Part 12

Bill, look here! Here's the _Times_. You see this picture, Read if you like a little later. You never Heard how I came to Fairbanks, chanced to stay. It's eight years now. You see in nineteen eleven I lived in Hammond, Indiana, thought I'd like a trip, see mountains, see Alaska, Perhaps find fortune or a woman--well You know from your experience how it is. It was July and from the train I saw The Canadian Rockies, stopped at Banff a day, At Lake Louise, and so forth. At Vancouver Found travelers feasting, Englishmen in drink, Flirtations budding, coming into flower; And eager spirits waiting for the boat. Up to this time I hadn't made a friend, Stalked silently about along the streets, Drank Scotch like all the rest, as much besides.

Well, then we took the steamship _Princess Alice_ And started up the Inland Channel--great! Got on our cheeks the breezes from the crystal Cradles of the north, began at once To find the mystery, silence, see clear stars, The whites and blacks and greens along the shores. And still I had no friend, was quite alone. Just as I came on deck I saw a face, Looked, stared perhaps. Her eyes went over me, Would not look at me. At the dinner table She sat far down from me, I could not see her, But made a point to rise when she arose, Did all I could to catch her eye--no use. So things went and I gave up--still I wondered Why she had no companion. Was she married? Was husband waiting her, at Skagway?--well I fancied something of the sort, at last, And as I said, gave up.

But on a morning I rose to see the sun rise, all the sky First as a giant pansy, petals flung In violet toward the zenith streaked with fire; The silver of the snows change under light, Mottled with shadows of the mountain tops Like leaves that shadow, flutter on a lawn. At last the topaz splendors shoot to heaven, The sun just peeks and gilds the porcelain Of snow with purest gold. And in the valleys Darkness remains, Orician ebony Is not more black. You've seen this too, I know, And recognize my picture. There I stood, Believed I was alone, then heard a voice, "Is it not beautiful?" and looked around, And saw my girl, who had avoided me, Would not make friends before. This is her picture, Name, Elenor Murray. So the matter started. I had my seat at table changed and sat Next to my girl to talk with her. We walked The deck together. Then she said to me Her home was in Chicago, so it is Travelers abroad discover they are neighbors When they are home. She had been teaching school, And saved her money for this trip, had planned To go as far as Fairbanks. As for me, I thought I'd stop with Skagway--Oh this life! Your hat blows off, you chase it, bump a woman, Then beg her pardon, laugh and get acquainted, And marry later.

As we steamed along She was the happiest spirit on the deck. The Wrangell Narrows almost drove her wild, There where the mountains are like circus tents, Big show, menagerie and all the rest, But white as cotton with perennial snow. We swum past aisles of pine trees where a stream Rushed down in terraces of hoary foam. The nights were glorious. We drank and ate And danced when there was dancing.

Well, at first, She seemed a little school ma'am, quaint, demure, Meticulous and puritanical. And then she seemed a school ma'am out to have A time, so far away, where none would know, And like a woman who had heard of life And had a teasing interest in its wonder, Too long caged up. At last my vision blurred: I did not know her, lost my first impressions Amid succeeding phases which she showed.

But when we came to Skagway, then I saw Another Elenor Murray. How she danced And tripped from place to place--such energy! She almost wore me out with seeing sights. But now behold! The White Pass she must see Upon the principle of missing nothing-- But oh the grave of "Soapy" Smith, the outlaw, The gambler and the heeler, that for her! We went four miles and found the cemetery, The grave of "Soapy" Smith.--Came back to town Where she would see the buildings where they played Stud poker, Keno, in the riotous days. Time came for her to go. She looked at me And said "Come on to Fairbanks." As for that, I'd had enough, was ready to return, But sensed an honorarium, so I said, "You might induce me," with a pregnant tone. That moment we were walking 'cross the street, She stopped a moment, shook from head to heels, And said, "No man has talked to me that way." I dropped the matter. She renewed it--said, "Why do you hurry back? What calls you back? Come on to Fairbanks, see the gardens there, That tag the blizzards with their rosy hands And romp amid the snows." She smiled at me. Well, then I thought--why not? And smiled her back, And on we went to Fairbanks, where my hat Blows off, as I shall tell you.

For a day We did the town together, and that night I thought to win her. First we dined together, Had many drinks, my little school ma'am drank Of everything I ordered, had a place For more than I could drink. And truth to tell At bed time I was woozy, ten o'clock. We had not registered. And so I said, "I'm Mr. Kelly and you're Mrs. Kelly." She shook her head. And so to make an end I could not win her, signed my name in full; She did the same, we said good night and parted.

Next morning when I woke, felt none too good, Got up at last and met her down at breakfast; Tried eggs and toast, could only drink some coffee; Got worse; in short, she saw it, put her hand Upon my head and said, "Your head is hot, You have a fever." Well, I lolled around And tried to fight it off till noon--no good. By this time I was sick, lay down to rest. By night I could not lift my head--in short, I lay there for a month, and all the time She cared for me just like a mother would. They moved me to a suite, she took the room That opened into mine, by night and day She nursed me, cheered me, read to me. At last When I sat up, was soon to be about, She said to me, "I'm going on to Nome, St. Michael first. They tell me that you cross The Arctic Circle going to St. Michael, And I must cross the Arctic Circle--think To come this far and miss it. I must see The Indian villages." And there again I saw, but clearer than before, the spirit Adventuresome and restless, what you call The heart American. I said to her, "I'm not too well, I'm lonely,--yes, and more-- I'm fond of you, you have been good to me, Stay with me here.--She darted in and out The room where I was lying, doing things, And broke my pleadings just like icicles You shoot against a wall.

But here she was, A month in Fairbanks, living at expense, Said "I am short of money--lend me some, I'll go to Nome, return to you and then We'll ship together for the States."

You see I really owed her money for her care, Her loss in staying--then I loved the girl, Had played all cards but one--I played it now: "Come back and marry me." Her eyes looked down. "I will be fair with you," she said, "and think. Away from you I can make up my mind If I have love enough to marry you." I gave her money and she went away, And for some weeks I had a splendid hell Of loneliness and longing, you might know, A stranger in Alaska, here in Fairbanks, In love besides, and mulling in my mind Our days and nights upon the steamer _Alice_, Our ramblings in the Northland.

Weeks went by, No letter and no girl. I found my health Was vigorous again. One morning walking I kicked a twenty dollar gold piece up Right on the side-walk. Picked it up and said: "An omen of good luck, a letter soon! Perhaps this town has something for me!" Well, I thought I'd get a job to pass the time While waiting for my girl. I got the job And here I am to-day; I've flourished here, Worked to the top in Fairbanks in eight years, And thus my hat blew off.

What of the girl? Six weeks or more a letter came from her, She crossed the Arctic Circle, went to Nome, Sailed back to 'Frisco where she wrote to me. Sent all the money back I loaned to her, And thanked me for the honor I had done her In asking her in marriage, but had thought The matter over, could not marry me, Thought in the circumstances it was useless To come to Fairbanks, see me, tell me so.

Now, Bill, I'm egotist enough to think This girl could do no better. Now it seems She's dead and never married--why not me? Why did she ditch me? So I thought about it, Was piqued of course, concluded in the end There was another man. A woman's no Means she has someone else, expects to have, More suited to her fancy. Then one morning As I awoke with thoughts of her as usual Right in my mind there plumped an incident On shipboard when she asked me if I knew A certain man in Chicago. At the time The question passed amid our running talk, And made no memory. But you watch and see A woman when she asks you if you know A certain man, the chances are the man Is something in her life. So now I lay And thought there is a man, and that's the man; His name is stored away, I'll dig it up Out of the cells subliminal--so I thought But could not bring it back.

I found at last The telephone directory of Chicago, And searched and searched the names from A to Z. Some mornings would pronounce a name and think That is the name, then throw the name away-- It did not fit the echo in my brain.

But now at last--look here! Eight years are gone, I'm healed of Elenor Murray, married too; And read about her death here in the _Times_, And turn the pages over--column five-- Chicago startled by a suicide-- Gregory Wenner kills himself--behold The name, at last, she spoke!

* * * * *

So much for waters in Alaska. Now Turn eyes upon the waters nearer home. Anton Sosnowski has a fateful day And Winthrop Marion runs the story down, And learns Sosnowski read the _Times_ the day, He broke from brooding to a dreadful deed; Sosnowski saw the face of Elenor Murray And Rufus Fox upon the self-same page, And afterwards was known to show a clipping Concerning Elenor Murray and the banner Of Joan of Arc, the words she wrote and folded Within the banner: to be brave, nor flinch.

ANTON SOSNOWSKI

Anton Sosnowski, from the Shakspeare School Where he assists the janitor, sweeps and dusts, The day now done, sits by a smeared up table Munching coarse bread and drinking beer; before him The evening paper spread, held down or turned By claw-like hands, covered with shiny scars. He broods upon the war news, and his fate Which keeps him from the war, looks up and sees His scarred face in the mirror over the wainscot; His lashless eyes and browless brows and head With patches of thin hair. And then he mutters Hot curses to himself and turns the paper And curses Germany, and asks revenge For Poland's wrongs.

And what is this he sees? The picture of his ruin and his hate, Wert Rufus Fox! This leader of the bar Is made the counselor of the city, now The city takes gas, cars and telephones And runs them for the people. So this man Grown rich through machinations against the people, Who fought the people all his life before, Abettor, aider, thinker for the slickers Regraters and forestallers and engrossers, Is now the friend, adviser of the city, Which he so balked and thwarted, growing rich, Feared, noted, bowed to for the very treason For which he is so hated, yet deferred to.

And Anton looks upon the picture, reads About the great man's ancestry here printed, And all the great achievements of his life; Once president of the bar association, And member of this club and of that club. Contributor to charities and art, A founder of a library, a vestryman. And Anton looks upon the picture, trembles Before the picture's eyes. They are the eyes Of Innocent the Tenth, with cruelty And cunning added--eyes that see all things And boulder jaws that crush all things--the jaws That place themselves at front of drifts, are placed By that world irony which mocks the good, And gives the glory and the victory To strength and greed.

Anton Sosnowski looks Long at the picture, then at his own hands, And laughs maniacally as he takes the mug With both hands like a bird with frozen claws, These broken, burned off hands which handle bread As they were wooden rakes. And in a mirror Beside the table in the wall, smeared over With steam from red-hots, kraut and cookery, Of smoking fats, fixed by the dust in blurs, And streaks, he sees his own face, horrible For scars and splotches as of leprosy; The eyes that have no lashes and no brows; The bullet head that has no hair, the ears Burnt off at top.

So comes it to this Pole Who sees beside the picture of the lawyer The clear cut face of Elenor Murray--yes, She gave her spirit to the war, is dead, Her life is being sifted now. But Fox Lives for more honors, and by honors covers His days of evil.

Thus Sosnowski broods, And lives again that moment of hell when fire Burst like a geyser from a vat where gas Had gathered in his ignorance; being sent To light a drying stove within the vat, A work not his, who was the engineer. The gas exploded as he struck the match, And like an insect fixed upon a pin And held before a flame, hands, face and body Were burned and broken as his body shot Up and against the brewery wall. What next? The wearisome and tangled ways of courts With Rufus Fox for foe, four trials in all Where juries disagreed who heard the law Erroneously given by the court. At last a verdict favorable, and a court Sitting above the forum where he won To say, as there's no evidence to show Just how the gas got in the vat, Sosnowski Must go for life with broken hands unhelped. And that the fact alone of gas therein Though naught to show his fault had brought it there, The mere explosion did not speak a fault Against the brewery.

Out from court he went To use a broom with crumpled hands, and look For life in mirrors at his ghastly face. And brood until suspicion grew to truth That Rufus Fox had compassed juries, courts; And read of Rufus Fox, who day by day Was featured in the press for noble deeds, For Art or Charity, for notable dinners, Guests, travels and what not.

So now the Pole Reading of Elenor Murray, cursed himself That he could brood and wait--for what?--and grow More weak of will for brooding, while this woman Had gone to war and served and ended it, Yet he lived on, and could not go to war; Saw only days of sweeping with these hands, And every day his face within the mirror, And every afternoon this glass of beer, And coarse bread, and these thoughts. And every day some story to arouse His sense of justice; how the generous Give and pass on, and how the selfish live And gather honors. But Sosnowski thought If I could do a flaming thing to show What courts are ours, what matter if I die? What if they took their quick-lime and erased My flesh and bones, expunged my very name, And made its syllables forbidden?--still If I brought in a new day for the courts, Have I not served? he thought. Sosnowski rose And to the bar, drank whiskey, then went out.

That afternoon Elihu Rufus Fox Came home to dress for a dinner to be given For English notables in town--to rest After a bath, and found himself alone, His wife at Red Cross work. And there alone, Collarless, lounging, in a comfort chair, Poring on Wordsworth's poems--all at once Before he hears the door turned, rather feels A foot-fall and a presence, hears too soon A pistol shot, looks up and sees Sosnowski, Who fires again, but misses; grabs the man, Disarms him, flings him down, and finding blood Upon his shirt sleeve, sees his hand is hit, No other damage--then the pistol takes, And covering Sosnowski, looks at him. And after several seconds gets the face Which gradually comes forth from memories Of many cases, knows the man at last. And studying Sosnowski, Rufus Fox Divines what drove the fellow to this deed. And in these moments Rufus Fox beholds His life and work, and how he made the law A thing to use, how he had builded friendships In clubs and churches, courted politicians, And played with secret powers, and compromised Causes and truths for power and capital To draw on as a lawyer, so to win Favorable judgments when his skill was hired By those who wished to win, who had to win To keep the social order undisturbed And wealth where it was wrenched to.

And Rufus Fox Knew that this trembling wreck before him knew About this course of life at making law And using law, and using those who sit To administer the law. And then he said: "Why did you do this?"

And Sosnowski spoke: "I meant to kill you--where's your right to live When millions have been killed to make the world A safer place for liberty? Where's your right To live and have more honors, be the man To guide the city, now that telephones, Gas, railways have been taken by the city? I meant to kill you just to help the poor Who go to court. For had I killed you here My story would be known, no matter if They buried me in lime, and made my name A word no man could speak. Now I have failed. And since you have the pistol, point it at me And kill me now--for if you tell the world You killed me in defense of self, the world Will never doubt you, for the world believes you And will not doubt your word, whatever it is."

And Rufus Fox replied: "Your mind is turned For thinking of your case, when you should know This country is a place of laws, and law Must have its way, no matter who is hurt. Now I must turn you over to the courts, And let you feel the hard hand of the law." Just then the wife of Rufus Fox came in, And saw her husband with his granite jaws, And lowering countenance, blood on his shirt, The pistol in his hand, the scarred Sosnowski, Facing the lawyer.

Seeing that her husband Had no wound but a hand clipped of the skin, And learning what the story was, she saw It was no time to let Sosnowski's wrong Come out to cloud the glory of her husband, Now that in a new day he had come to stand With progress, fairer terms of life--to let The corpse of a dead day be brought beside The fresh and breathing life of brighter truth. Quickly she called the butler, gave him charge Over Sosnowski, who was taken out, Held in the kitchen, while the two conferred, The husband and the wife.

To him she said, They two alone now: "I can see your plan To turn this fellow over to the law. It will not do, my dear, it will not do. For though I have been sharer in your life, Partaker of its spoils and fruits, I see This man is just a ghost of a dead day Of your past life, perhaps, in which I shared. But that dead life I would not resurrect In memory even, it has passed us by, You shall not live it more, no more shall I. The war has changed the world--the harvest coming Will have its tares no doubt, but the old tares Have been cut out and burned, wholly, I trust. And just to think you used that sharpened talent For getting money, place, in the old regime, To place you where to-day? Why, where you must Use all your talents for the common good. A barter takes two parties, and the traffic Whereby the giants of the era gone-- (You are a giant rising on the wreck Of programs and of plots)--made riches for Themselves and those they served, is gone as well. Since gradually no one is left to serve Or have an interest but the state or city, The community which is all and should be all. So here you are at last despite yourself, Changed not in mind perhaps, but changed in place, Work, interest, taking pride too in the work; And speaking with your outer mind, at least Praise for the day and work.

I am at fault, And take no virtue to myself--I lived Your life with you and coveted the things Your labors brought me. All is changed for me. I would be poorer than this wretched Pole Rather than go back to the day that's dead, Or reassume the moods I lived them through. What can we do now to undo the past, Those days of self-indulgence, ostentation, False prestige, witless pride, that waste of time, Money and spirit, haunted by ennui Insatiable emotion, thirst for change. At least we can do this: We can set up The race's progress and our country's glory As standards for our work each day, go on Perhaps in ignorance, misguided faith; And let the end approve our poor attempts. Now to begin, I ask two things of you: If you or anyone who did your will Wronged this poor Pole, make good the wrong at once. And for the sake of bigness let him go. For your own name's sake, let the fellow go. Do you so promise me?"

And Rufus Fox, Who looked a thunder cloud of wrath and power Before the mirror tying his white tie, All this time silent--only spoke these words: "Go tell the butler to keep guard on him And hold him till we come from dinner."

The wife Looked at the red black face of Rufus Fox There in the mirror, which like Lao's mirror Reflected what his mind was, then went out Gently to her bidding, found Sosnowski Laughing and talking with the second maid, Watched over by the butler, quite himself, His pent up anger half discharged, his grudge In part relieved.

There was a garrulous ancient at LeRoy Who traced all evils to monopoly In land, all social cures to single tax. He tried to button-hole the coroner And tell him what he thought of Elenor Murray. But Merival escaped. And then this man, Consider Freeland named, got in a group And talked his mind out of the case, the land And what makes poverty and waste in lives:

CONSIDER FREELAND

Look at that tract of land there--five good acres Held out of use these thirty years and more. They keep a cow there. See! the cow's there now. She can't eat up the grass, there is so much. And in these thirty years these houses here, Here, all around here have been built. This lot Is worth five times the worth it had before These houses were built round it.

Well, by God, I am in part responsible for this. I started out to be a first rate lawyer. Was I first rate lawyer? Well, I won These acres for the Burtons in the day When I could tell you what is gavel kind, Advowsons, corodies, frank tenements, Scutage, escheats, feoffments, heriots, Remainders and reversions, and mortmain, Tale special and tale general, tale female, Fees absolute, conditional, copyholds; And used to stand and argue with the courts The difference 'twixt a purchase, limitation, The rule in Shelley's case.

And so it was In my good days I won these acres here For old man Kingston's daughter, who in turn Bound it with limitation for the life Of selfish sons, who keep a caretaker, Who keeps a cow upon it. There's the cow! The land has had no use for thirty years. The children are kept off it. Elenor Murray, This girl whose death makes such a stir, one time Was playing there--but that's another story. I only say for the present, these five acres Made Elenor Murray's life a thing of waste As much as anything, and a damn sight more. For think a minute!