Chapter XLII

And Gud came to a great Republic and sat himself down at meat in a tavern of the capital city thereof. Said the damsel who came to serve him: "Alas, there is no meat, for we have civil war, and all the meat is requisitioned for the soldiers."

When she had said that a volley of guns sounded in the street. Gud looked out of the window and saw two armies firing at each other. The one army was composed of men richly garbed, and the other of men poorly clad, and the rich men and the poor men were killing each other. Seizing the white table linen, Gud went out into the midst of the murderous armies and waved the table linen peacefully.

The General of the Rich Men and the General of the Poor Men rushed up angrily to Gud and both demanded in aggrieved tones to know why he was peacefully interfering with the war.

"Because," said Gud, "The soldiers are eating all the meat."

"But," cried the generals, "you have stopped the war--and now what shall we do? We had tried the courts; we had tried the ballot; we had tried arbitration and all failed. So we resorted to war, which is the last resort of civilized people, and we do not wish to revert to savagery."

"I stopped the war," said Gud, "because I dislike to have the streets covered with blood--it makes them slippery, but I am sorry. Is there anything I can do to help you start it again?"

The generals shook their heads sadly, for they saw that the Poor Men and the Rich Men were fraternizing and exchanging cigarettes, and they knew that the war was over.

"I wonder," said Gud, "since I spoiled the war, if you would mind telling me what it was all about?"

"Gladly," said the generals, and they invited Gud into the tavern--and now the damsel brought meat which Gud ate, while the generals of the late war related the cause thereof.

"It so happened," they said, "that we wished to erect a shrine to the President of our Republic while he was yet alive to be worshipped therein. The rich men gave the money and the poor men held their hats to receive it.

"When the money was gathered, the committee took it to our beloved President and asked him the manner of shrine he would have. And our President said: 'All that any man is, his mother made him--therefore I ask that the shrine shall consist of a great gallery, and in this gallery shall hang the portrait of my mother.'

"So our committee called upon all the artists and they selected the two best. One artist's name was Jake Smith, and he was born naked into the world amidst dire poverty and considerable adversity, but he had become a great artist for all that and had painted the portraits of many rich and be-jeweled ladies.

"And the other artist bore the name of Glengary Du Peyster, and he was born with a silver spoon in his mouth; but in spite of that he also learned to paint, and he had searched out all the poor and wretched old women of our slums and hovels and painted of them very great pictures.

"When these artists took samples of their work to show to our President, he said: 'You may both paint my mother, and then my mother shall decide which is the best painting.'

"'Very well,' said the artists, 'will you conduct us to her home?'

"So the President took them to a little flat in K Street where lived a poor, blind widow and he said: 'Artists, meet my mother!'

"Glengary Du Peyster was over-joyed, for this was the kind of a woman he could paint best, and he wished to send immediately for his canvas and brushes.

"But it was not to be so, for the President now conducted the artists to a mansion in D Street, and here in a great hall hung with tapestry and shaded lights was a fine old lady, and the president said again: 'Artists, meet my mother!'

"And now it was Jake Smith's time to rejoice; and he glared at Glengary Du Peyster, and neither of them durst speak their thoughts.

"Then the President took them both back to his official residence and feasted them on grouse and wine, and as they sat about their cigars Jake Smith said: 'Mr. President, which is your mother?'

"'Alas,' said our great President, 'I do not know.'

"At this both artists lost their artistic tempers and rushed into the street. As the news-makers gathered about them, they told what had happened and what the president had said, and it was published abroad in our great Republic, together with photos of the two women, each of whom the President had introduced as his mother.

"Then our citizens warmed to heated arguments and gathered themselves into two parties, the poor to themselves under the leadership of Jake Smith, for they agreed with him that our great President should have a fine and noble lady for his mother. But the rich, under the leadership of Glengary Du Peyster said: 'Surely our President was born of the poor and lowly mother, how else can we be a true republic, where all men are born free and equal?'"

"That is very interesting," said Gud as he took another forkful of meat, "but why did you not ask the women themselves?"

"We did ask them," said the leaders of the late war, "but both said they did not know. So we thought war was the only way to settle the matter. And now you have spoiled the war, which is the last resort of civilized people, and we shall surely revert to savagery."

The following day Gud was conducted with great pomp and ceremony to the Hall of Justice, where he sat down upon the judge's bench.

Said Gud to the President of the great Republic, who was there in his own person: "Bring in your poor mother and put her on the witness stand."

The President did so, and Gud saw before him a stooped, wrinkled and blind creature who was poorly dressed but neat and clean.

"Now," said Gud in his most kindly tone, "we will dispense with the swearing and you may tell me all that happened in your own language."

"Believe me, your honor," said the poor mother, "it was no fault of mine, for I was blind and how could I tell which one was which? You see, I was a widow, because my husband died by the falling on him of a stone in the quarry when he was getting out rocks for the cellar of the house of Eben Gratz. And so when they buried him I was left all by myself, but for the babe that was coming. When it came it was a twin and they both cried just alike, so that I could not tell which one was which.

"And nobody had ever seen them until the day I heard a fine automobile driving up the road, purring like a cat fed upon cream. It stopped by my cabin and a lady with a rustly gown got out and came into the cabin. I sat waiting for her to speak to me, thinking that perhaps in her rich kindness she might have brought some clothes for my twins. I heard her go to the old cow trough where the twins were lying under the horse blanket. Then, without saying a word, she rustled out again and was gone.

"And presently the twins began to cry and I could tell now that they did not cry alike, and I knew that she had stolen one of my babies and left another in its place.

"So I raised them up as best I could. The girl she was good and dutiful and married a good man. But the boy, he was smart and did not marry anybody; and he became the President of his country just as I knew he would. While I am not saying whether he is my son or not, I can not say he isn't; and he can't, either, because he can't remember whether it was himself or his sister that was brought that day by the fine lady and exchanged for his brother. So you see, sir, just how it is."

Gud did not see, but disliked to admit it, so he asked that the rich mother of the President of the Great Republic be brought also before him.

As she came into the room he saw what a grand old lady she was, for she walked erect and proud and her manners were queenly and stately, and Gud could see how she impressed all the poor men in the courtroom with her greatness.

When the rich mother of the President began speaking in a low, melodious voice that quivered with emotion, she said:

"Your honor, there is naught I can tell save to confess that when my child was born I was so overwhelmed with maternal emotion that I became ambitious for my child. But I knew that I was rich and lived in a mansion and that riches are a handicap to any child. I recalled that it was always the boys born in log cabins and nurtured in poverty that became our great men, and presidents of our great Republic.

"So I took my darling babe with me in my car and drove out into the mountains where the soil was rocky and the people were poor, and finally I came to a very picturesque log cabin that had only three sides. I stopped the car, and took my own child and stole toward the cabin and peeped in. There sat a poor, blind, widowed mother knitting with a ball of coarse yarn.

"And over in the corner I saw a cow trough and a horse blanket and it was from there that the cry of the child came. So I stole over and raised the blanket and saw there the faces of two sweet babes. I closed my eyes and tore off the wrappings from my own child and quietly placed him in the trough; and then, seizing one of the babes in the trough, I wrapped it in the silken robes I had taken from my own child and hastened back to my car.

"The child I stole, when he learned to talk, told me that he was a boy."

"Pardon me, madame," interrupted Gud, "but what was the sex of your own child that you left in the cow trough?"

At the question the refined lady blushed painfully. "Do not insult me, sir," she said icily. Then she continued: "I raised this child of the poor blind widow and he became the best dancer of the younger set. But while I lavished on him all of a fond mother's care, deep in my heart was the love for my own child that I had so bravely committed to the care of the poor blind widow in the log cabin with only three sides.

"So I employed detectives to keep secret watch about the cabin, and when the two children were old enough to be dressed distinctively the detective reported to me that one was a boy and one was a girl.

"It was then that I realized my grievous error in exchanging my own child for one of two twins, for I could not know whether the boy or the girl was my own child. So I waited to see how they would turn out. And when the girl married a clam digger down on the river I decided to say nothing to her. But when the boy worked his way through college by delivering milk before dawn, I sent for him and confessed to him that I was either his mother or his sister's mother.

"So from that day to this he has been a dutiful son to me as well as to the poor blind widow who may also be his mother. And when he was elected President of our Great Republic, both she and I rejoiced. All would be well, if only his love for his mother had not prompted him to wish to have her painting hung in the memorial shrine. That is all I have to confess."