The Sacrifice of Youth
About ten o'clock on the evening of the same day Mrs. Burton and Mr.
Morris were sitting before the open door of the old Spanish house
looking out over the countryside.
In the neighborhood of the California coast the moonlight has a rare
brilliancy. The mists of the early morning and late afternoons usually
disappear and seem to float overhead in white and silver clouds.
"You are very kind to allow us to impose upon your hospitality in this
fashion, Mr. Morris," Mrs. Burton declared, in the voice whose rare
quality gave even to her ordinary statements a charm beyond other
persons. "I don't believe I have ever seen so beautiful a view in
California as I am having from your house tonight, and yet a few hours
ago I would not have believed this possible."
Immediately upon receipt of Gerry Williams' note Mrs. Burton had motored
over to the Morris ranch, using Merton Anderson as her guide. She was
anxious, of course, in regard to Sally's injuries, but anxious also to
learn the character of her rescuers. Naturally the girls could not be
allowed to remain alone over night with strangers. Unless Sally were in
a really critical condition, she could certainly be moved without
danger.
Within a few minutes after Mrs. Burton's arrival at the ranch, the
physician who had been telephoned for some time before, appeared in
answer to the summons.
After seeing Sally he announced that she was not seriously hurt, only
bruised and shaken, and could be moved without difficulty. Despite this
assurance, the two girls and Mrs. Burton were spending the night at the
ranch.
"I don't believe you appreciate, Mrs. Burton, how great a pleasure and
an honor your presence in our home is both to my son and me. We are so
far out of the world and with no women in our family are often extremely
lonely. However, we are not so remote that we have not heard of Mrs.
Burton's distinguished reputation."
Mr. Morris spoke with an old-fashioned courtesy and admiration which no
one could fail to appreciate.
His guest preferred not to talk of her professional life during her
summer holidays with the Camp Fire girls.
"At least I am sure we shall never forget our own pleasure," Mrs. Burton
returned. "The fact of the matter was I discovered at once that Sally
and Gerry were determined upon remaining as soon as you and your son
were kind enough to invite us. It is my private belief that Sally even
pretended to be more seriously hurt in order to influence my decision.
She appears to be enjoying the role of injured heroine, and yet I can
scarcely criticise the girls, as I did not require a great deal of
persuasion."
As a matter of fact, soon after her arrival she also had fallen a victim
to the beauty and romantic aspect of the old Spanish estate and to the
charm and hospitality of its owners. Moreover, Mrs. Burton realized that
Mr. Morris and his son were sincerely desirous of having them as guests.
Their invitation had not been merely a conventional one and the old
house seemed to possess an almost indefinite number of shabby bedrooms.
With an expressive gesture of her hands Mrs. Burton suddenly arose and
walked with her host to the edge of the hill which sloped down from the
front of his house.
"You are not very far out of the world when, as you tell me, the new
National Guard camp is being built on the broad mesa below you. Is it
where I see the little row of lights? Wherever our soldiers are is the
only world that is of much importance these days! I am to drive over
soon and see the new cantonment. My Camp Fire girls and I are anxious to
find out if we can be of the least possible service. Recently, for the
first time in my life, there have been moments when I was sorry to be a
woman."
"And yet it is a sadder thing to be an old man, Mrs. Burton. I offered
my services at the beginning, but I am past sixty and--well--well, they
were right, of course; I am not a trained soldier and not even a
competent business man and I should only have been a nuisance."
In the impetuous fashion which had always been characteristic of her
girlhood as Polly O'Neill and which she had never lost, Mrs. Burton
turned around.
"Yes, it is hard. Women are not soldiers at heart, in spite of those
thrilling Russian women and their great 'Battalion of Death.' We are not
intended for the actual fighting and can only do our work behind the
lines until the world is purified forever from the scourge of war. But
you have your son to take your place."
For a few moments Mr. Morris made no reply. Then he replied slowly in a
tone of hesitation and of embarrassment:
"I wonder if you will allow me to make a confidant of you? I am in great
trouble, Mrs. Burton, and although we were strangers before this evening
I know your life must have taught you to understand human nature. My son
does not wish to enter the war. I tried to persuade him to volunteer. He
refused. Now the draft has come and his number has been called, he is
still making every effort to escape military service, pleading exemption
upon entirely unnecessary grounds. The fact is inexplicable to me. When
my son was born my wife and I were no longer young and she died a short
time after. Felipe has grown up here with me, with his friends and his
flowers and his music, to which he is sincerely devoted, and nothing has
ever been required of him. I knew he was indolent and selfish perhaps,
but until the United States entered the war I failed to appreciate that
Felipe was not a man. Another circumstance which has added to our
difficulty, instead of clearing it away, is that Felipe and I have
recently inherited a large sum of money. Until recently, as our home
must have revealed to you, we have been poor and not very industrious.
Now our inheritance has made my son more than ever eager for a life of
ease and pleasure. He has been planning to fix up the old place until it
looks as it did many years ago. He wishes also to study singing, as he
has a really beautiful voice, and has been talking of going to Spain,
now that the other European countries are at present out of the
question. You can see I scarcely know what to do. Felipe's exemption
claim is almost sure to be denied, and yet I cannot discuss the matter
with our friends and neighbors. I do not wish to prejudice them against
my boy. What is it I can do, Mrs. Burton, when I confess to you that I
appear to have no influence with my son upon the subject of his
responsibility to his country?"
Mrs. Burton continued looking down upon the extraordinary view.
The hills toward the east were black and eerie, the sea to the west a
shining mirror, with the valleys like shadows in between.
"Mr. Morris, I wish you and your son would come over to our camp some
day soon," she remarked later with apparent irrelevance. "Of course I
wish you to know my sister, but I should also like you to meet her sons.
One of them, Dan Webster, is one of the finest type of American boys. He
is strong and clean and good looking and has no dearer wish in life than
to be allowed to volunteer. In another year I presume my sister will be
forced to give her consent--Dan is only seventeen at present. My other
nephew, Billy--well, I hardly know how to describe Billy, because he is
like no other human being I have ever known. He is one of the most
impossible and obstinate boys in the world, and one never knows from one
moment to the next what he is going to do or say. At present he is the
trial of all our lives at Sunrise camp; he has proclaimed himself a
pacifist, and feels called upon to convert everybody he meets. He is
filled with Tolstoi's beautiful theories of universal peace. As he is
still too young for the draft his ideas so far have not proved a serious
menace, and yet I worry over him a good deal. Nevertheless, do you know
I am not sure Billy would not be as heroic as Dan if the test ever comes
and he is once convinced peace can only follow the tragic sacrifice of
war.
"I am not saying all this to you, Mr. Morris, because I am unsympathetic
about your son. It is perhaps because I believe I may understand his
attitude. Forgive me if you do not agree with me, but I wonder if we
older people are fully appreciating what tremendous sacrifices this war
is demanding of youth. We have no right to expect all of them to give up
their individual hopes and dreams for the future without hesitating and
without flinching. They cannot all be made of the blood of heroes. The
amazing fact is that so many of them have been. Personally I cannot help
being a little sorry for your son. He will do the right thing in time, I
am sure, but it cannot be easy to surrender this exquisite home and his
ambition for a musical life. Felipe is probably afflicted with the
artistic temperament, or else inspired by it, and the ways of the
artistic temperament are past finding out," Mrs. Burton concluded,
endeavoring to add a somewhat lighter tone to the conversation.
Her host shook his head gravely.
"You are very kind, Madame, and yet I am afraid I cannot accept your
defense of my son. His ancestors were Spanish adventurers and soldiers
and my own fought with Washington. However, I shall be delighted to
visit your camp. One of the many reasons I wished to persuade you to
remain over night with us was in order that Felipe might learn to know
the girls who are with you. I fancied that he was immediately interested
in one of them. Perhaps later she may prove an inspiration, a spur to
him. American girls must have no patience with slackers these days. But
suppose we cease talking about the war which haunts us all so
everlastingly. Won't you walk with me and look at some of the other
views about the old place by moonlight?"
Mrs. Burton and her host entered the front door of the house, crossed
the large sitting room and came out upon one of the paths of the
enclosed garden.
Now the air was almost suffocatingly sweet with the night fragrances of
the semi-tropical flowers.
Under the deep magenta canopy of the bougainvillea vine the older woman
discovered Gerry and her younger host.
Felipe Morris was holding a guitar, but for the moment he and Gerry were
quietly talking. Feeling too shaken and uncomfortable to remain out of
bed, and realizing by feminine intuition that Felipe would prefer to be
alone with Gerry, Sally Ashton had retired some time before.
Now, although Mrs. Burton made no effort to interrupt Gerry's whispered
conversation with Felipe Morris, she did wonder a little curiously what
her influence upon the young man would be, if by chance he had been
attracted by her.
There was no denying Gerry's exquisite prettiness; tonight with her pale
gold hair, her fairness and grace she seemed in tune with the beauty of
this old-world garden. Yet Mrs. Burton believed that Gerry was shallow
and vain and that her ideas of life included less of devotion to duty
and self-sacrifice than Felipe's. It was difficult to conceive of her
acting as a motive force to high endeavor, Gerry, who dreamed only of
money and pretty clothes and what she was pleased to consider "society."
Then Mrs. Burton sighed as she followed her host into the land which lay
on the other side of the hedge. Had one the right to demand that Gerry
and Felipe think of war tonight in a shrine, dedicated like this
enclosed garden, to the service of youth and romance?