A couple of days later at the office she was looking at some antique Spanish chairs an old furniture dealer was trying to sell her when a telegram came: DISAGREEABLE DEVELOPMENTS MUST SEE YOU INADVISABLE USE TELEPHONE MEET ME TEA FIVE OCLOCK PRINCE GEORGE HOTEL It wasn’t signed. She told the man to leave the chairs and when he’d gone stood a long time looking down at a pot of lavender crocuses with yellow pistils she had on her desk. She was wondering if it would do any good if she went out to Great Neck and talked to Gertrude Moorehouse. She called Miss Lee who was making up some curtains in the other room and asked her to take charge of the office and that she’d phone during the afternoon.
She got into a taxi and went up to the Pennsylvania Station. It was a premature Spring day. People were walking along the street with their overcoats unbuttoned. The sky was a soft mauve with frail clouds like milkweed floss. In the smell of furs and overcoats and exhausts and bundledup bodies came an unexpected scent of birchbark. Eleanor sat bolt upright in the back of the taxi driving her sharp nails into the palms of her graygloved hands. She hated these treacherous days when winter felt like Spring. They made the lines come out on her face, made everything seem to crumble about her, there seemed to be no firm footing any more. She’d go out and talk to Gertrude Moorehouse as one woman to another. A scandal would ruin everything. If she talked to her a while she’d make her realize that there had never been anything between her and J.W. A divorce scandal would ruin everything. She’d lose her clients and have to go into bankruptcy and the only thing to do would be to go back to Pullman to live with her uncle and aunt.
She paid the taximan and went down the stairs to the Long Island Railroad. Her knees were shaky and she felt desperately tired as she pushed her way through the crowd to the information desk. No, she couldn’t get a train to Great Neck till 2:13. She stood in line a long time for a ticket. A man stepped on her foot. The line of people moved maddeningly slowly past the ticketwindow. When she got to the window it was several seconds before she could remember the name of the place she wanted a ticket for. The man looked at her through the window, with peevish shoebutton eyes. He wore a green eyeshade and his lips were too red for his pale face. The people behind were getting impatient. A man with a tweed coat and a heavy suitcase was already trying to brush past her. “Great Neck and return.” As soon as she’d bought the ticket the thought came to her that she wouldn’t have time to get out there and back by five o’clock. She put the ticket in her gray silk purse that had a little design in jet on it. She thought of killing herself. She would take the subway downtown and go up in the elevator to the top of the Woolworth Building and throw herself off.
Instead she went out to the taxistation. Russet sunlight was pouring through the gray colonnade, the blue smoke of exhausts rose into it crinkled like watered silk. She got into a taxi and told the driver to take her round Central Park. Some of the twigs were red and there was a glint on the long buds of beeches but the grass was still brown and there were piles of dirty snow in the gutters. A shivery raw wind blew across the ponds. The taximan kept talking to her. She couldn’t catch what he said and got tired of making random answers and told him to leave her at the Metropolitan Art Museum. While she was paying him a newsboy ran by crying “Extra!” Eleanor bought a paper for a nickel and the taximan bought a paper. “I’ll be a sonova . . .” she heard the taximan exclaim, but she ran up the steps fast for fear she’d have to talk to him. When she got in the quiet silvery light of the museum she opened up the paper. A rancid smell of printer’s ink came from it; the ink was still sticky and came off on her gloves.
DECLARATION OF WAR
A matter of hours now Washington Observers declare.
German note thoroughly unsatisfactory.
She left the newspaper on a bench and went to look at the Rodins. After she’d looked at the Rodins she went to the Chinese wing. By the time she was ready to go down Fifth Avenue in the bus—she felt she’d been spending too much on taxis—she felt elated. All the way downtown she kept remembering the Age of Bronze. When she made out J.W. in the stuffy pinkish light of the hotel lobby she went towards him with a springy step. His jaw was set and his blue eyes were on fire. He looked younger than last time she’d seen him. “Well, it’s come at last,” he said. “I just wired Washington offering my services to the government. I’d like to see ’em try and pull a railroad strike now.” “It’s wonderful and terrible,” said Eleanor. “I’m trembling like a leaf.”
They went to a little table in the corner behind some heavy draperies to have tea. They had hardly sat down before the orchestra started playing The Star-Spangled Banner, and they had to get to their feet. There was great bustle in the hotel. People kept running about with fresh editions of the papers, laughing and talking loud. Perfect strangers borrowed each other’s newspapers, chatted about the war, lit cigarettes for each other.
“I have an idea, J.W.,” Eleanor was saying, holding a piece of cinnamontoast poised in her pointed fingers, “that if I went out and talked to your wife as one woman to another, she’d understand the situation better. When I was decorating the house she was so kind and we got along famously.”
“I have offered my services to Washington,” said Ward. “There may be a telegram at the office now. I’m sure that Gertrude will see that it is her simple duty.”
“I want to go, J.W.,” said Eleanor. “I feel I must go.”
“Where?”
“To France.”
“Don’t do anything hasty, Eleanor.”
“No, I feel I must . . . I could be a very good nurse . . . I’m not afraid of anything; you ought to know that, J.W.”
The orchestra played The Star-Spangled Banner again; Eleanor sang some of the chorus in a shrill little treble voice. They were too excited to sit still long and went over to J.W.’s office in a taxi. The office was in great excitement. Miss Williams had had a flagpole put up in the center window and was just raising the flag on it. Eleanor went over to her and they shook hands warmly. The cold wind was rustling the papers on the desk and typewritten pages were sailing across the room but nobody paid any attention. Down Fifth Avenue a band was coming near playing Hail, Hail, the Gang’s All Here. All along office windows were brightly lit, flags were slapping against their poles in the cold wind, clerks and stenographers were leaning out and cheering, dropping out papers that sailed and whirled in the bitter eddying wind.
“It’s the Seventh Regiment,” somebody said and they all clapped and yelled. The band was clanging loud under the window. They could hear the tramp of the militiamen’s feet. All the automobiles in the stalled traffic tooted their horns. People on the tops of the busses were waving small flags. Miss Williams leaned over and kissed Eleanor on the cheek. J.W. stood by looking out over their heads with a proud smile on his face.
After the band had gone and traffic was running again they put the window down and Miss Williams went around picking up and arranging loose papers. J.W. had a telegram from Washington accepting his services on the Public Information Committee that Mr. Wilson was gathering about him and said he’d leave in the morning. He called up Great Neck and asked Gertrude if he could come out to dinner and bring a friend. Gertrude said he might and that she hoped she’d be able to stay up to see them. She was excited by the warnews but she said the thought of all that misery and slaughter gave her horrible pains in the back of the head.
“I have a hunch that if I take you out to dinner at Gertrude’s everything will be all right,” he said to Eleanor. “I’m rarely wrong in my hunches.”
“Oh, I know she’ll understand,” said Eleanor.
As they were leaving the office they met Mr. Robbins in the hall. He didn’t take his hat off or the cigar out of his mouth. He looked drunk. “What the hell is this, Ward?” he said. “Are we at war or not?”
“If we’re not we will be before morning,” said J.W.
“It’s the goddamnedest treason in history,” said Mr. Robbins. “What did we elect Wilson for instead of Old
Fuzzywhiskers except to keep us out of the goddam mess?”
“Robbins, I don’t agree with you for a minute,” said J.W. “I think it’s our duty to save . . .” But Mr. Robbins had disappeared through the office door leaving a strong reek of whisky behind him. “I’d have given him a piece of my mind,” said Eleanor, “if I hadn’t seen that he was in no condition.”
Driving out to Great Neck in the Pierce Arrow it was thrilling. A long red afterglow lingered in the sky. Crossing the Queensboro Bridge with the cold wind back of them was like flying above lights and blocks of houses and the purple bulk of Blackwell’s Island and the steamboats and the tall chimneys and the blue light of powerplants. They talked of Edith Cavell and airraids and flags and searchlights and the rumble of armies advancing and Joan of Arc. Eleanor drew the fur robe up to her chin and thought about what she’d say to Gertrude Moorehouse.
When they got to the house she felt a little afraid of a scene. She stopped in the hall to do up her face with a pocketmirror she had in her bag.
Gertrude Moorehouse was sitting in a long chair beside a crackling fire. Eleanor glanced around the room and was pleased at how lovely it looked. Gertrude Moorehouse went very pale when she saw her. “I wanted to talk to you,” said Eleanor. Gertrude Moorehouse held out her hand without getting up. “Excuse me for not getting up, Miss Stoddard,” she said, “but I’m absolutely prostrated by the terrible news.”
“Civilization demands a sacrifice . . . from all of us,” said Eleanor.
“Of course it is terrible what the Huns have done, cutting the hands off Belgian children and all that,” said Gertrude Moorehouse.
“Mrs. Moorehouse,” said Eleanor. “I want to speak to you about this unfortunate misunderstanding of my relations with your husband . . . Do you think I am the sort of woman who could come out here and face you if there was anything in these horrible rumors? Our relations are pure as driven snow.”
“Please don’t speak of it, Miss Stoddard. I believe you.”
When J.W. came in they were sitting on either side of the fire talking about Gertrude’s operation. Eleanor got to her feet. “Oh, I think it’s wonderful of you, J.W.”
J.W. cleared his throat and looked from one to the other.
“It’s little less than my duty,” he said.
“What is it?” asked Gertrude.
“I have offered my services to the government to serve in whatever capacity they see fit for the duration of the war.” “Not at the front,” said Gertrude with a startled look.
“I’m leaving for Washington tomorrow . . . Of course I shall serve without pay.”
“Ward, that’s noble of you,” said Gertrude. He walked over slowly until he stood beside her chair, then he leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. “We must all make our sacrifices . . . My dear, I shall trust you and your mother . . .”
“Of course, Ward, of course . . . It’s all been a silly misunderstanding.” Gertrude flushed red. She got to her feet. “I’ve been a damn suspicious fool . . . but you mustn’t go to the front, Ward. I’ll talk mother around” . . . She went up to him and put her hands on his shoulders. Eleanor stood back against the wall looking at them. He wore a smoothfitting tuxedo. Gertrude’s salmoncolored teagown stood out against the black. His light hair was ashgray in the light from the crystal chandelier against the tall ivorygray walls of the room. His face was in shadow and looked very sad. Eleanor thought how little people understood a man like that, how beautiful the room was, like a play, like a Whistler, like Sarah Bernhardt. Emotion misted her eyes.
“I’ll join the Red Cross,” she said. “I can’t wait to get to France.”
Newsreel XIX
U. S. AT WAR
UPHOLD NATION CITY’S CRY
Over there
Over there
at the annual meeting of the stockholders of the Colt Patent Firearms Manufacturing Company a $2,500,000 melon was cut. The present capital stock was increased. The profits for the year were 259 per cent
JOYFUL SURPRISE OF BRITISH
The Yanks are coming
We’re coming o-o-o-ver
PLAN LEGISLATION TO KEEP COLORED PEOPLE
FROM WHITE AREAS
many millions paid for golf about Chicago Hindu agitators in nationwide scare Armour Urges U.S. Save Earth From Famine
ABUSING FLAG TO BE PUNISHED
Labor deputies peril to Russia acts have earmarks of dishonorable peace London hears
BILLIONS FOR ALLIES
And we won’t come home
Till it’s over over there.
The Camera Eye (27)
there were priests and nuns on the Espagne the Atlantic was glassgreen and stormy covers were clamped on the portholes and all the decklights were screened and you couldn’t light a match on deck
but the stewards were very brave and said the Boche wouldn’t sink a boat of the Compagnie Generale anyway, because of the priests and nuns and the Jesuits and the Comité des Forges promising not to bombard the Bassin de la Brieye where the big smelters were and stock in the company being owned by the Prince de Bourbon and the Jesuits and the priests and nuns
anyhow everybody was very brave except for Colonel and Mrs. Knowlton of the American Red Cross who had waterproof coldproof submarineproof suits like eskimosuits and they wore them and they sat up on deck with the suits all blown up and only their faces showing and there were firstaid kits in the pockets and in the belt there was a waterproof container with milkchocolate and crackers and maltedmilk tablets
and in the morning you’d walk round the deck and there would be Mr. Knowlton blowing up Mrs. Knowlton
or Mrs. Knowlton blowing up Mr. Knowlton
the Roosevelt boys were very brave in stiff visored new American army caps and sharpshooter medals on the khaki whipcord and they talked all day about We must come in We must come in
as if the war were a swimming pool
and the barman was brave and the stewards were brave they’d all been wounded and they were very glad that they were stewards and not in the trenches
and the pastry was magnificent
at last it was the zone and a zigzag course we sat quiet in the bar and then it was the mouth of the Gironde and a French torpedoboat circling round the ship in the early pearl soft morning and the steamers following the little patrolboat on account of the minefields the sun was rising red over the ruddy winegrowing land and the Gironde was full of freighters and airplanes in the sun and battleships
the Garonne was red it was autumn there were barrels of new wine and shellcases along the quays in front of the grayfaced houses and the masts of stocky sailboats packed in against the great red iron bridge
at the Hotel of the Seven Sisters everybody was in mourning but business was brisk on account of the war and every minute they expected the government to come down from Paris
up north they were dying in the mud and the trenches but business was good in Bordeaux and the winegrowers and the shipping agents and the munitionsmakers crowded into the Chapon Fin and ate ortolans and mushrooms and truffles and there was a big sign
MEFIEZ-VOUS
les oreilles enemies vous écoutent
red wine twilight and yellowgravelled squares edged with wine-barrels and a smell of chocolate in the park gray statues and the names of streets
Street of Lost Hopes, Street of the Spirit of the Laws, Street of Forgotten Footsteps
and the smell of burning leaves and the grayfaced Bourbon houses crumbling into red wine twilight
at the Hotel of the Seven Sisters after you were in bed late at night you suddenly woke up and there was a secretserviceagent going through your bag
and he frowned over your passport and peeped in your books and said Monsieur c’est la petite visite
Fighting Bob
La Follette was born in the town limits of Primrose; he worked on a farm in Dane County, Wisconsin, until he was nineteen.
At the university of Wisconsin he worked his way through. He wante
d to be an actor, studied elocution and Robert Ingersoll and Shakespeare and Burke;
(who will ever explain the influence of Shakespeare in the last century, Marc Antony over Caesar’s bier, Othello to the Venetian Senate and Polonius, everywhere Polonius?)
riding home in a buggy after commencement he was Booth and Wilkes writing the Junius papers and Daniel Webster and Ingersoll defying God and the togaed great grave and incorruptible as statues magnificently spouting through the capitoline centuries;
he was the star debater in his class,
and won an interstate debate with an oration on the character of Iago.
He went to work in a law office and ran for district attorney. His schoolfriends canvassed the county riding round evenings. He bucked the machine and won the election.