There was one thing that the gay New Yorkers, under Mrs. Mechlin's
_chaperoning_, had to do before they left the capital. They must make an
excursion across the Potomac to Arlington, and visit the tomb of
Washington. Patriotism, she said, imposed this duty upon them, which
must be fulfilled with due reverence.
"Therefore," Mrs. Mechlin added, "they would have a picnic under the
glorious trees in the Arlington grounds."
"Let our libations be on that sacred spot," said George; "we will pour
wine on the grave of Washington--that is, we will go close to it and
drink it."
"You mean that we will drink the wine and rub the bottle devoutly upon
the monument, as the Irish woman did when she cured her rheumatism," Bob
Gunther added.
"It is awful how unpatriotic and irreverent are the young men nowadays,"
Miss Gunther said.
"Yes; it makes me weep," added Arthur Selden, blinking.
There would be a day or two before the picnic, and Mercedes told George
she wanted to go to the dome of the Capitol, and see Washington City
from that elevated place.
"The little puss shall have her wish," George said, and on the following
day all the party drove again to the Capitol, and walked through
labyrinths of dark corridors leading into committee rooms or may-be into
solemn judicial halls, where justice sat holding the scales in terrific
silence. Emerging from the cool, musty air of the lower halls, they
again visited the upper rooms and galleries, which Elvira and Mercedes
liked better than on their former visits. Now all ascended to the
highest point they could go, and their exertions were amply rewarded by
the pleasure of seeing the beautiful panorama at their feet. Washington
City has been viewed and reviewed, and too minutely described to be
considered any longer interesting to Eastern people, but to our
Californians the view of that city of proud and symmetric proportions,
with its radiating avenues lost in diminishing distances, its little
triangular parks and haughty edifices, all making a picturesque
_ensemble_, was most pleasing and startling.
With Clarence by her side, Mercedes looked carefully at the city that
like a magnificent picture lay there beneath them. She wished to carry
it photographed in her memory.
The picnic to Arlington was much enjoyed by all. Mercedes would have
preferred to walk over the grounds of Mount Vernon with Clarence alone,
for her love was of that pure character which longs to associate the
cherished object with every thought and feeling having its source in our
highest faculties. She thought Mount Vernon ought to be visited
reverently, and she knew Clarence would not laugh at her for thinking
so. But, alas! those other young gentlemen had no such thoughts. They
were in high glee, determined to have fun, and enjoy it; and though
Mercedes and Miss Gunther told them they were behaving like vandals,
such rebukes only increased their merriment, which continued even after
they recrossed the Potomac.
Mr. Mechlin's party had at last to tear itself away from Washington, and
hurry to New York, for the "charity ball" was to come off in a few days;
then the Liederkranz and the Purim balls would follow--all in the month
of February--and Mrs. Mechlin wished that Elvira and Mercedes should see
them all. They had been at masked balls in Washington at the house of a
Senator and of a foreign minister, but Mrs. Mechlin said that no masked
balls in America could or did equal those given in New York at the
Academy of Music, consequently it became an absolute necessity that
these two young ladies should see those grand affairs. Moreover, she was
one of the matrons of the charity ball, and her presence was
indispensable to attend to their management.
A special car was again in readiness, and the Mechlin party occupied it
one morning at eight o'clock. The party was now increased by the
addition of six ladies and eight gentlemen from Washington, who were
going to attend the charity ball and Liederkranz. The train was in
motion, going out of the city limits, accelerating its speed as it
plunged into the woods beyond. George and Clarence sat at one end of the
car, separate from the company, looking at the Capitol, as it seemed to
retreat, flying with receding celerity. The woods were beginning to
intercept its view at times--the dome would disappear and reappear again
and again above the surrounding country.
Mr. Mechlin joined the two young men, saying to them, as he turned the
seat in front, and sat facing them: "You are watching the receding
Capitol. I was doing the same. I wonder whether your thoughts were like
mine in looking at that proud edifice?"
"I think my thoughts were about the same subject, uncle. What were your
thoughts, Darrell? Tell us," George said.
"I was thinking of your father and of Don Mariano--thinking that under
that white shining dome their fate would be decided perhaps, as they
both have embarked so hopefully in the boat of the Texas Pacific
Railroad."
George and his uncle looked at each other as if saying, "We all were of
the same mind, surely."
Mr. Lawrence Mechlin said: "We certainly were thinking nearly alike, Mr.
Darrell, with this difference, may-be, that I don't feel as hopeful as I
did a few weeks ago, when you and I talked about the fair chances of the
Texas Pacific as we looked at that same white dome when we were coming
down. Now I am very fearful that the sad condition of the impoverished
South is not going to have the weight which it deserves in the minds of
this Congress. I talked with many of our law-givers about the matter,
and all seemed not to realize the importance, the policy, the humanity
of helping the South, and of giving to the Pacific Coast a competing
railway, to get California out of the clutches of a grasping monopoly.
All agree that it ought to be done, but it looks as if few put their
hearts into the matter."
"Their hearts are in their pockets, uncle, and I am afraid that after
all our reluctance to believe that our Congressmen can be improperly
influenced, we will have to submit--with shame and sorrow--and accept
the fact that bribery has been at work, _successfully_. The chief of the
lobby is king."
"Not yet--not yet. It is a frightful thought. Let us not accept it yet.
Let us think it is an error, but not knavery. I am coming down again, I
think, before this session is over. I want to see more before I am
convinced. I have my fears and my doubts, but I still hope--_must_
hope--that our Congress has many honest men."
"You can hope--but it will be in vain," George said; "the money of the
Central Pacific Railroad will be too much for Colonel Scott."
"Don't be so desponding, boy."
"I can't have any hope in this Congress. There never can be any better
arguments in favor of the Texas Pacific than are now plain to everybody.
So, then, if in the face of all these powerful considerations Congress
turns it back and will not hear the wail of the prostrate South, or the
impassionate appeals of California, now, _now_, when there is not one
solitary reason under heaven why such appeals and entreaties should be
disregarded, is there any ground to expect any better in the uncertain
future? Certainly not. But still, I do not say that we should abandon
all hope. For the sake of my father, who has trusted so much in the
Texas Pacific, I am glad you will do all you can to help Colonel Scott."
"I certainly shall," Mr. Mechlin replied. Then, after a few minutes of
silence, he said: "If our legislators could only be induced to adopt
Herbert Spencer's view of _the duties of law-givers_, there would be far
less misery in the United States. If they could but stop to see how
clearly it stands to reason that 'legislative deductions must be based
upon _fundamental morality_,' that 'the inferences of political economy
are true, only because they are discoveries by a roundabout process of
_what the moral law commands_.' It is an unfortunate mistake that the
words '_moral law_' are generally understood to apply practically only
to private conduct; to a man's fidelity to his marriage vows; to his
religious belief; this we learn at school. But these words are only
loosely applied (if at all) to a man's actions as a legislator. I never
heard in election times that any one expects our law-givers to base
their legislation upon _fundamental morality_, and regard expediency as
a secondary consideration. Congressmen know that they are expected to
watch the material interests of their States or counties, but they do
not feel any moral responsibility to see that other _constituencies_ do
not suffer injustice. Thus, if the Congressmen of one State choose to
betray the rights of their constituencies, other Congressmen generally
look on indifferently, or, perhaps, amused--and do not interfere any
more than they would in the domestic affairs of perfect strangers. They
do not seem to perceive that on the very instant in which they see that
a community, or an individual, is being wronged by the neglect or design
of their own representatives, that then any other Congressman should
come forward to protect the betrayed community or defenseless citizen.
This is clearly their duty. But it seems to be ignored by tacit consent.
All Congressmen are ready to offer objections to every conceivable
measure. To jump up and shout _against_ anything, seems to be thought
the proof of a man being a good legislator. Combativeness is the one
faculty ever in use to offer _obstructions_, and thus necessary and
useful legislation is foolishly retarded, and untold misery is brought
upon innocent citizens. All this is a mistake. Because the '_fundamental
law of morality_' is not understood. Herbert Spencer says: 'Now, this
that we call _moral law_ is simply a statement of the _conditions_ of
beneficial action. Originating in the primary necessities of things, it
is the development of these into a series of limitations within which
all conduct conducive to the greatest happiness must be confined. To
overstep such limitations is to disregard these necessities of things,
to fight against the constitution of nature.' Mr. Spencer applies this
axiom to the happiness of individuals, as well as of entire communities.
If the principles of fundamental morality were better understood and
more conscientiously respected, railroad manipulators would find it
impossible to organize a lobby to defeat all laws intended to aid the
Texas Pacific. But I repeat, in spite of all discouragement, I will use
my best efforts to help the Texas Pacific, as I firmly believe every
honest man in these United States ought to do, even when not directly
interested."
The journey to New York was accomplished safely by our party, and in
good time for the charity ball. Mrs. Mechlin and Mrs. Gunther being in
the list of its distinguished matrons, busied themselves about that
grand affair from the day after their return until its successful
_finale_, which was also a success pecuniarily.
To the charity ball follow the Liederkranz and the Purim.
"Are you to go masked, George?" Mrs. Mechlin asked, as they were
discussing the coming ball with Miss Gunther.
"No, I think not. I think the best plan is to wear a domino and mask, as
we go in with you ladies, so that you may not be recognized. Then after
awhile we will leave you and go out into the vestibule and take off our
masks and return unmasked."
"But why not keep masked?" Clarence asked.
"Because we will have no fun at all with masks on. The ladies not
knowing who we are will have nothing to say to us. But if they see who
we are, then they'll come and talk saucily, thinking we will not
recognize them. We will, though, and then the fun begins."
"Nobody knows at home what my domino is to look like, but I think Bob
will recognize my voice, and know who we all are, as he knows I am going
with you," Miss Gunther said.
"But is he not to be of our party?" Mrs. Mechlin asked.
"No; he is going to escort Miss Selden. My brother Charles will be my
escort. He will be in our secret, of course. How I wish we could mystify
Bob."
"But we can't, if we speak to him, as he will recognize our voices,
Mercedes and mine, by our accent immediately," Elvira said.
"You can mimic the German way of talking English, and Mercedes can talk
half French and half English, with an Irish brogue," George suggested.
"She talks Irish brogue to perfection," Elvira said.
"But I'll have to practice before I would speak to him," said Mercedes.
"Practice every day--you have six days yet," Mrs. Mechlin said.
"Do, Miss Mercedes. I would like you to fool Bob," Miss Gunther said.
"But you must make your voice sound guttural. Your voice is naturally
very musical. You must disguise it," George suggested.
Mercedes followed his suggestion, and by carefully imitating Mrs.
Mechlin's French maid (who spoke very broken English and stammered a
good deal), she passed herself off for a stammering French girl, who was
very talkative, in spite of the difficulty in her speech--maintaining
her _role_ so well that neither Bob nor Arthur recognized her until she
took off her mask. Then the faces of the two young men were a study.
They both had paid most ardent compliments to her feet and hands, and
had earnestly begged for the privilege of calling upon her, which she
granted, promising to give the number of her house when she unmasked.
She had danced with both several times, and had asked them to present
George and Clarence to her. Both of whom also asked her to dance, and
while dancing had a good laugh at the expense of the two deluded ones.
When she unmasked, Selden left the ball in the midst of the peals of
laughter from those who understood the joke. Bob stood his ground, with
the crimson blush up to his ears and eyebrows.
"The fact of the matter is, that you will attract me always, no matter
under what disguise," he whispered to Mercedes.
"_Pas si bete_," she answered, stammering fearfully, and looking the
prettier for it.
The Liederkranz and Purim balls were highly enjoyed also, but Mercedes,
though in domino, assumed no _role_. She was very amiable to Bob and
Arthur, to heal the wound of their lacerated vanity.
The winter had now passed, and spring came--bringing to our Californians
thoughts of returning home.
The sun was shining brightly on Madison Square--there had been a heavy
shower that morning, in the early March--which had washed the snow off
the pavements into the sewers, leaving the streets clean. Children were
out with their nurses in the square, among the trees, which were trying
hard to bud out, but as yet succeeded very poorly. Still, there were
some little birds of sanguine temperament, chirping like good optimists
about the ungainly, denuded branches, calculating philosophically on
coming green leaves, though vegetation was slow to awake from its winter
sleep.
Clarence, from his window at the hotel, saw that the day was bright, and
hastened, in an open carriage, to take Elvira and Mercedes out for a
drive in the park. They first went down for George, who had not yet left
the bank.
"Did you get letters from home to-day?" Elvira asked.
"Yes; and among them a long one from Don Mariano," Clarence replied.
"What did he say? Any good news for poor papa?"
"He has just made twenty thousand dollars, any way, in spite of
squatters. And he will make sixty thousand dollars more if he will do
what I asked him in my letter to-day," Clarence said.
"How did he make twenty thousand dollars?" George asked, with a
brightened look, which was reflected in the beautiful eyes of the
sisters.
"By sending five hundred steers to Fred Haverly."
"Are five hundred steers worth that much?" George asked, surprised.
"Yes--at forty dollars per head--which for large cattle is not too high
a price. That is what Fred has been paying for cattle weighing in the
neighborhood of four hundred pounds."
"The best thing Don Mariano can do is to sell you all his cattle, even
at half of this price," George said.
"That is what I have been writing to him to-day. As I have to buy cattle
for the mines, and I am willing to pay him a good price, he ought to
sell them all to me, and when he gets his rancho clear of trespassers
then buy finer breeds and restock the rancho."
"A most excellent idea," George said.
Robert Gunther passed by, driving his four-in-hand at a furious speed,
with a very handsome girl sitting by his side. He bowed as he passed.
Mercedes laughed, saying he looked "sheepish," and though he did not
hear what she said, he blushed to the roots of his hair, and ran against
a heavy carriage which slowly rolled ahead of him, loaded with four
elderly ladies, who screamed terrified. This mishap only increased Bob's
confusion, forcing him to check his speed.
"Do you want our assistance?" George asked, laughing.
"No, thanks. If people did not come to drive their funerals through the
park, no one would run over them," Bob said.
"And you want to kill them, so as not to have funerals without dead
bodies?" Mercedes asked.
"Be merciful! Remember your name is Mercedes," said poor, embarrassed
Bob.
Whereupon Mercedes wafted a kiss to him, saying: "That goes as a peace
offering."
"Ah, yes; I understand," said he, following her with his eyes. "A kiss
to the empty air is all you will ever give me."