> +<p>“You speak in an uncomplimentary fashion of government,” +said the girl, smiling.</p> +<p>“I am all for government. That does not mean +that I am for the particular incumbents in office under +the present Government. I have no use for them. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_256' name='page_256'></a>256</span> +Know that this war was won, not through them but in +spite of them.</p> +<p>“Yet I place loyalty first of all––loyalty to the true +ideals of that Government which some of the present +incumbents so grotesquely misrepresent.</p> +<p>“That means, stand by the ship and the flag she +flies, no matter who steers or what crew capers about +her decks.</p> +<p>“That means, watch out for all pirates;––open fire +on anything that flies a hostile flag, red or any other +colour.</p> +<p>“And that’s my creed, Marya!”</p> +<p>“To shoot; not to debate?”</p> +<p>“An inquest is safer.”</p> +<p>“We shall never agree,” said the girl, laughing. +“And I’m rather glad.”</p> +<p>“Why?”</p> +<p>“Because disagreements are more amusing than any +<i>entente cordiale</i>, <i>mon ami</i>. It is the opposing forces +that never bore each other. In life, too––I mean among +human beings. Once they agree, interest lessens.”</p> +<p>“Nonsense,” he said, smiling.</p> +<p>“Oh, it is quite true. Behold us. We don’t agree. +But I am interested,” she added with pretty audacity; +“so please take me to dinner somewhere.”</p> +<p>“You mean now, as we are?”</p> +<p>“Parbleu! Did you wish to go home and dress?”</p> +<p>“I don’t care if you don’t,” he said.</p> +<p>“Suppose,” she suggested, “we dine where there is +something to see.”</p> +<p>“A Broadway joint?” he asked, amused.</p> +<p>“A joint?” she repeated, smilingly perplexed. “Is +that a place where we may dine and see a spectacle +too and afterward dance?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_257' name='page_257'></a>257</span></div> +<p>“Something of that sort,” he admitted, laughing. +But under his careless gaiety an ugly determination +had been hardening; he meant to go no more to Palla; +he meant to welcome any distraction of the moment +to help tide him over the long, grey interval that loomed +ahead––welcome any draught that might mitigate the +bitter waters he was tasting––and was destined to drain +to their revolting dregs.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>They went to the Palace of Mirrors and were lucky +enough to secure a box.</p> +<p>The food was excellent; the show a gay one.</p> +<p>Between intermissions he took Marya to the floor +for a dance or two. The place was uncomfortably +crowded: uniforms were everywhere, too; and Jim +nodded to many men he knew, and to a few women.</p> +<p>And, in the vast, brilliant place, there was not a +man who saw Marya and failed to turn and follow her +with his eyes. For Marya had been fashioned to trouble +man. And that primitively constructed and obviously-minded +sex never failed to become troubled.</p> +<p>“We’d better enjoy our champagne,” remarked +Marya. “We’ll be a wineless nation before long, I +suppose.”</p> +<p>“It seems rather a pity,” he remarked, “that a man +shouldn’t be free to enjoy a glass of claret. But if the +unbaked and the half-baked, and the unwashed and the +half-washed can’t be trusted to practise moderation, +we others ought to abstain, I suppose. Because what +is best for the majority ought to be the law for all.”</p> +<p>“If it were left to me,” said the girl, “I’d let the +submerged drink themselves to death.”</p> +<p>“What on earth are you talking about?” he said. +“I thought you were a socialist!”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_258' name='page_258'></a>258</span></div> +<p>“I am. I desire no law except that of individual +inclination.”</p> +<p>“Why, that’s Bolshevism!”</p> +<p>Her laughter rang out unrestrained: “I believe in +Bolshevism––for myself––but not for anybody else. In +other words, I’d like to be autocrat of the world. If +I were, I’d let everybody alone unless they interfered +with me.”</p> +<p>“And in that event?” he asked, laughing, as the +lights all over the house faded to a golden glimmer in +preparation for the second part of the spectacle. He +could no longer see her clearly across the little table. +“What would you do if people interfered with you?” +he repeated.</p> +<p>Marya smiled. The last ray of light smouldered in +her tiger-red hair; the warm, fragrant, breathing youth +of her grew vaguer, merging with the shadows; only +the beryl-tinted eyes, which slanted slightly, remained +distinct.</p> +<p>Her voice came to him through the music: “If I +were autocrat, any man who dared oppose me would +have his choice.”</p> +<p>“What choice?”</p> +<p>The music swelled toward a breathless crescendo.</p> +<p>She said: “Oppose me and you shall learn!–––”</p> +<p>The house burst into a dazzling flood of moon-tinted +light, all thronged with slim shapes whirling in an +enchanted dance. Then clouds seemed to gather; the +moon slid behind them, leaving a frosty demi-darkness +through which, presently, snow began to fall.</p> +<p>The girl leaned toward him, watching the spectacle +in silence. Perhaps unconsciously her left hand, satin-smooth, +slipped over his––as though the contact were +a symbol of enjoyment shared.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_259' name='page_259'></a>259</span></div> +<p>Light broke the next moment, revealing the spectacle +on stage and floor in all its tinsel magnificence––snow-nymphs, +polar-bears, all capering madly until an unearthly +shriek heralded the coming of a favorite clown, +who tumbled all the way down the stage steps and continued +hysterically turning flip-flaps, cart-wheels, and +somersaults until he landed with a crash at the foot of +the steps again.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>A large, highly coloured and over-glossy man, passing +under their box during a dancing intermission, bowed +rather extravagantly to Jim. He recognised Angelo +Puma, with contemptuous amusement at his impudence.</p> +<p>It was evident, too, that Puma was quite ready to +linger if encouraged––anxious, in fact, to extend his +hand.</p> +<p>But his impudence had already ceased to amuse Jim, +and he said carelessly to Marya, in a voice perfectly +audible to Puma:</p> +<p>“There goes a man who, in collusion with a squinting +partner of his, once beat me out of a commission.”</p> +<p>Puma’s heavy, burning face turned abruptly from +Marya, whom he had been looking at; and he continued +on across the floor. And Jim forgot him.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>They remained until the place closed. Then he took +her home.</p> +<p>It was an apartment overlooking the park from +Fifty-ninth Street––a big studio and apparently many +comfortable rooms––a large, still place where no servants +were in evidence and where thick velvety carpets +from Ushak and Sultanabad muffled every footfall.</p> +<p>She had insisted on his entering for a moment. He +stood looking about him in the great studio, where +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_260' name='page_260'></a>260</span> +Vanya’s concert-grand loomed up, a sprawling, shadowy +shape under the dim drop-light which once had been +a mosque-lamp in Samarcand.</p> +<p>The girl flung stole and muff from her, rolled up +her gloves and took a shot at the piano, then, laughing, +unpinned her hat and sent it scaling away into +the golden dusk somewhere.</p> +<p>“Are you sleepy, Jim?”</p> +<p>A sudden vision of his trouble in the long, long night +to face––trouble, insomnia, and the bitterness welling +ever fresher with the interminable thoughts he could +not suppress, could not control–––</p> +<p>“I’m not sleepy,” he said. “But don’t you want to +turn in?”</p> +<p>She went over to the piano, and, accompanying herself +on deadened pedal where she stood, sang in a low +voice the “<i>Snow-Tiger</i>,” with its uncanny refrain:</p> +<table summary=''><tr><td> +<p class='cg'><span class='indent12'> </span>“Tiger-eyes<br /> +<span class='indent12'> </span>Tiger-eyes,<br /> +<span class='indent12'> </span>What do you see<br /> +<span class='indent13'> </span>Far in the dark<br /> +<span class='indent13'> </span>Over the snow?<br /> +<span class='indent13'> </span>Far in the dark<br /> +<span class='indent13'> </span>Over the snow,<br /> +Slowly the ghosts of dead men go,––<br /> +Horses and riders under the moon<br /> +Trample along to the dead men’s rune,<br /> +<span class='indent12'> </span><i>Slava! Slava!</i><br /> +<span class='indent12'> </span>Over the snow.”</p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>“That’s too hilarious a song,” said Jim, laughing. +“May I suggest a little rag to properly subdue us?”</p> +<p>“You don’t like <i>Tiger-eyes</i>?”</p> +<p>“I’ve heard more cheerful ditties.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_261' name='page_261'></a>261</span></div> +<p>“When I’m excited by pleasure,” said the girl, “I +sing <i>Tiger-eyes</i>.”</p> +<p>“Does it subdue you?”</p> +<p>She looked at him. “No.”</p> +<p>Still standing, she looked down at the keys, struck +the muffled chords softly.</p> +<table summary=''><tr><td> +<p class='cg'><span class='indent9'> </span>“Tiger-eyes<br /> +<span class='indent10'> </span>Tiger-eyes,<br /> +<span class='indent10'> </span>Where do they go,<br /> +<span class='indent10'> </span>Far in the dark<br /> +<span class='indent10'> </span>Over the snow?<br /> +<span class='indent10'> </span>Into the dark,<br /> +<span class='indent10'> </span>Over the snow,<br /> +<span class='indent2'> </span>Only the ghosts of the dead men know<br /> +<span class='indent2'> </span>Where they have come from, whither they go,<br /> +<span class='indent2'> </span>Riding at night by the corpse-light glow,<br /> +<span class='indent10'> </span><i>Slava!</i> <i>Slava!</i><br /> +<span class='indent10'> </span>Over the snow.”</p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>“Well, for the love of Mike–––”</p> +<p>Marya’s laughter pealed.</p> +<p>“So you don’t like <i>Tiger-eyes</i>?” she demanded, coming +from behind the piano.</p> +<p>“I sure don’t,” he admitted.</p> +<p>“The real Russian name of the song is ‘Words! +Words!’ And that’s all the song is––all that any song +is––all that anything amounts to––words! words!––” +She dropped onto the long couch,––“Anything except––love.”</p> +<p>“You may include that, too,” he said, lighting a +cigarette for her; and she blew a ring of smoke at +him, saying:</p> +<p>“I may––but I won’t. For goodness sake leave me +the last one of my delusions!”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_262' name='page_262'></a>262</span></div> +<p>They both laughed and he said she was welcome to +her remaining delusion.</p> +<p>“Won’t you share it with me?” she said, her smile +innocent enough, save for the audacity of the red mouth.</p> +<p>“Share your delusion?”</p> +<p>“Yes, that too.”</p> +<p>This wouldn’t do. He lighted a cigarette for himself +and sauntered over to the piano.</p> +<p>“I hope Vanya’s concert is a success,” he said. “He’s +such a charming fellow, Vanya––so considerate, so +gentle––” He turned and looked at Marya, and his +eyes added: “Why the devil don’t you marry him and +have a lot of jolly children?”</p> +<p>There seemed to be in his clear eyes enough for the +girl to comprehend something of the question they +flung at her.</p> +<p>“I don’t love Vanya,” she said.</p> +<p>“Of course you do!”</p> +<p>“As I might love a child––yes.”</p> +<p>After a silence: “It strikes me,” he said, “that you’re +passionately in love.”</p> +<p>“I am.”</p> +<p>“With yourself,” he added, smiling.</p> +<p>“With <i>you</i>.”</p> +<p>This wouldn’t do any longer. The place slightly +stifled him with its stillness, rugs––the odours that came +from lacquered shapes, looming dimly, flowered and +golden in the dusk––the aromatic scent of her cigarette–––</p> +<p>“Hell!” he muttered under his breath. “This is no +place for a white man.” But aloud he said pleasantly: +“My very best wishes for Vanya to-night. Tell him +so when he returns––” He put on his overcoat and +picked up hat and stick.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_263' name='page_263'></a>263</span></div> +<p>“It’s infernally late,” he added, “and I’ve been a +beast to keep you up. It was awfully nice of you.”</p> +<p>She rose from the lounge and walked with him to +the door.</p> +<p>“Good night,” he said cheerily; but she retained his +hand, added her other to it, and put up her face.</p> +<p>“Look here,” he said, smilingly, “I can’t do that, +Marya.”</p> +<p>“Why can’t you?”</p> +<p>Her soft breath was on his face; the mouth too near––too +near–––</p> +<p>“No, I can’t!” he said curtly, but his voice trembled +a little.</p> +<p>“Why?” she whispered.</p> +<p>“Because––there’s Vanya. No, I won’t do it!”</p> +<p>“Is that the reason?”</p> +<p>“It’s a reason.”</p> +<p>“I don’t love Vanya. I do love you.”</p> +<p>“Please remember–––”</p> +<p>“No! No! I have nothing to remember––unless +you give me something–––”</p> +<p>“You had better try to remember that Vanya loves +you. You and I can’t do a thing like that to Vanya––”</p> +<p>“Are there no other reasons?”</p> +<p>He reddened to the temples: “No, there are not––now. +There is no other reason––except myself.”</p> +<p>“Yourself?”</p> +<p>“Yes, damn it, myself! That’s all that remains now +to keep me straight. And I’ve been so. That may be +news to you. Perhaps you don’t believe it.”</p> +<p>“Is it so, Jim?” she asked in a voice scarcely audible.</p> +<p>“Yes, it is. And so I shall keep on, and play the +game that way––play it squarely with Vanya, too–––”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_264' name='page_264'></a>264</span></div> +<p>He had lost his heavy colour; he stood looking at her +with a white, strained, grim expression that tightened +the jaw muscles; and she felt his powerful hand clenching +between hers.</p> +<p>“It’s no use,” he said between his set lips, “I’ve +got to go on––see it through in my own fashion––this +rotten thing called life. I’m sorry, Marya, that +I’m not a better sport–––”</p> +<p>A wave of colour swept her face and her hands suddenly +crushed his between them.</p> +<p>“You’re wonderful,” she said. “I do love you.”</p> +<p>But the tense, grey look had come back into his +face. Looking at her in silence, presently his gaze +seemed to become remote, his absent eyes fixed on something +beyond her.</p> +<p>“I’ve a rotten time ahead of me,” he said, not knowing +he had spoken. When his eyes reverted to her, his +features remained expressionless, but his voice was +almost tender as he said good night once more.</p> +<p>Her hands fell away; he opened the door and went +out without looking back.</p> +<p>He found a taxi at the Plaza. He was swearing +when he got into it. And all the way home he kept +repeating to himself: “I’m one of those cursed, creeping +Josephs; that’s what I am,––one of those pepless, sanctimonious, +creeping Josephs.... And I always +loathed that poor fish, too!”</p> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_265' name='page_265'></a>265</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XVIII' id='CHAPTER_XVIII'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XVIII</h2> +</div> +<p>Shotwell Junior discovered in due course +of time the memoranda of the repeated messages +which Palla had telephoned to his several clubs, +asking him to call her up immediately.</p> +<p>It was rather late to do that now, but his pulses +began to quicken again in the old, hopeless way; and +he went to the telephone booth and called the number +which seemed burnt into his brain forever.</p> +<p>A maid answered; Palla came presently; and he +thought her voice seemed colourless and unfamiliar.</p> +<p>“Yes, I’m perfectly well,” she replied to his inquiry; +“where in the world did you go that night? I simply +couldn’t find you anywhere.”</p> +<p>“What had you wished to say to me?”</p> +<p>“Nothing––except––that I was afraid you were +angry when you left, and I didn’t wish you to part +with me on such terms. Were you annoyed?”</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>“You say it very curtly, Jim.”</p> +<p>“Is that all you desired to say to me?”</p> +<p>“Yes.... I was a little troubled.... +Something else went wrong, too;––everything seemed +to go wrong that night.... I thought perhaps––if +I could hear your voice––if you’d say something +kind–––”</p> +<p>“Had you nothing else to tell me, Palla?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_266' name='page_266'></a>266</span></div> +<p>“No.... What?”</p> +<p>“Then you haven’t changed your attitude?”</p> +<p>“Toward you? I don’t expect to–––”</p> +<p>“You know what I mean!”</p> +<p>“Oh. But, Jim, we can’t discuss <i>that</i> over the telephone.”</p> +<p>“I suppose not.... Is anything wrong with +you, Palla? Your voice sounds so tired–––”</p> +<p>“Does it? I don’t know why. Tell me, please, what +did you do that unhappy night?”</p> +<p>“I went home.”</p> +<p>“Directly?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“I telephoned your house about twelve, and was +informed you were not at home.”</p> +<p>“They thought I was asleep. I’m sorry, Palla–––”</p> +<p>“I shouldn’t have telephoned so late,” she interrupted, +“I’m afraid that it was your mother who answered; +and if it was, I received the snub I deserved!”</p> +<p>“Nonsense! It wasn’t meant that way–––”</p> +<p>“I’m afraid it was, Jim. It’s quite all right, though. +I won’t do it again.... Am I to see you soon?”</p> +<p>“No, not for a while–––”</p> +<p>“Are you so busy?”</p> +<p>“There’s no use in my going to you, Palla.”</p> +<p>“Why?”</p> +<p>“Because I’m in love with you,” he said bluntly, +“and I’m trying to get over it.”</p> +<p>“I thought we were <i>friends</i>, too.”</p> +<p>After a lengthy silence: “You’re right,” he said, “we +are.”</p> +<p>She heard his quick, deep breath like a sigh. “Shall +I come to-night?”</p> +<p>“I’m expecting some people, Jim––women who desire +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_267' name='page_267'></a>267</span> +to establish a Combat Club in Chicago, and they have +come on here to consult me.”</p> +<p>“To-morrow night, then?”</p> +<p>“Please.”</p> +<p>“Will you be alone?”</p> +<p>“I expect to be.”</p> +<p>Once more he said: “Palla, is anything worrying +you? Are you ill? Is Ilse all right?”</p> +<p>There was a pause, then Palla’s voice, resolutely +tranquil. “Everything is all right in the world as +long as you are kind to me, Jim. When you’re not, +things darken and become queer–––”</p> +<p>“Palla!”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“Listen! This is to serve notice on you. I’m going +to make a fight for you.”</p> +<p>After a silence, he heard her sweet, uncertain laughter.</p> +<p>“Jim?”</p> +<p>“Yes, dear.”</p> +<p>“I suppose it would shock you if I made a fight for––<i>you</i>!”</p> +<p>He took it as a jest and laughed at her perverse +humour. But what she had meant she herself scarcely +realised; and she turned away from the telephone, conscious +of a vague excitement invading her and of a +vaguer consternation, too. For behind the humorous +audacity of her words, she seemed to realise there remained +something hidden––something she was on the +verge of discovering––something indefinable, menacing, +grave enough to dismay her and drive from her lips +the last traces of the smile which her audacious jest +had left there.</p> +<p>The ladies from Chicago were to dine with her; her +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_268' name='page_268'></a>268</span> +maid had hooked her gown; orchids from Jim had just +arrived, and she was still pinning them to her waist––still +happily thrilled by this lovely symbol of their +renewed accord, when the bell rang.</p> +<p>It was much too early to expect anybody: she fastened +her orchids and started to descend the stairs for +a last glance at the table, when, to her astonishment, +she saw Angelo Puma in the hall in the act of depositing +his card upon the salver extended by the maid.</p> +<p>He looked up and saw her before she could retreat: +she made the best of it and continued on down, greeting +him with inquiring amiability:</p> +<p>“Miss Dumont, a thousand excuses for this so bold +intrusion,” he began, bowing extravagantly at every +word. “Only the urgent importance of my errand +could possibly atone for a presumption like there never +has been in all–––”</p> +<p>“Please step into the drawing room, Mr. Puma, if +you have something of importance to say.”</p> +<p>He followed her on tiptoe, flashing his magnificent +eyes about the place, still wearing over his evening +dress the seal overcoat with its gardenia, which was +already making him famous on Broadway.</p> +<p>Palla seated herself, wondering a little at the perfumed +splendour of her landlord. He sat on the extreme +edge of an arm chair, his glossy hat on his knee.</p> +<p>“Miss Dumont,” he said, laying one white-gloved +paw across his shirt-front, “you shall behold in me a +desolate man!”</p> +<p>“I’m sorry.” She looked at him in utter perplexity.</p> +<p>“What shall you say to me?” he cried. “What just +reproaches shall you address to me, Miss Dumont!”</p> +<p>“I’m sure I don’t know, Mr. Puma,” she said, inclined +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_269' name='page_269'></a>269</span> +to laugh, “––until you tell me what is your +errand.”</p> +<p>“Miss Dumont, I am most unhappy and embarrass. +Because you have pay me in advance for that which I +am unable to offer you.”</p> +<p>“I don’t think I understand.”</p> +<p>“Alas! You have pay to me by cheque for six months +more rent of my hall.”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“I have given to you a lease for six months more, +and with it an option for a year of renewal.”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“Miss Dumont, behold me desolate.”</p> +<p>“But why?”</p> +<p>“Because I am force by circumstance over which I +have no control to cancel this lease and option, and +ask you most respectfully to be so kind as to secure +other quarters for your club.”</p> +<p>“But we can’t do that!” exclaimed Palla in dismay.</p> +<p>“I am so very sorry–––”</p> +<p>“We can’t do it,” added Palla with decision. “It’s +utterly impossible, Mr. Puma. All our meetings are +arranged for months in advance; all the details are +completed. We could not disarrange the programme +adopted. From all over the United States people are +invited to come on certain fixed dates. All arrangements +have been made; you have my cheque and I have +your signed lease. No, we are obliged to hold you to +your contract, and I’m very sorry if it inconveniences +you.”</p> +<p>Puma’s brilliant eyes became tenderly apprehensive.</p> +<p>“Miss Dumont,” he said in a hushed and confidential +voice, “believe me when I venture to say to you that +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_270' name='page_270'></a>270</span> +your club should leave for reasons most grave, most +serious.”</p> +<p>“What reasons?”</p> +<p>“The others––the Red Flag Club. Who knows what +such crazy people might do in anger? They are very +angry already. They complain that your club has +interfere with them–––”</p> +<p>“That is exactly why we’re there, Mr. Puma––to +interfere with them, neutralise their propaganda, try +to draw the same people who listen to their violent +tirades. That is why we’re there, and why we refuse +to leave. Ours is a crusade of education. We chose +that hall because we desired to make the fight in the +very camp of the enemy. And I must tell you plainly +that we shall not give up our lease, and that we shall +hold you to it.”</p> +<p>The dark blood flooded his heavy features:</p> +<p>“I do not desire to take it to the courts,” he said. +“I am willing to offer compensation.”</p> +<p>“We couldn’t accept. Don’t you understand, Mr. +Puma? We simply must have that particular hall for +the Combat Club.”</p> +<p>Puma remained perfectly silent for a few moments. +There was still, on his thick lips, the suave smile which +had been stamped there since his appearance in her +house.</p> +<p>But in this man’s mind and heart there was growing +a sort of dull and ferocious fear––fear of elements +already gathering and combining to menace his increasing +prosperity.</p> +<p>Sullenly he was aware that this hard-won prosperity +was threatened. Always its conditions had been unstable +at best, but now the atmospheric pressure was +slowly growing, and his sky of promise was not as clear.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_271' name='page_271'></a>271</span></div> +<p>Some way, somehow, he must manage to evict these +women. Twice Sondheim had warned him. And that +evening Sondheim had sent him an ultimatum by +Kastner.</p> +<p>And Puma was perfectly aware that Karl Kastner +knew enough about him to utterly ruin him in the great +Republic which was now giving him a fortune and +which had never discovered that his own treacherous +mission here was the accomplishment of her ruin.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Puma stood up, heavily, cradling his glossy hat. +But his urbane smile became brilliant again and he +made Palla an extravagant bow.</p> +<p>“It shall be arrange,” he said cheerfully. “I consult +my partner––your <i>friend</i>, Mr. Skidder! Yes! So +shall we arrive at entente.”</p> +<p>His large womanish eyes swept the room. Suddenly +they were arrested by a photograph of Shotwell Junior––in +a silver frame––the only ornament, as yet, in the +little drawing room.</p> +<p>And instantly, within Angelo Puma, the venomous +instinct was aroused to do injury where it might be +done safely and without suspicion of intent.</p> +<p>“Ah,” he exclaimed gaily, “my friend, Mr. Shotwell! +It is from him, Miss Dumont, you have purchase +this so beautiful residence!”</p> +<p>He bent to salute with a fanciful inclination the +photograph of the man who had spoken so contemptuously +of him the evening previous.</p> +<p>“Mr. Shotwell also adores gaiety,” he said laughingly. +“Last night I beheld him at the Palace of +Mirrors––and with an attractive young lady of your +club, Miss Dumont––the charming young Russian lady +with whom you came once to pay me the rent––” He +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_272' name='page_272'></a>272</span> +kissed his hand in an ecstasy of recollection. “So +beautiful a young lady! So gay were they in their +box! Ah, youth! youth! Ah, the happiness and folly +when laughter bubbles in our wine!––the magic wine of +youth!”</p> +<p>He took his leave, moving lightly to the door, almost +grotesque in his elaborate evolutions and adieux.</p> +<p>Palla went slowly upstairs.</p> +<p>The evening paper lay on a table in the living room. +She unfolded it mechanically; looked at it but saw no +print, merely an unsteady haze of greyish tint on +which she could not seem to concentrate.</p> +<p>Marya and Jim ... together.... That +was the night he went away angry.... The +night he told her he had gone directly home.... +But it couldn’t have been.... He couldn’t have +lied....</p> +<p>She strove to recollect as she sat there staring at the +newspaper.... What was it that beast had said +about it?... Of course––<i>last</i> night!... +Marya and Jim had been together last night.... +But where was Vanya?... Oh, yes.... +Last night Vanya was away ... in Baltimore.</p> +<p>The paper dropped to her lap; she sat looking +straight ahead of her.</p> +<p>What had so shocked her then about Jim and Marya +being together? True, she had not supposed them to +be on such terms––had not even thought about it....</p> +<p>Yes, she <i>had</i> thought about it, scarcely conscious +of her own indefinable uneasiness––a memory, perhaps, +of that evening when the Russian girl had been at little +pains to disguise her interest in this man. And Palla +had noticed it––noticed that Marya was seated too +near him––noticed that, and the subtle attitude of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_273' name='page_273'></a>273</span> +provocation, and the stealthy evolution of that occult +sorcery which one woman instantly divines in another +and finds slightly revolting.</p> +<p>Was it merely that memory which had been evoked +when Puma’s laughing revelation so oddly chilled her?––the +suspected and discovered predilection of this +Russian girl for Jim? Or was it something else, something +deeper, some sudden and more profound illumination +which revealed to her that, in the depths of her, +she was afraid?</p> +<p>Afraid? Afraid of what?</p> +<p>Her charming young head sank; the brown eyes +stared at the floor.</p> +<p>She was beginning to understand what had chilled +her, what she had unconsciously been afraid of––<i>her +own creed!</i>––when applied to another woman.</p> +<p>And this was the second time that this creed of hers +had risen to confront her, and the second time she had +gazed at it, chilled by fear: once, when she had waited +for Ilse to return; and now once again.</p> +<p>For now she began to comprehend how ruthless that +creed could become when professed by such a girl as +Marya Lanois.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>She was still seated there when Marya came in, her +tiger-red hair in fascinating disorder from the wind, +her skin fairly breathing the warm fragrance of exotic +youth.</p> +<p>“My Palla! How pale you seem!” she exclaimed, +embracing her. “You are quite well? Really? Then +I am reassured!”</p> +<p>She went to the mirror and tucked in a burnished +strand or two of hair.</p> +<p>“These Chicago ladies––they have not arrived, I +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_274' name='page_274'></a>274</span> +see. Am I then so early? For I see that Ilse is not +yet here–––”</p> +<p>“It is only a quarter to eight,” said Palla, smiling; +but the brown eyes were calmly measuring this lithe and +warm and lovely thing with green eyes––measuring it +intently––taking its measure––taking, for the first +time in her life, her measure of any woman.</p> +<p>“Was Vanya’s concert a great success?” she asked.</p> +<p>“Vanya has not yet returned.” She shrugged. +“There was nothing in New York papers.”</p> +<p>“I suppose you were very nervous last night,” said +Palla.</p> +<p>For a moment Marya continued to arrange her hair +by the aid of the mantel mirror, then she turned very +lithely and let her green gaze rest full on Palla’s face.</p> +<p>What she might possibly have divined was hidden +behind the steady brown eyes that met hers may have +determined her attitude and words; for she laughed +with frank carelessness and plunged into it all:</p> +<p>“Fancy, Palla, my encountering Jim Shotwell in the +Biltmore, and dining with him at that noisy Palace of +Mirrors last night! Did he tell you?”</p> +<p>“I haven’t seen him.”</p> +<p>“––Over the telephone, perhaps?”</p> +<p>“No, he did not mention it.”</p> +<p>“Well, it was most amusing. It is the unpremeditated +that is delightful. And can you see us in that +dreadful place, as gay as a pair of school children? +And we must laugh at nothing and find it enchanting––and +we must dance amid the hoi polloi and clap our +hands for the encore too!–––”</p> +<p>A light peal of laughter floated from her lips at the +recollections evoked:</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_275' name='page_275'></a>275</span></div> +<p>“And after! Can you see us, Palla, in Vanya’s +studio, too wide awake to go our ways!––and the song +I sang at that unearthly hour––the song I sing always +when happily excited–––”</p> +<p>The bell rang; the first guest had arrived.</p> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_276' name='page_276'></a>276</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XIX' id='CHAPTER_XIX'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XIX</h2> +</div> +<p>Vanya’s concert had been enough of a success to +attract the attention of genuine music-lovers +and an impecunious impresario––an irresponsible +promoter celebrated for rushing headlong into +things and being kicked headlong out of them.</p> +<p>All promising virtuosi had cut their wisdom teeth +on him; all had acquired experience and its accompanying +toothache; none had acquired wealth until free of +this ubiquitous impresario.</p> +<p>His name was Wilding: he seized upon Vanya; and +that gentle and disconcerted dreamer offered no resistance.</p> +<p>So Wilding began to haunt Vanya’s apartment at +all hours of the day, rushing in with characteristic +enthusiasm to discuss the vast campaign of nation-wide +concerts which in his mind’s eye were already +materialising.</p> +<p>Marya had no faith in him and was becoming very +tired of his noise and bustle in the stillness and subdued +light which meant home to her, and which this +loud, excitable, untidy man was eternally invading.</p> +<p>Always he was shouting at Vanya: “It’s a knock-out! +It will go big! big! big! We got ’em started in Baltimore!”––a +fact, but none of his doing! “We’ll play +Philadelphia next; I’m fixin’ it for you. All you gotta +do is go there and the yelling starts. Well, I guess. +Some riot, believe <i>me</i>!”</p> +<p>Wilding had no money in the beginning. After a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_277' name='page_277'></a>277</span> +while, Vanya had none, or very little; but the impresario +wore a new fur coat and spats. And Broadway +winked wearily and said: “He’s got another!”––doubtless +deeming specification mere redundancy.</p> +<p>Yet, somehow, Wilding did manage to book Vanya +in Philadelphia––at a somewhat distant date, it is true––but +it was something with which to begin the promised +“nation-wide tour” under the auspices of Dawson +B. Wilding.</p> +<p>Marya had money of her own, but trusted none of +it in Wilding’s schemes. In fact, she had come to detest +him thoroughly, and whenever he was announced she +would rise like some beautiful, disgusted feline, which +something has disturbed in her dim and favourite corner, +and move lithely away to another room. And it +almost seemed as though her little, warm, closely-chiselled +ears actually flattened with bored annoyance as +the din of Wilding’s vociferous greeting to Vanya arose +behind her.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>One day toward Christmas time, she said to Vanya, in +her level, satin-smooth voice:</p> +<p>“You know, <i>mon ami</i>, I am tiring rapidly of this +great fool who comes shouting and tramping into our +home. And when I am annoyed beyond my nerve +capacity, I am likely to leave.”</p> +<p>Vanya said gently that he was sorry that he had +entered into financial relations with a man who annoyed +her, but that it could scarcely be helped now.</p> +<p>He was seated at his piano, not playing, but scoring. +And he resumed his composition after he had spoken, +his grave, delicate head bent over the ruled sheets, a +gold pencil held between his long fingers.</p> +<p>Marya lounged near, watched him. Not for the first +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_278' name='page_278'></a>278</span> +time, now, did his sweet temper and gentleness vaguely +irritate her––string her nerves a little tighter until +they began to vibrate with an indefinable longing to +say something to arouse this man––startle him––awaken +him to a physical tensity and strength.... Such +as Shotwell’s for example....</p> +<p>“Vanya?”</p> +<p>He looked up absently, the beauty of dreams still +clouding his eyes.</p> +<p>And suddenly, to her own astonishment, her endurance +came to its end. She had never expected to say +what she was now going to say to him. She had never +dreamed of confession––of enlightening him. And now, +all at once, she knew she was going to do it, and that +it was a needless and cruel and insane and useless thing +to do, for it led her nowhere, and it would leave him +in helpless pain.</p> +<p>“Vanya,” she said, “I am in love with Jim Shotwell.”</p> +<p>After a few moments, she turned and slowly crossed +the studio. Her hat and coat lay on a chair. She +put them on and walked out.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>The following morning, Palla, arriving to consult +Marya on a matter of the Club’s business, discovered +Vanya alone in the studio.</p> +<p>He was lying on the lounge when she entered, and he +looked ill, but he rose with all his characteristic grace +and charm and led her to a chair, saluting her hand as +he seated her.</p> +<p>“Marya has not yet arrived?” she inquired.</p> +<p>His delicate features became very grave and still.</p> +<p>“I thought,” added Palla, “that Marya usually +breakfasted at eleven–––”</p> +<p>Something in his expression checked her; and she +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_279' name='page_279'></a>279</span> +fell silent, fascinated by the deathly whiteness of his +face.</p> +<p>“I am sorry to tell you,” he said, in a pleasant and +steady voice, “that Marya has not returned.”</p> +<p>“Why––why, I didn’t know she was away–––”</p> +<p>“Yesterday she decided. Later she was good enough +to telephone from the Hotel Rajah, where, for the +present, she expects to remain.”</p> +<p>“Oh, Vanya!” Palla’s involuntary exclamation +brought a trace of colour into his cheeks.</p> +<p>He said: “It is not her fault. She was loyal and +truthful. One may not control one’s heart.... +And if she is in love––well, is she not free to love him?”</p> +<p>“Who––is––it?” asked Palla faintly.</p> +<p>“Mr. Shotwell, it appears.”</p> +<p>In the dead silence, Vanya passed his hand slowly +across his temples; let it drop on his knee.</p> +<p>“Freedom above all else,” he said, “––freedom to +love, freedom to cease loving, freedom to love anew.... +Well ... it is curious––the scheme of +things.... Love must remain inexplicable. For +there is no analysis. I think there never could be any +man who cared as I have cared, as I do care for +her....”</p> +<p>He rose, and to Palla he seemed already a trifle +stooped;––it may have been his studio coat, which +fitted badly.</p> +<p>“But, Vanya dear––” Palla looked at him miserably, +conscious of her own keen fears as well as of his sorrow. +“Don’t you think she’ll come back? Do you suppose +it is really so serious––what she thinks about––Mr. +Shotwell?”</p> +<p>He shook his head: “I don’t know.... If it is +so, it is so. Freedom is of first importance. Our creed +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_280' name='page_280'></a>280</span> +is our creed. We must abide by what we teach and +believe.”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>He nodded absently, staring palely into space.</p> +<p>Perhaps his lost gaze evoked the warm-skinned, +sunny-haired girl who had gone out of the semi-light of +this still place, leaving the void unutterably vast around +him. For this had been the lithe thing’s silken lair––the +slim and supple thing with beryl eyes––here where +thick-piled carpets of the East deadened every human +movement––where no sound stirred, nor any air––where +dull shapes loomed, lacquered and indistinct, and an +odour of Chinese lacquer and nard haunted the tinted +dusk.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Like one of those lazy, golden, jewelled sea-creatures +of irresponsible freedom brought seemed to fill the girl +cooler currents arouses a restlessness infernal, Marya’s +first long breath of freedom subtly excited her.</p> +<p>She had no definite ideas, no plans. She was merely +tired of Vanya.</p> +<p>Perhaps her fresh, wholesome contact with Jim had +started it––the sense of a clean vitality which had seemed +to envelop her like the delicious, half-resented chill +of a spring-pool plunge. For the exhilaration possessed +her still; and the sudden stimulation which the sense +of irresponsible freedom brought seemed to fill the girl +with a new vigour.</p> +<p>Foot-loose, heart-loose, her green eyes on the open +world where it stretched away into infinite horizons, +she paced her new nest in the Hotel Rajah, tingling +with subdued excitement, innocent of the faintest regret +for what had been.</p> +<p>For a week she lived alone, enjoying the sensation +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_281' name='page_281'></a>281</span> +of being hidden, languidly savouring the warm +comfort of isolation.</p> +<p>She had not sent for her belongings. She purchased +new personal effects, enchanted to be rid of familiar +things.</p> +<p>There was no snow. She walked a great deal, moving +in unaccustomed sections of the city at all hours, skirting +in the early winter dusk the glitter of Christmas +preparations along avenues and squares, lunching where +she was unlikely to encounter anybody she knew, dining, +too, at hazard in unwonted places––restaurants she +had never heard of, tea-rooms, odd corners.</p> +<p>Vanya wrote her. She tossed his letters aside, +scarcely read. Ilse and Palla wrote her, and telephoned +her. She paid them no attention.</p> +<p>The metropolitan jungle fascinated her. She adored +her liberty, and looked out of beryl-green eyes across +the border of license, where ghosts of the half-world +swarmed in no-man’s-land.</p> +<p>Conscious that she had been fashioned to trouble +man, the knowledge merely left her indefinitely contented, +save when she remembered Jim. But that he +had checked her drift toward him merely excited her; +for she knew she had been made to trouble such as he; +and she had seen his face that night....</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Ilse, on her way home to dress––for she was going +out somewhere with Estridge––stopped for tea at Palla’s +house, and found her a little disturbed over an anonymous +letter just delivered––a typewritten sheet bluntly +telling her to take her friends and get out of the hall +where the Combat Club held its public sessions; and +warning her of serious trouble if she did not heed this +“friendly” advice.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_282' name='page_282'></a>282</span></div> +<p>“Pouf!” exclaimed Ilse contemptuously, “I get those, +too, and tear them up. People who talk never strike. +Are you anxious, darling?”</p> +<p>Palla smiled: “Not a bit––only such cowardice saddens +me.... And the days are grey enough....”</p> +<p>“Why do you say that? I think it is a wonderful +winter––a beautiful year!”</p> +<p>Palla lifted her brown eyes and let them dwell on +the beauty of this clear-skinned, golden-haired girl who +had discovered beauty in the aftermath of the world’s +great tragedy.</p> +<p>Ilse smiled: “Life is good,” she said. “This world +is all to be done over in the right way. We have it +all before us, you and I, Palla, and those who love +and understand.”</p> +<p>“I am wondering,” said Palla, “who understands us. +I’m not discouraged, but––there seems to be so much +indifference in the world.”</p> +<p>“Of course. That is our battle to overcome it.”</p> +<p>“Yes. But, dear, there seems to be so much hatred, +too, in the world. I thought the war had ended, but +everywhere men are still in battle––everywhere men +are dying of this fierce hatred that seems to flame up +anew across the world; everywhere men fight and slay +to gain advantage. None yields, none renounces, none +gives. It is as though love were dead on earth.”</p> +<p>“Love is being reborn,” said Ilse cheerfully. “Birth +means pain, always–––”</p> +<p>Without warning, a hot flush flooded her face; she +averted it as the tea-tray was brought and set on a +table before Palla. When her face cooled, she leaned +back in her chair, cup in hand, a sort of confused +sweetness in her blue eyes.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_283' name='page_283'></a>283</span></div> +<p>Palla’s heart was beating heavily as she leaned on +the table, her cup untasted, her idle fingers crumbing +the morsel of biscuit between them.</p> +<p>After a moment she said: “So you have concluded +that you care for John Estridge?”</p> +<p>“Yes, I care,” said Ilse absently, the same odd, sweet +smile curving her cheeks.</p> +<p>“That is––wonderful,” said Palla, not looking at +her.</p> +<p>Ilse remained silent, her blue gaze aloof.</p> +<p>A maid came and turned up the lamps, and went +away again.</p> +<p>Palla said in a low voice: “Are you––afraid?”</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>They both remained silent until she rose to go. Palla, +walking with her to the head of the stairs, holding one +of her hands imprisoned, said with an effort: “I am +frightened, dear.... I can’t help it.... +You will be certain, first, won’t you?–––”</p> +<p>“It is as certain as death,” said Ilse in a low, still +voice.</p> +<p>Palla shivered; she passed one arm around her; and +they stood so for a while. Then Ilse’s arm tightened, +and the old gaiety glinted in her sea-blue eyes:</p> +<p>“Is your house in order too, Palla?” she asked. +“Turn around, little enigma! There; I can look into +those brown eyes now. And I see nothing in them to +answer me my question.”</p> +<p>“Do you mean Jim?”</p> +<p>“I do.”</p> +<p>“I haven’t seen him.”</p> +<p>“For how long?”</p> +<p>“Weeks. I don’t know how long it has been–––”</p> +<p>“Have you quarrelled?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_284' name='page_284'></a>284</span></div> +<p>“Yes. We seem to. This is quite the most serious +one yet.”</p> +<p>“You are not in love with him.”</p> +<p>“Oh, Ilse, I don’t know. He simply can’t understand +me. I feel so bruised and tired after a controversy +with him. He seems to be so merciless to my opinions––so +violent–––”</p> +<p>“You poor child.... After all, Palla, freedom +also means the liberty to change one’s mind.... +If you should care to change yours–––”</p> +<p>“I can’t change my inmost convictions.”</p> +<p>“Those––no.”</p> +<p>“I have not changed them. I almost wish I could. +But I’ve got to be honest.... And he can’t understand +me.”</p> +<p>Ilse smiled and kissed her: “That is scarcely to be +wondered at, as you don’t seem to know your own mind. +Perhaps when you do he, also, may understand you. +Good-bye! I must run–––”</p> +<p>Palla watched her to the foot of the stairs; the door +closed; the engine of a taxi began to hum.</p> +<p>Her telephone was ringing when she returned to the +living room, and the quick leap of her heart averted +her of the hope revived.</p> +<p>But it was a strange voice on the wire,––a man’s +voice, clear, sinister, tainted with a German accent:</p> +<p>“Iss this Miss Dumont? Yess? Then this I haff +to say to you: You shall find yourself in serious +trouble if you do not move your foolish club of vimmen +out of the vicinity of which you know. We giff you +one more chance. So shall you take it or you shall +take some consequences! <i>Goot-night!</i>”</p> +<p>The instrument clicked in her ear as the unknown +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_285' name='page_285'></a>285</span> +threatener hung up, leaving her seated there, astonished, +hurt, bewildered.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>The man who “hung up on her” stepped out of a +saloon on Eighth Avenue and joined two other men +on the corner.</p> +<p>The man was Karl Kastner; the other two were +Sondheim and Bromberg.</p> +<p>“Get her?” growled the latter, as all three started +east.</p> +<p>“Yess. And now we shall see what we shall see. +We start the finish now already. All foolishness shall +be ended. Now we fix Puma.”</p> +<p>They continued on across the street, clumping along +with their overcoat collars turned up, for it had turned +bitter cold and the wind was rising.</p> +<p>“You don’t think it’s a plant?” inquired Sondheim, +for the third time.</p> +<p>Bromberg blew his red nose on a dirty red handkerchief.</p> +<p>“We’ll plant Puma if he tries any of that,” he said +thickly.</p> +<p>Kastner added that he feared investigation more +than they did because he had more at stake.</p> +<p>“Dot guy he iss rich like a millionaire,” he added. +“Ve make him pay some dammach, too.”</p> +<p>“How’s he going to fire that bunch of women if they +got a lease?” demanded Bromberg.</p> +<p>“Who the hell cares how he does it?” grunted Sondheim.</p> +<p>“Sure,” added Kastner; “let him dig up. You buy +anybody if you haff sufficient coin. Effery time! Yess. +Also! Let him dig down into his pants once. So shall +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_286' name='page_286'></a>286</span> +he pay them, these vimmen, to go avay und shut up +mit their mischief what they make for us already!”</p> +<p>Sondheim was still muttering about “plants” in the +depths of his soiled overcoat-collar, when they arrived +at the hall and presented themselves at the door of +Puma’s outer office.</p> +<p>A girl took their message. After a while she returned +and piloted them out, and up a wide flight of stairs +to a door marked, “No admittance.” Here she knocked, +and Puma’s voice bade them enter.</p> +<p>Angelo Puma was standing by a desk when they +trooped in, keeping their hats on. The room was +ventilated and illumined in the daytime only by a very +dirty transom giving on a shaft. Otherwise, there +were no windows, no outlet to any outer light and air.</p> +<p>Two gas jets caged in wire––obsolete stage dressing-room +effects––lighted the room and glimmered on +Puma’s polished top-hat and the gold knob of his walking-stick.</p> +<p>As for Puma himself, he glanced up stealthily from +the scenario he was reading as he stood by the big +desk, but dropped his eyes again, and, opening a +drawer, laid away the typed manuscript. Then he +pulled out the revolving desk chair and sat down.</p> +<p>“Well?” he inquired, lighting a cigar.</p> +<p>There was an ominous silence among the three men +for another moment. Then Puma looked up, puffing +his cigar, and Sondheim stepped forward from the +group and shook his finger in his face.</p> +<p>“What yah got planted around here for us? Hey?” +he demanded in a low, hoarse voice. “Come on now, +Puma! What yeh think yeh got on us?” And to +Kastner and Bromberg: “Go ahead, boys, look for a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_287' name='page_287'></a>287</span> +dictaphone and them kind of things. And if this wop +hollers I’ll do him.”</p> +<p>A ruddy light flickered in Puma’s eyes, but the cool +smile lay smoothly on his lips, and he did not even turn +his head to watch them as they passed along the walls, +sounding, peering, prying, and jerking open the door +of the cupboard––the only furniture there except the +desk and the chair on which Puma sat.</p> +<p>“What the hell’s the matter with yeh?” snarled +Sondheim, suddenly stooping to catch Puma’s eye, +which had wandered as though bored by the proceedings.</p> +<p>“Nothing,” said Puma, coolly; “what’s the matter +with you, Max?”</p> +<p>Kastner came around beside him and said in his +thin, sinister tone:</p> +<p>“You know it vat I got on you, Angelo?”</p> +<p>“I do.”</p> +<p>“So? Also! Vas iss it you do about doze vimmen?”</p> +<p>“They won’t go.”</p> +<p>In Bromberg’s voice sounded an ominous roar: +“Don’t hand us nothing like that! You hear what +I’m telling you?”</p> +<p>Puma shrugged: “I hand you what I have to hand +you. They have the lease. What is there for me +to do?”</p> +<p>“Buy ’em off!”</p> +<p>“I try. They will not.”</p> +<p>“You offer ’em enough and they’ll quit!”</p> +<p>“No. They will not. They say they are here to +fight you. They laugh at my money. What shall +I do?”</p> +<p>“I’ll tell you one thing you’ll do, and do it damn +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_288' name='page_288'></a>288</span> +quick!” roared Bromberg. “Hand over that money +we need!”</p> +<p>“If you bellow in so loud a manner,” said Puma, +“they could hear you in the studio.... How +much do you ask for?”</p> +<p>“Two thousand.”</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>“What yeh mean by ‘No’?”</p> +<p>“What I say to you, that I have not two thousand.”</p> +<p>“You lying greaser–––”</p> +<p>“I do not lie. I have paid my people and there remains +but six hundred dollars in my bank.”</p> +<p>“When do we get the rest?” asked Sondheim, as Puma +tossed the packet of bills onto the desk.</p> +<p>“When I make it,” replied Puma tranquilly. “You +will understand my receipts are my capital at present. +What else I have is engaged already in my new theatre. +If you will be patient you shall have what I can spare.”</p> +<p>Bromberg rested both hairy fists on the desk and +glared down at Puma.</p> +<p>“Who’s this new guy you got to go in with you? +What’s the matter with our getting a jag of his coin?”</p> +<p>“You mean Mr. Pawling?”</p> +<p>“Yeh. Who the hell is that duck what inks his +whiskers?”</p> +<p>“A partner.”</p> +<p>“Well, let him shove us ours then.”</p> +<p>“You wish to ruin me?” inquired Puma placidly.</p> +<p>“Not while you’re milkin’,” said Sondheim, showing +every yellow fang in a grin.</p> +<p>“Then do not frighten Mr. Pawling out. Already +you have scared my other partner, Mr. Skidder, like +there never was any rabbits scared. You are foolish. +If you are reasonable, I shall make money and you +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_289' name='page_289'></a>289</span> +shall have your share. If you are not, then there is +no money to give you.”</p> +<p>Sondheim said: “Take a slant at them yellow-backs, +Karl.” And Kastner screwed a powerful jeweller’s +glass into his eye and began a minute examination of +the orange-coloured treasury notes, to find out whether +they were marked bills.</p> +<p>Bromberg said heavily: “See here, Angelo, you gotta +quit this damned stalling! You gotta get them women +out, and do it quick or we’ll blow your dirty barracks +into the North River!”</p> +<p>Sondheim began to wag his soiled forefinger again.</p> +<p>“Yeh quit us cold when things was on the fritz. +Now, yeh gotta pay. If you wasn’t nothing but a wop +skunk yeh’d stand in with us. The way you’re fixed +would help us all. But now yeh makin’ money and yeh +scared o’ yeh shadow!–––”</p> +<p>Bromberg cut in: “And you’ll be outside when the +band starts playing. Look what’s doing all over the +world! Every country is starting something! You +watch Berlin and Rosa Luxemburg and her bunch. +Keep your eye peeled, Angy, and see what we and the +I. W. W. start in every city of the country!”</p> +<p>Kastner, having satisfied himself that the bills had +not been marked, and pocketed his jeweller’s glass, +pushed back his lank blond hair.</p> +<p>“Yess,” he said in his icy, incisive voice, “yoost vatch +out already! Dot crimson tide it iss rising the vorld all +ofer! It shall drown effery aristocrat, effery bourgeois, +effery intellectual. It shall be but a red flood ofer all +the vorld vere noddings shall live only our peoble off the +proletariat!”</p> +<p>“And where the hell will you be then, Angelo?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_290' name='page_290'></a>290</span> +sneered Bromberg. “By God, we won’t have to ask you +for our share of your money then!”</p> +<p>Again Sondheim leaned over him and wagged his +nicotine-dyed finger:</p> +<p>“You get the rest of our money! Understand? And +you get them women out!––or I tell you we’ll blow you +and your joint to Hoboken! Get that?”</p> +<p>“I have understood,” said Puma quietly; but his +heavy face was a muddy red now, and he choked a +little when he spoke.</p> +<p>“Give us a date and stick to it,” added Bromberg. +“Set it yourself. And after that we won’t bother to +do any more jawin’. We’ll just attend to business––<i>your</i> +business, Puma!”</p> +<p>After a long silence, Puma said calmly: “How much +you want?”</p> +<p>“Ten thousand,” said Sondheim.</p> +<p>“And them women out of this,” added Bromberg.</p> +<p>“Or ve get you,” ended Kastner in his deadly voice.</p> +<p>Puma lifted his head and looked intently at each +one of them in turn. And seemed presently to come to +some conclusion.</p> +<p>Kastner forestalled him: “You try it some monkey +trick and you try it no more effer again.”</p> +<p>“What’s your date for the cash?” insisted Sondheim.</p> +<p>“February first,” replied Puma quietly.</p> +<p>Kastner wrote it on the back of an envelope.</p> +<p>“Und dese vimmen?” he inquired.</p> +<p>“I’ll get a lawyer–––”</p> +<p>“The hell with that stuff!” roared Bromberg. “Get +’em out! Scare ’em out! Jesus Christ! how long +d’yeh think we’re going to stand for being hammered +by that bunch o’ skirts? They got a lot o’ people +sore on us now. The crowd what uster come around +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_291' name='page_291'></a>291</span> +is gettin’ leery. And who are these damned women? +One of ’em was a White Nun, when they did the business +for the Romanoffs. One of ’em fired on the +Bolsheviki––that big blond girl with yellow hair, I mean! +Wasn’t she one of those damned girl-soldiers? And +look what she’s up to now––comin’ over here to talk +us off the platform!––the dirty foreigner!”</p> +<p>“Yes,” growled Bromberg, “and there’s that redheaded +wench of Vanya’s!––some Grand Duke’s slut, +they say, before she quit him for the university to start +something else–––”</p> +<p>Kastner cut in in his steely voice: “If you do not +throw out these women, Puma, we fix them and your +hall and you––all at one time, my friend. Also! Iss +it then for February the first, our understanding? Or +iss it, a little later, the end of all your troubles, +Angelo?”</p> +<p>Puma got up, nodded his acceptance of their ultimatum, +and opened the door for them.</p> +<p>When they trooped out, under the brick arch, they +noticed his splendid limousine waiting, and as they +shuffled sullenly away westward, Bromberg, looking +back, saw Puma come out and jump lightly into the +car.</p> +<p>“Swine!” he snarled, facing the bitter wind once more +and shuffling along beside his silent brethren.</p> +<p>Puma went east, then north to the Hotel Rajah, +where, in a private room, he was to complete a financial +transaction with Alonzo B. Pawling.</p> +<p>Skidder, too, came in at the same time, squinting +rapidly at his partner; and together they moved toward +the elevator.</p> +<p>The elevator waited a moment more to accommodate +a willowy, red-haired girl in furs, whose jade eyes +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_292' name='page_292'></a>292</span> +barely rested on Puma’s magnificent black ones as he +stepped aside to make way for her with an extravagant +bow.</p> +<p>“Some skirt,” murmured Skidder in his ear, as the +car shot upward.</p> +<p>Marya left the car at the mezzanine floor: Puma’s +eyes were like coals for a moment.</p> +<p>“You know that dame?” inquired Skidder, his eyes +fairly snapping.</p> +<p>“No.” He did not add that he had seen her at the +Combat Club and knew her to belong to another man. +But his black eyes were almost blazing as he stepped +from the elevator, for in Marya’s insolent glance he +had caught a vague glimmer of fire––merely a green +spark, very faint––if, indeed, it had been there at +all....</p> +<p>Pawling himself opened the door for them.</p> +<p>“Is it all right? Do we get the parcel?” were his +first words.</p> +<p>“It’s a knock-out!” cried Skidder, slapping him on +the back. “We got the land, we got the plans, we got +the iron, we got the contracts!––Oh, boy!––our dough +is in––go look at it and smell it for yourself! So get +into the jack, old scout, and ante up, because we break +ground Wednesday and there’ll be bills before then, +you betcha!”</p> +<p>When the cocktails were brought, Puma swallowed +his in a hurry, saying he’d be back in a moment, and +bidding Skidder enlighten Mr. Pawling during the +interim.</p> +<p>He summoned the elevator, got out at the mezzanine, +and walked lightly into the deserted and cloister-like +perspective, his shiny hat in his hand.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_293' name='page_293'></a>293</span></div> +<p>And saw Marya standing by the marble ramp, looking +down at the bustle below.</p> +<p>He stopped not far away. He had made no sound +on the velvet carpet. But presently she turned her +head and the green eyes met his black ones.</p> +<p>Neither winced. The sheer bulk of the beast and the +florid magnificence of its colour seemed to fascinate her.</p> +<p>She had seen him before, and scarcely noted him. +She remembered. But the world was duller, then, and +the outlook grey. And then, too, her still, green eyes +had not yet wandered beyond far horizons, nor had her +heart been cut adrift to follow her fancy when the tides +stirred it from its mooring––carrying it away, away +through deeps or shallows as the currents swerved.</p> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_294' name='page_294'></a>294</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XX' id='CHAPTER_XX'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XX</h2> +</div> +<p>The pale parody on that sacred date which once +had symbolised the birth of Christ had come +and gone; the ghastly year was nearing its +own death––the bloodiest year, for all its final triumph, +that the world had ever witnessed––<i>l’année horrible</i>!</p> +<p>Nor was the end yet, of all this death and dying: +for the Crimson Tide, washing through Russia, eastward, +seethed and eddied among the wrecks of empires, +lapping Poland’s bones, splashing over the charred +threshold of the huns, creeping into the Balkans, crawling +toward Greece and Italy, menacing Scandinavia, +and arousing the stern watchers along the French +frontier––the ultimate eastward barrier of human +liberty.</p> +<p>And unless, despite the fools who demur, that barrier +be based upon the Rhine, that barrier will fall one day.</p> +<p>Even in England, where the captive navies of the +anti-Christ now sulked at anchor under England’s consecrated +guns, some talked glibly of rule by Soviet. +All Ireland bristled now, baring its teeth at government; +vast armies, disbanding, were becoming dully +restless; and armed men, disarming, began to wonder +what now might be their destiny and what the destiny +of the world they fought for.</p> +<p>And everywhere, among all peoples, swarmed the +stealthy agents of the Red Apocalypse, whispering discontent, +hinting treasons, stirring the unhappy to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_295' name='page_295'></a>295</span> +sullen anger, inciting the simple-minded to insanity, the +ignorant to revolution. For four years it had been +a battle between Light and Night; and now there +threatened to be joined in battle the uttermost forces +of Evolution and Chaos––the spiritual Armageddon at +last, where Life and Light and Order must fight a final +fight with Degeneracy, Darkness and Death.</p> +<p>And always, everywhere, that hell-born Crimson Tide +seemed to be rising. All newspapers were full of it, +sounding the universal alarm. And Civilisation merely +stared at the scarlet flood––gawked stupidly and unstirring––while +the far clamour of massacre throughout +Russia grew suddenly to a crashing discord in Berlin, +shaking the whole world with brazen dissonance.</p> +<p>Like the first ominous puff before the tempest, the +deadly breath of the Black Death––called “influenza,” +but known of old among the verminous myriads of the +East––swept over the earth from East to West. Millions +died; millions were yet to perish of it; yet the +dazed world, still half blind with blood and smoke, sat +helpless and unstirring, barring no gates to this +pestilence that stalked the stricken earth at noon-day.</p> +<p>New York, partly paralysed by sacrifice and the +blood-sucking antics of half-crazed congressmen, gorged +by six years feeding after decades of starvation, welcomed +the incoming soldiers in a bewildered sort of way, +making either an idiot’s din of dissonance or gaping in +stupid silence as the huge troop-ships swept up the bay.</p> +<p>The battle fleet arrived––the home squadron and the +“6th battle squadron”––and lay towering along the +Hudson, while officers and jackies swarmed the streets––streets +now thronged by wounded, too––pallid +cripples in olive drab, limping along slowly beneath +lowering skies, with their citations and crosses and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_296' name='page_296'></a>296</span> +ribbons and wound chevrons in glinting gold under the +relighted lustres of the metropolis.</p> +<p>So the false mockery of Christmas came to the city––a +forced festival, unutterably sad, for all that the end +of the war was subject of thanks in every church and +synagogue. And so the mystic feast ended, scarcely +heeded amid the slow, half-crippled groping for financial +readjustment in the teeth of a snarling and vindictive +Congress, mean in its envy, meaner in revenge––a +domestic brand of sectional Bolsheviki as dirty and +degenerate as any anarchist in all Russia.</p> +<p>The President had sailed away––(<i>Slava! Slava! +Nechevo!</i>)––and the newspapers were preparing to tell +their disillusioned public all about it, if permitted.</p> +<p>And so dawned the New Year over the spreading +crimson flood, flecking the mounting tide with brighter +scarlet as it crept ever westward, ever wider, across a +wounded world.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Palla had not seen Jim for a very long time now. +Christmas passed, bringing neither gift nor message, +although she had sent him a little remembrance––<i>The +Divine Pantheon</i>, by an unfrocked Anglican clergyman, +one Loxon Fettars, recently under detention pending investigation +concerning an alleged multiplicity of wives.</p> +<p>The New Year brought no greeting from him, either; +nobody she knew had seen him, and her pride had revolted +at writing him after she had telephoned and left +a message at his club––her usual concession after a +stormy parting.</p> +<p>And there was another matter that was causing her +a constantly increasing unrest––she had not seen Marya +for many a day.</p> +<p>Quiet grief for what now appeared to be a friendship +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_297' name='page_297'></a>297</span> +ended––at other times a tingle of bitterness that +he had let it end so relentlessly––and sometimes, at +night, the secret dread––eternally buried yet perennially +resurrected––the still, hidden, ever-living fear of +Marya; these the girl knew, now, as part of life.</p> +<p>And went on, steadily, with her life’s business, as +though moving toward a dark horizon where clouds +towered gradually higher, reflecting the glimmer of +unseen lightning.</p> +<p>Somehow, lately, a vague sensation of impending +trouble had invaded her; and she never entirely shook +it off, even in her lighter moods, when there was gay +company around her; or in the warm flush of optimistic +propaganda work; or in the increasingly exciting sessions +of the Combat Club, now interrupted nightly by +fierce outbreaks from emissaries of the Red Flag Club, +who were there to make mischief.</p> +<p>Also, there had been an innovation established among +her company of moderate socialists; a corps of missionary +speakers, who volunteered on certain nights to +speak from the classic soap-box on street corners, urging +the propaganda of their panacea, the Law of Love +and Service.</p> +<p>Twice already, despite her natural timidity and +dread of public speaking, Palla had faced idle, half-curious, +half sneering crowds just east or west of Broadway; +had struggled through with what she had come to +say; had gently replied to heckling, blushed under insult, +stood trembling by her guns to the end.</p> +<p>Ilse was more convincing, more popular with her gay +insouciance and infectious laughter, and her unexpected +and enchanting flashes of militancy, which always +interested the crowd.</p> +<p>And always, after these soap-box efforts, both Palla +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_298' name='page_298'></a>298</span> +and Ilse were insulted over the telephone by unknown +men. Their mail, also, invariably contained abusive +or threatening letters, and sometimes vile ones; and +Estridge purchased pistols for them both and exacted +pledges that they carry them at night.</p> +<p>On the evening selected for Palla’s third essay in +street oratory, she slipped her pistol into her muff and +set out alone, not waiting for Ilse, who, with John +Estridge, was to have met her after dinner at her house, +and, as usual, accompany her to the place selected.</p> +<p>But they knew where she was to speak, and she did +not doubt they would turn up sooner or later at the +rendezvous.</p> +<p>All that day the dull, foreboding feeling had been +assailing her at intervals, and she had been unable to +free herself entirely from the vague depression.</p> +<p>The day had been grey; when she left the house a +drizzle had begun to wet the flagstones, and every +lamp-post was now hooded with ghostly iridescence.</p> +<p>She walked because she had need of exercise, not even +deigning to unfurl her umbrella against the mist which +spun silvery ovals over every electric globe along Fifth +Avenue, and now shrouded every building above the +fourth story in a cottony ocean of fog.</p> +<p>When finally she turned westward, the dark obscurity +of the cross-street seemed to stretch away into infinite +night and she hurried a little, scarcely realising why.</p> +<p>There did not seem to be a soul in sight––she noticed +that––yet suddenly, halfway down the street, she discovered +a man walking at her elbow, his rubber-shod +feet making no sound on the wet walk.</p> +<p>Palla had never before been annoyed by such attentions +in New York, yet she supposed it must be the +reason for the man’s insolence.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_299' name='page_299'></a>299</span></div> +<p>She hastened her steps; he moved as swiftly.</p> +<p>“Look here,” he said, “I know who you are, and +where you’re going. And we’ve stood just about +enough from you and your friends.”</p> +<p>In the quick revulsion from annoyance and disgust +to a very lively flash of fright, Palla involuntarily +slackened her pace and widened the distance between her +and this unknown.</p> +<p>“You better right-about-face and go home!” he said +quietly. “You talk too damn much with your face. +And we’re going to stop you. See?”</p> +<p>At that her flash of fear turned to anger:</p> +<p>“Try it,” she said hotly; and hurried on, her hand +clutching the pistol in her wet muff, her eyes fixed on +the unknown man.</p> +<p>“I’ve a mind to dust you good and plenty right here,” +he said. “Quit your running, now, and beat it back +again––” His vise-like grip was on her left arm, almost +jerking her off her feet; and the next moment she +struck him with her loaded pistol full in the face.</p> +<p>As he veered away, she saw the seam open from his +cheek bone to his chin––saw the white face suddenly +painted with wet scarlet.</p> +<p>The sight of the blood made her sick, but she kept +her pistol levelled, backing away westward all the while.</p> +<p>There was an iron railing near; he went over and +leaned against it as though stupefied.</p> +<p>And all the while she continued to retreat until, +behind her, his dim shape merged into the foggy dark.</p> +<p>Then Palla turned and ran. And she was still breathing +fast and unevenly when she came to that perfect +blossom of vulgarity and apotheosis of all American +sham––Broadway––where in the raw glare from a million +lights the senseless crowds swept north and south.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_300' name='page_300'></a>300</span></div> +<p>And here, where Jew-manager and gentile ruled the +histrionic destiny of the United States––here where +art, letters, service, industry, business had each developed +its own species of human prostitute––two +muddy-brained torrents of humanity poured in opposite +directions, crowding, shoving, shuffling along in the endless, +hopeless Hunt for Happiness.</p> +<p>She had made, in the beginning of her street-corner +career, arrangements with a neighbouring boot-black to +furnish one soap-box on demand at a quarter of a +dollar rent for every evening.</p> +<p>She extracted the quarter from her purse and paid +the boy; carried the soap-box herself to the curb; and, +with that invariable access of fright which attacked her +at such moments, mounted it to face the first few people +who halted out of curiosity to see what else she meant +to do.</p> +<p>Columns of passing umbrellas hid her so that not +many people noticed her; but gradually that perennial +audience of shabby opportunists which always gathers +anywhere from nowhere, ringed her soap-box. And +Palla began to speak in the drizzling rain.</p> +<p>For some time there were no interruptions, no jeers, +no doubtful pleasantries. But when it became more +plain to the increasing crowd that this smartly though +simply gowned young woman had come to Broadway +in the rain for the purpose of protesting against all +forms of violence, including the right of the working +people to strike, ugly remarks became audible, and now +and then a menacing word was flung at her, or some +clenched hand insulted her and amid a restless murmur +growing rougher all the time.</p> +<p>Once, to prove her point out of the mouth of the proletariat +itself, she quoted from Rosa Luxemburg; and a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_301' name='page_301'></a>301</span> +well-dressed man shouldered his way toward her and in +a low voice gave her the lie.</p> +<p>The painful colour dyed her face, but she went on +calmly, explaining the different degrees and extremes +of socialism, revealing how the abused term had been +used as camouflage by the party committed to the utter +annihilation of everything worth living for.</p> +<p>And again, to prove her point, she quoted:</p> +<p>“Socialism does not mean the convening of Parliaments +and the enactment of laws; it means the overthrow +of the ruling classes with all the brutality at the +disposal of the proletariat.”</p> +<p>The same well-dressed man interrupted again:</p> +<p>“Say, who pays you to come here and hand out that +Wall Street stuff?”</p> +<p>“Nobody pays me,” she replied patiently.</p> +<p>“All right, then, if that’s true why don’t you tell us +something about the interests and the profiteers and +all them dirty games the capitalists is rigging up? +Tell us about the guy who wants us to pay eight cents +to ride on his damned cars! Tell us about the geezers +who soak us for food and coal and clothes and rent!</p> +<p>“You stand there chirping to us about Love and +Service and how we oughta give. <i>Give!</i> Jesus!––we +ain’t got anything left to give. They ain’t anything to +give our wives or our children,––no, nor there ain’t +enough left to feed our own faces or pay for a patch +on our pants! <i>Give?</i> Hell! The interests <i>took</i> it. +And you stand there twittering about Love and Service! +We oughta serve ’em a brick on the neck and love +’em with a black-jack!”</p> +<p>“How far would that get you?” asked Palla gently.</p> +<p>“As far as their pants-pockets anyway!”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_302' name='page_302'></a>302</span></div> +<p>“And when you empty those, who is to employ and +pay you?”</p> +<p>“Don’t worry,” he sneered, “we’ll do the employing +after that.”</p> +<p>“And will your employees do to you some day what +you did to your employers with a black-jack?”</p> +<p>The crowd laughed, but her heckler shook his fist +at her and yelled:</p> +<p>“Ain’t I telling you that we’ll be sitting in these +damn gold-plated houses and payin’ wages to these +here fat millionaires for blackin’ our shoes?”</p> +<p>“You mean that when Bolshevism rules there are to +be rich and poor just the same as at present?”</p> +<p>Again the crowd laughed.</p> +<p>“All right!” bawled the man, waving both arms above +his head, “––yes, I do mean it! It will be our turn +then. Why not? What do we want to split fifty-fifty +with them soft, fat millionaires for? Nix on that +stuff! It will be hog-killing time, and you can bet your +thousand-dollar wrist watch, Miss, that there’ll be some +killin’ in little old New York!”</p> +<p>He had backed out of the circle and disappeared in +the crowd before Palla could attempt further reasoning +with him. So she merely shook her head in gentle disapproval +and dissent:</p> +<p>“What is the use,” she said, “of exchanging one form +of tyranny for another? Why destroy the autocracy +of the capitalist and erect on its ruins the autocracy +of the worker?</p> +<p>“How can class distinctions be eradicated by fanning +class-hatred? In a battle against all dictators, why +proclaim dictatorship––even of the proletariat?</p> +<p>“All oppression is hateful, whether exercised by God +or man––whether the oppressor be that murderous, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_303' name='page_303'></a>303</span> +stupid, treacherous, tyrannical bully in the Old Testament, +miscalled God, or whether the oppressor be the +proletariat which screamed for the blood of Jesus +Christ and got it!</p> +<p>“Free heart, free mind, free soul!––anything less +means servitude, not service––hatred, not love!”</p> +<p>A man in the outskirts of the crowd shouted: “Say, +you’re some rag-chewer, little girl! Go to it!”</p> +<p>She laughed, then glanced at her wrist watch.</p> +<p>There were a few more words she might say before +the time she allowed herself had expired, and she found +courage to go on, striving to explain to the shifting +knot of people that the battle which now threatened +civilisation was the terrible and final fight between +Order and Disorder and that, under inexorable laws +which could never change, order meant life and survival; +disorder chaos and death for all living things.</p> +<p>A few cheered her as she bade them good-night, picked +up her soap-box and carried it back to her boot-black +friend, who inhabited a shack built against the family-entrance +side of a saloon.</p> +<p>She was surprised that Ilse and John Estridge had +not appeared––could scarcely understand it, as she +made her way toward a taxicab.</p> +<p>For, in view of the startling occurrence earlier in the +evening, and the non-appearance of Ilse and Estridge, +Palla had decided to return in a taxi.</p> +<p>The incident––the boldness of the unknown man and +vicious brutality of his attitude, and also a sickening +recollection of her own action and his bloody face––had +really shocked her, even more than she was aware of +at the time.</p> +<p>She felt tired and strained, and a trifle faint now, +where she lay back, swaying there on her seat, her +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_304' name='page_304'></a>304</span> +pistol clutched inside her muff, as the ramshackle vehicle +lurched its noisy way eastward. And always that dull +sense of something sinister impending––that indefinable +apprehension––remained with her. And she gazed +darkly out on the dark streets, possessed by a melancholy +which she did not attempt to analyse.</p> +<p>Yet, partly it came from the ruptured comradeship +which always haunted her mind, partly because of Ilse +and the uncertainty of what might happen to her––may +have happened already for all Palla knew––and +partly because––although she did not realise it––in the +profound deeps of her girl’s being she was vaguely +conscious of something latent which seemed to have lain +hidden there for a long, long time––something inert, +inexorable, indestructible, which, if it ever stirred from +its intense stillness, must be reckoned with in years to +come.</p> +<p>She made no effort to comprehend what this thing +might be––if, indeed, it really existed––no pains to +analyse it or to meditate over the vague indications +of its presence.</p> +<p>She seemed merely to be aware of something indefinable +concealed in the uttermost depths of her.</p> +<p>It was Doubt, unborn.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>The taxi drew up before her house. Rain was falling +heavily, as she ran up the steps––a cold rain through +which a few wet snowflakes slanted.</p> +<p>Her maid heard the rattle of her night-key and +came to relieve her of her wet things, and to say that +Miss Westgard had telephoned and had left a number +to be called as soon as Miss Dumont returned.</p> +<p>The slip of paper bore John Estridge’s telephone +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_305' name='page_305'></a>305</span> +number and Palla seated herself at her desk and called +it.</p> +<p>Almost immediately she heard Ilse’s voice on the wire.</p> +<p>“What is the matter, dear?” inquired Palla with the +slightest shiver of that premonition which had haunted +her all day.</p> +<p>But Ilse’s voice was cheerful: “We were so sorry not +to go with you this evening, darling, but Jack is feeling +so queer that he’s turned in and I’ve sent for a physician.”</p> +<p>“Shall I come around?” asked Palla.</p> +<p>“Oh, no,” replied Ilse calmly, “but I’ve an idea Jack +may need a nurse––perhaps two.”</p> +<p>“What is it?” faltered Palla.</p> +<p>“I don’t know. But he is running a high temperature +and he says that it feels as though something were +wrong with his appendix.</p> +<p>“You see Jack is almost a physician himself, so if +it really is acute appendicitis we must know as soon +as possible.”</p> +<p>“Is there <i>anything</i> I could do?” pleaded Palla. +“Darling, I do so want to be of use if–––”</p> +<p>“I’ll let you know, dear. There isn’t anything so far.”</p> +<p>“Are you going to stay there to-night?”</p> +<p>“Of course,” replied Ilse calmly. “Tell me, Palla, +how did the soap-box arguments go?”</p> +<p>“Not very well. I was heckled. I’m such a wretched +public speaker, Ilse;––I can never remember what rejoinders +to make until it’s too late.”</p> +<p>She did not mention her encounter with the unknown +man; Ilse had enough to occupy her.</p> +<p>They chatted a few moments longer, then Ilse promised +to call her if necessary, and said good-night.</p> +<p>A little after midnight Palla’s telephone rang beside +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_306' name='page_306'></a>306</span> +her bed and she started upright with a pang of fear +and groped for the instrument.</p> +<p>“Jack is seriously ill,” came the level voice of Ilse. +“We have taken him to the Memorial Hospital in one +of their ambulances.”</p> +<p>“W––what is it?” asked Palla.</p> +<p>“They say it is pneumonia.”</p> +<p>“Oh, Ilse!–––”</p> +<p>“I’m not afraid. Jack is in magnificent physical +condition. He is too splendid not to win the fight.... +And I shall be with him.... I shall not +let him lose.”</p> +<p>“Tell me what I can do, darling!”</p> +<p>“Nothing––except love us both.”</p> +<p>“I do––I do indeed–––”</p> +<p>“Both, Palla!”</p> +<p>“Y––yes.”</p> +<p>“<i>Do you understand?</i>”</p> +<p>“Oh, I––I think I do. And I do love you––love you +both––devotedly–––”</p> +<p>“You must, <i>now</i>.... I am going home to get +some things. Then I shall go to the hospital. You +can call me there until he is convalescent.”</p> +<p>“Will they let you stay there?”</p> +<p>“I have volunteered for general work. They are +terribly short-handed and they are glad to have me.”</p> +<p>“I’ll come to-morrow,” said Palla.</p> +<p>“No. Wait.... Good-night, my darling.”</p> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_307' name='page_307'></a>307</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XXI' id='CHAPTER_XXI'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XXI</h2> +</div> +<p>As a mischievous caricaturist, in the beginning, +draws a fairly good portrait of his victim and +then gradually habituates his public to a series +of progressively exaggerated extravagances, so progressed +the programme of the Bolsheviki in America, +revealing little by little their final conception of liberty +and equality in the bloody and distorted monster which +they had now evolved, and which they publicly owned +as their ideal emblem.</p> +<p>In the Red Flag Club, Sondheim shouted that a Red +Republic was impossible because it admitted on an +equality the rich and well-to-do.</p> +<p>Karl Kastner, more cynical, coolly preached the autocracy +of the worker; told his listeners frankly that +there would always be masters and servants in the +world, and asked them which they preferred to be.</p> +<p>With the new year came sporadic symptoms of +unrest;––strikes, unwarranted confiscations by Government, +increasingly bad service in public utilities controlled +by Government, loose talk in a contemptible +Congress, looser gabble among those who witlessly lent +themselves to German or Bolshevik propaganda––or +both––by repeating stories of alleged differences between +America and England, America and France, +America and Italy.</p> +<p>The hen-brained––a small minority––misbehaved as +usual whenever the opportunity came to do the wrong +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_308' name='page_308'></a>308</span> +thing; the meanest and most contemptible partisanship +since the shameful era of the carpet bagger prevailed +in a section of the Republic where the traditions of +great men and great deeds had led the nation to expect +nobler things.</p> +<p>For the same old hydra seemed to be still alive on +earth, lifting, by turns, its separate heads of envy, +intolerance, bigotry and greed. Ignorance, robed with +authority, legally robbed those comfortably off.</p> +<p>The bleat of the pacifist was heard in the land. +Those who had once chanted in sanctimonious chorus, +“He kept us out of war,” now sang sentimental hymns +invoking mercy and forgiveness for the crucifiers of +children and the rapers of women, who licked their lips +furtively and leered at the imbecile choir. Representatives +of a great electorate vaunted their patriotism +and proudly repeated: “We forced him into war!” +Whereas they themselves had been kicked headlong +into it by a press and public at the end of its martyred +patience.</p> +<p>There appeared to be, so far, no business revival. +Prosperity was penalised, taxed to the verge of blackmail, +constantly suspected and admonished; and the +Congressional Bolsheviki were gradually breaking the +neck of legitimate enterprise everywhere throughout +the Republic.</p> +<p>And everywhere over the world the crimson tide crept +almost imperceptibly a little higher every day.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Toward the middle of January the fever which had +burnt John Estridge for a week fell a degree or two.</p> +<p>Palla, who had called twice a day at the Memorial +Hospital, was seated that morning in a little room +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_309' name='page_309'></a>309</span> +near the disinfecting plant, talking to Ilse, who had +just laid aside her mask.</p> +<p>“You look rather ill yourself,” said Ilse in her cheery, +even voice. “Is anything worrying you, darling?”</p> +<p>“Yes.... You are.”</p> +<p>“I!” exclaimed the girl, really astonished. “Why?”</p> +<p>“Sometimes,” murmured Palla, “my anxiety makes +me almost sick.”</p> +<p>“Anxiety about <i>me</i>!–––”</p> +<p>“You know why,” whispered Palla.</p> +<p>A bright flush stained Ilse’s face: she said calmly:</p> +<p>“But our creed is broad enough to include all things +beautiful and good.”</p> +<p>Palla shrank as though she had been struck, and sat +staring out of the narrow window.</p> +<p>Ilse lifted a basket of soiled linen and carried it +away. When, presently, she returned to take away +another basket, she inquired whether Palla had made +up her quarrel with Jim Shotwell, and Palla shook her +head.</p> +<p>“Do you really suppose Marya has made mischief +between you?” asked Ilse curiously.</p> +<p>“Oh, I don’t know, Ilse,” said the girl listlessly. “I +don’t know what it is that seems to be so wrong with +the world––with everybody––with me–––”</p> +<p>She rose nervously, bade Ilse adieu, and went out +without turning her head––perhaps because her brown +eyes had suddenly blurred with tears.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Half way to Red Cross headquarters she passed the +Hotel Rajah. And why she did it she had no very +clear idea, but she turned abruptly and entered the +gorgeous lobby, went to the desk, and sent up her name +to Marya Lanois.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_310' name='page_310'></a>310</span></div> +<p>It appeared, presently, that Miss Lanois was at home +and would receive her in her apartment.</p> +<p>The accolade was perfunctory: Palla’s first glance +informed her that Marya had grown a trifle more +svelte since they had met––more brilliant in her distinctive +coloration. There was a tawny beauty about +the girl that almost blazed from her hair and delicately +sanguine skin and lips.</p> +<p>They seated themselves, and Marya lighted the cigarette +which Palla had refused; and they fell into the +animated, gossiping conversation characteristic of such +reunions.</p> +<p>“Vanya?” repeated Marya, smiling, “no, I have not +seen him. That is quite finished, you see. But I hope +he is well. Do you happen to know?”</p> +<p>“He seems––changed. But he is working hard, which +is always best for the unhappy. And he and his somewhat +vociferous friend, Mr. Wilding, are very busy +preparing for their Philadelphia concert.”</p> +<p>“Wilding,” repeated Marya, as though swallowing +something distasteful. “He was the last straw! But +tell me, Palla, what are you doing these jolly days of +the new year?”</p> +<p>“Nothing.... Red Cross, canteen, club––and recently +I go twice a day to the Memorial Hospital.”</p> +<p>“Why?”</p> +<p>“John Estridge is ill there.”</p> +<p>“What is the matter with him?”</p> +<p>“Pneumonia.”</p> +<p>“Oh. I am so sorry for Ilse!–––” Her eyes rested +intently on Palla’s for a moment; then she smiled subtly, +as though sharing with Palla some occult understanding.</p> +<p>Palla’s face whitened a little: “I want to ask you +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_311' name='page_311'></a>311</span> +a question, Marya.... You know our belief––concerning +life in general.... Tell me––since +your separation from Vanya, do you still believe in +that creed?”</p> +<p>“Do I still believe in my own personal liberty to do +as I choose? Of course.”</p> +<p>“From the moral side?”</p> +<p>“Moral!” mocked Marya, “––What are morals? +Artificial conventions accidentally established! Haphazard +folkways of ancient peoples whose very origin +has been forgotten! What is moral in India is immoral +in England: what is right in China is wrong in +America. It’s purely a matter of local folkways––racial +customs––as to whether one is or is not immoral.</p> +<p>“Ethics apply to the Greek <i>Ethos</i>; morals to the +Latin <i>Mores</i>––<i>moeurs</i> in French, <i>sitte</i> in German, +<i>custom</i> in English;––and all mean practically the same +thing––metaphysical hair-splitters to the contrary––which +is simply this: all beliefs are local, and local +customs or morals are the result. Therefore, they don’t +worry me.”</p> +<p>Palla sat with her troubled eyes on the careless, +garrulous, half-smiling Russian girl, and trying to +follow with an immature mind the half-baked philosophy +offered for her consumption.</p> +<p>She said hesitatingly, almost shyly: “I’ve wondered +a little, Marya, how it ever happened that such an +institution as marriage became practically universal–––”</p> +<p>“Marriage isn’t an institution,” exclaimed Marya +smilingly. “The family, which existed long before +marriage, is the institution, because it has a definite +structure which marriage hasn’t.</p> +<p>“Marriage always has been merely a locally varying +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_312' name='page_312'></a>312</span> +mode of sex association. No laws can control it. Local +rules merely try to regulate the various manners of +entering into a marital state, the obligations and personal +rights of the sexes involved. What really controls +two people who have entered into such a relation +is local opinion–––”</p> +<p>She snapped her fingers and tossed aside her cigarette: +“You and I happen to be, locally, in the minority +with our opinions, that’s all.”</p> +<p>Palla rose and walked slowly to the door. “Have +you seen Jim recently?” she managed to say carelessly.</p> +<p>Marya waited for her to turn before replying: +“Haven’t <i>you</i> seen him?” she asked with the leisurely +malice of certainty.</p> +<p>“No, not for a long while,” replied Palla, facing +with a painful flush this miserable crisis to which her +candour had finally committed her. “We had a little +difference.... Have you seen him lately?”</p> +<p>Marya’s sympathy flickered swift as a dagger:</p> +<p>“What a shame for him to behave so childishly!” she +cried. “I shall scold him soundly. He’s like an infant––that +boy––the way he sulks if you deny him anything––” +She checked herself, laughed in a confused +way which confessed and defied.</p> +<p>Palla’s fixed smile was still stamped on her rigid +lips as she made her adieux. Then she went out with +death in her heart.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>At the Red Cross his mother exchanged a few words +with her at intervals, as usual, during the séance.</p> +<p>The conversation drifted toward the subject of religious +orders in Russia, and Mrs. Shotwell asked her how +it was that she came to begin a novitiate in a country +where Catholic orders had, she understood, been forbidden +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_313' name='page_313'></a>313</span> +permission to establish themselves in the realm +of the Greek church.</p> +<p>Palla explained in her sweet, colourless voice that the +Czar had permitted certain religious orders to establish +themselves––very few, however,––the number of +nuns of all orders not exceeding five hundred. Also +she explained that they were forbidden to make converts +from the orthodox religion, which was why the Empress +had sternly refused the pleading of the little Grand +Duchess.</p> +<p>“I do not think,” added Palla, “that the Bolsheviki +have left any Catholic nuns in Russia, unless perhaps +they have spared the Sisters of Mercy. But I hear that +non-cloistered orders like the Dominicans, and cloistered +orders such as the Carmelites and Ursulines have +been driven away.... I don’t know whether this +is true.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Shotwell, her eyes on her flying needle, said +casually: “Have you never felt the desire to reconsider––to +return to your novitiate?”</p> +<p>The girl, bending low over her work, drew a deep, +still breath.</p> +<p>“Yes,” she said, “it has occurred to me.”</p> +<p>“Does it still appeal to you at times?”</p> +<p>The girl lifted her honest eyes: “In life there are +moments when any refuge appeals.”</p> +<p>“Refuge from what?” asked Helen quietly.</p> +<p>Palla did not evade the question: “From the unkindness +of life,” she said. “But I have concluded that +such a motive for cloistered life is a cowardly one.”</p> +<p>“Was that your motive when you took the white +veil?”</p> +<p>“No, not then.... It seemed to be an overwhelming +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_314' name='page_314'></a>314</span> +need for service and adoration.... It’s +strange how faiths change though need remains.”</p> +<p>“You still feel that need?”</p> +<p>“Of course,” said the girl simply.</p> +<p>“I see. Your clubs and other service give you what +you require to satisfy you and make you happy and +contented.”</p> +<p>As Palla made no reply, Helen glanced at her askance; +and caught a fleeting glimpse of tragedy in this girl’s still +face––the face of a cloistered nun burnt white––purged +utterly of all save the mystic passion of the spirit.</p> +<p>The face altered immediately, and colour came into +it; and her slender hands were steady as she turned +her bandage and cut off the thread.</p> +<p>What thoughts concerning this girl were in her mind, +Helen could neither entirely comprehend nor analyse. +At moments a hot hatred for the girl passed over her +like flame––anger because of what she was doing to her +only son.</p> +<p>For Jim had changed; and it was love for this woman +that had changed him––which had made of him the +silent, listless man whose grey face haunted his mother’s +dreams.</p> +<p>That he, dissipating all her hopes of him, had fallen +in love with Palla Dumont was enough unhappiness, +it seemed; but that this girl should have found it +possible to refuse him––that seemed to Helen a monstrous +thing.</p> +<p>And even were Jim able to forget the girl and free +himself from this exasperating unhappiness which almost +maddened his mother, still she must always afterward +remember with bitterness the girl who had rejected her +only son.</p> +<p>Not since Palla had telephoned on that unfortunate +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_315' name='page_315'></a>315</span> +night had she or Helen ever mentioned Jim. The +mother, expecting his obsession to wear itself out, had +been only too glad to approve the rupture.</p> +<p>But recently, at moments, her courage had weakened +when, evening after evening, she had watched her son +where he sat so silent, listless, his eyes dull and remote +and the book forgotten on his knees.</p> +<p>A steady resentment for all this change in her son +possessed Helen, varied by flashes of impulse to seize +Palla and shake her into comprehension of her responsibility––of +her astounding stupidity, perhaps.</p> +<p>Not that she wanted her for a daughter-in-law. +She wanted Elorn. But now she was beginning to +understand that it never would be Elorn Sharrow. +And––save when the change in Jim worried her too +deeply––she remained obstinately determined that he +should not bring this girl into the Shotwell family.</p> +<p>And the amazing paradox was revealed in the fact +that Palla fascinated her; that she believed her to be +as fine as she was perverse; as honest as she was beautiful; +as spiritually chaste as she knew her to be mentally +and bodily untainted by anything ignoble.</p> +<p>This, and because Palla was the woman to whom +her son’s unhappiness was wholly due, combined to +exercise an uncanny fascination on Helen, so that she +experienced a constant and haunting desire to be near +the girl, where she could see her and hear her voice.</p> +<p>At moments, even, she experienced a vague desire to +intervene––do something to mitigate Jim’s misery––yet +realising all the while she did not desire Palla to +relent.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>As for Palla, she was becoming too deeply worried +over the darkening aspects of life to care what Helen +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_316' name='page_316'></a>316</span> +thought, even if she had divined the occult trend of +her mind toward herself.</p> +<p>One thing after another seemed to crowd more +threateningly upon her;––Jim’s absence, Marya’s attitude, +and the certainty, now, that she saw Jim;––and +then the grave illness of John Estridge and her +apprehensions regarding Ilse; and the increasing difficulties +of club problems; and the brutality and hatred +which were becoming daily more noticeable in the opposition +which she and Ilse were encountering.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>After a tiresome day, Palla left a new Hostess +House which she had aided to establish, and took a +Fifth Avenue bus, too weary to walk home.</p> +<p>The day had been clear and sunny, and she wondered +dully why it had left with her the impression of grey +skies.</p> +<p>Dusk came before she arrived at her house. She went +into her unlighted living room, and threw herself on +the lounge, lying with eyes closed and the back of one +gloved hand across her temples.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>When a servant came to turn up the lamp, Palla +had bitten her lip till the blood flecked her white glove. +She sat up, declined to have tea, and, after the maid +had departed, she remained seated, her teeth busy with +her under lip again, her eyes fixed on space.</p> +<p>After a long while her eyes swerved to note the +clock and what its gilt hands indicated.</p> +<p>And she seemed to arrive at a conclusion, for she +went to her bedroom, drew a bath, and rang for her +maid.</p> +<p>“I want my rose evening gown,” she said. “It needs +a stitch or two where I tore it dancing.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_317' name='page_317'></a>317</span></div> +<p>At six, not being dressed yet, she put on a belted +chamber robe and trotted into the living room, as confidently +as though she had no doubts concerning what +she was about to do.</p> +<p>It seemed to take a long while for the operator to +make the connection, and Palla’s hand trembled a little +where it held the receiver tightly against her ear. +When, presently, a servant answered:</p> +<p>“Please say to him that a client wishes to speak to +him regarding an investment.”</p> +<p>Finally she heard his voice saying: “This is Mr. +James Shotwell Junior; who is it wishes to speak to +me?”</p> +<p>“A client,” she faltered, “––who desires to––to +participate with you in some plan for the purpose of––of +improving our mutual relationship.”</p> +<p>“Palla.” She could scarcely hear his voice.</p> +<p>“I––I’m so unhappy, Jim. Could you come to-night?”</p> +<p>He made no answer.</p> +<p>“I suppose you haven’t heard that Jack Estridge +is very ill?” she added.</p> +<p>“No. What is the trouble?”</p> +<p>“Pneumonia. He’s a little better to-night.”</p> +<p>She heard him utter: “That’s terrible. That’s a bad +business.” Then to her: “Where is he?”</p> +<p>She told him. He said he’d call at the hospital. +But he said nothing about seeing her.</p> +<p>“I wondered,” came her wistful voice, “whether, perhaps, +you would dine here alone with me this evening.”</p> +<p>“Why do you ask me?”</p> +<p>“Because––I––our last quarrel was so bitter––and +I feel the hurt of it yet. It hurts even physically, +Jim.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_318' name='page_318'></a>318</span></div> +<p>“I did not mean to do such a thing to you.”</p> +<p>“No, I know you didn’t. But that numb sort of +pain is always there. I can’t seem to get rid of it, no +matter what I do.”</p> +<p>“Are you very busy still?”</p> +<p>“Yes.... I saw––Marya––to-day.”</p> +<p>“Is that unusual?” he asked indifferently.</p> +<p>“Yes. I haven’t seen her since––since she and Vanya +separated.”</p> +<p>“Oh! Have they separated?” he asked with such +unfeigned surprise that the girl’s heart leaped wildly.</p> +<p>“Didn’t you know it? Didn’t Marya tell you?” she +asked shivering with happiness.</p> +<p>“I haven’t seen her since I saw you,” he replied.</p> +<p>Palla’s right hand flew to her breast and rested there +while she strove to control her voice. Then:</p> +<p>“Please, Jim, let us forgive and break bread again +together. I––” she drew a deep, unsteady breath––“I +can’t tell you how our separation has made me feel. +I don’t quite know what it’s done to me, either. Perhaps +I can understand if I see you––if I could only +see you again–––”</p> +<p>There ensued a silence so protracted that a shaft of +fear struck through her. Then his voice, pleasantly +collected:</p> +<p>“I’ll be around in a few minutes.”</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>She was scared speechless when the bell rang––when +she heard his unhurried step on the stair.</p> +<p>Before he was announced by the maid, however, she +had understood one problem in the scheme of things––realised +it as she rose from the lounge and held out +her slender hand.</p> +<p>He took it and kept it. The maid retired.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_319' name='page_319'></a>319</span></div> +<p>“Well, Palla,” he said.</p> +<p>“Well,” she said, rather breathlessly, “––I know +now.”</p> +<p>His voice and face seemed amiable and lifeless; his +eyes, too, remained dull and incurious; but he said: +“I don’t think I understand. What is it you know?”</p> +<p>“Shall I tell you?”</p> +<p>“If you wish.”</p> +<p>His pleasant, listless manner chilled her; she hesitated, +then turned away, withdrawing her hand.</p> +<p>When she had seated herself on the sofa he dropped +down beside her in his old place. She lighted a cigarette +for him.</p> +<p>“Tell me about poor old Jack,” he said in a low +voice.</p> +<p>Their dinner was a pleasant but subdued affair. +Afterward she played for him––interrupted once by +a telephone call from Ilse, who said that John’s temperature +had risen a degree and the only thing to do was +to watch him every second. But she refused Palla’s offer +to join her at the hospital, saying that she and the +night nurse were sufficient; and the girl went slowly +back to the piano.</p> +<p>But, somehow, even that seemed too far away from +her lover––or the man who once had been her avowed +lover. And after idling-with the keys for a few minutes +she came back to the lounge where he was seated.</p> +<p>He looked up from his revery: “This is most comfortable, +Palla,” he said with a slight smile.</p> +<p>“Do you like it?”</p> +<p>“Of course.”</p> +<p>“You need not go away at all––if it pleases you.” +Her voice was so indistinct that for a moment he did +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_320' name='page_320'></a>320</span> +not comprehend what she had said. Then he turned +and looked at her. Both were pale enough now.</p> +<p>“That is what––what I was going to tell you,” she +said. “Is it too late?”</p> +<p>“Too late!”</p> +<p>“To say that I am––in love with you.”</p> +<p>He flushed heavily and looked at her in a dazed way.</p> +<p>“What do you mean?” he said.</p> +<p>“I mean––if you want me––I am––am not afraid any +more–––”</p> +<p>They had both risen instinctively, as though to face +something vital. She said:</p> +<p>“Don’t ask me to submit to any degrading ceremony.... +I love you enough.”</p> +<p>He said slowly: “Do you realise what you say? +You are crazy! You and your socialist friends pretend +to be fighting anarchy. You preach against +Bolshevism! You warn the world that the Crimson +Tide is rising. And every word you utter swells it! +<i>You</i> are the anarchists yourselves! You are the Bolsheviki +of the world! You come bringing disorder +where there is order; you substitute unproven theory +for proven practice!</p> +<p>“Like the hun, you come to impose your will on a +world already content with its own God and its own +belief! And that is autocracy; and autocracy is what +you say you oppose!</p> +<p>“I tell you and your friends that it was not wolves +that were pupped in the sand of the shaggy Prussian +forests when the first Hohenzollern was dropped. It +was swine! Swine were farrowed;––not even <i>sanglier</i>, +but decadent domestic swine;––when Wilhelm and his +degenerate litter came out to root up Europe! And +<i>they</i> were the first real Bolsheviki!”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_321' name='page_321'></a>321</span></div> +<p>He turned and began to stride to and fro; his pale, +sunken face deeply shadowed, his hands clenching and +unclenching.</p> +<p>“What in God’s name,” he said fiercely, “are women +like you doing to us! What do you suppose happens +to such a man as I when the girl he loves tells him +she cares only to be his mistress! What hope is there +left in him?––what sense, what understanding, what +faith?</p> +<p>“You don’t have to tell me that the Crimson Tide +is rising. I saw it in the Argonne. I wish to God I +were back there and the hun was still resisting. I wish +I had never lived to come back here and see what demoralisation +is threatening my own country from that +cursed germ of wilful degeneracy born in the Prussian +twilight, fed in Russian desolation, infecting the whole +world–––”</p> +<p>His voice died in his throat; he walked swiftly past +her, turned at the threshold:</p> +<p>“I’ve known three of you,” he said, “––you and Ilse +and Marya. I’ve seen a lot of your associates and +acquaintances who profess your views. And I’ve seen +enough.”</p> +<p>He hesitated; then when he could control his voice +again:</p> +<p>“It’s bad enough when a woman refuses marriage +to a man she does not love. That man is going to be +unhappy. But have you any idea what happens to +him when the girl he loves, and who says she cares +for him, refuses marriage?</p> +<p>“It was terrible even when you cared for me only a +little. But––but now––do you know what I think of +your creed? I hate it as you hated the beasts who slew +your friend! Damn your creed! To hell with it!”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_322' name='page_322'></a>322</span></div> +<p>She covered her face with both hands: there was a +noise like thunder in her brain.</p> +<p>She heard the door close sharply in the hall below.</p> +<p>This was the end.</p> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_323' name='page_323'></a>323</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XXII' id='CHAPTER_XXII'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XXII</h2> +</div> +<p>She felt a trifle weak. In her ears there lingered +a dull, confused sensation, like the echo of things +still falling. Something had gone very wrong +with the scheme of nature. Even beneath her feet, +now, the floor seemed unsteady, unreliable.</p> +<p>A half-darkness dimmed her eyes; she laid one slim +hand on the sofa-back and seated herself, fighting instinctively +for consciousness.</p> +<p>She sat there for a long while. The swimming faintness +passed away. An intense stillness seemed to invade +her, and the room, and the street outside. And for +vast distances beyond. Half hours and hours rang +clearly through the silence from the mantel-clock. So +still was the place that a sheaf of petals falling from +a fading rose on the piano seemed to fill the room with +ghostly rustling.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>This, then, was the finish. Love had ended. Youth +itself was ending, too, here in the dead silence of this +lamplit room.</p> +<p>There remained nothing more. Except that ever +darkening horizon where, at the earth’s ends, those +grave shapes of cloud closed out the vista of remote +skies.</p> +<p>There seemed to be no shelter anywhere in the vast +nakedness of the scheme of things––no shadow under +which to crouch––no refuge.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_324' name='page_324'></a>324</span></div> +<p>Dim visions of cloistered forms, moving in a blessed +twilight, grew and assumed familiar shape amid the +dumb desolation reigning in her brain. The spectral +temptation passed, repassed; processional, recessional +glided by, timed by her heart’s low rhythm.</p> +<p>But, little by little, she came to understand that there +was no refuge even there; no mystic glow in the dark +corridors of her own heart; no source of light save +from the candles glimmering on the high altar; no +aureole above the crucifix.</p> +<p>Always, everywhere, there seemed to be no shelter, +no roof above the scheme of things.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>She heard the telephone. As she slowly rose from +the sofa she noted the hour as it sounded;––four +o’clock in the morning.</p> +<p>A man’s voice was speaking––an unhurried, precise, +low-pitched, monotonous voice:</p> +<p>“This––is––the––Memorial Hospital. Doctor––Willis––speaking. +Mr.––John––Estridge––died––at––ten minutes––to––four. +Miss Westgard––wishes––to––go––to––your––residence––and––remain––over––night––if––convenient.... +Thank you. Miss––Westgard––will––go––to––you––immediately. Good-night.”</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Palla rose from her chair in the unfurnished drawing-room, +went out into the hall, admitted Ilse, then locked +and chained the two front doors.</p> +<p>When she turned around, trembling and speechless, +they kissed. But it was only Palla’s mouth that +trembled; and when they mounted the stairs it was +Ilse’s arm that supported Palla.</p> +<p>Except that her eyes were heavy and seemed smeared +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_325' name='page_325'></a>325</span> +with deep violet under the lower lids, Ilse did not appear +very much changed.</p> +<p>She took off her furs, hat, and gloves and sat down +beside Palla. Her voice was quite clear and steady; +there appeared to be no sign of shock or of grief, save +for a passing tremor of her tired eyes now and then.</p> +<p>She said: “We talked a little together, Jack and I, +after I telephoned to you.</p> +<p>“That was the last. His hand began to burn in +mine steadily, like something on fire. And when, presently, +I found he was not asleep, I motioned to the +night nurse.</p> +<p>“The change seemed to come suddenly; she went to +find one of the internes; I sat with my hand on his +pulse.... There were three physicians there.... +Jack was not conscious after midnight.”</p> +<p>Palla’s lips and throat were dry and aching and her +voice almost inaudible:</p> +<p>“Darling,” she whispered, “––darling––if I could +give him back to you and take his place!–––”</p> +<p>Ilse smiled, but her heavy eyelids quivered:</p> +<p>“The scheme of things is so miserably patched together.... +Except for the indestructible divinity +within each one of us, it all would be so hopeless.... +I had never been able to imagine Jack and +Death together––” She looked up at the clock. “He +was alive only an hour ago.... Isn’t it strange––”</p> +<p>“Oh, Ilse, Ilse! I wish this God who deals out such +wickedness and misery had struck me down instead!”</p> +<p>Neither seemed to notice the agnostic paradox in this +bitter cry wrung from a young girl’s grief.</p> +<p>Ilse closed her eyes as though to rest them, and sat +so, her steady hand on Palla’s. And, so resting, said +in her unfaltering voice:</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_326' name='page_326'></a>326</span></div> +<p>“Jack, of course, lives.... But it seems a long +time to wait to see him.”</p> +<p>“Jack lives,” whispered Palla.</p> +<p>“Of course.... Only––it seems so long a time to +wait.... I wanted to show him––how kind love has +been to us––how still more wonderful love could have +been to us ... for I could have borne him many +children.... And now I shall bear but one.”</p> +<p>After a silence, Palla lifted her eyes. In them the +shadow of terror still lingered; there was not an atom +of colour in her face.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Ilse slept that night, though Palla scarcely closed +her eyes. Dreadful details of the coming day rose up +to haunt her––all the ghastly routine necessary before +the dead lie finally undisturbed by the stir and movement +of many footsteps––the coming and going of the +living.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Because what they called pneumonia was the Black +Death of the ancient East, they had warned Ilse to +remain aloof from that inert thing that had been her +lover. So she did not look upon his face again.</p> +<p>There were relatives of sorts at the chapel. None +spoke to her. The sunshine on the flower-covered +casket was almost spring like.</p> +<p>And in the cemetery, too, there was no snow; and, +under the dead grass, everywhere new herbage tinted +the earth with delicate green.</p> +<p>Ilse returned from the cemetery with Palla. Her +black veil and garments made of her gold hair and +blond skin a vivid beauty that grief had not subdued.</p> +<p>That deathless courage which was part of her seemed +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_327' name='page_327'></a>327</span> +to sustain the clear glow of her body’s vigour as it +upheld her dauntless spirit.</p> +<p>“Did you see Jim in the chapel?” she asked quietly.</p> +<p>Palla nodded. She had seen Marya, also. After a +little while Ilse said gravely:</p> +<p>“I think it no treachery to creed when one submits +to the equally vital belief of another. I think our creed +includes submission, because that also is part of love.”</p> +<p>Palla lifted her face in flushed surprise:</p> +<p>“Is there any compromising with truth?” she asked.</p> +<p>“I think love is the greatest truth. What difference +does it make how we love?”</p> +<p>“Does not our example count? You had the courage +of your belief. Do you counsel me to subscribe to +what I do not believe by acquiescing in it?”</p> +<p>Ilse closed her sea-blue eyes as though fatigued. She +said dreamily:</p> +<p>“I think that to believe in love and mating and the +bearing of children is the only important belief in the +world. But under what local laws you go about doing +these things seems to be of minor importance,––a matter, +I should say, of personal inclination.”</p> +<p>Ilse wished to go home. That is, to her own apartment, +where now were enshrined all her memories of +this dead man who had given to her womanhood that +ultimate crown which in her eyes seemed perfect.</p> +<p>She said serenely to Palla: “Mine is not the loneliness +that craves company with the living. I have a +long time to wait; that is all. And after a while I +shall not wait alone.</p> +<p>“So you must not grieve for me, darling. You see +I know that Jack lives. It’s just the long, long wait +that calls for courage. But I think it is a little easier +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_328' name='page_328'></a>328</span> +to wait alone until––until there are two to wait––for +him–––”</p> +<p>“Will you call me when you want me, Ilse?”</p> +<p>“Always, darling. Don’t grieve. Few women know +happiness. I have known it. I know it now. It shall +not even die with me.”</p> +<p>She smiled faintly and turned to enter her doorway; +and Palla continued on alone toward that dwelling +which she called home.</p> +<p>The mourning which she had worn for her aunt, and +which she had worn for John Estridge that morning, +she now put off, although vaguely inclined for it. But +she shrank from the explanations in which it was certain +she must become involved when on duty at the +Red Cross and the canteen that afternoon.</p> +<p>Undressed, she sent her maid for a cup of tea, feeling +too tired for luncheon. Afterward she lay down +on her bed, meaning merely to close her eyes for a +moment.</p> +<p>It was after four in the afternoon when she sat up +with a start––too late for the Red Cross; but she could +do something at the canteen.</p> +<p>She went about dressing as though bruised. It +seemed to take an interminable time. Her maid called +a taxi; but the short winter daylight had nearly gone +when she arrived at the canteen.</p> +<p>She remained there on kitchen duty until seven, then +untied her white tablier, washed, pinned on her hat, +and went out into the light-shot darkness of the streets +and turned her steps once more toward home.</p> +<p>There is, among the weirder newspapers of the +metropolis, a sheet affectionately known as “pink-and-punk,” +the circulation of which seems to depend upon +its distribution of fake “extras.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_329' name='page_329'></a>329</span></div> +<p>As Palla turned into her street, shabby men with +hoarse voices were calling an extra and selling the newspaper +in question.</p> +<p>She bought one, glanced at the headlines, then, folding +it, unlocked her door.</p> +<p>Dinner was announced almost immediately, but she +could not touch it.</p> +<p>She sank down on the sofa, still wearing her furs and +hat. After a little while she opened her newspaper.</p> +<p>It seemed that a Bolsheviki plot had been discovered +to murder the premiers and rulers of the allied nations, +and to begin simultaneously in every capital and principal +city of Europe and America a reign of murder +and destruction.</p> +<p>In fact, according to the account printed in startling +type, the Terrorists had already begun their destructive +programme in Philadelphia. Half a dozen buildings––private +dwellings and one small hotel––had been more +or less damaged by bombs. A New York man named +Wilding, fairly well known as an impresario, had been +killed outright; and a Russian pianist, Vanya Tchernov, +who had just arrived in Philadelphia to complete arrangements +for a concert to be given by him under +Mr. Wilding’s management, had been fatally injured +by the collapse of the hotel office which, at that moment, +he was leaving in company with Mr. Wilding.</p> +<p>A numbness settled over Palla’s brain. She did not +seem to be able to comprehend that this affair concerned +Vanya––that this newspaper was telling her that Vanya +had been fatally hurt somewhere in Philadelphia.</p> +<p>Hours later, while she was lying on the lounge with +her face buried in the cushions, and still wearing her +hat and furs, somebody came into the room. And when +she turned over she saw it was Ilse.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_330' name='page_330'></a>330</span></div> +<p>Palla sat up stupidly, the marks of tears still glistening +under her eyes. Ilse picked up the newspaper from +the couch, laid it aside, and seated herself.</p> +<p>“So you know about Vanya?” she said calmly.</p> +<p>Palla nodded.</p> +<p>“You don’t know all. Marya called me on the telephone +a few minutes ago to tell me.”</p> +<p>“Vanya is dead,” whispered Palla.</p> +<p>“Yes. They found an unmailed letter directed to +Marya in his pockets. That’s why they notified her.”</p> +<p>After an interval: “So Vanya is dead,” repeated +Palla under her breath.</p> +<p>Ilse sat plaiting the black edges of her handkerchief.</p> +<p>“It’s such a––a senseless interruption––death–––” +she murmured. “It seems so wanton, so meaningless in +the scheme of things ... to make two people wait +so long––so long!––to resume where they had been +interrupted–––”</p> +<p>Palla asked coldly whether Marya had seemed +greatly shocked.</p> +<p>“I don’t know, Palla. She called me up and told me. +I asked her if there was anything I could do; and she +answered rather strangely that what remained for her +to do she would do alone. I don’t know what she +meant.”</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Whether Marya herself knew exactly what she meant +seemed not to be entirely clear to her. For, when Mr. +Puma, dressed in a travelling suit and carrying a +satchel, arrived at her apartment in the Hotel Rajah, +and entered the reception room with his soundless, +springy step, she came out of her bedroom partly +dressed, and still hooking her waist.</p> +<p>“What are you doing here?” she demanded contemptuously, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_331' name='page_331'></a>331</span> +looking him over from, head to foot. “Did +you really suppose I meant to go to Mexico with you?”</p> +<p>His heavy features crimsoned: “What pleasantry is +this, my Marya?–––” he began; but the green blaze +in her slanting eyes silenced him.</p> +<p>“The difference,” she said, “between us is this. You +run from those who threaten you. I kill them.”</p> +<p>“Of––of what nonsense are you speaking!” he stammered. +“All is arranged that we shall go at +eleven–––”</p> +<p>“No,” she said wearily, “one sometimes plays with +stray animals for a few moments––and that is all. And +that is all I ever saw in you, Angelo––a stray beast +to amuse and entertain me between two yawns and a +cup of tea.” She shrugged, still twisted lithely in her +struggle to hook her waist. “You may go,” she added, +not even looking at him, “or, if you are not too +cowardly, you may come with me to the Red Flag Club.”</p> +<p>“In God’s name what do you mean–––”</p> +<p>“Mean? I mean to take my pistol to the Red Flag +Club and kill some Bolsheviki. That is what I mean, +my Angelo––my ruddy Eurasian pig!”</p> +<p>She slipped in the last hook, turned and enveloped +him again with an insolent, slanting glance: “<i>Allons!</i> +Do you come to the Red Flag?”</p> +<p>“Marya–––”</p> +<p>“Yes or no! <i>Allez!</i>”</p> +<p>“My God, are––are you then demented?” he faltered.</p> +<p>“My God, I’m not,” she mimicked him, “but I can’t +answer for what I might do to you if you hang around +this apartment any longer.”</p> +<p>She came slowly toward him, her hands bracketed on +her hips, her strange eyes narrowing.</p> +<p>“Listen to me,” she said. “I have loved many times. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_332' name='page_332'></a>332</span> +But never <i>you</i>! One doesn’t love your kind. One experiments, +possibly, if idle.</p> +<p>“A man died to-day whom I loved; but was too stupid +to love enough. Perhaps he knows now how stupid +I am.... Unless they blew his soul to pieces, +also. <i>Allez!</i> Good-night. I tell you I have business +to attend to, and you stand there rolling your woman’s +eyes at me!–––”</p> +<p>“Damn you!” he said between his teeth. “What is +the matter with you–––”</p> +<p>He had caught her arm; she wrenched it free, tearing +the sleeve to her naked shoulder.</p> +<p>Then she went to her desk and took a pistol from an +upper drawer.</p> +<p>“If you don’t go,” she said, “I shall have to shoot +you and leave you here kicking on the carpet.”</p> +<p>“In God’s name, Marya!” he cried hoarsely, “who +is it you shall kill at the hall?”</p> +<p>“I shall kill Sondheim and Bromberg and Kastner, +I hope. What of it?”</p> +<p>“But––if I go to-night––the others will say <i>I</i> did it! +I can’t run away if you do such thing! I can not go +into Mexico but they shall arrest me before I am at +the border–––”</p> +<p>“Eurasian pig, I shall admit the killing!” she said +with a green gleam in her eyes that perhaps was +laughter.</p> +<p>“Yes, my Marya,” he explained in agony, the sweat +pouring from his temples, “but if they think me your +accomplice they shall arrest me. Me––I can not wait––I +shall be ruined if I am arrest! You do not comprehend. +I have not said it to you how it is that I am +compel to travel with some money which––which is not––my +own.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_333' name='page_333'></a>333</span></div> +<p>Marya looked at him for a long while. Suddenly +she flung the pistol into a corner, threw back her head +while peal on peal of laughter rang out in the room.</p> +<p>“A thief,” she said, fairly holding her slender sides +between gemmed fingers: “––Just a Levantine thief, +after all! Not a thing to shoot. Not a man. No! +But a giant cockroach from the tropics. Ugh! Too +large to place one’s foot upon!–––”</p> +<p>She came leisurely forward, halted, inspected him +with laughing insolence:</p> +<p>“And the others––Kastner, Sondheim––and the other +vermin? You were quite right. Why should I kill +them––merely because to-day a real man died? What +if they are the same species of vermin that slew Vanya +Tchernov? They are not men to pay for it. My pistol +could not make a dead man out of a live louse! No, +you are quite correct. You know your own kind. It +would be no compliment to Vanya if I should give these +vermin the death that real men die!”</p> +<p>Puma stood close to the door, furtively passing a +thick tongue over his dry, blanched lips.</p> +<p>“Then you will not interfere?” he asked softly.</p> +<p>She shrugged her shoulders: one was bare with the +torn sleeve dangling. “No,” she said wearily. “Run +home, painted pig. After all, the world is mostly +swine.... I, too, it seems–––” She half raised +her arms, but the gesture failed, and she stood thinking +again and staring at the curtained window. She did +not hear him leave.</p> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_334' name='page_334'></a>334</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XXIII' id='CHAPTER_XXIII'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XXIII</h2> +</div> +<p>In the strange, springlike weather which prevailed +during the last days of January, Vanya was buried +under skies as fleecy blue as April’s, and Marya +Lanois went back to the studio apartment where she +and Vanya had lived together. And here, alone, in the +first month of the new year, she picked up again the +ravelled threads of life, undecided whether to untangle +them or to cut them short and move on once more to +further misadventure; or to Vanya; or somewhere––or +perhaps nowhere. So, pending some decision, she left +her pistol loaded.</p> +<p>Afternoon sunshine poured into the studio between +antique silken curtains, now drawn wide to the outer +day for the first time since these two young people had +established for themselves a habitation.</p> +<p>And what, heretofore, even the lighted mosque-lamps +had scarcely half revealed, now lay exposed to outer +air and daylight, gilded by the sun––cabinets and chests +of ancient lacquer; deep-toned carpets in which slumbered +jewelled fires of Asia; carved gods from the East, +crusted with soft gold; and tapestries of silk shot with +amethyst and saffron, centred by dragons and guarded +by the burning pearl.</p> +<p>Over all these, and the great mosque lantern drooping +from above, the false-spring sunshine fell; and +through every open window flowed soft, deceptive winds, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_335' name='page_335'></a>335</span> +fluttering the leaves of music on the piano, stirring the +clustered sheafs of growing jonquils and narcissus, so +that they swayed in their Chinese bowls.</p> +<p>Marya, in black, arranged her tiger-ruddy hair before +an ancient grotesquerie set with a reflecting glass +in which, on some days, one could see the form of the +Lord Buddha, though none could ever tell from whence +the image came.</p> +<p>Where Vanya had left his music opened on the piano +rack, the sacred pages now stirred slightly as the soft +wind blew; and scented bells of Frisia swayed and bowed +around a bowl where gold-fish glowed.</p> +<p>Marya, at the piano, reading at sight from his inked +manuscript, came presently to the end of what was +scored there––merely the first sketch for a little spring +song.</p> +<p>Some day she would finish it as part of a new debt––new +obligations she had now assumed in the slowly increasing +light of new beliefs.</p> +<p>As she laid Vanya’s last manuscript aside, under it +she discovered one of her own––a cynical, ribald, +pencilled parody which she remembered she had +scribbled there in an access of malicious perversity.</p> +<p>As though curious to sound the obscurer depths of +what she had been when this jeering cynicism expressed +her mood, she began to read from her score and words, +playing and intoning:</p> +<table summary=''><tr><td> +<p class='center cg'>“CROQUE-MITAINE.</p> +<p class='cg'><br /> +<span class='indent4'> </span>“Parfaît qu’on attend La Marée Rouge,<br /> +<span class='indent5'> </span>La chose est positive.<br /> +<span class='indent5'> </span>On n’sait pas quand el’ bouge,<br /> +<span class='indent5'> </span>Mais on sait qu’el’ arrive.<br /> +<span class='indent8'> </span>La Marée Rouge arrivera<br /> +<span class='indent8'> </span>Et tout le monde en crèvera! +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_336' name='page_336'></a>336</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class='indent4'> </span>“Croque’morts, sacristains et abbés,<br /> +<span class='indent5'> </span>Dans leurs sacré’s boutiques<br /> +<span class='indent5'> </span>Se cachent auprès des machabé’s<br /> +<span class='indent5'> </span>En répètant des cantiques.<br /> +<span class='indent5'> </span>Pape, cardinal, et sacré soeur<br /> +<span class='indent5'> </span>Miaulent avec tout leurs cliques,<br /> +<span class='indent5'> </span>Lorsque les Bolsheviks reprenn ’nt en choeur;<br /> +<span class='indent8'> </span>Mort aux saligaudes chic!<br /> +<br /> +<span class='indent4'> </span>“La Marée Rouge montera<br /> +<span class='indent5'> </span>Et la bourgeoisie en crèvera!”</p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>The vicious irony of the atrocious parody––words +and music––died out in the sunny silence: for a few +moments the girl sat staring at the scored page; then +she leaned forward, and, taking the manuscript in both +hands, tore it into pieces.</p> +<p>She was still occupied in destroying the unclean thing +when a servant appeared, and in subdued voice announced +Palla and Ilse.</p> +<p>They came in as Marya swept the tattered scraps of +paper into an incense-bowl, dropped a lighted match +upon them, and set the ancient bronze vessel on the +sill of the open window.</p> +<p>“Some of my vileness I am burning,” she said, coming +forward and kissing Ilse on both cheeks.</p> +<p>Then, looking Palla steadily in the eyes, she bent forward +and touched her lips with her own.</p> +<p>“Nechevo,” she said; “the thing that dwelt within +me for a time has continued on its way to hell, I hope.”</p> +<p>She took the pale girl by both hands: “Do you +understand?”</p> +<p>And Palla kissed her.</p> +<p>When they were seated: “What religious order +would be likely to accept me?” she asked serenely. And +answered her own question: “None would tolerate me––no +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_337' name='page_337'></a>337</span> +order with its rigid systems of inquiry and its +merciless investigations.... And yet––I wonder.... Perhaps, +as a lay-sister in some missionary +order––where few care to serve––where life resembles +death as one twin the other.... I don’t know: I +wonder, Palla.”</p> +<p>Palla asked her in a low voice if she had seen the +afternoon paper. Marya did not reply at once; but +presently over her face a hot rose-glow spread and +deepened. Then, after a silence:</p> +<p>“The paper mentioned me as Vanya’s wife. Is that +what you mean? Yes; I told them that.... It +made no difference, for they would have discovered it +anyway. And I scarcely know why I made Vanya lie +about it to you all;––why I wished people to think +otherwise.... Because I have been married to +Vanya since the beginning.... And I can not +explain why I have not told you.”</p> +<p>She touched a rosebud in the vase that stood beside +her, broke the stem absently, and sat examining it in +silence. And, after a few moments:</p> +<p>“As a child I was too imaginative.... We do +not change––we women. Married, unmarried, too wise, +or too innocent, we remain what we were when our +mothers bore us.... Whatever we do, we never +change within: we remain, in our souls, what we first +were. And unaltered we die.... In morgue or +prison or Potter’s Field, where lies a dead female thing +in a tattered skirt, there, hidden somewhere under rag +and skin and bone, lies a dead girl-child.”</p> +<p>She laid the unopened rosebud on Palla’s knees; her +preoccupied gaze wandered around that silent, sunlit +place.</p> +<p>“I could have taken my pistol,” she said softly, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_338' name='page_338'></a>338</span> +“and I could have killed a few among those whose +doctrines at last slew Vanya.... Or I could have +killed myself.”</p> +<p>She turned and her remote gaze came back to fix +itself on Palla.</p> +<p>“But, somehow, I think that Vanya would grieve.... +And he has grieved enough. Do you think so, +Palla?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>Ilse said thoughtfully: “There is always enough +death on earth. And to live honestly, and love undauntedly, +and serve humanity with a clean heart is +the most certain way to help the slaying of that thing +which murdered Vanya.”</p> +<p>Palla gazed at Marya, profoundly preoccupied by +the astounding revelation that she had been Vanya’s +legal wife; and in her brown eyes the stunned wonder +of it still remained, nor could she seem to think of anything +except of that amazing fact.</p> +<p>When they stood up to take leave of Marya, the rosebud +dropped from Palla’s lap, and Marya picked it +up and offered it again.</p> +<p>“It should open,” she said, her strange smile glimmering. +“Cold water and a little salt, my Palla––that +is all rosebuds need––that is all we women need––a +little water to cool and freshen us; a little salt for all +the doubtful worldly knowledge we imbibe.”</p> +<p>She took Palla’s hands and bent her lips to them, +then lifted her tawny head:</p> +<p>“What do words matter? <i>Slava, slava</i>, under the +moon! Words are but symbols of needs––your need +and Ilse’s and mine––and Jack’s and Vanya’s––and the +master-word differs as differ our several needs. And +if I say Christ and Buddha and I are one, let me so +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_339' name='page_339'></a>339</span> +believe, if that be my need. Or if, from some high +minarette, I lift my voice proclaiming the unity of +God!––or if I confess the Trinity!––or if, for me, the +god-fire smoulders only within my own accepted soul––what +does it matter? Slava, slava––the word and the +need spell Love––whatever the deed, Palla––my Palla!––whatever +the deed, and despite it.”</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>As they came, together, to Palla’s house and entered +the empty drawing-room, Ilse said:</p> +<p>“In mysticism there seems to be no reasoning––nothing +definite save only an occult and overwhelming restlessness.... +Marya may take the veil ... or +nurse lepers ... or she may become a famous +courtesan.... I do not mean it cruelly. But, in +the mystic, the spiritual, the intellectual and the physical +seem to be interchangeable, and become gradually +indistinguishable.”</p> +<p>“That is a frightful analysis,” murmured Palla. A +little shiver passed over her and she laid the rosebud +against her lips.</p> +<p>Ilse said: “Marya is right: love is the world’s overwhelming +need. The way to love is to serve; and if +we serve we must renounce something.”</p> +<p>They locked arms and began to pace the empty room.</p> +<p>“What should I renounce?” asked Palla faintly.</p> +<p>Ilse smiled that wise, wholesome smile of hers:</p> +<p>“Suppose you renounce your own omniscience, darling,” +she suggested.</p> +<p>“I do not think myself omniscient,” retorted the girl, +colouring.</p> +<p>“No? Well, darling, from where then do you derive +your authority to cancel the credentials of the Most +High?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_340' name='page_340'></a>340</span></div> +<p>“What!”</p> +<p>“On what authority except your own omniscience do +you so confidently preach the non-existence of omnipotence?”</p> +<p>Palla turned her flushed face in sensitive astonishment +under the gentle mockery.</p> +<p>Ilse said: “Love has many names; and so has God. +And all are good. If, to you, God means that little +flame within you, then that is good. And so, to others, +according to their needs.... And it is the same +with love.... So, if for the man you love, love +can be written only as a phrase––if the word love be +only one element in a trinity of which the other two +are Law and Wedlock––does it really matter, darling?”</p> +<p>“You mean I––I am to renounce my––creed?”</p> +<p>Ilse shook her head: “Who cares? The years develop +and change everything––even creeds. Do you +think your lover would care whether, at twenty-odd, you +worship the flaming godhead itself, or whether you +guard in spirit that lost spark from it which has become +entangled with your soul?––whether you really do believe +the man-made law that licenses your mating; or +whether you reject it as a silly superstition? To a +business man, convention is merely a safe procedure +which, ignored, causes disaster––he knows that whenever +he ignores it––as when he drives a car bearing no +license; and the police stop him.”</p> +<p>“I never expected to hear this from you, Ilse.”</p> +<p>“Why?”</p> +<p>“You are unmarried.”</p> +<p>“No, Palla.”</p> +<p>The girl stared at her: “Did you <i>marry</i> Jack?” +she gasped.</p> +<p>“Yes. In the hospital.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_341' name='page_341'></a>341</span></div> +<p>“Oh, Ilse!–––”</p> +<p>“He asked me.”</p> +<p>“But––” her mouth quivered and she bent her head +and placed her hand on Ilse’s arm for guidance, because +the starting tears were blinding her now. And at last +she found her voice: “I meant I am so thankful––darling––it’s +been a––a nightmare–––”</p> +<p>“It would have been one to me if I had refused him. +Except that Jack wished it, I did not care.... But +I have lately learned––some things.”</p> +<p>“You––you consented because he wished it?”</p> +<p>“Of course. Is not that our law?”</p> +<p>“Do you so construe the Law of Love and Service? +Does it permit us to seek protection under false pretences; +to say yes when we mean no; to kneel before a +God we do not believe in; to accept immunity under a +law we do not believe in?”</p> +<p>“If all this concerned only one’s self, then, no! Or, +if the man believed as we do, no! But even then––” +she shook her head slowly, “unless <i>all</i> agree, it is unfair.”</p> +<p>“Unfair?”</p> +<p>“Yes, it is unfair if you have a baby. Isn’t it, darling? +Isn’t it unfair and tyrannical?”</p> +<p>“You mean that a child should not arbitrarily be +placed by its parents at what it might later consider a +disadvantage?”</p> +<p>“Of course I mean just that. Do you know, Palla, +what Jack once said of us? He said––rather brutally, +I thought––that you and I were immaturely un-moral +and pitiably unbaked; and that the best thing for both +of us was to marry and have a few children before we +tried to do any more independent thinking.”</p> +<p>Palla’s reply was: “He was such a dear!” But what +she said did not seem absurd to either of them.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_342' name='page_342'></a>342</span></div> +<p>Ilse added: “You know yourself, darling, what a +relief it was to you to learn that I had married Jack. +I think you even said something like, ‘Thank God,’ when +you were choking back the tears.”</p> +<p>Palla flushed brightly: “I meant––” but her voice +ended in a sob. Then, all of a sudden, she broke down––went +all to pieces there in the dim and empty little +drawing-room––down on her knees, clinging to Ilse’s +skirts....</p> +<p>She wished to go to her room alone; and so Ilse, +watching her climb the stairs as though they led to +some dread calvary, opened the front door and went +her lonely way, drawing the mourning veil around her +face and throat.</p> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_343' name='page_343'></a>343</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XXIV' id='CHAPTER_XXIV'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XXIV</h2> +</div> +<p>Leila Vance, lunching with Elorn Sharrow at +the Ritz, spoke of Estridge:</p> +<p>“There seem to be so many of these well-born +men who marry women we never heard of.”</p> +<p>“Perhaps we ought to have heard of them,” suggested +Elorn, smilingly. “The trouble may lie with us.”</p> +<p>“It does, dear. But it’s something we can’t help, +unless we change radically. Because we don’t stand the +chance we once did. We never have been as attractive +to men as the other sort. But once men thought they +couldn’t marry the other sort. Now they think they +can. And they do if they have to.”</p> +<p>“What other sort?” asked Elorn, not entirely understanding.</p> +<p>“The sort of girl who ignores the customs which +make us what we are. We don’t stand a chance with +professional women any more. We don’t compare in +interest to girls who are arbiters of their own destinies.</p> +<p>“Take the stage as an illustration. Once the popularity +of women who made it their profession was due +partly to glamour, partly because that art drew to it +and concentrated the very best-looking among us. But +it’s something else now that attracts men; it’s the attraction +of women who are doing something––clever, +experienced, interesting, girls who know how to take +care of themselves and who are not afraid to give to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_344' name='page_344'></a>344</span> +men a frank and gay companionship outside those +conventional limits which circumscribe us.”</p> +<p>Elorn nodded.</p> +<p>“It’s quite true,” said Leila. “The independent professional +girl to-day, whatever art or business engages +her, is the paramount attraction to men.</p> +<p>“A few do sneak back to us after a jolly caper in the +open––a few timid ones, or snobs of sorts––thrifty, +perhaps, or otherwise material, or cautious. But that’s +about all we get as husbands in these devilish days of +general feminine <i>bouleversement</i>. And it’s a sad and +instructive fact, Elorn. But there seems to be nothing +to do about it.”</p> +<p>Elorn said musingly: “The main thing seems to be +that men admire a girl’s effort to get somewhere––when +she happens to be good-looking.”</p> +<p>“It’s a cynical fact, dear; they certainly do. And +now that they realise they have to marry these girls +if they want them––why, they do.”</p> +<p>Elorn dissected her ice. “You know Stanley +Wardner,” she remarked.</p> +<p>“Mortimer Wardner’s son?”</p> +<p>Elorn nodded. “He became a queer kind of sculptor. +I think it is called a Concentrationist. Well, he’s concentrated +for life, now.”</p> +<p>“Whom did he marry?” asked Leila, laughing.</p> +<p>“A girl named Questa Terrett. You never heard of +her, did you?”</p> +<p>“No. And I can imagine the moans and groans of +the Mortimer Wardners.”</p> +<p>“I have heard so. She lives––<i>they</i> live now, together, +in Abdingdon Square, where she possesses a studio and +nearly a dozen West Highland terriers.”</p> +<p>“What else does she do?” inquired Leila, still laughing.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_345' name='page_345'></a>345</span></div> +<p>“She writes cleverly when she needs an income; otherwise, +she produces obscure poems with malice aforethought, +and laughs in her sleeve, they say, when the +precious-minded rave.”</p> +<p>Leila reverted to Estridge:</p> +<p>“I had no idea he was married,” she said. “Palla +Dumont introduced his widow to me the other day––a +most superb and beautiful creature. But, oh dear I––can +you fancy her having once served as a girl-soldier +in the Russian Battalion of Death!”</p> +<p>The slightest shadow crossed Elorn’s face.</p> +<p>“By the way,” added Leila, following quite innocently +her trend of thought, “Helen Shotwell tells me that her +son is going back to the army if he can secure a +commission.”</p> +<p>“Yes, I believe so,” said Elorn serenely.</p> +<p>Leila went on: “I fancy there’ll be a lot of them. +A taste of service seems to spoil most young men for a +piping career of peace.”</p> +<p>“He cares nothing for his business.”</p> +<p>“What is it?”</p> +<p>“Real estate. He is with my father, you know.”</p> +<p>“Of course. I remember––” She suddenly seemed +to recollect something else, also––not, perhaps, quite +certain of it, but instinctively playing safe. So she +refrained from saying anything about this young man’s +recent devotion to her friend, Palla Dumont, although +that was the subject which she had intended to introduce.</p> +<p>And, smiling to herself, she thought it a close call, +because she had meant to ask Elorn whether she knew +why the Shotwell boy had so entirely deserted her little +friend Palla.</p> +<p>The Shotwell boy himself happened to be involved +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_346' name='page_346'></a>346</span> +at that very moment, in matters concerning a friend +of Mrs. Vance’s little friend Palla––in fact, he had +been trying, for the last half hour, to find this friend +of Palla’s on the telephone. The friend in question +was Alonzo D. Pawling. And he was being vigorously +paged at the Hotel Rajah.</p> +<p>As for Jim, he remained seated in the private office +of Angelo Puma, whither he had been summoned in professional +capacity by one Skidder, the same being Elmer, +and partner of the Puma aforesaid.</p> +<p>The door was locked; the room in disorder. Safe, +letter-files, cupboards, desks had been torn open and +their contents littered the place.</p> +<p>Skidder, in an agony of perspiring fright, kept +running about the room like a distracted squirrel. Jim +watched him, darkly preoccupied with other things, including +the whereabouts of Mr. Pawling.</p> +<p>“You say,” he said to Skidder, “that Mr. Pawling +will confirm what you have told me?”</p> +<p>“John D. Pawling knows damn well I own this plant!”</p> +<p>Jim shook his head: “I’m sorry, but that isn’t sufficient. +I can only repeat to you that there is no +point in calling me in at present. You have no legal +right to offer this property for sale. It belongs, apparently, +to the creditors of your firm. What you +require first of all is a lawyer–––”</p> +<p>“I don’t want a lawyer and I don’t want publicity +before I get something out of this dirty mess that +scoundrel left behind!” cried Skidder, snapping his eyes +like mad and swinging his arms. “I got to get something, +haven’t I? Isn’t this property mine? Can’t I +sell it?”</p> +<p>“Apparently not, under the terms of your agreement +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_347' name='page_347'></a>347</span> +with Puma,” replied Jim, wearily. “However, I’m willing +to hear what Mr. Pawling has to say.”</p> +<p>“You mean to tell me, Puma fixed it so I’m stuck +with all his debts? You mean to say my own personal +property is subject to seizure to satisfy–––”</p> +<p>“I certainly do mean just that, Mr. Skidder. But +I’m not a lawyer–––”</p> +<p>“I tell you I want to get something for myself before +I let loose any lawyers on the premises! I’ll make +it all right with you–––”</p> +<p>“It’s out of the question. We wouldn’t touch the +property–––”</p> +<p>“I’ll take a quarter of its value in spot cash! I’ll +give you ten thousand to put it through to-day!”</p> +<p>“Why can’t you understand that what you suggest +would amount to collusion?”</p> +<p>“What I propose is to get a slice of what’s mine!” +yelled Skidder, fairly dancing with fury. “D’yeh think +I’m going to let that crooked wop, Puma, do this to +me just like that! D’yeh think he’s going to get away +with all my money and all Pawling’s money and leave +me planted on my neck while about a million other guys +come and sell me out and fill their pants pockets with +what’s mine?”</p> +<p>Jim said: “If Mr. Pawling is the very rich man you +say he is, he’s not going to let the defalcation of this +fellow, Puma, destroy such a paying property.”</p> +<p>“Damn it, I don’t want him to buy it in for himself +and freeze me out! I can’t stop him, either; Puma’s got +all my money except what’s in this parcel. And you +betcha life I hang onto this, creditors or no creditors, +and Pawling to the contrary! He knows damn well +it belongs to me. Try him again at the Rajah–––”</p> +<p>“They’re paging him. I left the number. But I +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_348' name='page_348'></a>348</span> +tell you the proper thing for you to do is to go to a +lawyer, and then to the police,” repeated Jim. “There’s +nothing else to do. This fellow, Puma, may have run +for the Mexican border, or he may still be in the United +States. Without a passport he couldn’t very easily +get on any trans-Atlantic boat or any South American +boat either. The proper procedure is to notify the +police–––”</p> +<p>“Nix on the police!” shouted Skidder. “That’ll start +the land-slide, and the whole shooting-match will go. +I want <i>this</i> property. If the papers show it’s subject +to the firm’s liabilities, then that dirty skunk altered +the thing. It’s forgery.</p> +<p>“I never was fool enough to lump this parcel in with +our assets. Not me. It’s forgery; that’s what it is, +and this parcel belongs to me, privately–––”</p> +<p>“See an attorney,” repeated Jim patiently. “You +can’t keep a thing like this out of the papers, Mr. +Skidder. Why, here’s a man, Angelo Puma, who +pounces on every convertible asset of his firm, stuffs +a valise full of real money, and beats it for parts unknown.</p> +<p>“That’s a matter for the police. You can’t hope to +hide it for more than a day or two longer. Your firm +is bankrupt through the rascality of a partner. He’s +gone with all the money he could scrape together. He +converted everything into cash; he lied, swindled, stole, +and skipped. And what he didn’t take must remain to +satisfy the firm’s creditors. You can’t conceal conditions, +slyly pocket what Puma has left and then call +in an attorney. That’s criminal. You have your contracts +to fulfil; you have a studio full of people whose +salaries are nearly due; you have running expenses; +you have notes to meet; you have obligations to face +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_349' name='page_349'></a>349</span> +when a dozen or so contractors for your new theatre +come to you on Saturday–––”</p> +<p>“You mean that’s all up to me?” shrieked Skidder, +squinting horribly at a framed photograph of Puma. +And suddenly he ran at it and hurled it to the floor +and began to kick it about with strange, provincial +maledictions:</p> +<p>“Dern yeh, yeh poor blimgasted thing! I’ll skin +yeh, yeh dumb-faced, ring-boned, two-edged son-of-a-skunk!–––”</p> +<p>The telephone’s clamour silenced him. Jim answered:</p> +<p>“Who? Oh, long-distance. All right.” And he +waited. Then, again: “Who wants him?... Yes, +he’s here in the office, now.... Yes, he’ll come to +the ’phone.”</p> +<p>And to Skidder: “Shadow Hill wants to speak to +you.”</p> +<p>“I won’t go. By God, if this thing is out!––Who the +hell is it wants to speak to me? Wait! Maybe it’s +Alonzo D. Pawling!–––”</p> +<p>“Shall I inquire?” And he asked for further information +over the wire. Then, presently, and turning +again to Skidder:</p> +<p>“You’d better come to the wire. It seems to be the +Chief of Police who wants you.”</p> +<p>Skidder’s unhealthy skin became ghastly. He came +over and took the instrument:</p> +<p>“What d’ye want, Chief? Sure it’s me, Elmer.... +Hey? Who? Alonzo D. Pawling? My God, +is he dead? Took <i>pizen</i>! W-what for! He’s a rich +man, ain’t he?... Speculated?... You say +he took the bank’s funds? Trust funds? What!” +he screeched––“put ’em into <i>my</i> company! He’s a liar! +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_350' name='page_350'></a>350</span> +... I don’t care what letters he left!... +Well, all right then. Sure, I’ll get a lawyer–––”</p> +<p>“Tell him to hold that wire!” cut in Jim; and took +the receiver from Skidder’s shaking fingers.</p> +<p>“Is the Shadow Hill Trust Company insolvent?” he +asked. “You say that the bank closed its doors this +morning? Have you any idea of its condition? +Looted? Is it entirely cleaned out? Is there no chance +for depositors? I wish to inquire about the trust funds, +bonds and other investments belonging to a friend of +mine, Miss Dumont.... Yes, I’ll wait.”</p> +<p>He turned a troubled and sombre gaze toward +Skidder, who sat there pasty-faced, with sagging jaw, +staring back at him. And presently:</p> +<p>“Yes.... Yes, this is Mr. Shotwell, a friend of +Miss Dumont.... Yes.... Yes.... Yes.... +I see.... Yes, I shall try to communicate +with her immediately.... Yes, I suppose the news +will be published in the evening papers.... Certainly.... +Yes, I have no doubt that she will go at +once to Shadow Hill.... Thank you.... Yes, +it does seem rather hopeless.... I’ll try to find +her and break it to her.... Thank you. Good-bye.”</p> +<p>He hung up the receiver, took his hat and coat, his +eyes fixed absently on Skidder.</p> +<p>“You’d better beat it to your attorney,” he remarked, +and went out.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>He could not find Palla. She was not at the Red +Cross, not at the canteen, not at the new Hostess House.</p> +<p>He telephoned Ilse for information, but she was not +at home.</p> +<p>Twice he called at Palla’s house, leaving a message +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_351' name='page_351'></a>351</span> +the last time that she should telephone him at the club +on her arrival.</p> +<p>He went to the club and waited there, trying to read. +At a quarter to six o’clock no message from her had +come.</p> +<p>Again he telephoned Ilse; she had not returned. He +even telephoned to Marya, loath to disturb her; but +she, also, was not at home.</p> +<p>The chances that he could break the news to Palla +before she read it in the evening paper were becoming +negligible. He had done his best to forestall them. But +at six the evening papers arrived at the club. And in +every one of them was an account of the defalcation +and suicide of the Honorable Alonzo D. Pawling, president +of the Shadow Hill Trust Company. But nothing +yet concerning the defalcation and disappearance +of Angelo Puma.</p> +<p>Jim had no inclination to eat, but he tried to at +seven-thirty, still waiting and hoping for a message +from Palla.</p> +<p>He tried her house again about half past eight. This +time the maid answered that Miss Dumont had telephoned +from down town that she would dine out and +go afterward to the Combat Club. And that if Mr. +Shotwell desired to see her he should call at her house +after ten o’clock.</p> +<p>So Jim hastened to the cloak-room, got his hat and +coat, found the starter, secured a taxi, bought an evening +paper and stuffed it into his pocket, and started +out to find Palla at the Combat Club. For it seemed evident +to him that she had not yet read the evening paper; +and he hoped he might yet encounter her in time to prepare +her for news which, according to the newspapers, +appeared even blacker than he had supposed it might be.</p> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_352' name='page_352'></a>352</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XXV' id='CHAPTER_XXV'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XXV</h2> +</div> +<p>As he left the taxi in front of the dirty brick archway +and flight of steps leading to the hall, where +he expected to find Palla, he noticed a small +crowd of wrangling foreigners gathered there––men +and women––and a policeman posted near, calm and +indifferent, juggling his club at the end of its leather +thong.</p> +<p>Jim paused to inquire if there had been any trouble +there that evening.</p> +<p>“Well,” said the policeman, “there’s two talking-clubs +that chew the rag in that joint. It’s the Reds’ +night, but wan o’ the ladies of the other club showed +up––Miss Dumont––and the Reds yonder was all for +chasing her out. So we run in a couple of ’em––that +feller Sondheim and another called Bromberg. They’re +wanted, anyhow, in Philadelphia.”</p> +<p>“Is there a meeting inside?”</p> +<p>“Sure. The young lady went in to settle it peaceful +like; and she’s inside now jawin’ at them Reds to +beat a pink tea.”</p> +<p>“Do you apprehend any violence?” asked Jim uneasily.</p> +<p>The policeman juggled his club and eyed him. “I––guess––not,” +he drawled. And, to the jabbering, +wrangling crowd on pavement and steps: “––Hey, you! +Go in or stay out, one or the other, now! Step lively; +you’re blockin’ the sidewalk.”</p> +<p>A number of people mounted the steps and went in +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_353' name='page_353'></a>353</span> +with Jim. As the doors to the hall opened, a flare of +smoky light struck him, and he pushed his way into the +hall, where a restless, murmuring audience, some seated, +others standing, was watching a number of men and +women on the rostrum.</p> +<p>There seemed to be more wrangling going on there––knots +of people disputing and apparently quite oblivious +of the audience.</p> +<p>And almost immediately he caught sight of Palla on +the platform. But even before he could take a step +forward in the crowded aisle, he saw her force her way +out of an excited group of people and come to the +edge of the platform, lifting a slim hand for silence.</p> +<p>“Put her out!” shouted some man’s voice. A dozen +other voices bawled out incoherencies; Palla waited; +and after a moment or two there were no further interruptions.</p> +<p>“Please let me say what I have to say,” she said in that +shy and gentle way she had when facing hostile listeners.</p> +<p>“Speak louder!” yelled a young man. “Come on, +silk-stockings!––spit it out and go home to mother!”</p> +<p>“I wish I could,” she said.</p> +<p>Her rejoinder was so odd and unexpected that stillness +settled over the place.</p> +<p>“But all I can do,” she added, in an even, colourless +voice, “is to go home. And I shall do that after I have +said what I have to say.”</p> +<p>At that moment there was a commotion in the rear +of the hall. A dozen policemen filed into the place, +pushing their way right and left and ranging themselves +along the wall. Their officer came into the aisle:</p> +<p>“If there’s any disorder in this place to-night, I’ll +run in the whole bunch o’ ye!” he said calmly.</p> +<p>“All right. Hit out, little girl!” cried the young +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_354' name='page_354'></a>354</span> +man who had interrupted before. “We gotta lot of +business to fix up after you’ve gone to bed, so get busy!”</p> +<p>“I, also, have some business to fix up,” she said in +the same sweet, emotionless voice, “––business of setting +myself right by admitting that I have been wrong.</p> +<p>“Because, on this spot where I am standing, I have +spoken against the old order of things. I have said +that there is no law excepting only the law of Love and +Service. I have said that there is no God other than +the deathless germ of deity within each one of us. I +have said that the conventions and beliefs and usages +and customs of civilisation were old, outworn, and +tyrannical; and that there was no need to regard them +or to obey the arbitrary laws based on them.</p> +<p>“In other words, I have preached disorder while attempting +to combat it: I have preached revolution while +counselling peace; I have preached bigotry where I have +demanded toleration.</p> +<p>“For there is no worse bigot than the free-thinker +who demands that the world subscribe to his creed; +no tyrant like the under-dog when he becomes the upper +one; no autocracy to compare with mob rule!</p> +<p>“You can not obtain freedom for all by imposing +that creed upon anybody by the violence of revolutionary +ukase!</p> +<p>“You can not wreck any edifice until all who enjoy +ownership in it agree to its demolition. You can not +build for all unless each voluntarily comes forward to +aid with stone and mortar.</p> +<p>“Anarchy leaves the majority roofless. What is the +use of saying, ‘Let them perish’? What is the use of +trying to rebuild the world that way? You can’t do +it, even if you set fire to the world and start your endless +war of human murder.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_355' name='page_355'></a>355</span></div> +<p>“If you were the majority you would not need to do +it. But you are the minority, and there are too many +against you.</p> +<p>“Only by infinite pains and patience can you alter +the social structure to better it. Cautious and wary +replacement is the only method, not exploding a mine +beneath the keystone.</p> +<p>“The world has won out from barbarism so far. It +must continue to emerge by degrees. And if beliefs and +laws and customs be obsolete, only by general agreement +may they be modified without danger to all. Not +the violent revolt of one or a dozen or a thousand can +alter what has, so far, nourished and sustained civilisation.</p> +<p>“That is the Prussian belief. Bolshevism was sired +by Karl Marx and was hatched out in the shaggy +gloom of the Prussian wilderness.</p> +<p>“It does not belong anywhere else; it does not belong +on the plains of Russia or in her forests or on her +mountains. It is a Prussian thing––a misbegotten +monster born of a vile and decadent race,––a horrible +parasite, like that one which carries typhus, infects +as it spreads from the degraded race that hatched it, +crawling from country to country and leaving behind +it dead minds, dead hearts, dead souls, and rotting +flesh.</p> +<p>“For order and disorder can not both reign paramount +on this planet! The one shall slay the other. +And Bolshevism is disorder––a violent and tyrannical +and autocratic attempt to utterly destroy the vast +majority for the benefit of the microscopic minority.</p> +<p>“You can not do it, you Terrorists! Prussia tried +terrorism on the world. Where is she to-day? You +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_356' name='page_356'></a>356</span> +can not teach by frightfulness. You can not scare +beliefs out of anybody.</p> +<p>“Method, order, education––there is no other chance +for any propagandist to-day.</p> +<p>“I have stood here night after night proclaiming that +my personal conception of right and wrong, of truth +and falsehood, of law and morals was the only intelligent +one, and that I should ignore and disregard any +other opinion.</p> +<p>“What I preached was Bolshevism! And I was such +a fool I didn’t know it. But that’s what I preached. +For it is an incitement to disorder to proclaim one’s +self above obedience to what has been established as +a law to govern all.</p> +<p>“It is an insidious counsel to violence, revolution, +Bolshevism and utter anarchy to say to people that +they should disregard any law formed by all for the +common weal.</p> +<p>“If the marriage law seems unnecessary, unjust, then +only by common consent can it be altered; and until +it is altered, any who disregard it strike at civilisation!</p> +<p>“If the laws governing capital and labour seem cruel, +stupid, tyrannical, only by general consent can they +be altered safely.</p> +<p>“You of the Bolsheviki can not come among us dripping +with human blood, showing us your fangs, and +expect from us anything except a fusillade.</p> +<p>“And your propaganda, also, is not human. It is +Prussian. Do you suppose, you foreign-born, that you +can come here among this free people and begin your +operations by cursing our laws and institutions and +telling us we are not free?</p> +<p>“Because we tolerate you, do you suppose we don’t +know that in most of the larger cities there are now +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_357' name='page_357'></a>357</span> +organised Soviets, similar to those in Russia, that +anarchists are now conducting schools, and that the +radical propaganda which has taken on new life since +the signing of the armistice is gaining headway in those +parts of the country where there are large foreign-born +populations?</p> +<p>“Do you suppose we don’t know Prussianism when +we see it, after these last four years?</p> +<p>“Do you suppose we have not read the <i>Staats-Zeitung</i> +editorial of December 8, which in part was as follows:</p> +<p>“‘Hundreds of thousands of our boys are standing +now over there in the old homeland, which for nineteen +months was enemy country and is that still, but which, +as President Wilson promised, will soon be a land of +peace again, rich in diligent work, rich in true and +good people.... As the whole happy life of +this blessed region presents a picture to the spectator, +it is to be wondered whether his (the American soldier’s) +memory will awaken on what he read of this country +(Germany) at home long ago, whether he will feel a +slight blush of shame in his cheeks and anger for those +who, not from their own knowledge but from doubtful +sources, branded a whole great people, 70,000,000, as +barbarians, huns, murderers of children and church +robbers. And whether he (the American soldier) will +at the same time make a pledge in his heart to combat +those lies and rumours when he is back home again, and +to tell the truth about those (the Germans) living behind +those mountains.’”</p> +<p>Palla’s face flushed and she came close to the edge of +the platform:</p> +<p>“I have been warned that if I came here to-night +I’d have trouble. The anonymous writers who send me +letters talk about bombs.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_358' name='page_358'></a>358</span></div> +<p>“Do you imagine because you murdered Vanya +Tchernov in Philadelphia the other day that you can +frighten anybody dumb?</p> +<p>“I tell you you don’t know what you’re doing. You’re +dazed and scared and bewildered by finding yourselves +suddenly in the open world after all those lurking years +in hiding. As a forest wolf, his eyes dazzled by the +sun, runs blindly across a field of new mown hay, dodging +where there is nothing to dodge, leaping over +shadows, so you, emerging from darkness, start out +across the fertile world, the sun of civilisation blinding +you so that you run as though stupefied and frightened, +shying at straws, dodging zephyrs, leaping a pool +of dew as though it were the Volga.</p> +<p>“What are you afraid of? You have nothing to +fear except yourselves out here in the sunny open!</p> +<p>“Behold your enemies––yourselves!––selfish, defiant, +full of false council, of envy, of cowardice, of treachery.</p> +<p>“For there would be no sorrow, no injustice in the +world if we––each one of us––were true to our better +selves! You know it! You can not come out of darkness +and range the open world like wolves! Civilisation +will kill you!</p> +<p>“But you can come out of your long twilight bearing +yourselves like men––and find, by God’s grace, that +you <i>are</i> men!––that you are fashioned like other men +to stand upright in the light without blinking and slinking +and dodging into cover.</p> +<p>“For the haymakers will not climb and stone you; the +herds will not stampede; no watch-dogs of civilisation +will attack you if you come out into the fields looking +like men, behaving like men, asking to share the world’s +burdens like men, and like men giving brain and brawn +to make more pleasant and secure the only spot in the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_359' name='page_359'></a>359</span> +solar system dedicated by the Most High to the development +of mankind!”</p> +<p>There was a dead silence in the place.</p> +<p>Palla slowly lifted her head and raised her right +hand.</p> +<p>“I desire,” she said in a low, grave voice, “to acknowledge +here my belief in law, in order, and in a divine, +creative, and responsible wisdom. And in ultimate +continuation.”</p> +<p>She turned away as a demonstration began, and Jim +saw her putting on her coat. There was some scattering +applause, but considerable disorder where men in +the audience began to harangue each other and shake +dirty fingers under one another’s noses. Two personal +encounters and one hair-pulling were checked by bored +policemen: a girl got up and began to shout that she +was a striking garment worker and that she had neither +money, time, nor inclination to wait until some amateur +silk-stocking felt like raising her wages.</p> +<p>On the platform Karl Kastner had come forward, +and his icy, incisive, menacing voice cut the growing +tumult.</p> +<p>“You haff heard with patience thiss so silly prattle +of a rich young girl––” he began. “Now it is a poor +man who speaks to you out of a heart full of bitterness +against this law and order which you haff heard +so highly praised.</p> +<p>“For this much-praised law and order it hass to-night +assassinated free speech; it has arrested our comrades, +Nathan Bromberg and Max Sondheim; it hass +fill our hall with policemen. And I wonder if there iss, +perhaps, a little too much law and order in the world, +und iff <i>vielleicht</i>, there may be too many policemen as +vell as capitalist-little-girls in thiss hall.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_360' name='page_360'></a>360</span></div> +<p>“Und, sometimes, too, I am wondering why iss it ve +do not kill a few–––”</p> +<p>“That’ll do!” interrupted the sergeant of police, +striding down the aisle. “Come on, now, Karl; you +done it that time.”</p> +<p>An angry roar arose all around him; he nodded to +his men:</p> +<p>“Run in any cut-ups,” he said briefly; climbed up +to the rostrum, and laid his hand on Kastner’s arm.</p> +<p>At the same moment a stunning explosion shook the +place and plunged it into darkness. Out of the smoke-choked +blackness burst an uproar of shrieks and +screams; plaster and glass fell everywhere; police +whistles sounded; a frantic, struggling mass of +humanity fought for escape.</p> +<p>As Jim reeled out into the lobby, he saw Palla leaning +against the wall, with blood on her face.</p> +<p>Before the first of the trampling horde emerged he +had caught her by the arm and had led her down the +steps to the street.</p> +<p>“They’ve blown up the––the place,” she stammered, +wiping her face with her gloved hand in a dazed sort +of way.</p> +<p>“Are you badly hurt?” he asked unsteadily.</p> +<p>“No, I don’t think so–––”</p> +<p>He had led her as far as the avenue, now echoing +with the clang of fire engines and the police patrol. +And out of the darkness, from everywhere, swarmed the +crowd that only a great city can conjure instantly and +from nowhere.</p> +<p>Blood ran down her face from a cut over her temple. +A tiny triangular bit of glass still glittered in the +wound; and he removed it and gave her his handkerchief.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_361' name='page_361'></a>361</span></div> +<p>“Was Ilse there, too?” he asked.</p> +<p>“No. Nobody went to-night except myself.... +Why were you there, Jim?”</p> +<p>“Why in God’s name did <i>you</i> go there all alone +among those Reds!”</p> +<p>She shook her head wearily:</p> +<p>“I had to.... What a horrible thing to happen!... +I am so tired, Jim. Could you get me +home?”</p> +<p>He found a taxi nearer Broadway and directed the +driver to stop at a drug-store. Here he insisted that +the tiny cut on Palla’s temple be properly attended to. +But it proved a simple matter; there was no glass in it, +and the bleeding ceased before they reached her house.</p> +<p>At the door he took leave of her, deeming it no time +to subject her to any further shock that night; but +she retained her hold on his arm.</p> +<p>“I want you to come in, Jim.”</p> +<p>“You said you were tired; and you’ve had a terrible +shock–––”</p> +<p>“That is why I need you,” she said in a low voice. +Then, looking up at him with a pale smile: “I want +you––just once more.”</p> +<p>They went in together. Her maid, hearing the opening +door, appeared and took her away; and Jim turned +into the living-room. A lighted lamp on the piano +illuminated his own framed photograph––that was the +first thing he noticed––the portrait of himself in uniform, +flanked on either side by little vases full of blue +forget-me-nots.</p> +<p>He started to lift one to his face, but reaction had +set in and his hands were shaking. And he turned away +and stood staring into the empty fireplace, passionately +possessed once more by the eternal witchery of this +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_362' name='page_362'></a>362</span> +young girl, and under the spell again of the enchanted +place wherein she dwelt.</p> +<p>The very air breathed her magic; every familiar +object seemed to be stealthily conspiring in the subdued +light to reaccomplish his subjection.</p> +<p>Her maid appeared to say that Miss Dumont would +be ready in a few minutes. She came, presently, in +a clinging chamber-gown––a pale golden affair with +misty touches of lace.</p> +<p>He arranged cushions for her: she lighted a cigarette +for him; and he sank down beside her in the old place.</p> +<p>Both were still a little shaken. He said that he believed +the explosion had come from the outside, and +that the principal damage had been done next door, +in Mr. Puma’s office.</p> +<p>She nodded assent, listlessly, evidently preoccupied +with something else.</p> +<p>After a few moments she looked up at him.</p> +<p>“This is the second day of February,” she said. +“Within the last month Jack Estridge died, and Vanya +died.... To-day another man died––a man I have +known from childhood.... His name was Pawling. +And his death has ruined me.”</p> +<p>“When––when did you learn that?” he asked, astounded.</p> +<p>“This morning. My housekeeper in Shadow Hill +telephoned me that Mr. Pawling had killed himself, that +the bank was closed, and that probably there was nothing +left for those who had funds deposited there.”</p> +<p>“You knew that this morning?” he asked, amazed.</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“And you––you still had courage to go to your Red +Cross, to your canteen and Hostess House––to that +horrible Red Flag Club––and face those beasts and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_363' name='page_363'></a>363</span> +make the––the perfectly magnificent speech you +made!–––”</p> +<p>“Did––did <i>you</i> hear it!” she faltered.</p> +<p>“Every word.”</p> +<p>For a few moments she sat motionless and very white +in her knowledge that this man had heard her confess +her own conversion.</p> +<p>Her brain whirled: she was striving to think steadily +trying to find the right way to reassure him––to forestall +any impulsive chivalry born of imaginary obligation.</p> +<p>“Jim,” she said in a colorless voice, “there are so +many worse things than losing money. I think Mr. +Pawling’s suicide shocked me much more than the knowledge +that I should be obliged to earn my own living +like millions of other women.</p> +<p>“Of course it scared me for a few minutes. I couldn’t +help that. But after I got over the first unpleasant––feeling, +I concluded to go about my business in life +until it came time for me to adjust myself to the scheme +of things.”</p> +<p>She smiled without effort: “Besides, it’s not really +so bad. I have a house in Shadow Hill to which I can +retreat when I sell this one; and with a tiny income from +the sale of this house, and with what I can earn, I +ought to be able to support myself very nicely.”</p> +<p>“So you––expect to sell?”</p> +<p>“Yes, I must. Even if I sell my house and land in +Connecticut I cannot afford this house any longer.”</p> +<p>“I see.”</p> +<p>She smiled, keeping her head and her courage high +without apparent effort:</p> +<p>“It’s another job for you,” she said lightly. “Will +you be kind enough to put this house on your list?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_364' name='page_364'></a>364</span></div> +<p>“If you wish.”</p> +<p>“Thank you, Jim, I do indeed. And the sooner you +can sell it for me the better.”</p> +<p>He said: “And the sooner you marry me the better, +Palla.”</p> +<p>At that she flushed crimson and made a quick gesture +as though to check him; but he went on: “I heard what +you said to those filthy swine to-night. It was the +pluckiest, most splendid thing I ever heard and saw. +And I have seen battles. Some. But I never before +saw a woman take her life in her hands and go all alone +into a cage of the same dangerous, rabid beasts that +had slain a friend of hers within the week, and find +courage to face them and tell them they <i>were</i> beasts!––and +more than that!––find courage to confess her +own mistakes––humble herself––acknowledge what she +had abjured––bear witness to the God whom once she +believed abandoned her!”</p> +<p>She strove to open her lips in protest––lifted +her disconcerted eyes to his––shrank away a little as +his hand fell over hers.</p> +<p>“I’ve never faltered,” he said. “It damned near +killed me.... But I’d have gone on loving you, +Palla, all my life. There never could have been anybody +except you. There was never anybody before +you. Usually there has been in a man’s life. There +never was in mine. There never will be.”</p> +<p>His firm hand closed on hers.</p> +<p>“I’m such an ordinary, every day sort of fellow,” he +said wistfully, “that, after I began to realise how wonderful +you are, I’ve been terribly afraid I wasn’t up to +you.</p> +<p>“Even if I have cursed out your theories and creeds, +it almost seemed impertinent for me to do it, because +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_365' name='page_365'></a>365</span> +you really have so many talents and accomplishments, +so much knowledge, so infinite a capacity for things of +the mind, which are rather out of my mental sphere. +And I’ve wondered sometimes, even if you ever consented +to marry me, whether such a girl as you are could jog +along with a business man who likes the arts but doesn’t +understand them very well and who likes some of his +fellow men but not all of them and whose instinct is +to punch law-breakers in the nose and not weep over +them and lead them to the nearest bar and say, ‘Go to +it, erring brother!’”</p> +<p>“Jim!”</p> +<p>For all the while he had been drawing her nearer as +he was speaking. And she was in his arms now, laughing +a little, crying a little, her flushed face hidden on his +shoulder.</p> +<p>He drew a deep breath and, holding her imprisoned, +looked down at her.</p> +<p>“Will you marry me, Palla?”</p> +<p>“Oh, Jim, do you want me now?”</p> +<p>“Now, darling, but not this minute, because a clergyman +must come first.”</p> +<p>It was cruel of him, as well as vigorously indelicate. +Her hot blush should have shamed him; her conversion +should have sheltered her.</p> +<p>But the man had had a hard time, and the bitterness +was but just going.</p> +<p>“Will you marry me, Palla?”</p> +<p>After a long while her stifled whisper came: “You +are brutal. Do you think I would do anything else––now?”</p> +<p>“No. And you never would have either.”</p> +<p>Lying there close in his arms, she wondered. And, +still wondering, she lifted her head and looked up into +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_366' name='page_366'></a>366</span> +his eyes––watching them as they neared her own––still +trying to see them as his lips touched hers.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>He was the sort of man who got hungry when left +too long unfed. It was one o’clock. They had gone +out to the refrigerator together, his arm around her +supple waist, her charming head against his shoulder––both +hungry but sentimental.</p> +<p>“And don’t you really think,” she said for the hundredth +time, “that we ought to sell this house?”</p> +<p>“Not a bit of it, darling. We’ll run it if we have to +live on cereal and do our own laundry.”</p> +<p>“You mean I’ll have to do that?”</p> +<p>“I’ll help after business hours.”</p> +<p>“You wonderful boy!”</p> +<p>There seemed to be some delectable things in the +ice chest.</p> +<p>They sat side by side on the kitchen table, blissfully +nourishing each other. Birds do it. Love-smitten +youth does it.</p> +<p>“To think,” he said, “that you had the nerve to face +those beasts and tell them what you thought of them!”</p> +<p>“Darling!” she remonstrated, placing an olive between +his lips.</p> +<p>“You should have the Croix de Guerre,” he said indistinctly.</p> +<p>“All I aspire to is a very plain gold ring,” she said, +smiling at him sideways.</p> +<p>And she slipped her hand into his.</p> +<p>“<i>Are</i> you going back into the army, Jim?” she +asked.</p> +<p>“Who said that?” he demanded.</p> +<p>“I––I heard it repeated.”</p> +<p>“Not now,” he said. “Unless––” His eyes narrowed +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_367' name='page_367'></a>367</span> +and he sat swinging his legs with an absent air and +puckered brows.</p> +<p>And after a while the same aloof look came into her +brown eyes, and she swung her slim feet absently.</p> +<p>Perhaps their remote gaze was fixed on visions of +a nearing future, brilliant with happiness, gay with +children’s voices; perhaps they saw farther than that, +where the light grew sombre and where a shadowed sky +lowered above a blood-red flood, rising imperceptibly, +yet ever rising––a stealthy, crawling crimson tide +spreading westward across the world.</p> +<hr class='pb' /> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:1.4em;margin-bottom:10px;'>Popular Copyright Novels</p> +<p class='tp' style='font-style:italic;font-size:1.2em;margin-bottom:10px;'>AT MODERATE PRICES</p> +<p class='tp' style='margin-bottom:10px;'>Ask Your Dealer for a Complete List of<br />A. L. Burt Company’s Popular Copyright Fiction</p> +<p><b>Adventures of Jimmie Dale, The.</b> By Frank L. Packard.</p> +<p><b>Adventures of Sherlock Holmes.</b> By A. Conan Doyle.</p> +<p><b>After House, The.</b> By Mary Roberts Rinehart.</p> +<p><b>Ailsa Paige.</b> By Robert W. Chambers.</p> +<p><b>Alton of Somasco.</b> By Harold Bindloss.</p> +<p><b>Amateur Gentleman, The.</b> By Jeffery Farnol.</p> +<p><b>Anna, the Adventuress.</b> By E. Phillips Oppenheim.</p> +<p><b>Anne’s House of Dreams.</b> By L. M. Montgomery.</p> +<p><b>Around Old Chester.</b> By Margaret Deland.</p> +<p><b>Athalie.</b> By Robert W. Chambers.</p> +<p><b>At the Mercy of Tiberius.</b> By Augusta Evans Wilson.</p> +<p><b>Auction Block, The.</b> By Rex Beach.</p> +<p><b>Aunt Jane of Kentucky.</b> By Eliza C. Hall.</p> +<p><b>Awakening of Helena Richie.</b> By Margaret Deland.</p> +<p><b>Bab: a Sub-Deb.</b> By Mary Roberts Rinehart.</p> +<p><b>Barrier, The.</b> By Rex Beach.</p> +<p><b>Barbarians.</b> By Robert W. Chambers.</p> +<p><b>Bargain True, The.</b> By Nalbro Bartley.</p> +<p><b>Bar 20.</b> By Clarence E. Mulford.</p> +<p><b>Bar 20 Days.</b> By Clarence E. Mulford.</p> +<p><b>Bars of Iron, The.</b> By Ethel M. Dell.</p> +<p><b>Beasts of Tarzan, The.</b> By Edgar Rice Burroughs.</p> +<p><b>Beloved Traitor, The.</b> By Frank L. Packard.</p> +<p><b>Beltane the Smith.</b> By Jeffery Farnol.</p> +<p><b>Betrayal, The.</b> By E. Phillips Oppenheim.</p> +<p><b>Beyond the Frontier.</b> By Randall Parrish.</p> +<p><b>Big Timber.</b> By Bertrand W. Sinclair.</p> +<p><b>Black Is White.</b> By George Barr McCutcheon.</p> +<p><b>Blind Man’s Eyes, The.</b> By Wm. MacHarg and Edwin Balmer.</p> +<p><b>Bob, Son of Battle.</b> By Alfred Ollivant.</p> +<p><b>Boston Blackie.</b> By Jack Boyle.</p> +<p><b>Boy with Wings, The.</b> By Berta Ruck.</p> +<p><b>Brandon of the Engineers.</b> By Harold Bindloss.</p> +<p><b>Broad Highway, The.</b> By Jeffery Farnol.</p> +<p><b>Brown Study, The.</b> By Grace S. Richmond.</p> +<p><b>Bruce of the Circle A.</b> By Harold Titus.</p> +<p><b>Buck Peters, Ranchman.</b> By Clarence E. Mulford.</p> +<p><b>Business of Life, The.</b> By Robert W. Chambers.</p> +<hr class='pb' /> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:1.4em;margin-bottom:10px;'>Popular Copyright Novels</p> +<p class='tp' style='font-style:italic;font-size:1.2em;margin-bottom:10px;'>AT MODERATE PRICES</p> +<p class='tp' style='margin-bottom:10px;'>Ask Your Dealer for a Complete List of<br />A. L. Burt Company’s Popular Copyright Fiction</p> +<p><b>Cabbages and Kings.</b> By O. Henry.</p> +<p><b>Cabin Fever.</b> By B. M. Bower.</p> +<p><b>Calling of Dan Matthews, The.</b> By Harold Bell Wright.</p> +<p><b>Cape Cod Stories.</b> By Joseph C. Lincoln.</p> +<p><b>Cap’n Abe, Storekeeper.</b> By James A. Cooper.</p> +<p><b>Cap’n Dan’s Daughter.</b> By Joseph C. Lincoln.</p> +<p><b>Cap’n Eri.</b> By Joseph C. Lincoln.</p> +<p><b>Cap’n Jonah’s Fortune.</b> By James A. Cooper.</p> +<p><b>Cap’n Warren’s Wards.</b> By Joseph C. Lincoln.</p> +<p><b>Chain of Evidence, A.</b> By Carolyn Wells.</p> +<p><b>Chief Legatee, The.</b> By Anna Katharine Green.</p> +<p><b>Cinderella Jane.</b> By Marjorie B. Cooke.</p> +<p><b>Cinema Murder, The.</b> By E. Phillips Oppenheim.</p> +<p><b>City of Masks, The.</b> By George Barr McCutcheon.</p> +<p><b>Cleek of Scotland Yard.</b> By T. W. Hanshew.</p> +<p><b>Cleek, The Man of Forty Faces.</b> By Thomas W. Hanshew.</p> +<p><b>Cleek’s Government Cases.</b> By Thomas W. Hanshew.</p> +<p><b>Clipped Wings.</b> By Rupert Hughes.</p> +<p><b>Clue, The.</b> By Carolyn Wells.</p> +<p><b>Clutch of Circumstance, The.</b> By Marjorie Benton Cooke.</p> +<p><b>Coast of Adventure, The.</b> By Harold Bindloss.</p> +<p><b>Coming of Cassidy, The.</b> By Clarence E. Mulford.</p> +<p><b>Coming of the Law, The.</b> By Chas. A. Seltzer.</p> +<p><b>Conquest of Canaan, The.</b> By Booth Tarkington.</p> +<p><b>Conspirators, The.</b> By Robert W. Chambers.</p> +<p><b>Court of Inquiry, A.</b> By Grace S. Richmond.</p> +<p><b>Cow Puncher, The.</b> By Robert J. C. Stead.</p> +<p><b>Crimson Gardenia, The, and Other Tales of Adventure.</b> By Rex Beach.</p> +<p><b>Cross Currents.</b> By Author of “Pollyanna.”</p> +<p><b>Cry in the Wilderness, A.</b> By Mary E. Waller.</p> +<p><b>Danger, And Other Stories.</b> By A. Conan Doyle.</p> +<p><b>Dark Hollow, The.</b> By Anna Katharine Green.</p> +<p><b>Dark Star, The.</b> By Robert W. Chambers.</p> +<p><b>Daughter Pays, The.</b> By Mrs. Baillie Reynolds.</p> +<p><b>Day of Days, The.</b> By Louis Joseph Vance.</p> +<p><b>Depot Master, The.</b> By Joseph C. Lincoln.</p> +<p><b>Desired Woman, The.</b> By Will N. Harben.</p> +<hr class='pb' /> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:1.4em;margin-bottom:10px;'>Popular Copyright Novels</p> +<p class='tp' style='font-style:italic;font-size:1.2em;margin-bottom:10px;'>AT MODERATE PRICES</p> +<p class='tp' style='margin-bottom:10px;'>Ask Your Dealer for a Complete List of<br />A. L. Burt Company’s Popular Copyright Fiction</p> +<p><b>Destroying Angel, The.</b> By Louis Jos. Vance.</p> +<p><b>Devil’s Own, The.</b> By Randall Parrish.</p> +<p><b>Double Traitor, The.</b> By E. Phillips Oppenheim.</p> +<p><b>Empty Pockets.</b> By Rupert Hughes.</p> +<p><b>Eyes of the Blind, The.</b> By Arthur Somers Roche.</p> +<p><b>Eye of Dread, The.</b> By Payne Erskine.</p> +<p><b>Eyes of the World, The.</b> By Harold Bell Wright.</p> +<p><b>Extricating Obadiah.</b> By Joseph C. Lincoln.</p> +<p><b>Felix O’Day.</b> By F. Hopkinson Smith.</p> +<p><b>54-40 or Fight.</b> By Emerson Hough.</p> +<p><b>Fighting Chance, The.</b> By Robert W. Chambers.</p> +<p><b>Fighting Shepherdess, The.</b> By Caroline Lockhart.</p> +<p><b>Financier, The.</b> By Theodore Dreiser.</p> +<p><b>Flame, The.</b> By Olive Wadsley.</p> +<p><b>Flamsted Quarries.</b> By Mary E. Wallar.</p> +<p><b>Forfeit, The.</b> By Ridgwell Cullum.</p> +<p><b>Four Million, The.</b> By O. Henry.</p> +<p><b>Fruitful Vine, The.</b> By Robert Hichens.</p> +<p><b>Further Adventures of Jimmie Dale, The.</b> By Frank L. Packard.</p> +<p><b>Girl of the Blue Ridge, A.</b> By Payne Erskine.</p> +<p><b>Girl from Keller’s, The.</b> By Harold Bindloss.</p> +<p><b>Girl Philippa, The.</b> By Robert W. Chambers.</p> +<p><b>Girls at His Billet, The.</b> By Berta Ruck.</p> +<p><b>God’s Country and the Woman.</b> By James Oliver Curwood.</p> +<p><b>Going Some.</b> By Rex Beach.</p> +<p><b>Golden Slipper, The.</b> By Anna Katharine Green.</p> +<p><b>Golden Woman, The.</b> By Ridgwell Cullum.</p> +<p><b>Greater Love Hath No Man.</b> By Frank L. Packard.</p> +<p><b>Greyfriars Bobby.</b> By Eleanor Atkinson.</p> +<p><b>Gun Brand, The.</b> By James B. Hendryx.</p> +<p><b>Halcyone.</b> By Elinor Glyn.</p> +<p><b>Hand of Fu-Manchu, The.</b> By Sax Rohmer.</p> +<p><b>Havoc.</b> By E. Phillips Oppenheim.</p> +<p><b>Heart of the Desert, The.</b> By Honoré Willsie.</p> +<p><b>Heart of the Hills, The.</b> By John Fox, Jr.</p> +<hr class='pb' /> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:1.4em;margin-bottom:10px;'>Popular Copyright Novels</p> +<p class='tp' style='font-style:italic;font-size:1.2em;margin-bottom:10px;'>AT MODERATE PRICES</p> +<p class='tp' style='margin-bottom:10px;'>Ask Your Dealer for a Complete List of<br />A. L. Burt Company’s Popular Copyright Fiction</p> +<p><b>Heart of the Sunset.</b> By Rex Beach.</p> +<p><b>Heart of Thunder Mountain, The.</b> By Edfrid A. Bingham.</p> +<p><b>Her Weight in Gold.</b> By Geo. B. McCutcheon.</p> +<p><b>Hidden Children, The.</b> By Robert W. Chambers.</p> +<p><b>Hidden Spring, The.</b> By Clarence B. Kelland.</p> +<p><b>Hillman, The.</b> By E. Phillips Oppenheim.</p> +<p><b>Hills of Refuge, The.</b> By Will N. Harben.</p> +<p><b>His Official Fiancee.</b> By Berta Ruck.</p> +<p><b>Honor of the Big Snows.</b> By James Oliver Curwood.</p> +<p><b>Hopalong Cassidy.</b> By Clarence E. Mulford.</p> +<p><b>Hound from the North, The.</b> By Ridgwell Cullum.</p> +<p><b>House of the Whispering Pines, The.</b> By Anna Katharine Green.</p> +<p><b>Hugh Wynne, Free Quaker.</b> By S. Weir Mitchell, M.D.</p> +<p><b>I Conquered.</b> By Harold Titus.</p> +<p><b>Illustrious Prince, The.</b> By E. Phillips Oppenheim.</p> +<p><b>In Another Girl’s Shoes.</b> By Berta Ruck.</p> +<p><b>Indifference of Juliet, The.</b> By Grace S. Richmond.</p> +<p><b>Infelice.</b> By Augusta Evans Wilson.</p> +<p><b>Initials Only.</b> By Anna Katharine Green.</p> +<p><b>Inner Law, The.</b> By Will N. Harben.</p> +<p><b>Innocent.</b> By Marie Corelli.</p> +<p><b>Insidious Dr. Fu-Manchu, The.</b> By Sax Rohmer.</p> +<p><b>In the Brooding Wild.</b> By Ridgwell Cullum.</p> +<p><b>Intriguers, The.</b> By Harold Bindloss.</p> +<p><b>Iron Trail, The.</b> By Rex Beach.</p> +<p><b>Iron Woman, The.</b> By Margaret Deland.</p> +<p><b>I Spy.</b> By Natalie Sumner Lincoln.</p> +<p><b>Japonette.</b> By Robert W. Chambers.</p> +<p><b>Jean of the Lazy A.</b> By B. M. Bower.</p> +<p><b>Jeanne of the Marshes.</b> By E. Phillips Oppenheim.</p> +<p><b>Jennie Gerhardt.</b> By Theodore Dreiser.</p> +<p><b>Judgment House, The.</b> By Gilbert Parker.</p> +<p><b>Keeper of the Door, The.</b> By Ethel M. Dell.</p> +<p><b>Keith of the Border.</b> By Randall Parrish.</p> +<p><b>Kent Knowles: Ouahaug.</b> By Joseph C. Lincoln.</p> +<p><b>Kingdom of the Blind, The.</b> By E. Phillips Oppenheim.</p> +<hr class='pb' /> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:1.4em;margin-bottom:10px;'>Popular Copyright Novels</p> +<p class='tp' style='font-style:italic;font-size:1.2em;margin-bottom:10px;'>AT MODERATE PRICES</p> +<p class='tp' style='margin-bottom:10px;'>Ask Your Dealer for a Complete List of<br />A. L. Burt Company’s Popular Copyright Fiction</p> +<p><b>King Spruce.</b> By Holman Day.</p> +<p><b>King’s Widow, The.</b> By Mrs. Baillie Reynolds.</p> +<p><b>Knave of Diamonds, The.</b> By Ethel M. Dell.</p> +<p><b>Ladder of Swords.</b> By Gilbert Parker.</p> +<p><b>Lady Betty Across the Water.</b> By C. N. & A. M. Williamson.</p> +<p><b>Land-Girl’s Love Story, A.</b> By Berta Ruck.</p> +<p><b>Landloper, The.</b> By Holman Day.</p> +<p><b>Land of Long Ago, The.</b> By Eliza Calvert Hall.</p> +<p><b>Land of Strong Men, The.</b> By A. M. 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Phillips Oppenheim.</p> +<p><b>Lost Prince, The.</b> By Frances Hodgson Burnett.</p> +<p><b>Lydia of the Pines.</b> By Honoré Willsie.</p> +<p><b>Maid of the Forest, The.</b> By Randall Parrish.</p> +<p><b>Maid of the Whispering Hills, The.</b> By Vingie E. Roe.</p> +<p><b>Maids of Paradise, The.</b> By Robert W. Chambers.</p> +<p><b>Major, The.</b> By Ralph Connor.</p> +<p><b>Maker of History, A.</b> By E. Phillips Oppenheim.</p> +<p><b>Malefactor, The.</b> By E. Phillips Oppenheim.</p> +<p><b>Man from Bar 20, The.</b> By Clarence E. Mulford.</p> +<p><b>Man in Grey, The.</b> By Baroness Orczy.</p> +<p><b>Man Trail, The.</b> By Henry Oyen.</p> +<p><b>Man Who Couldn’t Sleep, The.</b> By Arthur Stringer.</p> +<hr class='pb' /> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:1.4em;margin-bottom:10px;'>Popular Copyright Novels</p> +<p class='tp' style='font-style:italic;font-size:1.2em;margin-bottom:10px;'>AT MODERATE PRICES</p> +<p class='tp' style='margin-bottom:10px;'>Ask Your Dealer for a Complete List of<br />A. L. Burt Company’s Popular Copyright Fiction</p> +<p><b>Man with the Club Foot, The.</b> By Valentine Williams.</p> +<p><b>Mary-’Gusta.</b> By Joseph C. Lincoln.</p> +<p><b>Mary Moreland.</b> By Marie Van Vorst.</p> +<p><b>Mary Regan.</b> By Leroy Scott.</p> +<p><b>Master Mummer, The.</b> By E. Phillips Oppenheim.</p> +<p><b>Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes.</b> By A. Conan Doyle.</p> +<p><b>Men Who Wrought, The.</b> By Ridgwell Cullum.</p> +<p><b>Mischief Maker, The.</b> By E. Phillips Oppenheim.</p> +<p><b>Missioner, The.</b> By E. Phillips Oppenheim.</p> +<p><b>Miss Million’s Maid.</b> By Berta Ruck.</p> +<p><b>Molly McDonald.</b> By Randall Parrish.</p> +<p><b>Money Master, The.</b> By Gilbert Parker.</p> +<p><b>Money Moon, The.</b> By Jeffery Farnol.</p> +<p><b>Mountain Girl, The.</b> By Payne Erskine.</p> +<p><b>Moving Finger, The.</b> By Natalie Sumner Lincoln.</p> +<p><b>Mr. Bingle.</b> By George Barr McCutcheon.</p> +<p><b>Mr. Grex of Monte Carlo.</b> By E. Phillips Oppenheim.</p> +<p><b>Mr. Pratt.</b> By Joseph C. Lincoln.</p> +<p><b>Mr. Pratt’s Patients.</b> By Joseph C. Lincoln.</p> +<p><b>Mrs. Belfame.</b> By Gertrude Atherton.</p> +<p><b>Mrs. Red Pepper.</b> By Grace S. Richmond.</p> +<p><b>My Lady Caprice.</b> By Jeffrey Farnol.</p> +<p><b>My Lady of the North.</b> By Randall Parrish.</p> +<p><b>My Lady of the South.</b> By Randall Parrish.</p> +<p><b>Mystery of the Hasty Arrow, The.</b> By Anna K. Green.</p> +<p><b>Nameless Man, The.</b> By Natalie Sumner Lincoln.</p> +<p><b>Ne’er-Do-Well, The.</b> By Rex Beach.</p> +<p><b>Nest Builders, The.</b> By Beatrice Forbes-Robertson Hale.</p> +<p><b>Net, The.</b> By Rex Beach.</p> +<p><b>New Clarion.</b> By Will N. Harben.</p> +<p><b>Night Operator, The.</b> By Frank L. Packard.</p> +<p><b>Night Riders, The.</b> By Ridgwell Cullum.</p> +<p><b>Nobody.</b> By Louis Joseph Vance.</p> +<p><b>Okewood of the Secret Service.</b> By the Author of “The +Man with the Club Foot.”</p> +<p><b>One Way Trail, The.</b> By Ridgwell Cullum.</p> +<p><b>Open, Sesame.</b> By Mrs. Baillie Reynolds.</p> +<p><b>Otherwise Phyllis.</b> By Meredith Nicholson.</p> +<p><b>Outlaw, The.</b> By Jackson Gregory.</p> +<hr class='pb' /> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:1.4em;margin-bottom:10px;'>Popular Copyright Novels</p> +<p class='tp' style='font-style:italic;font-size:1.2em;margin-bottom:10px;'>AT MODERATE PRICES</p> +<p class='tp' style='margin-bottom:10px;'>Ask Your Dealer for a Complete List of<br />A. L. Burt Company’s Popular Copyright Fiction</p> +<p><b>Paradise Auction.</b> By Nalbro Bartley.</p> +<p><b>Pardners.</b> By Rex Beach.</p> +<p><b>Parrot & Co.</b> By Harold MacGrath.</p> +<p><b>Partners of the Night.</b> By Leroy Scott.</p> +<p><b>Partners of the Tide.</b> By Joseph C. Lincoln.</p> +<p><b>Passionate Friends, The.</b> By H. G. Wells.</p> +<p><b>Patrol of the Sun Dance Trail, The.</b> By Ralph Connor.</p> +<p><b>Paul Anthony, Christian.</b> By Hiram W. Hays.</p> +<p><b>Pawns Count, The.</b> By E. Phillips Oppenheim.</p> +<p><b>People’s Man, A.</b> By E. Phillips Oppenheim.</p> +<p><b>Perch of the Devil.</b> By Gertrude Atherton.</p> +<p><b>Peter Ruff and the Double Four.</b> By E. Phillips Oppenheim.</p> +<p><b>Pidgin Island.</b> By Harold MacGrath.</p> +<p><b>Place of Honeymoon, The.</b> By Harold MacGrath.</p> +<p><b>Pool of Flame, The.</b> By Louis Joseph Vance.</p> +<p><b>Postmaster, The.</b> By Joseph C. Lincoln.</p> +<p><b>Prairie Wife, The.</b> By Arthur Stringer.</p> +<p><b>Price of the Prairie, The.</b> By Margaret Hill McCarter.</p> +<p><b>Prince of Sinners, A.</b> By E. Phillips Oppenheim.</p> +<p><b>Promise, The.</b> By J. B. Hendryx.</p> +<p><b>Proof of the Pudding, The.</b> By Meredith Nicholson.</p> +<p><b>Rainbow’s End, The.</b> By Rex Beach.</p> +<p><b>Ranch at the Wolverine, The.</b> By B. M. Bower.</p> +<p><b>Ranching for Sylvia.</b> By Harold Bindloss.</p> +<p><b>Ransom.</b> By Arthur Somers Roche.</p> +<p><b>Reason Why, The.</b> By Elinor Glyn.</p> +<p><b>Reclaimers, The.</b> By Margaret Hill McCarter.</p> +<p><b>Red Mist, The.</b> By Randall Parrish.</p> +<p><b>Red Pepper Burns.</b> By Grace S. Richmond.</p> +<p><b>Red Pepper’s Patients.</b> By Grace S. Richmond.</p> +<p><b>Rejuvenation of Aunt Mary, The.</b> By Anne Warner.</p> +<p><b>Restless Sex, The.</b> By Robert W. Chambers.</p> +<p><b>Return of Dr. Fu-Manchu, The.</b> By Sax Rohmer.</p> +<p><b>Return of Tarzan, The.</b> By Edgar Rice Burroughs.</p> +<p><b>Riddle of Night, The.</b> By Thomas W. Hanshew.</p> +<p><b>Rim of the Desert, The.</b> By Ada Woodruff Anderson.</p> +<p><b>Rise of Roscoe Paine, The.</b> By J. C. Lincoln.</p> +<p><b>Rising Tide, The.</b> By Margaret Deland.</p> +<hr class='pb' /> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:1.4em;margin-bottom:10px;'>Popular Copyright Novels</p> +<p class='tp' style='font-style:italic;font-size:1.2em;margin-bottom:10px;'>AT MODERATE PRICES</p> +<p class='tp' style='margin-bottom:10px;'>Ask Your Dealer for a Complete List of<br />A. L. Burt Company’s Popular Copyright Fiction</p> +<p><b>Rocks of Valpré, The.</b> By Ethel M. Dell.</p> +<p><b>Rogue by Compulsion, A.</b> By Victor Bridges.</p> +<p><b>Room Number 3.</b> By Anna Katharine Green.</p> +<p><b>Rose in the Ring, The.</b> By George Barr McCutcheon.</p> +<p><b>Rose of Old Harpeth, The.</b> By Maria Thompson Daviess.</p> +<p><b>Round the Corner in Gay Street.</b> By Grace S. Richmond.</p> +<p><b>Second Choice.</b> By Will N. Harben.</p> +<p><b>Second Violin, The.</b> By Grace S. Richmond.</p> +<p><b>Secret History.</b> By C. N. & A. M. Williamson.</p> +<p><b>Secret of the Reef, The.</b> By Harold Bindloss.</p> +<p><b>Seven Darlings, The.</b> By Gouverneur Morris.</p> +<p><b>Shavings.</b> By Joseph C. Lincoln.</p> +<p><b>Shepherd of the Hills, The.</b> By Harold Bell Wright.</p> +<p><b>Sheriff of Dyke Hole, The.</b> By Ridgwell Cullum.</p> +<p><b>Sherry.</b> By George Barr McCutcheon.</p> +<p><b>Side of the Angels, The.</b> By Basil King.</p> +<p><b>Silver Horde, The.</b> By Rex Beach.</p> +<p><b>Sin That Was His, The.</b> By Frank L. Packard.</p> +<p><b>Sixty-first Second, The.</b> By Owen Johnson.</p> +<p><b>Soldier of the Legion, A.</b> By C. N. & A. M. Williamson.</p> +<p><b>Son of His Father, The.</b> By Ridgwell Cullum.</p> +<p><b>Son of Tarzan, The.</b> By Edgar Rice Burroughs.</p> +<p><b>Source, The.</b> By Clarence Buddington Kelland.</p> +<p><b>Speckled Bird, A.</b> By Augusta Evans Wilson.</p> +<p><b>Spirit in Prison, A.</b> By Robert Hichens.</p> +<p><b>Spirit of the Border, The.</b> (New Edition.) By Zane Grey.</p> +<p><b>Spoilers, The.</b> By Rex Beach.</p> +<p><b>Steele of the Royal Mounted.</b> By James Oliver Curwood.</p> +<p><b>Still Jim.</b> By Honoré Willsie.</p> +<p><b>Story of Foss River Ranch, The.</b> By Ridgwell Cullum.</p> +<p><b>Story of Marco, The.</b> By Eleanor H. Porter.</p> +<p><b>Strange Case of Cavendish, The.</b> By Randall Parrish.</p> +<p><b>Strawberry Acres.</b> By Grace S. Richmond.</p> +<p><b>Sudden Jim.</b> By Clarence B. Kelland.</p> +<p><b>Tales of Sherlock Holmes.</b> By A. Conan Doyle.</p> +<p><b>Tarzan of the Apes.</b> By Edgar R. Burroughs.</p> +<p><b>Tarzan and the Jewels of Opar.</b> By Edgar Rice Burroughs.</p> +<hr class='pb' /> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:1.4em;margin-bottom:10px;'>Popular Copyright Novels</p> +<p class='tp' style='font-style:italic;font-size:1.2em;margin-bottom:10px;'>AT MODERATE PRICES</p> +<p class='tp' style='margin-bottom:10px;'>Ask Your Dealer for a Complete List of<br />A. L. Burt Company’s Popular Copyright Fiction</p> +<p><b>Tempting of Tavernake, The.</b> By E. Phillips Oppenheim.</p> +<p><b>Tess of the D’Urbervilles.</b> By Thos. Hardy.</p> +<p><b>Thankful’s Inheritance.</b> By Joseph C. Lincoln.</p> +<p><b>That Affair Next Door.</b> By Anna Katharine Green.</p> +<p><b>That Printer of Udell’s.</b> By Harold Bell Wright.</p> +<p><b>Their Yesterdays.</b> By Harold Bell Wright.</p> +<p><b>Thirteenth Commandment, The.</b> By Rupert Hughes.</p> +<p><b>Three of Hearts, The.</b> By Berta Ruck.</p> +<p><b>Three Strings, The.</b> By Natalie Sumner Lincoln.</p> +<p><b>Threshold, The.</b> By Marjorie Benton Cooke.</p> +<p><b>Throwback, The.</b> By Alfred Henry Lewis.</p> +<p><b>Tish.</b> By Mary Roberts Rinehart.</p> +<p><b>To M. L. G.; or, He Who Passed.</b> Anon.</p> +<p><b>Trail of the Axe, The.</b> By Ridgwell Cullum.</p> +<p><b>Trail to Yesterday, The.</b> By Chas. A. Seltzer.</p> +<p><b>Treasure of Heaven, The.</b> By Marie Corelli.</p> +<p><b>Triumph, The.</b> By Will N. Harben.</p> +<p><b>T. Tembarom.</b> By Frances Hodgson Burnett.</p> +<p><b>Turn of the Tide.</b> By Author of “Pollyanna.”</p> +<p><b>Twenty-fourth of June, The.</b> By Grace S. Richmond.</p> +<p><b>Twins of Suffering Creek, The.</b> By Ridgwell Cullum.</p> +<p><b>Two-Gun Man, The.</b> By Chas. A. Seltzer.</p> +<p><b>Uncle William.</b> By Jeannette Lee.</p> +<p><b>Under Handicap.</b> By Jackson Gregory.</p> +<p><b>Under the Country Sky.</b> By Grace S. Richmond.</p> +<p><b>Unforgiving Offender, The.</b> By John Reed Scott.</p> +<p><b>Unknown Mr. Kent, The.</b> By Roy Norton.</p> +<p><b>Unpardonable Sin, The.</b> By Major Rupert Hughes.</p> +<p><b>Up From Slavery.</b> By Booker T. Washington.</p> +<p><b>Valiants of Virginia, The.</b> By Hallie Ermine Rives.</p> +<p><b>Valley of Fear, The.</b> By Sir A. Conan Doyle.</p> +<p><b>Vanished Messenger, The.</b> By E. Phillips Oppenheim.</p> +<p><b>Vanguards of the Plains.</b> By Margaret Hill McCarter.</p> +<p><b>Vashti.</b> By Augusta Evans Wilson.</p> +<p><b>Virtuous Wives.</b> By Owen Johnson.</p> +<p><b>Visioning, The.</b> By Susan Glaspell.</p> +<hr class='pb' /> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:1.4em;margin-bottom:10px;'>Popular Copyright Novels</p> +<p class='tp' style='font-style:italic;font-size:1.2em;margin-bottom:10px;'>AT MODERATE PRICES</p> +<p class='tp' style='margin-bottom:10px;'>Ask Your Dealer for a Complete List of<br />A. L. Burt Company’s Popular Copyright Fiction</p> +<p><b>Waif-o’-the-Sea.</b> By Cyrus Townsend Brady.</p> +<p><b>Wall of Men, A.</b> By Margaret H. McCarter.</p> +<p><b>Watchers of the Plans, The.</b> By Ridgwell Cullum.</p> +<p><b>Way Home, The.</b> By Basil King.</p> +<p><b>Way of an Eagle, The.</b> By E. M. Dell.</p> +<p><b>Way of the Strong, The.</b> By Ridgwell Cullum.</p> +<p><b>Way of These Women, The.</b> By E. Phillips Oppenheim.</p> +<p><b>We Can’t Have Everything.</b> By Major Rupert Hughes.</p> +<p><b>Weavers, The.</b> By Gilbert Parker.</p> +<p><b>When a Man’s a Man.</b> By Harold Bell Wright.</p> +<p><b>When Wilderness Was King.</b> By Randall Parrish.</p> +<p><b>Where the Trail Divides.</b> By Will Lillibridge.</p> +<p><b>Where There’s a Will.</b> By Mary R. Rinehart.</p> +<p><b>White Sister, The.</b> By Marion Crawford.</p> +<p><b>Who Goes There?</b> By Robert W. Chambers.</p> +<p><b>Why Not.</b> By Margaret Widdemer.</p> +<p><b>Window at the White Cat, The.</b> By Mary Roberts Rinehart.</p> +<p><b>Winds of Chance, The.</b> By Rex Beach.</p> +<p><b>Wings of Youth, The.</b> By Elizabeth Jordan.</p> +<p><b>Winning of Barbara Worth, The.</b> By Harold Bell Wright.</p> +<p><b>Wire Devils, The.</b> By Frank L. Packard.</p> +<p><b>Winning the Wilderness.</b> By Margaret Hill McCarter.</p> +<p><b>Wishing Ring Man, The.</b> By Margaret Widdemer.</p> +<p><b>With Juliet in England.</b> By Grace S. Richmond.</p> +<p><b>Wolves of the Sea.</b> By Randall Parrish.</p> +<p><b>Woman Gives, The.</b> By Owen Johnson.</p> +<p><b>Woman Haters, The.</b> By Joseph C. Lincoln.</p> +<p><b>Woman in Question, The.</b> By John Reed Scott.</p> +<p><b>Woman Thou Gavest Me, The.</b> By Hall Caine.</p> +<p><b>Woodcarver of ’Lympus, The.</b> By Mary E. Waller.</p> +<p><b>Wooing of Rosamond Fayre, The.</b> By Berta Ruck.</p> +<p><b>World for Sale, The.</b> By Gilbert Parker.</p> +<p><b>Years for Rachel, The.</b> By Berta Ruck.</p> +<p><b>Yellow Claw, The.</b> By Sax Rohmer.</p> +<p><b>You Never Know Your Luck.</b> By Gilbert Parker.</p> +<p><b>Zeppelin’s Passenger, The.</b> By E. Phillips Oppenheim.</p> + +<!-- generated by ppg.rb version: ppg0831 --> +<!-- timestamp: Mon Aug 31 21:59:36 -0600 2009 --> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Crimson Tide, by Robert W. Chambers + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CRIMSON TIDE *** + +***** This file should be named 29880-h.htm or 29880-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/9/8/8/29880/ + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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