They were once more on the Chicago Flyer, this time on the way East, and
Alice looking out of the window, saw that within a few minutes they
would be in New York. The Red Knight lay back in his chair, almost as
worn and pale as after that terrible battle in North Dakota, when he
fell off so often on his head.
"A drink of water, please, Alice," said the Red Knight.
They had mislaid their individual drinking-cups, so Alice brought him
some water in his helmet, and after he had drunk, she bathed his
forehead with the rest.
"Well, it was a hard fight," said the Red Knight. "But we won."
"Do you think so?" said Alice, greatly surprised.
"We _must_ have won," said the Red Knight. "We couldn't help it. Look at
it yourself. My motives were of the very highest, my followers were the
best men in the country, my strategy was absolutely faultless. There
wasn't a mistake or an oversight. So, of course, I must have won."
"But I am really afraid," said Alice, "that the others think _they_ came
out best."
"That was part of my game," said the Red Knight. "Let them sink in the
quicksands of their own delusions. Let them go on thinking they have
nominated some one else. Let them go ahead and elect him. Let the fact
be set down in the school histories. What does it all prove? Nothing."
The train came to a stop and Alice and the Red Knight took a taxicab for
the latter's place of business. The time had come to say good-by. They
stood at the door of the Outlooking Glass office, just as the edition
was being made up. From the pressrooms to the editorial rooms all was
animation. The chief editor was shooting copy up the tubes as fast as
the office boys could write it. The latest advertisements were coming in
over the wire. The desk men were waiting for the editorial writers to
finish their comments on the week's news before setting down the facts.
Alice turned to shake hands with the Red Knight. It had been an exciting
time, and she was tired and very anxious to be at home with mamma. But
she had grown fond of her comrade in the Outlooking Glass. When she was
back again at her stupid lessons, studying that 2 and 2 makes 4, and
that "yes" is affirmative and "no" is negative, and that black is black
and white is white, oh, how she would miss the Red Knight.
But she was very brave, and, stretching out her hand, she said,
"Good-by."
The Red Knight pressed her hand affectionately.
"I wish you would write something in my little pocket album," said
Alice, trying to keep back her tears.
"Gladly," said the Red Knight, and taking the book he wrote:
Never put off till to-morrow
A thing you can get today.
"Thank you," said Alice. "I don't suppose we shall ever meet again."
"Well, there's 1916," said the Red Knight. "Shall we say four years from
now on Lincoln's birthday?"
"But there would be no use trying," said Alice.
"You could help me a great deal, you know," said the Red Knight. "By
that time women will be voting everywhere. On the one hand there will
be woman's new privileges to discuss, and on the other hand there will
be her new responsibilities. My hat is still good for something."
"No, no, no," said Alice. "I don't want you to go campaigning any more.
The fact is, you are not as strong as you used to be."
"Suppose it _is_ a fact, what difference does it make?" said the Red
Knight.
But Alice would not listen. "Why must you always be fighting? Why not
leave that for younger people, and let everybody remember you at your
best?"
"A man must do _something_ exciting," said the Red Knight.
"Of course he must," said Alice. "I hope, and I'm sure we all hope, you
will go on contributing for years and years and years. Good-by."
Her eyes were wet with tears as she sprang backwards through the
Outlooking Glass. The Red Knight vanished. She was home again, home in
the dear old room with the big reading lamp on the table, and mamma busy
with the baby's things, and father asleep over a copy of the Aldrich
Monetary Report.
"Oh mamma," she cried.
"What is it, Alice?" said her mother.
"I have _such_ a headache, mamma. I have been in politics."
_By the Same Author_
* * * * *
THE PATIENT
OBSERVER
LIGHT STUDIES IN EVERYDAY LIFE
* * * * *
_Reprinted from The Evening Post_
* * * * *
The charming series of essays which have attracted many readers to
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volume. These witty and thoughtful lucubrations may henceforth be
counted as a "permanent possession," and be stored on a book-shelf
instead of wandering round as fugitive leaves. There is hardly an
essayist of the present day in this country whose work seems
better deserving of preservation.--THE LITERARY DIGEST
With the coming of "The Patient Observer" a new--and
true--humorist enters the field of American literature.--NEW YORK
TIMES
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End of Project Gutenberg's Through the Outlooking Glass, by Simeon Strunsky