all waiting for an "overt act." A fellow at lunch said that the only
overt act that would stir the American heart to its depths would be the
shelling of Atlantic City and the consequent death of all the
"chickens." "Is Atlantic City the great poultry centre of the States?" I
asked innocently. Everybody yelled at once, "Yes, Mac"; and then they
all laughed. I wondered that if the great American heart could be
stirred by the death of many hens what on earth would happen if the
Boche shelled Broadway? But there seemed more in it than met the eye. I
have since learnt what a "chicken" is.
When a girl of the working classes dresses herself particularly smartly
(and, believe me, the American girl knows how to turn herself out very
well), and also powders and paints her pretty little face, and then goes
about the city seeking whom she may find she is then called a "chicken."
She is not necessarily an immoral person as far as I can see. There is
something fluffy and hop-skip-and-jumpy in her deportment. She believes
that the world was made to enjoy one's self in and she thinks that
necessarily to wait for an introduction to every nice boy one sees about
is a waste of opportunities. I rather agree with her. So she does her
very best to look charming. I hate the word, but she develops "cuteness"
rather than anything else. Her shoes (white shoes, high heeled) are
generally smartly cut and her frock well up to the fashion; but it is
generally her hat that gives her more opportunities to display her
powers. There is a tilt about it, something, I don't quite know what,
that catches the eye. She seems to develop a hat that will agree with
her eyes which are often very pretty and lively. Sometimes a curl or a
wisp of hair just does the trick. She rather loves colours, but I think
she knows how to make the very best of her appearance. One can imagine
her spending hours at home making her own frocks and trimming her own
hats. She often appears more smartly turned out than her sister higher
up, the social leader. You see her by the hundreds in New York. I rather
admire her attitude of mind. She certainly decorates the streets. At
first I thought that a chicken was really an immoral young person, but
as far as I can gather she is not necessarily more immoral than any
other woman in any other class. I cannot tell you whether she is amusing
or not. American men seem to find them very diverting.
The other type of hard working American girl I like very much. She works
fearfully hard, and although her wages may be good, living in this
country is relatively high. Unfortunately it is a little difficult for
me to tell you very much about her. She can seldom understand my effort
at English and she thinks I am a fool mostly, or an actor. When I have
finished my business and have turned my back to go out she joins her
friends and laughs. I find this offensive, but I suppose she means
little harm. Even if she has to support a poor mother she will never
let you know it by her personal appearance, which is never dowdy but
always smart. She is very competent and clever, as far as I can see, and
shoulders her burden with a fine spirit. I have at least four great
friends in a store in Philadelphia whom I not only admire, but like very
much. You see I am falling into the error of judging the women of a huge
nation by the few persons I have met.
If I have not actually said so, I have nevertheless perhaps suggested to
your mind that I regard Madame America as the survival of the fittest in
domestic relations. Monsieur America has enough battles to fight in the
business world without bothering about domestic politics and so Madame
reigns supreme. You see, when a fellow over here seeks a wife he doesn't
enjoy the process of courting unless he has to strive. A girl has got to
be "rushed." I believe that there must be fewer women than men over here
because every nice girl I know has several admirers. However, he has
really a hectic time and has got to be very humble. Now in England I
will admit that a fellow has also to be humble unless he is a conceited
ass or very handsome, but his humility ends with the honeymoon and he
assumes his position as lord of creation. This is expected of him. But
Madame America refuses to regard her husband as anything else but her
lover or her slave and she takes the necessary steps to keep him in his
proper place. Sometimes she loses her intelligence and takes the
pathetic attitude but no more often than her cousin in England does.
This is very effective and causes some husbands to take a drink when
they are more easily though less satisfactorily kept in subjection.
Perhaps they develop a love for bowling alleys and other vices, and
spend most of their time at the club.
More often Madame America succeeds by her efficiency in every direction.
She refuses to grow old and lets her husband see that her affection and
friendship are still worth striving for. She also sees that her
household is run on thoroughly efficient lines and that the cooking is
always satisfactory. I don't quite know how to describe it, but the very
appearance of an American woman suggests fitness. By Jove, she certainly
dresses well. I think that she expects to be amused rather than to amuse
and in this she loses a little of woman's greatest power. I fear I am on
dangerous ground. However, in my experience over here most of the
married folk I have met seem just as happy as married folk anywhere
else. Still I think that the woman in America is very much the head of
the house. She has attained her position through her efficiency, so I
suppose she deserves to maintain it. Politically it has interesting
results. In some ways it may explain America's former peaceful attitude
towards the Germans at the beginning of the war. Women don't like war
outside their own houses, and they hate losing their sons. I would not
dare to say it myself, but it has been alleged by someone or other that
women have their sense of sympathy more developed than their sense of
honour. They certainly are very loving persons and it does not matter to
them whether the Kaiser insults the nation as long as he does not hurt
their boys. I rather think that they would have not the slightest
objection to fighting themselves if the flag were insulted. I suspect
that they might enjoy it almost, but in regard to their sons they are
indeed veritable cowards by proxy.
When an American man is away from his wife, I care not how respectable
he be or how happily married, a change seems to creep all over him and
he becomes at once the most boyish, lively, cheery person imaginable,
even if he is sixty. He is not a dull person with Madame, but when he
gets off by himself things begin to move. We British get hopelessly
married, and our clubs never strike me as being particularly hilarious
or buoyant sort of places. They always seem a little dull. I have been
put up at a famous club in Philadelphia. Here mere man is supreme. No
women may enter its sacred portals, no matter who she may be. Let me
tell you about its _habitues_. Of course, it is impossible to say what
sort of club it is in peace time; but, at the moment, all its members
are well on the wrong side of thirty. The others have gone long ago.
The war has caused a great deal of depression amongst the remaining men
of this club. When war broke out all the members from fifty downwards
were thrilled. At last they were going to get a chance to fight for
their country. Were they not all members of the City Troop? Certainly
some of them needed pretty large horses to carry them, and some indeed
found it difficult to button all the tiny buttons on their tunics. Still
this would soon be made all right. Gee! it was fine to get a chance to
fight those Huns.
Alas, the cold blooded doctor failed to pass some of them and the joy of
belonging to the City Troop has left them. It is useless for the doctor
to explain that unless a man is in the pink of condition it is
impossible for him to last long in trench warfare. He collapses. They
say that they don't object to this a bit, and then he has got to say
brutally that a sick man costs the country at the front more money and
more trouble than a single man is worth. So they are now convinced, but
they hate it and go about helping all they can, but sadly. One day I was
sitting in the club talking to three interesting men who were
endeavouring to get as many horrors of war out of me as possible, when a
cheery-faced gentleman appeared coming over towards us. The elderly man
next to me brightened up and said: "Here comes a ray of sunshine down
the canyon." He certainly was a ray of sunshine as he commenced to say
quick, rapid funny things.
At this club there is a beautiful swimming pool with Turkish baths and
other fancies attached. On the banks of the pool, so to speak, there are
comfortable lounges and one can order anything one requires. There are
generally several others there. On these occasions I always think that
this world would have fewer wrecked homes if we went about dressed like
Fijians. Just outside the pool is the dressing room with cubicles. It is
a good idea to treat with respect all the members one sees here dressed
in towels, especially during these military days.
But to return to the ladies--we had an interesting young person attached
to our battery in France once. I'd like to tell you about her.
Unfortunately she was merely a dream, an inspiration, or perhaps a
rather vulgar, good-natured fairy who came from the "Never Never Land"
to amuse and to interest the small group of officers living in the Vert
Rue not very far from the city called by Thomas Atkins "Armon Tears."
One night after dinner the major, Wharton the senior subaltern, Taunton
the junior subaltern, and I were sitting around the mess table in our
billet. Suddenly in a thoughtful manner the major read aloud the
following notice from one of the small batch of antique copies of the
London _Times_ which had been sent to him by a kindly wife: "Lady,
young, would like to correspond with lonely subaltern. Address Box 411,
London _Times_." After looking round at the three of us he remarked:
"That seems to present possibilities; I think that Taunton had better
answer it." The major, a wily person and one who never missed an
opportunity to get something for his beloved battery, saw in the
advertisement some amusement, and an opportunity to exploit kindness of
heart on the part of some romantic young person. Taunton, young, good
looking, nineteen, and woefully inexperienced in _les affaires de
coeur_ was obviously the man.
So the major commenced to dictate what seemed to us at the time to be a
rather amusing letter. Taunton wrote rather slowly, as well as badly, so
the major seized the pen and paper and did the job himself. As far as I
remember the letter ran as follows:
"Dear Friend:
"The mail arrived this evening at the small hamlet from where my guns
endeavour to kill and disturb the horrid Germans. I cannot, I fear, give
you the exact geographical location, but you will doubtlessly regard our
position as what 'our Special Correspondent, John Fibbs,' so originally
calls 'Somewhere in France.'
"The mail arrived in a large canvas bag, and soon its sacred contents
were safely deposited upon the ground by a gentle corporal, who seemed
but little disturbed by the impatience displayed by sundry officers, as
he endeavoured to sort the letters. Of course, I was there. I always am,
but as usual there was nothing for me. Although I am hardened to such
disappointments I felt my loneliness more keenly than ever to-night. I
don't quite know why. Perhaps it was the obvious glee displayed by
Sergeant Beetlestone as he unfolded a package of what he described as
'Tabs.' (You, dear friend, would call them cigarettes.) Perhaps it was
the happiness on the face of Corporal Warner as he shared an anaemic meat
pie with two friends.
"However, after dinner I sat disconsolate while the others, I mean my
brother officers, held joyful converse with many sheets of closely
written note paper. It is true that I was eating some frosted fruit sent
to the major by his loving wife. Very near me on the table stood a large
box of green sweets called "Creme de Mint," but they were sent to
Wharton by his fiancee. I was very sad, and my mind rushed back to that
famous picture of an aged lady twanging a harp with her eye fixed upon
the portrait of her dead husband.
"Suddenly a look of hope must have crept over my features, as my eyes
became fixed upon the table cloth, for thereon I read your charming
notice. We always prefer the London _Times_ as a table cloth. The paper
is of good quality. One officer we had seemed to prefer the _Daily
Telegraph_, but he got badly wounded and so prevented the recurrence of
many arguments.
"You can have no idea what that little notice meant to me. It was the
dawn of hope. A lady, young, desired to correspond with me; yes, with
me. No longer should I stand alone and isolated during the happiest five
minutes of the day, when the mail bag arrived from dear old England. No
longer should I enjoy the sweets and candy purchased by another man's
loved one. No longer should I be compelled to borrow and wear the socks,
sweaters, mufflers, and mittens knitted by hands uninterested in me. All
would soon be changed. Oh, the joy of it!
"Dear friend, I hope that soon I shall receive a photograph of your
charming self so that my dugout may become a paradise. I intend to write
regularly to you and I expect you to prove likewise constant.
"When the sun starts to sink from my sight,
When the birds start to roost 'neath the eaves,
There's one thing that's to me a delight--
The mail bag from Blighty.
"Already, you will see, I am breaking into verse, but when I receive
your photograph I may even write a sonnet. And now I will close my
letter and retire to my dugout buoyed up with hope and confidence.
"Yours very sincerely,
"Hector Clarke-Stuart."
The major seemed to like the letter and we agreed that it ought to
produce results. None of us dared to acknowledge our ignorance in regard
to the famous picture he had described. Our major was a fashionable
person who went to the opera always and had even been known to attend
the Royal Academy.
At this moment I had an inspiration and confided it to Wharton. We both
knew the major's wife well. Among many charms she possessed a sparkling
sense of humour, both active and passive. I correspond with her
regularly. I wrote a long letter upon this evening.
The next day the major took Taunton and a couple of guns to a position
several miles away to prepare for the battle of Loos, so he was not at
the battery when two letters arrived addressed to Lieutenant
Clarke-Stuart, Wharton and I therefore retired to a dugout with the two
letters and steamed them open. One was from a very respectable English
miss who lived in a south coast town. She described her daily life with
some detail and the view from her bedroom window "across the bay," but
when she remarked that she and her brothers had always "kept themselves
to themselves," thereby showing consideration for others but a mean
spirit, we decided to kill her for the time being. Wharton, very
respectable, and a typical Englishman, had certain doubts but we carried
on.
The other letter was delightful and ran as follows:
"Dear Mr. Clarke-Stuart:
"I was indeed glad to receive your charming letter and to know that my
little notice had cheered the aching heart of a lonely subaltern. I am
now learning to knit and soon, very soon, I shall send you some socks
which will have been knitted by a hand, an inexperienced hand, alas, but
one that is interested in you. I have not as yet made any cakes, but
indeed I will try, and most certainly I will send you a photograph of
myself. I am a blonde with blue eyes but am not very tall, in fact, I am
but five feet two inches high. Are you fair or dark? Something seems to
tell me that you are very dark with brown eyes. Am I right? I am sure
that you are tall and slenderly though gracefully built.
"I should be awfully glad to receive a photograph of you. Officers'
photographs lend tone to a girl's rooms these days, even if one does not
know them.
"Up to the present my life has been an empty one, consisting of teas,
dinners, theatre parties, and so on; but now with you to look after I am
sure that things will change.
"I was interested in your little verse. It reminds me very much of the
great poet who contributes verse to the _London Daily Fog_ each
Saturday. You perhaps know him. I shall look forward with interest to
your sonnet.
"Yours very sincerely,
"Rosalie De Silva."
Rosalie's letter was written on pink paper and was enclosed in a large
pink envelope with a large "S" on the top right hand corner. We
therefore sent her letter on to the major and Taunton by a special
orderly.
It would take me a long time to tell you of the correspondence that
ensued. Wet cakes, dry cakes, pink socks, green socks, purple socks, as
well as a photograph arrived in quick succession. The photograph was
mounted on a large cardboard and was always regarded with great interest
by the officers who dropped in to see us. All our friends knew about the
correspondence, and they had all been taken into the confidence of
Wharton and myself except Taunton and the major.
One day the photograph came unstuck and we discovered written upon the
back of it the following words: "This is a true photograph of Miss Iris
Hoey."
"I knew she was merely a Scivvy," remarked Taunton, when this happened.
The maids are called "Scivvies" at Taunton's school. The major thought
that she was really a lady's maid. I remarked that I thought Rosalie
must be a very amusing and delightful lady. The major was going home on
leave in a few days.
He returned from leave and my first glimpse of him was while I was
inspecting my men at the nine o'clock parade. I was a little nervous.
Senior officers become even more rude than usual after they return from
leave. He gave me one look, and in spite of the stateliness of the
occasion we both collapsed, much to the surprise of my men who had never
seen the major really hilarious before. He might have been angry for he
had lost five guineas to Tich, a gunner captain who lived near us. Tich
had bet the major that he would take lunch with Rosalie De Silva during
his leave. He had had six lunches with Rosalie De Silva, for his wife
spent the whole six days leave with him. Rosalie De Silva may have been
merely a myth, but she supplied us all with an unlimited amount of fun.
IX
SHELLS
BETHLEHEM, U. S. A., August 5, 1917.
When a number of gentlemen form themselves into an organization the
object of which is the production of munitions of warfare, it is obvious
that their customers will be nations, not mere individuals. A nation is
distinctly immobile. It cannot come over to a plant and order its goods
so it chooses from amongst its people representatives of more or less
intelligence who settle themselves upon the organization and form
themselves into a thing called a "commission," whose object is
inspection. As representatives of a foreign nation, they are treated
with much courtesy by the elders of the city, mostly steel magnates, and
have no end of a good time. They are put up at the best clubs and if
their nation still retains the ornamental practice of having kings they
are usually suspected by the dowagers (local) of being dukes and
viscounts in disguise. This is enjoyable for all concerned. These
gentlemen naturally have no need and little desire to climb socially;
upon their arrival they are placed on the very top of the local social
pinnacle. I will admit that they do topple off sometimes, but generally
they are received in quite the best society. They consist often of an
extremely interesting and delightful crowd of people.
An American seems to like a title, not in himself perhaps, but in
others, and so Sergeant Aristira, becomes Captain Aristira, and, after
getting exhausted contradicting the promotion, finally believes himself
to be a general in embryo.
In the main office of a big steel plant there are several dining rooms
where the foreign commissions lunch. If the commission is a large one
its members generally dine alone, except for the presence of certain
lesser, though important, steel officials who sit at the same table and
exhibit quite stately manners. When I arrived first, I thought my own
countrymen's dining room interesting and savouring of an officer's mess
at its worst; so, accepting the invitation of a steel company friend, I
decided to dine with him. It was a good move and I have never regretted
it.
In our dining room we are distinctly mixed. Often there are
representatives of at least six different lesser countries. The smaller
nations, especially during these times of stress when the warring
nations form the big customers, are generally represented by but one man
each. He has, however, his attendant steel official so one gets a kind
of sandwich made up of many strata. For instance, Sweden is represented
by one man, and Eddy Y---- looks after him. Great Britain's production
department and France's inspection department are looked after by
Captain L----. We had Greeks for a time. Then there are Chileans,
Russians, Peruvians, Argentineans, Spanish, Italian, and men of all
kinds from the regions about the Amazon River. The whole thing is
interesting and one sighs for the gift given to the apostles when they
spake with tongues.
In addition to these foreigners there sit at our table steel officials
of sufficient importance to be kept within call of a telephone. The very
big men of the steel company dine alone except when someone very
important calls upon them.
But let me tell you about our dining room. At the beginning we had a
wonderful girl to look after us called Sadie. She was priceless and
worked automatically. People with more courage than decency sometimes
said thrilling things to her but merely received a kindly gentle smile
in return, which was very effective. We were all very fond of her, but
she married and left us. Now we have Mary to wait on us. Mary has been a
waitress in the steel company for five years. She is, I should think,
about twenty-six years old. Why she has never married I am unable to
state. I have seen many beautiful women in my day on the stage, on Fifth
Avenue, in the park in London, but never have I seen anyone quite so
good looking as Mary; she is a perfect type of Madonna-like beauty. She
wears a simple blue frock and a large white linen apron which ends at
her throat in a starched collar. I suggested to her that she should
train as a hospital nurse, for she would work wonders with sick persons
of both sexes. The idea did not strike her favourably.
As the representatives of some of the smaller nationalities sometimes go
to New York and other diverting resorts, there are often but four steel
men, one Frenchman, a Chilean, a Swede and myself. This presents
possibilities and we have a wonderful time. The representative of Sweden
is a ripping chap. He is about six and one-half feet tall, and if he has
to engage an upper berth in a sleeper he has no difficulty in persuading
the person occupying the lower to change places--the lower person
obviously having for his or her motto "safety first." From this you will
gather that my friend is a little large. I remember that when I first
met him at the club, we chatted about international relations, and he
remarked that if a man were a gentleman it did not matter a damn whether
he came from Paraguay or China. We call him lovingly Peter Pan. He is a
naval officer and looks it. Amongst the many friends that I have made
over here I can place him very near the top of the list. He is just
brimming over with fun and sympathy, and will enter into any joke that
happens to be organizing.
Then there is the head steel inspector. He dislikes English people, he
thinks; but, between you and me, he likes most people who are decent. I
fear he will finally become a misanthropist, but I am not very sure. He
is an interesting type of American and disbelieves in kings and dukes
and can never understand what we mean by the thing he calls a
"gentleman." However, he is "from Missouri" on this point, and of course
I cannot convince him. I am not sure that I want to.