The preparations for the grand celebration of the Conqueror’s birthday
by the people of America were complete to the last detail at noon on the
day preceding.
The Governor-General was determined to make this event an example in
promptness, glorious display and perfect efficiency. How prompt and
efficient its real managers were going to make it he could not dream!
Every suspicion of disloyalty had been put at rest by the eager
enthusiasm with which the Woman’s Legion of Honor, with its five
thousand chapters, had taken the lead in preparation under Virginia’s
brilliant direction. For three months the most beautiful girls in
America had vied with one another in courting the favor of the army for
the approaching festival. From the Governor-General down to the sailors
of the fleet our girls had eyes only for the Imperial Army uniforms.
The artillerymen, the aviators, and the submarine experts were the
favorites. The conquerors began to feel a contemptuous pity for the
poor native devils their charms had put out of the running.
Even the chauffeurs and railroad officials were everywhere courted and
fêted by the fair ones. Every railroad agent, conductor, dispatcher, and
superintendent was an officer in the Imperial Army. These men, who had
rarely shared the glory of the regular army, were particularly elated
over their triumphs with the girls.
When the Day dawned every terminal and every train in America was
decorated with the royal flags. The spirit of abandonment to joy in a
strange, subdued mania swept the nation. Beneath it beat the throbbing
hearts of a million Sons of the New Revolution and a million Daughters
of Jael who had offered their souls and bodies a living sacrifice for
the glory of the Day. The contagion of earnestness from these eager
millions of young men and women set every heart to beating with
expectant awe.
Angela received her final instructions at the Holland house at six
o’clock. The magnificent display of fireworks would begin at
eight-thirty, the dancing at nine-thirty, the banquet at eleven-thirty.
“You have a girl with every chauffeur?” Virginia asked sharply.
“Si, signorina--“ Angela paused and smiled. “And they have learned to
drive, too--yes--they have had some fun these three months!”
“At the Seventy-first Armory, a girl for every sailor of the fleet?”
“For every one--”
“At the Twelfth Regiment?”
“For the birdmen’s chauffeurs--I have two--very prettiest girls--two for
each--”
“At the Seventh Regiment?”
“A girl for every waiter to help them serve. My girls they help the
waiters everywhere--”
A look of fierce triumph overspread the dark features of the little
mother. Her eyes grew misty. She fumbled in her bosom and slowly drew
out the blood-stained flag her boy had worn on his breast.
“And I have the flag, signorina! When I tear the red crown from the
staff I wave this one and shout for my bambino.”
Virginia merely nodded. Her mind was sweeping the last possibility of
accident.
“You haven’t been able to reach a single man among the wireless
operators of the Woolworth tower?” she asked dreamily.
“Not one, signorina. The old devil up there don’t like the girls. He is
not human--”
“There’s no help for it then,” she answered. “We’ll try another way.
When all is ready attend me at the palace of the Governor-General. When
the signal flashes from the Metropolitan tower I want the car I always
drive at the door instantly--”
“Si, signorina--my chauffeur he like me very much--I must think of my
bambino when I strike!”
“You will not fail?” Virginia sternly asked.
Angela touched the little flag and shook her head.
“Do not fear--I shall not fail!” She paused, bent close and whispered,
“My chauffeur join our men, signorina--the Sergeant of the big guns,
too. He swear to me the guns shall be ours!”
With a quick pressure of her hand Virginia hurried to enter the car of
state which was already standing at the door.
The streets were thronged with thousands who talked in subdued tones.
They had felt the iron hand on their throats too often during the past
three years to abandon themselves to the occasion.
There were no screeching horns, no riotous boys and girls hurling
confetti. Such crude expressions of liberty were forbidden.
Beneath the outer quiet slumbered the coming volcano.
Virginia drove to the Waldorf-Astoria, sent her card to a distinguished
guest and was ushered into his parlors.
The dark foreigner with a Van Dyke beard bowed over her hand.
“Your Lordship had a pleasant trip across I trust?” she asked.
The door closed and they were alone.
With a smothered cry she was in Vassar’s arms murmuring foolish,
inarticulate sounds.
She freed herself with quick decision.
“There’s not a moment to be lost,” Virginia whispered. “I’ve failed to
reach a single man in the Woolworth tower.”
“It must be taken then!” he answered firmly. “I have ordered the other
stations destroyed. We must hold that before we strike in the banquet
halls. I’ve made my plans to call our cavalry and automobile orders from
there. Our first line of men must mobilize and be on their way within
five minutes after the searchlight signals from the Square--”
He paused thoughtfully.
“There’s not a moment to be lost. I’ll take that tower myself. Send
three of your girls to meet me there at nine o’clock dressed as country
folks on a sight-seeing trip to the city--”
“Armed of course?”
“Yes--with automatics if you have them--I’ll find a way to get them up
to see the fireworks.”
At nine o’clock a noisy group of country louts succeeded in reaching the
room that led by a narrow winding stairs to the upper room of the
Woolworth tower. They were singing loyal songs for God and Emperor!
Their pilot was drunk but good-natured and determined to show them the
pinnacle.
The cautious red-faced Captain in charge of the wireless, who had been
celebrating a little on the quiet, had thawed to a genial mood.
“T’ree cheers for Zemperor!” the jovial pilot from the country shouted.
The Captain laughed and joined the chorus. He glanced contemptuously at
the giggling girls.
“Say, Cap,” the leader cried, leaning heavily on his shoulder--“my girls
gotter see the fireworks--from the top--tip top! I promised ’em I’d take
’em to the very tip top--gotter make good--”
His legs wobbled and his breath was heavy with beer.
The Captain laughed.
“Think you could climb these winding stairs?”
“Surest thing you know.”
The drunken man staggered to the steps, rushed half way up, slipped and
fell, sprawling to the floor.
The Captain roared.
“Try again!” he shouted. “I’ll let you go but not these women!”
The girls joined in the laughter while he made another ludicrous effort
and slipped again.
The two operators left their instruments and peered down the shaft.
“Go back to your places--this is my show!” the Captain called.
The drunken countryman watched them withdraw with wagging head but keen
eye. He saw there were only two. He knew his task now.
He made another desperate effort to climb the spiral, turned a complete
somersault and came down headforemost.
The Captain slipped to a sitting posture weak with laughter.
“Shay, pardner, help me!” the drunken one pleaded.
“No--this is my show--it’s too good to lose--I’m the audience--help
yourself!”
The drunken countryman tried it backward this time, holding first to the
rail.
The Captain wiped the tears from his eyes and bent again to laugh as the
fool reached the last step and waved in triumph. He turned and staggered
against the wall feeling his way to the door beyond.
The girls crowded about the Captain.
“Please let us go too!” they chimed in chorus.
The Captain was adamant. They kept up their parrot cries until the crash
above came. They heard the blow that felled the first operator--the
shuffle of feet, the tiger spring, the smothered cry.
It was all over with the Captain before the cry. Three fierce, athletic
girls bore him to the floor and held his writhing body until it was
still.
“All right!” Vassar called. “Stand guard now at the door leading from
the elevator--inside the door. Let no one pass!”
The leader of his guard touched her hat in salute. He took his place at
the operator’s table and answered a call from the tower of the
Governor-General’s palace.
“Your wireless stations have all answered?” the machine sang.
“All”--was the brief answer.
“I’ll give you the signal for the Emperor’s toast on the stroke of
twelve.”
“Good!” Vassar answered with a grim smile.