With light step Virginia mounted the low stone stoop, fumbled for her
keys, unlocked the massive door and ushered John Vassar into the dimly
lighted hall.
“Come right into the sitting-room in the rear and meet my father and
mother,” she cried, placing her little turban hat on the rack beside
his, man-fashion.
Vassar smiled at the assumption of equal rights the act implied. She
caught the smile and answered with a toss of her pretty head as he
followed her through the hall.
The older folks were bending over a table deeply absorbed in a game of
checkers. The picture caught Vassar’s fancy and held him in the doorway,
a pleasant smile lighting his dark strong face.
“Mother,” Virginia began softly, “it’s time for children to quit their
games. I want you to meet Mr. John Vassar whom I’m trying to dragoon
into our cause--”
The prim aristocratic little woman rose with dignity and extended her
hand in a gesture that spoke the inheritance of gentle breeding. She was
a native of Columbia, South Carolina. Her stock joke of self-pity was
the fact that she had married a Sherman Bummer who had helped to burn
her native city. She excused him always with the apology that he was so
young he was really not responsible for the bad company in which she
found him. As a matter of fact he had driven a gang of drunken marauders
from their house and defended them single handed through a night of
terror until order had been restored. It was ten years later before he
succeeded in persuading the fair young rebel to surrender.
“Delighted to meet you, I’m sure,” Mrs. Holland said quietly. “You must
be a Southerner, with that tall dark look of distinction--”
Vassar bowed low over her hand.
“I wish I were, madam--if the fact would win your approval--”
“To look like a Southerner is enough to win Mother on sight,” Virginia
laughed.
The father extended his hand in a cordial greeting without rising.
“Excuse me, young man, for not getting up,” he said. “I’m lame with the
gout. You’re a suffragette?”
Vassar looked at Virginia, smiled and promptly answered.
“I’ll have to confess that I’m not--”
Holland extended his hand again.
“Shake once more! Thank God for the sight of a sane man again. I thought
they’d all died. We never see them here any more--”
Virginia lifted her finger and her father took the outstretched arm and
drew it around his neck.
“I have to put up with the nincompoops for Virginia’s sake. But I’m
going to explode some day and say things. I can feel it coming on me--”
He stopped abruptly and leaned forward, releasing Virginia’s arm.
“Young man, I can talk to you--you’re not a suffragette--you’re a real
man. Between the women, the Jews and the foreigners this country is not
only going to the dogs--it’s gone--hell bent and hell bound. It’s no use
talking any more. I’ve given up and gone to playing checkers--”
“We may save it yet, sir,” Vassar interrupted cheerfully.
“Save it? Great Scott, man, have you been down Broadway lately? Look at
the signs--Katzmeyers, Einsteins, Epsteins, Abrahams, Isaacs and Jacobs!
It would rest your eyes to find a Fogarty or a Casey. By the eternal, an
Irishman now seems like a Son of the American Revolution! The
Congressman from this district, sir, is a damned Pole from Posen!”
Virginia burst into a fit of laughter.
“What’s the matter, Miss Troublemaker?” Holland growled.
“You didn’t get the name, father dear--this is Mr. John Vassar, the
damned Pole Congressman to whom you have so graciously referred--”
Holland frowned, searched his daughter’s face for the joke, and looked
at Vassar helplessly.
“It’s not so!” he snorted. “I never saw a finer specimen of American
manhood in my life, strong-limbed, clean-cut, clear-eyed, every inch a
man and not a suffragette. It’s not so. You’re putting up a job on me,
Virginia--”
John Vassar smiled and bowed.
“For the high compliment you pay me, Mr. Holland, I forgive the hard
words. I understand how the old boys feel who fought to make this
country what it is today. And I love you for it. I don’t mind what you
_say_--I know where to find your kind when the hour of trial comes--”
“You are Congressman Vassar?” the old man gasped.
“Guilty!”
The mother joined in the laugh at his expense.
Holland extended his hand again and grasped Vassar’s.
“I have no friends in this house, sir! We make up. I apologize to
Poland for your sake. If they’ve got any more like you, let ’em come on.
But mind you--” he lifted his finger in protest--“I stand by every word
I said about the other fellows--every word!”
“I understand!” Vassar responded cheerfully.
“That will do now, Frank,” Mrs. Holland softly murmured.
“And you come in to see me again, young man--I want to talk to you some
time when there are no women around. You’re in Congress. By Geeminy, I
want to know why we’ve got no army while twenty million trained soldiers
are fighting for the mastery of the world across the water. Just count
me in on the fight, will you? By the eternal, I’d like to meet the
traitor who’ll try to block your bill--”
“I’ve important business with Mr. Vassar,” Virginia broke in. “Excuse us
now, children--”
“That’s the way a suffragette talks to her old daddy, Vassar--“ Holland
cried. “I warn you against their wiles. Don’t let her bamboozle you. I’m
lame, but I’m going to vote against ’em, if I have to crawl to the polls
election day--so help me God!”
Mrs. Holland beamed her good night with a gentle inclination of her
silver-crowned head.
“He barks very loudly, Mr. Vassar,” she called, “but he never bites--”
Virginia led her guest upstairs into the quiet library in the front of
the house.
Zonia and Billy were chattering in the parlor.
She pointed to a heavy armchair and sat down opposite, the oak table
between them.
“Now, Mr. Congressman, what is it--peace or war?”
There was a ring of subtle defiance in her tones that both angered and
charmed her opponent. He had met many beautiful women before. For the
first time he had met one who commanded both his intellect and his
consciousness of sex. The sensation was painful. He resented it. His
ideals of life asked of women submission, tenderness, trust. Here sat
before him the most charming, the most fascinatingly feminine woman he
had ever met who refused to accept his opinions and had evidently
determined to bend his mind and will to hers. To think of yielding was
the height of absurdity. And yet he must meet her as his intellectual
equal. He could meet her on no other ground. Her whole being said,
“Come, let’s reason together.” He had no desire to reason. He only
wished to tell her the truth about the impression she had made on him.
He smiled to recall it. He had a perfectly foolish--an almost
resistless--impulse to leap on the speaker’s stand, take her in his
arms, kiss her and whisper:
“Dear little mate, this is silly--come away. I’ve something worth while
to tell you--something big, something wonderful, something as old as
eternity but always new--”
He waked from his reverie with a start to find his antagonist holding
him with a determined gaze that put sentiment to flight.
“Peace or war?” she firmly repeated.
“If I am to choose,” he fenced, “I assure you it will be peace--”
He paused and studied her expression of serious concentration. In spite
of every effort to fix his mind in politics he persisted in the silliest
old-fashioned admiration of her wistful, appealing beauty. Confound it.
She had no right to use such a power for the propaganda of crackbrained
theories! He felt the foundations of the moral world tremble at the
shock of this resistless, elemental force. The man who desires a woman
will sell principle, country, right, God, for his desire. Was he going
to be trapped by this ancient snare? Such a woman might play with a
victim as a cat a mouse until her purpose was accomplished. Sex
attraction is the one force that defies all logic and scoffs at reason.
The government of a democracy was a difficult task under present
conditions. What would it become when the decision on which the
mightiest issues hung could be decided by the smile of a woman’s lips
or the dimple in her cheek?
He felt the pull of this fascination with a sense of inward panic. What
the devil was she laughing at a while ago as they crossed the street? He
had forgotten it for the moment, and she hadn’t explained. He would
fence a little for time before meeting the issue. He touched the tip of
his mustache thoughtfully.
“Anyhow, suppose we shake hands before we begin the fight. It’s one of
the rules of the game you know--”
She leaned across the table with a puzzled expression.
“Shake hands?”
“Yes--spiritually, so to speak. I’d like to get on as friendly footing
as possible to appeal to your mercy if I’m defeated. Would you mind
telling me at what you were laughing when we crossed Second Avenue?”
An exquisite smile illumined her face and a twinkle of mischief played
about the corners of her mouth.
“Shall I be perfectly frank?” she asked.
“Please--”
“I laughed at the silly contradiction of allowing you to touch my arm in
token of your superior strength as you drew about me the sheltering
protection of chivalry. There were no plunging horses near--not even a
pushcart in sight. The nearest street-car was five blocks away. Why did
you think that I needed help in walking ten yards?”
He held her gaze steadily. She was charming--there was no doubt about
it. He had to bite his lips to keep back a foolish compliment that might
anger her. How should he bear himself toward such a woman? Her whole
being breathed tenderness and femininity, yet there was a dangerous
challenge of intellect about her that upset him.
“Why did you think I needed help?” she softly repeated.
“To tell you the truth,” he answered gravely, “I didn’t think at all.
The act was instinctive--the inheritance of centuries--”
“Exactly! Centuries of man’s patronage, of man’s tyranny, of his boasted
superiority. As long as woman submits to be treated as a doll, a
weakling, an incompetent, the supposed superior being must try to do the
proper thing in an emergency--”
“You resented it?” he broke in.
“No. I, too, am suffering from the inheritance of centuries--of
dependence and of the hypocrisy inbred by generations of chivalry. It
was at my own sneaking joy in your protection that I laughed--”
Vassar moved uneasily, drew his straight brows low and looked at her
through their veil for an instant. He was making a desperate effort to
keep his brain clear. It would be ridiculous to surrender to such a
charming little siren at the first encounter.
“Well, sir,” she cried briskly, “now that we’ve shaken hands the first
round is on. Shall I lead?”
Vassar bowed.
“By all means--ladies first!”
“Why do you refuse to give me the ballot?”
“I never knew until tonight that women like you wished it. If I had--”
“You would have agreed?”
“My dear Miss Holland, I not only would have agreed but I would have
gone out after it and brought it to you. And all against my better
judgment. If women are allowed to vote, there must be a law against your
kind entering politics--”
“Yes?”
“Decidedly.”
“And may I ask why?” she demanded.
He smiled and hesitated.
“If you ever get into Congress--I can see the finish of that aggregation
as a deliberative body. You would be a majority from the moment you
entered the Chamber--”
“Please, Mr. Vassar--“ she protested. “We have no time for chaff--”
He rose abruptly from the depths of the armchair, seized a light one,
moved it nearer to the corner of the table, sat down and bent close to
his charming opponent.
“I’m not chaffing,” he began eagerly. “I’m in earnest. Your personality
has upset all my preconceived ideas of the leaders of this woman’s
movement. I am more than ever alarmed at its sinister significance. You
take my judgment by storm because you’re charming. You stop the process
of reasoning by merely lifting your eyes to mine. Such a power cannot be
used to further the ends of justice or perfect the organization of
society. The power you wield defies all law--”
Virginia laughed in spite of an effort at self-control.
“Are you making love to me, Mr. Vassar?” she cried.
He blushed and stammered.
“Well--not--deliberately--”
“Unconsciously?”
He mopped the perspiration from his brow in confusion.
“Perhaps.”
Virginia rose, and her lips closed firmly.
“I think our interview had better end. We are wasting each other’s
time--”
“Please, Miss Holland,” he begged with deep humility, “forgive me. I was
never more sincere in my life. I should have been more careful. But
there’s something about your frank manner that disarmed me. You seemed
so charmingly friendly. I forget that we are enemies--forgive me--”
“There’s nothing to forgive. You are the type of man who cannot
understand my position--and for that reason cannot meet me as an
intellectual equal. I resent it--”
“But I’m not the type of man who cannot understand. I will meet you as
an intellectual equal. I’ll do more. I concede your superiority. You
have baffled and defeated me at every turn tonight--I go puzzled and
humiliated. I refuse to accept such a defeat. You cannot dismiss me in
this absurd fashion. I’ll camp on your doorstep until we have this thing
out.”
“You’ll not call without an appointment, I hope?”
“Oh, yes, I will. I’m going to cultivate your father. I’ll accept his
invitation. I’ll make your house my happy home until we at least come to
an intelligent understanding of our differences--”
“Tomorrow then?” she said. “I’m tired tonight. Tomorrow at eleven
o’clock--”
Vassar smiled at the business-like hour.
“I’ve an important engagement at eleven that will keep me an hour. It’s
Flag Day at my schools--the kiddies expect me--”
“Flag Day?”
“A little device of mine to teach our boys and girls to love their
country--won’t you join us tomorrow at the old Tenth Armory and inspect
my forces?”
Virginia hesitated.
“All right, I will. I’ll ask Mr. Waldron to pick me up there at noon.”
“I’ll expect you at eleven.”
He pressed her hand with a new sense of uneasiness, defeat and anger
which Waldron’s name had aroused.