necessity, although from what come of it, I feel, looking backwards, it
would of been better to eat out and suffer than to of compromised with
our patriotic consciences like we done at that time. Because there is
_no_ reasonable doubt but that Anna's coming into the house was greatly
responsible for Ma's catching Bolshevism.
II
NOT that she caught it off Anna directly, because for once we had a cook
which couldn't talk or understand American and so there was no use in
Ma's hanging around the kitchen worrying the life out of her. And so the
very first morning Anna was on the premises, Ma commenced hanging around
and worrying the life out of me.
It happened we was waiting for the aeroplane I was to go up in to arrive
at the studio, and so for once having my morning for myself, I thought I
would just dash off my income tax return, and be done with it.
But it seems that this is one of the things which is easier said than
done, the same as signing the peace-treaty, and believe you me, the last
ain't got a thing on the former and I don't know did Pres. Wilson make
out his own income tax return or not. But if he did and the collector of
Internal Revenue left him get by with it as he must of or why would the
Pres. be in Paris, which is out of the country, well anyways, if the
Pres. did it alone, believe you me, he will get away with the treaty all
right, and probably even write in this here Leg of Nations under table
13, page 1, of return and instructions page 2 under K (b) without having
to ask anybody how to do it, he having undoubtedly shown the power to
think.
Well anyways, I had taken all the poker-chips, silk-sale samples, old
theatre programs and etc., out of my desk, found my fountain pen and a
bottle of ink, and was turning that cute little literacy test around and
over to see where would I commence and had got no further than the
realization that most of my brains is in my feet instead of behind my
face, when Ma comes in and commences worrying me because she could not
cook nor yet crochet like the lillies of the field, or whatever that
well-known idle flower was. I tried to listen at least as politely as
is ever required of a daughter to her mother, but when I was trying to
figure out my answer to question No. 5 and getting real mad over its
personalness, I couldn't stand to hear her complain over not being able
to crochet them terrible mats she makes which are not fit for anything
except Xmas presents, anyways.
"The trouble with you, Ma," I snapped at last, "is that you aught to get
a live-wire outside interest. You're getting out of date. Ladies don't
crochet no more and even knitting has been dished by the armistice. You
never read a newspaper or a book. You should go in for something snappy
and up to the moment like literature or jobs for soldiers, or business,
or something."
This got Ma's goat right off, like I hoped it would.
"Oh, so I'm on the shelf, am I?" she says, "well, leave me tell you Mary
Gilligan, if it wasn't for us back numbers you new numbers wouldn't even
_be_ here, don't forget that! And after having been the first American
lady to do the double backward leap on the two center trapeses, I can
hardly be called a dead one, even if a little heavier than I was. And
from that time on I have never ceased to be forward."
"You'd have to show me," I says, grimly.
"All right, I will," she says.
And believe you me, she did. She went and got on her dolman and her
spring hat and left me in wrath and the midst of that income tax with
that "I'll never come back" air so familiar to all well-regulated
families.
Well, as I sat there struggling over where to put the × and = marks, and
how much exemption could I get away with and still be on speaking terms
with myself, and wondering whether the two fool dogs was dependents or
not--which they aught to be, seeing how helpless they are and a big
expense and Gawd knows I keep them only for appearances and they aught
to come under the head of professional expenditures, because no
well-known actress but has them to help out the scenery--well anyways, I
was deep in this highly high-brow occupation in the comparatively
perfect silence of my exclusive flat where ordinarily we don't hear a
thing but the neighbors' pianola and the dumb-waiter and the auto horns
on the drive and the train just beyond--well, this comparatively for
New York, perfect silence was broke by an awful yell in the apartment
itself.
"Anarchy!" a terrible voice hollered. And then again "Anarchy! Anarchy!"
Believe you me, my blood turned to lemon soda for a moment and the boys
in the trenches never had worse crawling down the back than me at that
minute, coming as it did right on top of me, writing in opposite to B.
income from salaries--you know--$60,000.00. The silence which followed
was even worse. And I sat there sort of frozen while expecting a bomb
would go off any minute, and Gawd knows sixty thousand is a lot of
money, but any one which investigated the true facts could quickly see
that I earn every cent of it and anyways brains has a right to the
bigger share, not to mention ability, and if the way I worked myself up
from the lower classes ain't proof of what can be done single-handed in
America, I don't know what is, and anybody which works as hard and lives
as decent as I done can do the same, not that I want to hand myself
anything extra, only speaking personally, I am in a position to know.
But just the same I wasn't reasoning at the minute and the justice, as
you might say, of my case didn't occur to me until later. As I sat there
trying to remember to think, the voice yells it again, only this time
with additions.
"Anarchy! Love Anarchy! Pretzel!"
And then I realised it was that parrot belonging to the new cook.
Can you imagine my feelings on top of my suspicions of her? You can! I
got up and went into the kitchen to see if a bomb was may be being
prepared for our dinner, but not at all. The kitchen was scrubbed to the
last tile, something that smelled simply grand was baking, the white
hyacinths was in the sun on the window-sill, and Anna was humming under
her breath while she rolled out biscuit-dough. The radical parrot was
shut up, but only as to mouth, he being loose and walking about the top
of the clothes-wringer, making himself very much at home, and giving me
_some_ evil look as I come in.
"Aren't you afraid he'll get away?" I says.
"Huh?" says Anna, stopping rolling, and blinking at me.
"Lose him--parrot----!" I says, pointing to him and flapping my arms
like wings.
"Frits?" she said. "Na--Frits like liberty!"
And that was all I could get out of her. I stuck around for a few
minutes more, until Anna commenced to give me the cook's-eye, that bird
backing her up and sneering at me while dancing slowly on the wringer,
but not moving a step. So I got out and back to the parlor but not to my
work which Gawd knows I had to take it over to the bank and leave them
do it for me after all--but sat down instead to consider them two
suspicious birds in the back part of the flat. I personally myself was
convinced that there was something very wrong about Anna. But so far she
had said nothing under the espionage law exactly and I didn't know could
you arrest a bird for too much liberty of speech even though it loved
anarchy, and liberty and everything and was undoubtedly capable of
spreading propaganda what with the voice it had.
Well anyways, as I was holding my marcelle wave with both hands and
racking what little was underneath it over the situation, I heard the
key in the lock and in come Ma all flushed and cheerful and pleased with
herself and handed me another jolt.
"I had a real sweet, pleasant morning," she says, taking off her gloves
and hat and wiping her face with one of them big handkerchiefs like she
used to carry in the circus and will not give up. "A real nice time,"
she says, egging me on to question her.
"Where have you been?" I says, like she wanted me to.
"Oh, just to a little Bolsheviki meeting," she says, casual. And picking
up her things she started for her room.
"Hold on, Ma!" I says, having managed to get my breath before she
reached the door. "Say that again, will you?"
She turned and come back at that, still keeping up the careless stuff.
"Certainly," she says, "Bolsheviki meeting. Are you interested in this
up-to-date stuff?"
"Interested!" I says. "Of course I am. I'm against it. Why Ma Gilligan!"
I says. "Do you know what Bolshevism _is?"_
"Do you?" says Ma, sweetly.
"No!" says I. "And neither do they. But I am sure it's the bunk, and I
feel it's wrong, and I am ashamed of you going!"
"How old-fashioned of you, dearie," says Ma. "Have you ever heard a
speaker or been to a meeting?"
"I don't need to!" I says short, being kind of at a loss.
"Well, I have!" says Ma, triumphant.
"Where was it at?" I demanded.
"Down to the circus," says Ma. "In the Bear-wrestler's dressing room. I
went to call on some of the folks and get the news and Madame Jones, the
new automobile act--very distinguished lady--got me to it. A most
exclusive affair, with only the highest priced acts invited!"
"And who spoke?" I says.
"Kiskoff, the bear-wrestler," says Ma. "It certainly was interesting."
"What did he say?" I says, it getting harder and harder to remember I
was a lady and she my only mother. "What did he say?"
"I dunno!" says Ma.
"You don't know!" I fairly yells. "And why don't you know?"
"Because he only talks Russian!" says Ma, and walked out, leaving me
flat.
Well, believe you me, I was that upset I scarcely took any notice of my
lunch, although it was a real nice meal, commencing with some juicy kind
of fish and eggs and ending up with pancakes rolled up and filled with
cream curds and powdered sugar.
Ma took to these eats immensely, and she and Anna exchanged a couple of
smiles, which made me feel like the only living American. And when later
in the day Ma told me she thought she'd join the Bolshevists if she
didn't have to be immersed, and that this Kiskoff's life was in danger
for his beliefs just like the early Romans and nobody knew where he
lived, but was a man of mystery, I couldn't stand it another moment, but
beat it for a long walk by myself because my nerves was sure on edge and
that aeroplane stunt facing me next week.
But the walk wasn't altogether pleasant, at least not at the start or at
the finish, because when I come out of our palatial near-marble front
stoop, there was a guy standing which might just as well of had on the
brass-buttons and all because you could tell at once by the disguise
that he was a plain-clothes cop. Not that I am so familiar with them,
but their clothes is generally so plain any one could tell them. Do you
get me? You do!
Well anyways, this bird was standing opposite our door, and at the
second glance I had him spotted or nearly so, and when I come back from
walking fast and wishing to Gawd Jim was back to advise me and occupying
our flat instead of Germany, the fly-cop was still there by which I
became certain he was one; the more so as I watched him from a window
once I was in, and the way he kept camouflaging himself as a casual
passer-by, ended my doubts.
Well, was that some situation? It was! Here was myself, a good American
though but an ignorant woman, surrounded by all the terrible and
disturbing elements of the day; with everything which aught to be kept
out of every U. S. A. home creeping into mine, and all so sudden that I
hadn't got my breath yet much less any action. In fact, I was sort of
dizzy with what was happening, and my head didn't quiet down any when,
after dinner that night, I heard deep voices out in back.
"Anna has company!" says Ma in explanation. "Two of them, and I think
they are talking Russian. At any rate one has a beard almost as handsome
as Mr. Kiskoff's."
This got my angora, and while no lady would ever spy on her cook, this
was surely a exception and so I took a quiet peek in through the pantry
slide and there was Anna and two big he-men all talking at once. The
window was open a little ways from the top and on it was Frits, also
talking in Russian or something, and no earthly reason why he couldn't
take his liberty and go right out if he had really wanted it. And still
another jolt was handed me when I realised one of the men was our very
own ice-man!
Believe you me, when I went to bed that night in my grey French enameled
Empire style I was wore out with the series of jolts which the day has
handed me. But it is not my custom to sit back and talk things over too
long. I have ever noticed that the person which talks too much seldom
does a whole lot, and that a quick decision if wrong, at least learns
you something, and you can start again on the right track. And no later
than the next day after a funny, though good breakfast, of coffee and
new bread with cinnamon and sugar baked into it and herrings in cream, I
commenced to act.
"Ma, are you going to keep up this Bolshevist bull?" I says.
"I am!" she says. "You told me to do something modern and I'm doing the
very modernest thing there is!"
"You are going to be wrong on that by this P. M.," I says, "or to-morrow
at latest," I says, "because there is or aught to be something moderner,
and that is United Americanism!" I says. "And since the only way to
fight fire is with it, I am going to start a rival organization and
start it quick!" I says, "and I'm going to do it on a sounder basis than
your people ever dreamed of because we'll all talk English so's we'll
each of us know what the organization is about!"
"Why Marie La Tour!" says Ma, which it's a fact she only calls me that
when she's sore at me. "Why, Marie La Tour, what is your organization
going to do?"
"I don't know yet beyond one thing," I says, "we are going to _get
together_ and keep together!"
And so, without waiting for a come-back or any embarrassing questions, I
hustled into a simple little grey satin Trotteur costume which is French
for pony-clothes and left that homefull of heavy-weight traitors where a
radical parrot yelled "Anarchy" from morning till night, and even the
steam radiators had commenced to smell like dynimite. And having shut
the door after me with quite some explosion myself, I had the limousine
headed to the White Kittens Annual Ball Assn., which I was due at it on
account of all the most prominent ladies in picture and theatrical
circles being on the committee and I naturally being indespensible if
only for the value of my name. So I started off but not before I noticed
that the same plain-clothes John was again perched opposite my front
door.
III
ALL the way to the Palatial Hotel which the meeting is always held in
the grand ballroom of, I kept getting more and more worked up. Things
had certainly gone too far when Bolshevism had spread from the parlor to
the kitchen or visa-versa, I didn't know which, and my own Ma being
undoubtedly watched by the more or less Secret Service, all because of
her having taken a fancy to them whiskers of this Kiskoff cockoo, which
is the only explanation I could make of it, and after being a widow
twenty years she aught to of been ashamed of herself. Still, it was a
better explanation for her to of lost her head than her patriotism, and
I tried to think this the case. And my own position was something to
bring tears to a glass eye, what with my well-known war-work and a
perfectly good husband still in the service. And I had made a threat to
take action, and had no idea what it would be, only that now I certainly
had to deliver the goods.
Well anyways, in despair and the limousine, I finally arrived at the
Palatial and there in the lobby was several other White Kittens which
were also late, so we give each other's clothes the once-over and asked
after our healths and etc., and then hurried up in the elevator to where
the meeting had already commenced.
Believe you me, my mind stuck to that meeting about as good as a W.S.S.
which has been in your purse a month does when you find your card. The
room was as full as could be with the biggest crowd I ever knew to turn
out for it. But somehow while I am generally pretty well interested in
any crowd, this time nothing seemed to register except my own thoughts.
Even the chairlady couldn't hold my attention partially because she was
Ruby Roselle, and what they wanted to elect that woman for I don't know
because her head is certainly not the part of her which earned her
theatrical reputation and a handsome back is no disgrace and if that
and a handful of costume is art far be it from me to say anything: but
it is neither refinement nor does it make a good executor for a live
organization like the Kittens. And what is more, any woman which had her
nose changed from Jewish to Greek right in the middle of a big feature
fillum can't run any society to suit me, not to mention the fact that as
I sat there watching her talk I come slowly to realize that she had
several jewels and a couple of friends which was found to be pro-Germans
and been interned, although nothing was ever proved onto Ruby herself.
Still, coming on top of what I had been going through the last couple of
days, I took a sudden suspicion of her being lady-chairman to one of
America's oldest organizations of the female gender, it having been
formed 'way back in 1911. And what is furthermore, as I sat there hating
her with her synthetic Christian nose and her genuine Jewish diamonds,
the big idea come at last--a way to at once get something started before
she did, because how did I know but she'd have the orchestra play "die
Watch on Rinewine," and feed us on weenies and pumpernickle for supper
at the ball if something radical wasn't done at once? That is, I mean
radical in the right sense, of course. So when she says "Any other
remarks?" I jumped to my feet quick before she could say "the meeting is
injoined."
"Yes, Miss Ruby Schwartz Roselle, there is," I said. "I will be obliged
to have the floor a minute."
"You can have it for all of me, dearie," says Ruby, sweetly, as she
recognized her enemy. "Miss Marie La Tour has the floor."
And then without hardly knowing what I was doing and forgetting even to
feel did my nose need powder before I commenced, I began talking with
something fluttering inside me like a bird's wing. You know--a feeling
like a try-out before a big-time manager. But behind the scare, the
strength of knowing you can deliver the goods.
"Ladies and fellow or, I should say, sister-Kittens!" I commenced.
"There was a time when the well-known words 'Now is the time for all
good men to come to the aid of the party' so thrilled America that it
has become not alone printed in all copy books, but is the first
sentence which is learned by every typewriter. But since then times have
changed until, believe you me, now is the time for all good parties to
come to the aid of the nation in order to show all which are not
Americans first just where they get off, and ladies, we here assembled
are a party not to be scorned, what with a sustaining membership of over
five hundred, and more than a thousand one-dollar members. And what is
more, though admittedly mere females we have a vote in most places now,
including this state, and while I have no doubt you have always intended
to be good citizens, having the vote you are now obliged to be so."
There was quite a little clapping at this, so I was encouraged to go on,
although Ruby's voice says "Out of Order!" twice. Well, I couldn't see
anybody that was behaving disorderly, so I just went ahead with my idea.
"And so my idea is this," I says. "That all Americans, whether lady or
gentleman citizens, should get together in one big association for U. S.
A. Actually get together instead of leaving things be. An association
is, as I understand it, intended for purposes of association. And why
not simply associate each association with every other, canning all
small private schemes and party interests on the one grand common
interest of Bolsheviking the Bolsheviks? I'm sure that if all parties
concerned will forget they are Democrats or Republicans or Methodists or
Suffragists--even whether they are ladies or gentlemen, and remember
they are Americans, nothing can ever rough-house this country like
Europe has been in several places, for in Union is Strength, in God we
Trust, but He helps those who helps themselves, and if we'll only drop
our self-interests and make the union our first idea, God help the
foreigners which tries to help themselves to our dear country!"
By this time the girls was giving me a hand the like of which I never
had before on stage or screen, because their hearts were in them. Do you
get me? You do! And it was quite a spell before Ruby could get order,
although she kept pounding with the silver cat's-paw of her office.
Finally, when she could make herself heard, she says very sarcastic,
"And how does Miss La Tour suggest we commence?" she says.
"By unanimously voting ourselfs 'The White Kittens Patriotic Association
of America,'" I says at once. "Call a extra meeting to change the
constitution temporarily from annual Balls and festivals for the
benefit of indignant members, to a association for associating with
other associations as before suggested. Use part of the money from the
ball just arranged for, to advertise our idea in newspapers and
billboards, and believe you me, by the time we ladies get that far, some
gentleman's association will be on the job to show us a practical way to
use ourselves!"
Well, the Kittens seemed to think this all right, too, and in spite of
Ruby, the next meeting was called and we broke up in high excitement,
and I was surrounded by admiring friends all anxious to tell me they
felt the same as me, and so forth and etc. And finally, after I had been
treated to lunch by several of them, not including Ruby, I collapsed
into my limousine, and said home James, and set my face flat-ward with a
brave heart which knew no fear on account of having accomplished
something worth while. Even the sight of the obtrusively unobtrusive
bull still waiting like the wolf at the door, didn't dampen my spirit.
And it was not until I got upstairs that I commenced realizing that my
own home would be the first place to set in order, and how could I be a
great American female leader with a Bolshevist mother and a German
cook, and how could I preach a thing with one hand and not practice it
with the other? Of course, I could fire the cook, but how about Ma? It
was she herself settled that part of it the moment I stepped into the
parlor, for there she was all alone except for the two dogs, and what
was more, all of a heap, beside.
"Well, thank goodness, you decided to come home, Mary Gilligan!" she
says. "Something awful has happened!"
"Not Jim?" I gasps, my heart nearly stopping, for he is always the first
thing I think of.
"Jim, nothing!" says Ma. "It's poor Kiskoff!"
"Oh, him!" I says, relieved. "What of it?"
"They arrested him this morning!" says Ma, all broken up, the poor fish!
"Arrested him just before the meeting!"
"Good!" I says. "I knew they would. The hound, he couldn't go around
forever talking Bolshevism!"
"It wasn't for that," says Ma.
"Then for what?" I says, blankly.
"For back alimony!" says Ma, almost in tears. "It seems he married a
girl out in Kansas several years ago, and they parted when the circus
left, and it wasn't Russian he was talking, but Yiddish! He speaks
English as well as me."
"And I suppose you'll tell me next that he wasn't talking Bolshevism,"
says I.
"He wasn't--he was only asking them to join the circus-workers' union
Local 21--" says Ma. "He explained it all to the cops!"
"Ma!" I demanded solemnly, a light coming over me. "Ma, have you
honestly got any idea what this Bolshevism _is?_ Come on, own up!"
"Certainly!" she says. "It's something like Spiritualism or
devil-worship, ain't it? A sort of fancy religion!"
"Nothing so respectable!" I says very sharp, yet awful relieved that I
had guessed the truth. "No such thing. Bolshevism is Russian for
sore-head. Religion my eye! It's about as much a religion as small-pox
is!"
Oh! the handicap of having no education! I certainly felt sorry for Ma.
But I needn't of because she give me one of them looks of hers which
always turns my dress to plaid calico and pulls my hair down my back
again.