If the children looked brilliant to Pop he did not reflect their
refulgence. As they glanced from the photographer's proof to Pop they
were not impressed. They were not afraid of him or for him.
His bodily arrangement was pitifully gawky; he neither sat erect nor
lounged--he slumped spineless. Big spectacles were in style now, but
Pop's big spectacles were just out of it. His face was like a parchment
that had been left out in the rain and had dried carelessly in deep,
stiff wrinkles--with the writing washed off.
Ethelwolf, the last born, had no ulterior idea. He always spent his
monthly allowance by the second Tuesday after the first Monday, and
sulked through a period of famine and debt until the next month. It was
now the third Tuesday and he was disposed to sarcasm.
"Look at Pop!" he muttered. "He looks just like the old boy they put in
the cartoons to represent The Common People."
"He's the Beau Brummel of Waupoos, all right!" said Bayahtreatshe, who
was soon returning to Wellesley. And Consuelo, who was preparing for
Vassar, added under her breath, "Mere, can't you steal up on him and
swipe that already-tied tie?"
Had Pop overheard, he would have made no complaint. He had known the
time when they had thrown things at him. The reverence of American
children for their fathers is almost as famous as the meekness of
American wives before their husbands. Yet it might have hurt Pop a
little to see Mother shake her head and hear her sigh:
"He's hopeless, children! Do take warning from my misfortune and be
careful what you marry."
Poor _Mere_ had absolutely forgotten how proud she had been when Johnnie
Grout came courting her, and how she had extracted a proposal before he
knew what he was about, and had him at the altar before he was ready to
support a wife in the style she had been accustomed to hope for. She
remembered only the dreams he had not brought true, the harsh realities
of their struggle upward. She had worked and skimped with him then. Now
she was like a lolling passenger in a jinrikisha, who berates the shabby
coolie because he stumbles where the roads are rough and sweats where
they are steep.
Julie spoke up in answer to her mother's word of caution:
"There's one thing better than being careful what you marry--and that's
not marrying at all!"
The rest of them were used to Julie's views; but Pop, who had paid
little heed to them, almost collapsed from his chair. Julie went on:
"Men are all alike, Mere. They're very soft-spoken when they come to
make love; but it's only a bluff to make us give up our freedom. Before
we know it they drag us up before another man, a preacher, and make us
swear to love, honor, and obey. They kill the love, make the honor
impossible, and the obey ridiculous. Then they coop us up at home and
expect us to let them run the world to suit themselves. They've been
running it for thousands of years--and look at the botch they've made of
it! It's time for us to take the helm."
"Go to it, sis," said Ethelwolf. "I care not who makes the laws so long
as I can break them."
"Let your sister alone!" said _Mere_. "Go on, Julie!"
"I've put it all in the address I read before the Federation last week,"
said Julie. "It was reported at length in one of the papers. I've got a
clipping in my handbag here somewhere."
She began to rummage through a little condensed chaos of handkerchiefs,
gloves, powder-puff, powdery dollar bills, powdery coins, loose bits of
paper, samples, thread, pins, buttons--everything--every-whichway.
J. Pennock laughed. "Pipe what's going to run the world! Better get a
few pockets first."
"Don't be a brute, Pen!" said _Mere_.
At last Julie found the clipping she sought and, shaking the powder from
it, handed it to her mother.
"It's on the strength of this speech that I was elected delegate to the
international convention at San Francisco," she said.
"You were!" _Mere_ gasped, and Beatrice and Consuelo exclaimed,
"Ripsnorting!"
"Are you going?" said _Mere_ when she recovered from her awe.
"Well, it's a pretty expensive trip. That's why I came home--to see
if--Well, we can take that up later. Tell me how you like the speech."
_Mere_ mumbled the report aloud to the delighted audience. Pop heard
little of it. He was having a chill. It was very like plain ague, but he
credited it to the terror of Julie's mission home. All she wanted him to
do was to send her on a little jaunt to San Francisco! The tyrant, as
usual, was expected to finance the rebellion.
When _Mere_ had finished reading everybody applauded Julie except Pop.
_Mere_ overheard his silence and rounded on him across the aristocratic
reading-glass she wielded.
"Did you hear that?"