Chapter 19

"Oh, Lord, Bloss, lemme whistle it, maybe you can catch on the. Brains, honey, little Hal's brains is what got that letter there written. I seen this coming from the minute conscription was in the air. Little Hal seen it coming, and got out his little hatchet. Try to prove that I ain't the sole one to take charge of my mother's affairs. Try to prove it. That's what I been fixing for myself these two months, try to--"

"Sh-h-h-h, Charley--"

"Brains is what done it,--every little thing of my mother's is in my care. I fixed it. Now little Blossy-blossum will you be good?"

He regarded her with cocked head and face receptive for her approval. "Now will you be good!"

She sat loosely, meeting his gaze, but her face as relaxed as her attitude. A wintry stare had set in.

"Oh," she said, "I see." And turned away her head.

He reached closer across the table, regardless of the conglomerate diners about, felt for her hand which lay limp and cold beside her plate, and which she withdrew.

"Darling," he said, straining for her gaze.

"Don't, Hal."

"Darling, don't you see? It's fate knocking at our door. There's not a chance rover can get exemption. He ain't eve got a fifth cousin or a flat-foot!"

"Maybe he could claim exemption on dandruff."

"I'm serious, honey. It's going to be one of those cases where an understudy wakes up to find himself famous. I can't fail if I get this chance, Bloss. It's the moment I have been drudging for, for five solid years. I never was in such voice as now, I never was so fit. Not an ounce of fat. Not a song in the part I don't know backwards. I tell you it's the hand of fate, Bloss, giving us a hand-out. I can afford now, darling, to make good with you. On three fifty a week I can ask a little queen like you to double up with me. From thirty-five to three fifty! I tell you honey, we're made. I'm going to dress my little dolly in cloth of gold and silver fox. I'm going to perch her in the suite de luxe of the swellest hotel in town. I'm--"

She pushed back from the table, turning more broadly from him.

"Don't," she said pressing her kerchief against her lips.

"Why--why what's the matter, Bloss? Why--why, what's the matter?"

"Don't talk to me for a minute," she said, still in profile; "I'll be all right, only don't talk."

"Why, Bloss, you--sick?"

She shook her head. "No. No."

"You ain't getting cold feet now that we got the thing before us--in our hand?"

"I dunno. I dunno. I--don't want nothing. That's all, nothing but to be left alone."

He sucked his lips inward, biting at them.

"Don't--don't think I ain't noticed, Bloss, that you--you ain't been the same--that you been different--for weeks. Sometimes I think maybe you're going cold on--on this long engagement stuff. That's why this thing is breaking just right for us, honey. I felt you slippin' a little. I'm ready now, Peaches, we can't go taxi-cabbing down for that license none too soon to suit me."

She shook her head, beating softly with one small fist into her other palm.

"No, Hal," she said, her mouth tightening and drawing down.

"Why--why, Bloss!"

Suddenly she faced him, her hands both fists now, and coming down with a force that shivered the china.

"You--you ain't a man, you ain't. You ain't a man, you--you're a slacker! You're a slacker, that's what you are, and Gawd, how I--how I hate a slacker!"

"Bloss--why, girl--you--you're cra---"

"Oh, I've known it. Deep down inside of me I've known it since the day we found ourselves in the mess of this war. I knew it, and all those months kept kidding myself that maybe--you--wasn't."

"You--"

"Thought maybe when you'd read the newspapers enough and heard the khaki-boys on the street corners enough, and listened to--to your country pleading enough that--that you'd rise up to show you was a man. I knew all these months down inside of me that you was a slacker, but I kept hopin'. Gawd how I kept hopin'."

"You--you can't talk to me that way! You're---"

"Can't I! Ha! Anybody can talk any old way to a slacker he wants to and then not say enough. You ain't got no guts you--you're yellow, that's what you are, you--"

"Blossum!"

"You, sneaking up to me with trumped up exemption stuff when your country's talking her great heart out for men to stand by 'er! Gawd! If I was a man--If was a man she wouldn't have to ask me twice, but before I went marching off I'd take time off to help the street cleaning department wipe up a few streets with the slackers I found loafing around under a government they were afraid to fight for. I'd show 'em. I'd show 'em if a government is good enough to live under it's good enough to fight under. I'd show 'em."

"If you was a man, Blossum, you'd eat those words. By God, you'd eat 'em. I'm no coward--I--"

"I know you're not, Hal--that's why I--I--"

"I got the right to decide for myself if I want to fight when I don't know what I'm fighting for. This ain't my war, this ain't America's war. Before I fight in it I want a darn sight to know what I'm fighting for, and not all the street corner rah rah stuff has told me yet. I ain't a bull to go crazy with a lot of red waved in my face. I've got no blood to spill in the other fellow's battle. I'm---"

"No, but you--"

"I'm at a point in my life that I've worked like a dog to reach. Let the fellows that love the hero stuff give up their arms and their legs and the breath that's in them for something they don't know the meaning of. Because some big-gun of a Emperor out in Austria was assassinated, I ain't going to bleed to death for it. It's us poor devils that get the least out of the government that right away are called on to give the most, it's us---"

"Hal, ain't--ain't you ashamed!"

"No. I ain't ashamed and I ain't afraid. You know it ain't because I'm afraid. I've licked more fellows in my time than most fellows can boast. I--I got the Fifty-fifth Street fire rescue medal to my credit if anybody should ask you. I--I--ask anybody from my town if any kid in it ever licked me. But I ain't going to fight when I ain't got a grudge against no man. Call that being a coward if you like, but then you and me don't speak the same language."

Her silence seemed to give off an icy vapor.

"That's what they all say," she said. "It's like hiding behind a petticoat, hiding behind a defense like that. Sure you ain't got a grudge. Maybe you don't know what it's all about--God knows who does. Nobody can deny that. There ain't nothing reasonable about war, if there was there wouldn't be none. That talk don't get you nowheres. The proposition is that we're at war, whatever you or anybody else may think of it."

"That's just it--we didn't have no say-so."

"Just the same, Hal Sanderson, this great big grand country of ours is at war, and needs you. It ain't what you think any more that counts. Before we was in war you could talk all you wanted, but now that we're IN, there's only one thing to do, only one, and not all your fine talk about peace can change it. One thing to do. Fight!"

"No government can make me--"

"If you want peace now it's up to you to help make it, a new peace and a grander peace, not go baying at the moon after a peace that ain't no more."

"You better get a soap box. If this is the way you got of trying to get out of something you're sorry for, I'll let you off easier--you don't need to try to---"

She regarded him with her lips quivering, a quick layer of tears forming, trembling and venturing to the edge of her lashes.

"Hal--Hal--a--a fellow that I've banked on like I have you! It ain't that--you know it ain't. I could have waited for ten times this long. It's only I--I'm ashamed, Hal. Ashamed. there ain't been a single gap in the chorus from one of the men enlisting that my heart ain't just dropped in my shoes like dough. I never envied a girl on my life the way I did Elaine Vavasour when she stood on the curb at the Battery the other day crying and watching Charlie Kirkpatrick go marching off. Charlie was a pacifist, too, as long as the country was out of war, and there was something to argue about. The minute the question was settled, he shut up, buckled on his belt and went! That's the kind of a pacifist to be. The kind of fellow that when he sees peace slipping, buckles on and starts out for a new peace; a realer peace. That's the kind of a fellow I thought you--you---"

Her voice broke then abruptly, in a rain of tears, and she raised the crook of her arm to her face with the gesture of a child. "That--that's the kind of a fellow I--I---"

His cigarette discarded and curling up in a little column of smoke between them, he sat regarding her, a heave surge of red rising above the impeccable white of his collar into the roots of his hair. It was as if her denouncement had come down in a welt across his face.

"Nobody ever--nobody ever dared to talk like this to me before. Nobody ever dared to call me a coward. Nobody. Because it ain't so!"

"I know it ain't, Hal. If it was could I have been so strong for you all these months? I knew the way you showed yourself in the Fifty-fifth Street fire. I read about it in the papers before I ever knew you. I--I know the way you mauled Ed Stein, twice your size, the night he tried to--to get fresh with me. I know you ain't a slacker in your heart, Hal, but I--I couldn't marry a man that got fake exemption. Couldn't, no matter how it broke my heart to see him go marching off! Couldn't! Couldn't!"

"That's what it means, Blossum--marching off!"

"I know it, but how--how could I marry a man that wasn't fit to war his country's uniform even in a show. I--I couldn't marry a man like that if it meant the solid gold suite in the solid goldest hotel in this town. I couldn't marry a--a fake khaki-boy!"

"Ain't there no limit, Bloss, to the way you can make a fellow feel like dirt under your feet? My God! ain't there no limit?"

"There--there's nothing on earth can make a man of you, Hal, nothing on God's earth but War! Every once in a while there's some little reason seems to spring up for there bein' a war. You're one of them reasons, Hal. Down in my heart I know it that you'll come back, and when I get a hunch it's a hunch! Down in my heart I know it, dear, that you'll come back to me. But you'll come back a man, you'll come back with the yellow streak pure gold, you'll-you'll come back to me pure gold, dear. I know it. I know it."

His head was back as if his throat were open to the stroke of her words, but there was that growing in his face which was enormous, translucent, even apogean.

He tore up the paper between them, slowly, and in criss crosses.

"And you, Blossom?" he said, not taking his eyes, with their growing lights, off her.

"Why, I'll be waiting, Hal," she said, the pink coming out to flood her face, "I'll be waiting--Sweetheart."

[signed] Fannie Hurst

The Married Slacker

[This is a comic strip in three panels. I'll do my best to describe each panel and then put the text which comes beneath the panel.]

[Panel 1: A man and woman sit at a meal with pictures of Washington and Lincoln glowering from the wall in the man's full view behind the woman. The woman is reading a paper. The man is listening, but not looking at the woman, rather at his meal in front of him. A maid brings coffee cups on a platter.]

SHE (reading)--"At 5:15, the barrage was raised, and the Americans advanced to attack. The long line moved forward like the steady on-sweep of the tide--unwavering, irresistible, implacable." Oh, isn't it perfectly wonderful! I knew our men would fight gloriously! And just listen to this:

[Panel 2: The images of Washington and Lincoln have doubled in size and the eyes clearly glare at the man. The man now shows beads of sweat around his head and wears an expression of distress. The woman continues to read the paper. The maid departs the scene having delivered the coffee cups.]

SHE (reading)--"The Germans fought desperately but the American lines never wavered in their onward course. Sometimes the broad stretch of the battlefield was enveloped in great volumes of smoke, but a moment later, as the air cleared, the same lines were to be seen moving onward. At 6:45, the sound of cheering was heard amidst the din of the battle and a few moments later, the message was sent back that the American troops had captured the great German position."

[Panel 3: The images of Washington and Lincoln are now almost fully the size of the wall and marks of consternation and anger are clear on their brows as they glare at the man. The woman continues to read the paper without looking up. The man is fleeing the room in great haste with his arms in the air. He has knocked over his chair in his haste and has bumped into the maid who was returning with a coffee pot and biscuits. The man's face is obscured by raised hands and his overcoat, but he is clearly fleeing.]

SHE (reading)--"The American victory of yesterday may well mark the beginning of the end of the war. London and Paris are ringing with the praises of the American soldiers. President Wilson has proclaimed a national holiday in celebration of the triumph, and the American soldier has won imperishable glory as a fighting man."

[The last panel is signed] McCutcheon

Hymn for America

Air: "Scots wha hae wi' Wallace bled"

Where's the man, in all the earth-- Man of want or man of worth-- Who shall now to rank or birth Knee of homage bend? Though he war with chance or fate, If his heart be free of hate, If his soul with love be great, He shall be our friend.

Where's the man, of wealth or wage, Dare be traitor to his age, To the people's heritage Won by war and woe,-- Counting but as private good All the gain of brotherhood By the base so long withstood? He shall be our foe.

Where's the man that does not feel Freedom as the common weal, Duty's sword the only steel Can the battle end? Comrades, chant in unison Creed the noblest 'neath the sun: "One for all and all for one," Till each foe be friend.

[signed] Robert Underwood Johnson

The Breaking Out of the Flags

It is April, And the snow lingers on the dark sides of evergreens; The grass is brown and soggy With only a faint, occasional overwash of green. But under the leafless branches The white bells of snowdrops are nodding and shaking Above their green sheaths. Snow, fir-trees, snowdrops--stem and flower-- Nature offers us only white and green At this so early springtime. But man gives more.

Man has unfurled a Nation's flags Above the city streets; He has flung a striped and starry symbol of bright colors Down every curving way. Blossoms of War, Blossoms of Suffering, Strange beautiful flowers of the New Year: Flags!

Over door lintels and cornices, Above peaked gables and flat mansard-roofs Flutter the flags. The avenues are arcaded with them, The narrow alleys are bleached with stripes and stars. For War is declared, And the people gird themselves Silently--sternly-- Only the flags make arabesques in the sunshine, Twining the red of blood and the silver of achievement Into a gay, waving pattern Over the awful, unflinching Destiny Of War.

The flags ripple and jar To the tramp of marching men, to the rumble of caissons over cobblestones. From seaboard to seaboard And beyond, across the green waves of the sea, They flap and fly. Men plant potatoes and click typewriters In the shadow of them, And khaki-clad soldiers Lift their eyes to the garish red and blue And turn back to their khaki tasks Refreshed.

America, The clock strikes. The spring is upon us, The seed of our forefathers Quickens again in the soil, And these flags are the small, early flowers Of the solstice of our Hope!

Thru suffering to Peace! Thru sacrifice to Security! Red stripes, Turn us not from our purpose, Lead us up as by a ladder To the deep blue quiet Wherein are shining The silver stars.

Soldiers, sailors, clerks, and office boys, Men, and Women--but not children, No! Not children! Let these march With their paper caps and toy rifles And feel only the panoply of War-- But the others, Welded and forged, Seared, melted, broken, Molded without flaw, Slowly, faithfully pursuing a Purpose, A Purpose of Peace,

Even into the very flame of Death. Over the city, Over all the cities, Flutter flags. Flags of spring, Flags of burgeoning, Flags of fulfillment.

[signed] Amy Lowell

Our Day

London, April 20, 1917

It was the evening of our Day; that young April day when in the solemn vastness of St. Paul's were held the services to mark America's historic entrance into the Great World War. Across the mighty arch of the Chancel on either side hung the Stars and Stripes and the Union Jack.

From the organ pealed those American songs to which half a century ago, in another war for Freedom, men marched to battle, and, even if by ways of defeat and death, to ultimate Victory. How many there were that April day for whom the sight of the Stars and Stripes was blurred with tears. How the familiar airs and simple words pained us with the memory of our distant homes. Perhaps for the first time we understood the solemn significance of this dedication to war of what we hardly knew was so unspeakably dear.

In the Crypt of St. Paul's, Mausoleum of England's greatest soldier and sailor heroes, their ashes rest who once fought and conquered. If it is given to those who have gone before to hear our human appeal, perhaps the immortal spirits of Nelson, of Wellington, of Kitchener, whose tragic fate is its unfulfilled destiny, may have rested like an inspiration on that kindred nation offering the sacrifice of all it holds most sacred to the cause of Divine Justice.

After the solemn benediction thousands streamed slowly out to mingle with the multitudes gathered before the great Entrance where Queen Anne in crown and scepter keeps majestic guard, and where in peaceful days doves flit and flutter down to peck at the grain strewn about her royal feet.

Stern and momentous times have passed over that old, gray Cathedral; times of a Nation's grief and a Nation's rejoicing. But of all such days, in its centuries of existence, none has been so momentous for the destiny of the Empire as that sunny April day. And yet--and yet--perhaps more touching, more solemn, even than the High Service at St. Paul's, that which stirred Americans even more who love England with only a lesser love, and made us realize as never before what America stands for, joint defender now of the new Civilization, was the silent symbol of her dedication to the Cause of Human Freedom, for all London to see and on which, seeing, to reflect. It was the symbol of that for which Statesmen who were also prophets, have lived and toiled.

It rose against the glowing West, never to be forgotten by those who saw it at the close of Our Day, for it marked the new Epoch.

Now at last "Let the dead Past bury its Dead."

Along Whitehall, down Parliament Street, and where towards the left Westminster Bridge spans its immortal river, stand the Houses of Parliament, their delicate tracery of stonework etched against the sunset sky.

Hurrying crowds, released from the day's toil, stopped here, as if by a common impulse, to gaze upwards, and, gazing in silent wonder, they saw such a sight as London has never seen before. On the highest pinnacle of the Victoria tower where the flag of another nation has never before shared its proud eminence there floated together from one flagstaff Old Glory and the Union Jack.

That was America's supreme consecration.

[signed] Annie E. Lane (Mrs. John Lane)

Pour La Patrie

They were brothers, Louis and François, standing in the presence of the Prussian commander, looking hopelessly into his cold, unsmiling eyes. For the third time in as many days he was bargaining with them for that which God had given them and they in turn had promised to France: their lives.

"Do not make the mistake of thinking that we exalt you for what you may call courage, or that your country will sing your praises," said the general harshly. "Your country will never know how or when you die. You have nothing to gain by dying, not even the credit of dying."

François allowed his hot, dry eyes to sweep slowly around the group. He was pale, his forehead wet.

"You are soldiers," said he, his voice low and steady. "Is there one among you who would do the thing we are asked to do? If there is one man here who will stand forth in the presence of his comrades and say that he would betray Germany as you are asking us to betray France,--if there is such a man among you, let him speak, and the,--then I will do what you ask of me."

A dozen pairs of hard implacable eyes returned his challenge. No man spoke. No man smiled.

"You do not even pretend," cried the little poilu. "well, I too am a soldier. I am a soldier of France. It is nothing to me that I day to-day or to-morrow, or that my country knows when or how. Take me out and shoot me," he shouted, facing the commander. "I am but one poor soldier. I am one of millions. What is my little life worth to you?"

"Nothing," said the commander. "Ten such as you would not represent the worth of one German soldier."

"We say not so over there," said François boldly, jerking his thumb in the direction of Pont-a-mousson.

And now for the first time the Prussians about him smiled.

"What is it, pray, that you do say over there?" inquired the general mockingly.

"That the worst of the Frenchmen is worth five of your best," said François, unafraid. Why should he be afraid to speak the truth? He was going to die.

"And one of your frog-eating generals is the equal of five of me, I suppose?" The commander's grim face relaxed into a smile. "That is good! Ha-ha! That is good!"

"So we say, excellency," said François simply. "Our Papa Joffre--ah, he is greater than all of you put in one."

The Prussian flushed. His piggish eyes glittered.

"Your Papa Joffre!" he scoffed.

"He is greater than the Kaiser,--though I die for saying it," cried the little poilu recklessly.

The commander turned his eyes from the white, impassioned face of François and looked upon the quivering, ghastly visage of the brother who stood beside him. The fire that glowed in the eyes of François was missing in those of Louis.

The grizzled Prussian smiled, but imperceptibly. What he saw pleased him. Louis, the big one, the older of the two, trembled. It was only by the supremest effort that he maintained a pitiable show of defiance. His face was haggard and blanched with fear; there was a hunted, shifty look in his narrowed eyes. The general's smile developed. It proffered comfort, consolation, encouragement.

"And you," he said, almost gently, "have not you profited by the reflections of your three days of grace? Are you as stubborn as this mule of a brother, this foolish lad who spouts even poorer French than I address to you?"

François shot a quick, appealing glance at his big brother's face. There were tiny rivulets of slaver at the corners of Louis's mouth.

"Louis!" he cried out sharply.

Louis lifted his sagging shoulders. "I have nothing to say," he said thickly, and with the set of his jaws François breathed deeply of relief.

"So!" said the general, shrugging his shoulders. "I am sorry. You are young to die, you two. To die on the field of battle,--ah, that is noble! To die with one's back to a wall, blindfolded, and to be covered with earth so loosely that starving dogs may scratch away to feast--But, no more. You have decided. You have had many hours in which to consider the alternative. You will be shot at daybreak."

The slight figure of François straightened, his chin went up. His thin, dirt-covered hands were tightly clenched.

"For France!" he murmured, lifting his eyes above the head of the Prussian.