I
It was ten days later that a communication from the Laconia War
Memorial Association gave warning that the stipulations for the
contesting architects were being altered, and in another week Bruce
received the supplemental data sent out to all the contestants. The
amount to be expended had been increased by an unexpected addition to
the private subscriptions.
In one of his first fits of homesickness Bruce had subscribed for the
Laconia Examiner to keep in touch with affairs in his native town. The
paper printed with a proud flourish the news of the augmentation of
the fund. One hundred thousand dollars had been contributed through
a New York trust company by “a citizen” whose identity for good and
sufficient reasons was not to be disclosed. The trust company’s
letter as quoted in the Examiner recited that the donation was from a
“patriotic American who, recognizing the fine spirit in which Laconia
had undertaken the memorial and the community’s desire that it should
be an adequate testimony to the valor and sacrifice of American youth,
considered it a high privilege to be permitted to assist.”
Mills! Though the Laconia newspaper was evidently wholly at sea as to
the identity of the contributor, Bruce was satisfied that Mills was
the unknown donor. And he resented it. The agreeable impression left
by Mills the evening they discussed the plans was dispelled by this
unwarranted interference. Bruce bitterly regretted having taken Mills
into his confidence. Mills’s interest had pleased him, but he had never
dreamed that the man might feel moved to add to the attractiveness of
the contest by a secret contribution to the fund. He felt strongly
moved to abandon the whole thing and but for the embarrassment of
explaining himself to Freeman he would have done so. But the artist in
him prevailed. Mills had greatly broadened the possibilities of the
contest and in a few days Bruce fell to work with renewed enthusiasm.
He was living in Laconia again, so engrossed did he become in his
work. He dined with Carroll now and then, enjoyed long evenings at the
Freemans’ and kept touch with the Hendersons; but he refused so many
invitations to the winter functions that Dale protested. He dropped
into the Central States Trust Company now and then to observe Shep
in his new rôle of vice-president. Shep was happier in the position
than he had expected to be. Carroll was seeing to it that he had real
work to do, work that was well within his powers. He had charge of
the savings department and was pleased when his old friends among the
employees of the battery plant looked him up and opened accounts. The
friends of the Mills family, where they took note of Shep’s transfer at
all, saw in it a promotion.
Bruce, specially importuned by telephone, went to one of Constance’s
days at home, which drew a large attendance by reason of the promised
presence of an English novelist whose recent severe criticism of
American society and manners had made him the object of particular
adoration to American women readers. Bud Henderson, who had carried
a flask to the tea, went about protesting against the consideration
shown the visitor. If, he said, an American writer criticized American
women in any such fashion he would be lynched, but let an Englishman
do it and women would steal the money out of their children’s banks
to buy his books and lecture tickets. So spake Bud. If Bud had had
two flasks he would have broken up the tea; restricted as he was, his
protest against the Briton took the form of an utterly uncalled for
attack upon the drama league delivered to an aunt of Maybelle’s who was
president of the local society--a strong Volsteadian who thought Bud
vulgar, which at times Bud, by any high social standard, indubitably
was. However, if amid so many genuflections the eminent Briton was
disturbed by Bud’s evil manners or criticisms, Bud possibly soothed his
feelings by following him upstairs when the party was dispersing and
demonstrating the manner in which American law is respected by drawing
flasks from nine out of fifteen overcoats laid out on Constance’s
guest room bed and pouring half a pint of excellent bourbon into the
unresisting man of letters.
This function was only an interlude in the city’s rather arid social
waste. The local society, Bruce found, was an affair of curiously
close groupings. The women of the ancestral crowd were so wary of the
women who had floated in on the tide of industrial expansion that one
might have thought the newcomers were, in spite of their prosperity,
afflicted with leprosy....
While Bruce might bury himself from the sight of others who had
manifested a friendly interest in him, Helen Torrence was not so
easily denied. She had no intention of going alone to the February
play of the Dramatic Club. She telephoned Bruce to this effect and
added that he must dine with her that evening and take her to the club.
Bud had already sent him an admission card with a warning not to come
if anything better offered, such as sitting up with a corpse--this
being Bud’s manner of speaking of the organization whose politics he
dominated and whose entertainments he would not have missed for a
chance to dine with royalty.
Bruce, having reached the Torrence house, found Millicent there.
“You see what you get for being good!” cried Helen, noting the surprise
and pleasure in Bruce’s face as he appeared in her drawing room.
“I thought you’d probably run when you saw me,” said Millicent. “You
passed me at the post office door yesterday and looked straight over my
head. I never felt so small in my life.”
“Post office?” Bruce repeated. “I haven’t been near the place for
weeks!”
“That will do from you!” warned Helen. “We all thought you’d be a real
addition to our sad social efforts here, but it’s evident you don’t
like us. It’s very discouraging. You were at Connie’s, though, to hear
her lion roar. I saw you across the room. Connie always gets the men!
Your friend Bud insulted everybody there; I see him selling any more
Plantagenets!”
“Bud’s patriotism leads him astray sometimes; that’s all. Any more
scolding, Millicent?” Bruce asked. “Let me see--we had arrived at the
stage of first names, hadn’t we?”
“Yes, Bruce! But after the long separation it might be as well to
go back to the beginning. As for scolding, let’s consider that we’ve
signed an armistice.”
“I don’t like the military lingo; it sounds as though there had been
war between us.”
“Dear me!” Helen interposed mournfully. “You’re not going to spend the
whole evening in preliminaries! Let’s go out to dinner.”
After they were seated Bruce was still rather more self-conscious than
was comfortable. Nothing had happened; or more truthfully, nothing had
happened except that he had been keeping away from Millicent because of
Franklin Mills. She evidently was not displeased to see him again. He
had not realized how greatly he had missed her till her voice touched
chords that had vibrated at their first meeting. Her eyes had the same
steady light and kindled responsively to any demand of mirth; her hair
had the same glint of gold. He marveled anew at her poise and ease.
Tonight her gown, of a delicate shade of crimson, seemed a subdued
reflection of her bright coloring. He floundered badly in his attempts
to bring some spirit to the conversation. It seemed stupid to ask
Millicent about her music or inquire how her modeling was coming on or
what she had been reading. He listened with forced attention while she
and Helen compared notes on recent social affairs in which they had
participated.
“Millie, you don’t really like going about--teas and that sort of
thing,” said Helen. “I know you don’t. All you girls who have ideas are
like that.”
“Ideas! Dearest Helen, are you as easily deceived as that! Sometimes
there are things I’d rather do than go to parties! Does one really have
to keep going to avoid seeming queer?”
“I go because I haven’t the brains to do anything else. I like
wandering with the herd. It just thrills me to get into a big jam. And
I suppose I show myself whenever I’m asked for fear I’ll be forgotten!”
“My sole test of a social function is whether they feed me standing or
sitting,” said Bruce when appealed to. “I can bear anything but that
hideous sensation that my plate is dripping.”
“That’s why men hate teas,” observed Helen. “It’s because of the silly
refreshments no one wants and everybody must have or the hostess is
broken-hearted.”
“That’s probably where jailers got the idea of forcible feeding,”
Millicent suggested.
“At the Hendersons’,” Bruce added, “only the drinks are compulsory.
Bud’s social symbol is the cocktail-shaker!”
“Everybody drinks too much;” said Helen, “except us. Bruce, help
yourself to the sherry.”
“What is a perfect social occasion?” Bruce asked. “My own ideas are a
little muddled, but you--Helen?”
“If you must know the truth--there is no such thing! However, you might
ask Millicent; she’s an optimist.”
“A perfect time is sitting in the middle of the floor in my room
cutting paper dolls,” Millicent answered. “I’m crazy about it. Leila
says it’s the best thing I do.”
“Do you ever exhibit your creations?” asked Bruce solicitously.
“We’ve got her in a trap now,” exclaimed Helen. “Millie takes her
paper dolls to the sick children in the hospitals. I know, because the
children told me. I was at the City Hospital the other day and peeped
into the children’s ward. Much excitement--a vast population of paper
dolls dressed in the latest modes. The youngsters were so tickled! They
said a beautiful lady had brought them--a most wonderful, beautiful
lady. And she was going to come back with paper and scissors and show
them just how they were made!”
“They’re such dear, patient little angels,” murmured Millicent. “You
feel better about all humanity when you see how much courage there is
in the world. It’s a pretty brave old world after all.”
“It’s the most amazing thing about life,” said Bruce, “that so many
millions rise up every morning bent on doing their best. You’d think
the whole human race would have given up the struggle long ago and
jumped into the sea. But no! Poor boobs that we are, we go whistling
right along. Frankly, I mean to hang on a couple of weeks longer. Silly
old world--but--it has its good points.”
“Great applause!” exclaimed Helen, satisfied now that her little party
was not to prove an utter failure. These were two interesting young
people, she knew, and she was anxious to hear their views on matters
about which she troubled herself more than most people suspected.
“I’ve wondered sometimes,” Millicent said, “what would happen if the
world could be made altogether happy just once by a miracle of some
kind, no heartache anywhere; no discomfort! How long would it last?”
“Only till some person among the millions wanted something another one
had; that would start the old row over again,” Bruce answered.
“I see what you children mean,” said Helen seriously. “Selfishness is
what makes the world unhappy!”
“Now--we’re getting in deep!” Bruce exclaimed. “Millicent always swims
for the open water.”
“Millie ought to go about lecturing; telling people to be calm, to look
more at the stars and less at their neighbors’ new automobiles. I
believe that would do a lot of good,” said Helen.
“A splendid idea!” Bruce declared, laughing into Millicent’s eyes. “But
what a sacrifice of herself! A wonderful exhibition of unselfishness,
but----”
“I’d be stoned to death!”
“You’d be surer of martyrdom if you told them to love their neighbors
as themselves,” said Helen. “Seriously now, that’s the hardest thing
there is to do! Love my neighbor as myself! Me! Why, on one side my
neighbor’s children snowball my windows; on the other side there’s a
chimney that ruins me paying cleaner’s bills. Perhaps you’d speak to
them for me, Millie?”
“See here!” exclaimed Millicent. “Where do you get this idea of using
me as a missionary and policeman! I don’t feel any urge to reform the
world! I’m awful busy tending to my own business.”
“Oh, all right,” said Bruce with a sigh of resignation. “Let the world
go hang, then, if you won’t save it!”
Helen was dressing the salad, and Bruce was free to watch Millicent’s
eyes as they filled with dreams. As at other times when some grave
mood touched her, it seemed that she became another being, exploring
some realm alien to common experience. He glanced at her hands, folded
quietly on the edge of the table, and again at her dream-filled eyes.
Hers was the repose of a nature schooled in serenity. The world might
rage in fury about her, but amid the tempest her soul would remain
unshaken....
Helen, to whom silence was always disturbing, looked up, but stifled an
apology for the unconscionable time she was taking with the salad when
she saw Millicent’s face, and Bruce’s intent, reverent gaze fixed upon
the girl.
“Saving the world!” Millicent repeated deliberatingly. “I never quite
like the idea. It rather suggests--doesn’t it?--that some new machinery
or method must be devised for saving it. But the secret came into the
world ever so long ago--it was the ideal of beauty. A Beautiful Being
died that man might know the secret of happiness. It had to be that way
or man would never have understood or remembered. It’s not His fault
that his ideas have been so confused and obscured in the centuries that
have passed since He came. It’s man’s fault. The very simplicity of His
example has always bewildered man; it was too good to be true!”
“But, Millie,” said Helen with a little embarrassed laugh, “does the
world really want to live as Jesus lived? Or would it admire people who
did? Somebody said once that Christianity isn’t a failure because it’s
never been tried. Will it _ever_ be tried--does anyone care enough?”
“Dear me! What have I gotten into?” Millicent picked up her fork and
glanced at them smilingly. “Bruce, don’t look so terribly solemn! Why,
people are trying it every day, at least pecking at it a little. I’ve
caught you at it lots of times! While we sit here, enjoying this quite
wonderful salad, scores of people are doing things to make the world
a better place to live in--safer, kinder and happier. I saw a child
walk out of the hospital the other day who’d been carried in, a pitiful
little cripple. It was a miracle; and if you’d seen the child’s delight
and the look in the face of the doctor whose genius did the work, you’d
have thought the secret of Jesus is making some headway!”
“And knowing the very charming young woman named Millicent who found
that little crippled girl and took her to the hospital. I’d have
thought a lot more things!”
“I never did it!” Millicent cried.
“She’s always up to such tricks!” Helen informed Bruce. “Paper dolls
are only one item of Millie’s good works.”
“Be careful!” Millicent admonished. “I could tell some stories on you
that might embarrass you terribly.” She turned to Bruce with a lifting
of the brows that implied their hostess’s many shameless excursions in
philanthropy.
“How grand it would be if we could all talk about serious things--life,
religion and things like that--as Millie does,” remarked Helen. “Most
people talk of religion as though it were something disgraceful.”
“Or they take the professional tone of the undertaker telling a late
pallbearer where to sit,” Bruce added, “and the pallbearer is always
deaf and insists on getting into the wrong place and sitting on
someone’s hat.”
“How jolly! Anything to cheer up a funeral,” said Helen. “Go on,
Millie, and talk some more. You’re a lot more comforting than Doctor
Lindley.”
“The Doctor’s fine,” said Millicent spiritedly. “I don’t go to
church because half of me is heathen, I suppose.” She paused as
though a little startled by the confession. “There are things about
churches--some of the hymns, the creed, the attempts to explain the
Scriptures--that don’t need explaining--that rub me the wrong way. But
it isn’t fair to criticize Doctor Lindley or any other minister who’s
doing the best he can to help the world when the times are against him.
No one has a harder job than a Christian minister of his training and
traditions who really knows what’s the trouble with the world and the
church but is in danger of being burned as a heretic if he says what he
thinks.”
“People can’t believe any more, can they, what their grandfathers
believed? It’s impossible--with science and everything,” suggested
Helen vaguely.
“Why should they?” asked Millicent. “I liked to believe that God moves
forward with the world. He has outgrown His own churches; it’s their
misfortune that they don’t realize it. And Jesus, the Beautiful One,
walks through the modern world weighted down with a heavier cross than
the one he died on--bigotry, intolerance, hatred--what a cruel thing
that men should hate one another in His name! I’ve wondered sometimes
what Jesus must think of all the books that have been written to
explain Him--mountains of books! Jesus is the only teacher the world
ever had who got His whole story into one word--a universal word, an
easy word to say, and the word that has inspired all the finest deeds
of man. He rested His case on that, thinking that anything so simple
would never be misunderstood. At the hospital one day I heard a mother
say to her child, a pitiful little scrap who was doomed to die, ‘I
love you so!’ and the wise, understanding little baby said, ‘Me know
you do.’ I think that’s an answer to the charge that Christianity is
passing out. It can’t, you see, because it’s founded on the one thing
in the world that can never die.”
The room was very still. The maid, who had been arrested in the serving
of the dinner by a gesture from Helen, furtively made the sign of the
cross. The candle flames bent to some imperceptible stirring of the
quiet air. Bruce experienced a sense of vastness, of the immeasurable
horizons of Millicent’s God and a world through which the Beautiful One
wandered still, symbolizing the ineffable word of His gospel that was
not for one people, or one sect, not to be bound up into one creed,
but written into the hearts of all men as their guide to happiness.
It seemed to him that the girl’s words were part of some rite of
purification that had cleansed and blessed the world.
“I hadn’t thought of it in quite that way,” said Bruce thoughtfully.
Helen was a wise woman and knew the perils of anticlimax. She turned
and nodded to the maid.
“Please forgive me! I’ve been holding back the dinner!” Millicent
exclaimed. “You must always stop me when I begin riding the clouds.
Bruce, are you seeing Dale Freeman these days? Of course you are!
Helen, we must study Dale more closely. She knows how to bring Bruce
running!”
“I cheerfully yield to Dale in everything,” said Helen. “I must watch
the time. They promise an unusually good show tonight--three one-act
pieces and one of them by George Whitford; he and Connie are to act in
it.”
“Connie ought to be a star,” Millicent remarked, “she gives a lot of
time to theatricals.”
“There’s just a question whether Connie and George Whitford are
not--well, getting up theatricals does make for intimacy!” said Helen.
“I wish George had less money! An idle man--particularly a fascinating
devil like George--is a dangerous playmate for a woman like Connie!”
“Oh, but Connie’s a dear!” exclaimed Millicent defensively. “Her
position isn’t easy. A lot of the criticism you hear of her is unjust.”
“A lot of the criticism you hear of everybody is unjust,” Bruce
ventured.
“Oh, we have a few people here who pass for respectable but start all
the malicious gossip in town,” Helen observed. “They’re not all women,
either! I suspect Mort Walters of spreading the story that Connie and
George are having a big affair, and that Mr. Mills gave Connie a good
combing about it before he went abroad!”
“Ridiculous!” murmured Millicent.
“Of course,” Helen went on. “We all know why Leila’s father dragged
her away. But Connie ought really to have a care. It’s too bad Shep
isn’t big enough to give Walters a thrashing. The trouble with Walters
is that he tried to start a little affair with Connie himself and she
turned him down cold. Pardon me, are we gossiping?”
“Of course not!” laughed Millicent.
“Just whetting our appetites for anything new that offers at the club,”
said Bruce. “I’m glad I’m a new man in town; I can listen to all the
scandal without being obliged to take sides.”
“Millie! You hate gossip,” said Helen, “so please talk about the saints
so I won’t have a chance to chatter about the sinners.”
“Don’t worry,” said Bruce. “If there were no sinners the saints
wouldn’t know how good they are!”
“We’d better quit on that,” said Helen. “It’s time to go!”