The Major
by
Ralph Connor
Part 6 out of 8
Never was he so proud of the farmers of his country as when they
resisted the lure, they refused the bait, they could not be bought,
they declined to barter either their independence or their imperial
allegiance for gain. (Cheers, groans, general uproar.)
Upon the subsidence of the uproar Frank Smart who, with Larry, had
worked his way forward among a body of students standing in the
first row immediately behind the seats, raised his hand and called
out in a clear, distinct and courteous voice, "Mr. Chairman, a
question if you will permit me." The chairman granted permission.
"Did I understand the speaker to say that those Canadians who
approved of the policy of Reciprocity were ready to barter their
independence or their imperial allegiance for gain? If so, in the
name of one half of the Canadian people I want to brand the
statement as an infamous and slanderous falsehood."
Instantly a thousand people were on their feet cheering, yelling,
on the one part shouting, "Put him out," and on the other
demanding, "Withdraw." A half dozen fights started up in different
parts of the theatre. In Smart's immediate vicinity a huge,
pugilistic individual rushed toward him and reached for him with a
swinging blow, which would undoubtedly have ended for him the
meeting then and there had not Larry, who was at his side, caught
the swinging arm with an upward cut so that it missed its mark.
Before the blow could be repeated Scudamore, the centre rush of the
University football team, had flung himself upon the pugilist,
seized him by the throat and thrust him back and back through the
crowd, supported by a wedge of his fellow students, striking,
scragging, fighting and all yelling the while with cheerful
vociferousness. By the efforts of mutual friends the two parties
were torn asunder just as a policeman thrust himself through the
crowd and demanded to know the cause of the uproar.
"Here," he cried, seizing Larry by the shoulder, "what does this
mean?"
"Don't ask me," said Larry, smiling pleasantly at him. "Ask that
fighting man over there."
"You were fighting. I saw you," insisted the policeman.
"Did you?" said Larry. "I am rather pleased to hear you say it,
but I knew nothing of it."
"Look here, Sergeant," shouted Smart above the uproar. "Oh, it's
you, Mac. You know me. You've got the wrong man. There's the man
that started this thing. He deliberately attacked me. Arrest
him."
Immediately there were clamorous counter charges and demands for
arrest of Smart and his student crew.
"Come now," said Sergeant Mac, "keep quiet, or I'll be takin' ye
all into the coop."
Order once more being restored, the speaker resumed by repudiating
indignantly the accusation of his young friend. Far be it from him
to impugn the loyalty of the great Liberal party, but he was bound
to say that while the Liberals might be themselves loyal both to
the Dominion and to the Empire, their policy was disastrous. They
were sound enough in their hearts but their heads were weak. After
some further remarks upon the fiscal issues between the two great
political parties and after a final wave of the imperial flag, the
speaker declared that he now proposed to leave the rest of the time
to their distinguished fellow citizen, the Honourable J. J. Allen.
Mr. Allen found himself facing an audience highly inflamed with
passion and alert for trouble. In a courteous and pleasing
introduction he strove to allay their excited feelings and to win
for himself a hearing. The matter which he proposed to bring to
their attention was one of the very greatest importance, and one
which called for calm and deliberate consideration. He only asked
a hearing for some facts which every Canadian ought to know and for
some arguments based thereupon which they might receive or reject
according as they appealed to them or not.
"You are all right, Jim; go to it," cried an enthusiastic admirer.
With a smile Mr. Allen thanked his friend for the invitation and
assured him that without loss of time he would accept it. He
begged to announce his theme: "The Imperative and Pressing Duty of
Canada to Prepare to do Her Part in Defence of the Empire." He was
prepared frankly and without hesitation to make the assertion that
war was very near the world and very near our Empire and for the
reason that the great military power of Europe, the greatest
military power the world had ever seen--Germany--purposed to make
war, was ready for war, and was waiting only a favourable
opportunity to begin.
"Oh, r-r-rats-s," exclaimed a harsh voice.
"That's Holtzman," said Larry to Smart.
(Cries of "Shut up!--Go on.")
"I beg the gentleman who has so courteously interrupted me,"
continued Mr. Allen, "simply to wait for my facts." ("Hear! Hear!"
from many parts of the building.) The sources of his information
were three: first, his own observation during a three months' tour
in Germany; second, his conversations with representative men in
Great Britain, France and Germany; and third, the experience of a
young and brilliant attache of the British Embassy at Berlin now
living in Canada, with whom he had been brought into touch by a
young University student at present in this city. From this latter
source he had also obtained possession of literature accessible
only to a few. He spoke with a full sense of responsibility and
with a full appreciation of the value of words.
The contrast between the Honourable Mr. Allen and the speaker that
preceded him was such that the audience was not only willing but
eager to hear the facts and arguments which the speaker claimed to
be in a position to offer. Under the first head he gave in detail
the story of his visit to Germany and piled up an amazing
accumulation of facts illustrative of Germany's military and naval
preparations in the way of land and sea forces, munitions and
munition factories, railroad construction, food supplies and
financial arrangements in the way of gold reserves and loans. The
preparations for war which, in the world's history, had been made
by Great Powers threatening the world's freedom, were as child's
play to these preparations now made by Germany, and these which he
had given were but a few illustrations of Germany's war preparations,
for the more important of these were kept hidden by her from the
rest of the world. "My argument is that preparation by a nation
whose commercial and economic instincts are so strong as those of
the German people can only reasonably be interpreted to mean a
Purpose to War. That that purpose exists and that that purpose
determines Germany's world's politics, I have learned from many
prominent Germans, military and naval officers, professors, bankers,
preachers. And more than that this same purpose can be discovered
in the works of many distinguished German writers during the last
twenty-five years. You see this pile of books beside me? They are
filled, with open and avowed declarations of this purpose. The
raison d'etre of the great Pan-German League, of the powerful Navy
League with one million and a half members, and of the other great
German organisations is war. Bear with me while I read to you
extracts from some of these writings. I respectfully ask a patient
hearing. I would not did I not feel it to be important that from
representative Germans themselves you should learn the dominating
purpose that has directed and determined the course of German
activity in every department of its national life for the last
quarter of a century."
For almost half an hour the speaker read extracts from the pile of
books on the table beside him. "I think I may now fairly claim to
have established first the fact of vast preparations by Germany for
war and the further fact that Germany cherishes in her heart a
settled Purpose of War." It was interesting to know how this
purpose had come to be so firmly established in the heart of a
people whom we had always considered to be devoted to the
cultivation of the gentler arts of peace. The history of the rise
and the development of this Purpose to War would be found in the
history of Germany itself. He then briefly touched upon the
outstanding features in the history of the German Empire from the
days of the great Elector of Brandenburg to the present time.
During these last three hundred years, while the English people
were steadily fighting for and winning their rights to freedom and
self-government from tyrant kings, in Prussia two powers were being
steadily built up, namely autocracy and militarism, till under
Bismarck and after the War of 1870 these two powers were firmly
established in the very fibre of the new modern German Empire.
Since the days of Bismarck the autocrat of Germany had claimed the
hegemony of Europe and had dreamed of winning for himself and his
Empire a supreme place among the nations of the world. And this
dream he had taught his people to share with him, for to them it
meant not simply greater national glory, which had become a mania
with them, but expansion of trade and larger commercial returns.
And for the realisation of this dream, the German Kaiser and his
people with him were ready and were waiting the opportunity to
plunge the world into the bloodiest war of all time.
At some length the speaker proceeded to develop the idea of the
necessary connection between autocracy and militarism, and the
relation of autocratic and military power to wars of conquest.
"The German Kaiser," he continued, "is ready for war as no would-be
world conqueror in the world's history has ever been ready. The
German Kaiser cherishes the purpose to make war, and this purpose
is shared in and approved by the whole body of the German people."
These facts he challenged any one to controvert. If these things
were so, what should Canada do? Manifestly one thing only--she
should prepare to do her duty in defending herself and the great
Empire. "So far," he continued, "I have raised no controversial
points. I have purposely abstained from dealing with questions
that may be regarded from a partisan point of view. I beg now to
refer to a subject which unhappily has become a matter of
controversy in Canada--the subject, namely, of the construction of
a Canadian Navy. [Disturbance in various parts of the building.]
You have been patient. I earnestly ask you to be patient for a few
moments longer. Both political parties fortunately are agreed upon
two points; first, that Canada must do its share and is willing to
do its share in the defence of the Empire. On this point all
Canadians are at one, all Canadians are fully determined to do
their full duty to the Empire which has protected Canada during its
whole history, and with which it is every loyal Canadian's earnest
desire to maintain political connection. Second, Canada must have
a Navy. Unfortunately, while we agree upon these two points, there
are two points upon which we differ. First, we differ upon the
method to be adopted in constructing our Navy and, second, upon the
question of Navy control in war. In regard to the second point, I
would only say that I should be content to leave the settlement of
that question to the event. When war comes that question will
speedily be settled, and settled, I am convinced, in a way
consistent with what we all desire to preserve, Canadian autonomy.
In regard to the first, I would be willing to accept any method of
construction that promised efficiency and speed, and with all my
power I oppose any method that necessitates delay. Considerations
of such questions as location of dockyards, the type of ship, the
size of ship, I contend, are altogether secondary. The main
consideration is speed. I leave these facts and arguments with
you, and speaking not as a party politician but simply as a loyal
Canadian and as a loyal son of the Empire, I would say, 'In God's
name, for our country's honour and for the sake of our Empire's
existence, let us with our whole energy and with all haste prepare
for war.'"
The silence that greeted the conclusion of this address gave
eloquent proof of the profound impression produced.
As the chairman rose to close the meeting the audience received a
shock. The raucous voice of Holtzman was heard again demanding the
privilege of asking two questions.
"The first question I would ask, Mr. Chairman, is this: Is not
this immense war preparation of Germany explicable on the theory of
the purpose of defence? Mr. Allen knows well that both on the
eastern and southern frontiers Germany is threatened by the
aggression of the Pan-Slavic movement, and to protect herself from
this Pan-Slavic movement, together with a possible French alliance,
the war preparations of Germany are none too vast. Besides, I
would ask Mr. Allen, What about Britain's vast navy?"
"The answer to this question," said Mr. Allen, "is quite simple.
What nation has threatened Germany for the past forty years? On
the contrary, every one knows that since 1875 five separate times
has Germany threatened war against France and twice against Russia.
Furthermore military experts assure us that in defensive war an
army equipped with modern weapons can hold off from four to eight
times its own strength. It is absurd to say that Germany's
military preparations are purely defensive. As for Britain's navy,
the answer is equally simple. Britain's Empire is like no other
Empire in the world in that it lies spread out upon the seven seas.
It is essential to her very life that she be able to keep these
waterways open to her ships. Otherwise she exists solely upon the
sufferance of any nation that can wrest from her the supremacy of
the sea. At her will Germany has the right to close against all
the world the highways of her empire; the highways of Britain's
empire are the open seas which she shares with the other nations of
the world and which she cannot close. Therefore, these highways
she must be able to make safe."
"If Mr. Allen imagines that this answer of his will satisfy any but
the most bigoted Britain, I am content. Another question I would
ask. Does not Mr. Allen think that if the capitalistic classes,
who leave their burdens to be borne by the unhappy proletariat,
were abolished wars would immediately cease? Does he not know that
recently it was proved in Germany that the Krupps were found to be
promoting war scares in France in the interests of their own
infernal trade? And lastly does not history prove that Britain is
the great robber nation of the world? And does he not think that
it is time she was driven from her high place by a nation which is
her superior, commercially, socially, intellectually and every
other way?"
As if by a preconcerted signal it seemed as if the whole top
gallery broke into a pandemonium of approving yells, while through
other parts of the house arose fierce shouts, "Throw him out." Mr.
Allen rose and stood quietly waiting till the tumult had ceased.
"If the gentleman wishes to engage me in a discussion on socialism,
my answer is that this is not the time nor place for such a
discussion. The question which I have been considering is one
much too grave to be mixed up with an academic discussion of any
socialistic theories."
"Aha! Aha!" laughed Holtzman scornfully.
"As for Britain's history, that stands for all the world to read.
All the nations have been guilty of crimes; but let me say that any
one who knows the history of Germany for the last three hundred
years is aware that in unscrupulous aggression upon weaker
neighbours, in treachery to friend and foe, Germany is the equal of
any nation in the world. But if you consider her history since
1864 Germany stands in shameless and solitary pre-eminence above
any nation that has ever been for unscrupulous greed, for brutal,
ruthless oppression of smaller peoples, and for cynical disregard
of treaty covenants, as witness Poland, Austria, Denmark, Holland
and France. As to the treachery of the Krupps, I believe the
gentleman is quite right, but I would remind him that the Kaiser
has no better friend to-day than Bertha Krupp, and she is a
German."
From every part of the theatre rose one mighty yell of delight and
derision, during which Holtzman stood wildly gesticulating and
shouting till a hand was seen to reach his collar and he
disappeared from view. Once more order was restored and the
chairman on the point of closing the meeting, when Larry said to
his friend Smart:
"I should dearly love to take a hand in this."
"Jump in," said Smart, and Larry "jumped in."
"Mr. Chairman," he said quietly, "may I ask Mr. Allen a question?"
"No," said the chairman in curt reply. "The hour is late and I
think further discussion at present is unprofitable."
But here Mr. Allen interposed. "I hope, Mr. Chairman," he said,
"you will allow my young friend, Mr. Gwynne, of whose brilliant
achievements in our University we are all so proud, to ask his
question."
"Very well," said the chairman in no good will.
"Allow me to thank Mr. Allen for his courtesy," said Larry.
"Further I wish to say that though by birth, by training, and by
conviction I am a pacifist and totally opposed to war, yet to-night
I have been profoundly impressed by the imposing array of facts
presented by the speaker and by the arguments built upon these
facts, and especially by the fine patriotic appeal with which Mr.
Allen closed his address. But I am not satisfied, and my question
is this--"
"Will not Mr. Gwynne come to the platform?" said Mr. Allen.
"Thank you," said Larry, "I prefer to stay where I am, I am much
too shy."
Cries of "Platform! Platform!" however, rose on every side, to
which Larry finally yielded, and encouraged by the cheers of his
fellow students and of his other friends in the audience, he
climbed upon the platform. His slight, graceful form, the look of
intellectual strength upon his pale face, his modest bearing, his
humorous smile won sympathy even from those who were impatient at
the prolonging of the meeting.
"Mr. Chairman," he began with an exaggerated look of fear upon his
face, "I confess I am terrified by the position in which I find
myself, and were it not that I feel deeply the immense importance
of this question and the gravity of the appeal with which the
speaker closed his address, I would not have ventured to say a
word. My first question is this: Does not Mr. Allen greatly
exaggerate the danger of war with Germany? And my reasons for this
question are these. Every one knows that the relations between
Great Britain and Germany have been steadily improving during the
last two or three years. I note in this connection a statement
made only a few months ago by the First Lord of the Admiralty, Mr.
Winston Churchill. It reads as follows:
"'The Germans are a nation with robust minds and a high sense of
honour and fair play. They look at affairs in a practical military
spirit. They like to have facts put squarely before them. They do
not want them wrapped up lest they should be shocked by them, and
relations between the two countries have steadily improved during
the past year. They have steadily improved side by side with every
evidence of our determination to maintain our naval supremacy.'
"These words spoken in the British House of Commons give us Mr.
Winston Churchill's deliberate judgment as to the relations between
Germany and Great Britain. Further Mr. Allen knows that during the
past two years various peace delegations composed of people of the
highest standing in each country have exchanged visits. I
understand from private correspondence from those who have promoted
these delegations that the last British delegation was received in
Germany with the utmost enthusiasm by men of all ranks and
professions, generals, admirals, burgomasters, professors and by
the Kaiser himself, all professing devotion to the cause of peace
and all wishing the delegation Godspeed. Surely these are
indications that the danger of war is passing away. You, Sir, have
made an appeal for war preparation tonight, a great and solemn
appeal and a moving appeal for war--merciful God, for war! I have
been reading about war during the past three months, I have been
reading again Zola's Debacle--a great appeal for preparedness, you
would say. Yes, but a terrific picture of the woes of war."
Larry paused. A great silence had fallen upon the people. There
flashed across his mind as he spoke a vision of war's red, reeking
way across the fair land of France. In a low but far-penetrating
voice, thrilling with the agonies which were spread out before him
in vision, he pictured the battlefield with its mad blood lust, the
fury of men against men with whom they had no quarrel, the mangled
ruins of human remains in dressing station and hospital, the white-
faced, wild-eyed women waiting at home, and back of all, safe, snug
and cynical, the selfish, ambitious promoters of war. Steady as a
marching column without pause or falter, in a tone monotonous yet
thrilling with a certain subdued passion, he gave forth his
indictment of war. He was on familiar ground for this had been the
theme of his prize essay last winter. But to-night the thing to
him was vital, terrifying, horrible. He was delivering no set
address, but with all the power of his soul he was pleading for
comrades and friends, for wives and sweethearts, for little babes
and for white-haired mothers, "and in the face of all this, you are
asking us to prepare that we Canadians, peaceful and peace-loving,
should do our share to perpetrate this unspeakable outrage upon our
fellow men, this insolent affront against Almighty God. Tell me,
if Canada, if Britain, were to expend one-tenth, one-hundredth part
of the energy, skill, wealth, in promoting peace which they spend
on war, do you not think we might have a surer hope of warding off
from our Canadian homes this unspeakable horror?" With white face
and flaming eyes, his form tense and quivering, he stood facing
the advocate of war. For some moments, during which men seemed
scarcely to breathe, the two faced each other. Then in a voice
that rang throughout the theatre as it had not in all his previous
speech, but vibrant with sad and passionate conviction, Mr. Allen
made reply.
"It is to ward off from our people and from our Canadian homes this
calamity that you have so vividly pictured for us that I have made
my appeal to-night. Your enemy who seeks your destruction will be
more likely to halt in his spring if you cover him with your gun
than if you appeal to him with empty hands. For this reason, it is
that once more I appeal to my fellow Canadians in God's name, in
the name of all that we hold dear, let us with all our power and
with all speed prepare for war."
"God Save the King," said the Chairman. And not since the
thrilling days of Mafeking had Winnipeg people sung that quaint
archaic, but moving anthem as they sang it that night.
CHAPTER XIX
THE CLOSING OF THE DOOR
From the remarks of his friends even as they thronged him, offering
congratulations, Mr. Allen could easily gather that however
impressive his speech had been, few of his audience had taken his
warning seriously.
"You queered my speech, Larry," he said, "but I forgive you."
"Not at all, Sir," replied Larry. "You certainly got me."
"I fear," replied Mr. Allen, "that I am 'the voice crying in the
wilderness.'"
At the Allens' party Larry was overwhelmed with congratulations on
his speech, the report of which had been carried before him by his
friends.
"They tell me your speech was quite thrilling," said Mrs. Allen as
she greeted Larry.
"Your husband is responsible for everything," replied Larry.
"No," said Mr. Allen, "Miss Jane here is finally responsible. Hers
were the big shells I fired."
"Not mine," replied Jane. "I got them from Mr. Romayne, your
brother-in-law, Larry."
"Well, I'm blowed!" said Larry. "That's where the stuff came from!
But it was mighty effective, and certainly you put it to us, Mr.
Allen. You made us all feel like fighting. Even Scuddy, there,
ran amuck for a while."
"What?" said Mr. Allen, "you don't really mean to say that
Scudamore, our genial Y. M. C. A. Secretary, was in that scrap?
That cheers me greatly."
"Was he!" said Ramsay Dunn, whose flushed face and preternaturally
grave demeanour sufficiently explained his failure to appear at Dr.
Brown's dinner. "While Mr. Smart's life was saved by the timely
upper-cut of our distinguished pacifist, Mr. Gwynne, without a
doubt Mr. Scudamore--hold him there, Scallons, while I adequately
depict his achievement--" Immediately Scallons and Ted Tuttle,
Scudamore's right and left supports on the scrimmage line, seized
him and held him fast. "As I was saying," continued Dunn, "great
as were the services rendered to the cause by our distinguished
pacifist, Mr. Gwynne, the supreme glory must linger round the head
of our centre scrim and Y. M. C. A. Secretary, Mr. Scudamore, to
whose effective intervention both Mr. Smart and Mr. Gwynne owe the
soundness of their physical condition which we see them enjoying at
the present moment."
In the midst of his flowing periods Dunn paused abruptly and turned
away. He had caught sight of Jane's face, grieved and shocked, in
the group about him. Later he approached her with every appearance
of profound humiliation. "Miss Brown," he said, "I must apologise
for not appearing at dinner this evening."
"Oh, Mr. Dunn," said Jane, "why will you do it? Why break the
hearts of all your friends?"
"Why? Because I am a fool," he said bitterly. "If I had more
friends like you, Miss Brown," he paused abruptly, then burst
forth, "Jane, you always make me feel like a beast." But Larry's
approach cut short any further conversation.
"Jane, I want to talk to you," said Larry impetuously. "Let us get
away somewhere."
In the library they found a quiet spot, where they sat down.
"I want to tell you," said Larry, "that I feel that I treated you
shabbily to-day. I have only a poor excuse to offer, but I should
like to explain."
"Don't, Larry," said Jane, her words coming with hurried impetuosity.
"I was very silly. I had quite forgotten it. You know we have
always told each other things, and I expected that you would come in
this morning just to talk over your medal, and I did want a chance
to say how glad I was for you, and how glad and how proud I knew
your mother would be; and to tell the truth really," she added with
a shy little laugh, "I wanted to have you congratulate me on my
prize too. But, Larry, I understand how you forgot."
"Forgot!" said Larry. "No, Jane, I did not forget, but this
telegram from Chicago came last night, and I was busy with my
packing all morning and then in the afternoon I thought I would
hurry through a few calls--they always take longer than one thinks--
and before I knew it I was late for dinner. I had not forgotten;
I was thinking of you all day, Jane."
"Were you, Larry?" said Jane, a gentle tenderness in her smile. "I
am glad."
Then a silence fell between them for some moments. They were both
thinking of the change that was coming to their lives. Larry was
wondering how he would ever do without this true-hearted friend
whose place in his life he was only discovering now to be so large.
He glanced at her. Her eyes were glowing with a soft radiance that
seemed to overflow from some inner spring.
"Jane," he cried with a sudden impulse, "you are lovely, you are
perfectly lovely."
A shy, startled, eager look leaped into her eyes. Then her face
grew pale. She waited, expectant, tremulous. But at that instant
a noisy group passed into the library.
"Larry," whispered Jane, turning swiftly to him and laying her hand
upon his arm, "you will take me home to-night."
"All right, Jane, of course," said Larry.
As they passed out from the library Helen Brookes met them.
"Larry, come here," she said in a voice of suppressed excitement.
"Larry, don't you want to do something for me? Scuddy wants to
take me home tonight, and I don't want him to."
"But why not, Helen? You ought to be good to Scuddy, poor chap.
He's a splendid fellow, and I won't have him abused."
"Not to-night, Larry; I can't have him to-night. You will take me
home, won't you? I am going very soon."
"You are, eh? Well, if you can go within ten minutes, I shall be
ready."
"Say fifteen," said Helen, turning to meet Lloyd Rushbrook, the
Beau Brummel of the college, who came claiming a dance.
Larry at once went in search of Jane to tell her of his engagement
with Helen Brookes, but could find her nowhere, and after some time
spent in a vain search, he left a message for her with his hostess.
At the head of the stairs he found Helen waiting.
"Oh, hurry, Larry," she cried in a fever of excitement. "Let's get
away quickly."
"Two minutes will do me," said Larry, rushing into the dressing
room.
There he found Scudamore pacing up and down in fierce, gloomy
silence.
"You are taking her home, Larry?" he said.
"Who?" said Larry. Then glancing at his face, he added, "Yes,
Scuddy, I am taking Helen home. She is apparently in a great
hurry."
"She need not be; I shall not bother her any more," said Scuddy
bitterly, "and you can tell her that for me, if you like."
"No, I won't tell her that, Scuddy," said Larry, "and, Scuddy," he
added, imparting a bit of worldly wisdom, "campaigns are not won in
a single battle, and, Scuddy, remember too that the whistling
fisherman catches the fish. So cheer up, old boy." But Scuddy
only glowered at him.
Larry found Helen awaiting him, and quietly they slipped out
together. "This is splendid of you, Larry," she said, taking his
arm and giving him a little squeeze.
"I don't know about that, Helen. I left Scuddy raging upstairs
there. You girls are the very devil for cruelty sometimes. You
get men serious with you, then you flirt and flutter about till the
unhappy wretches don't know where they are at. Here's our car."
"Car!" exclaimed Helen. "With this moonlight, Larry? And you
going away to-morrow? Not if I know it."
"It is fearfully unromantic, Helen, I know. But I must hurry. I
have to take Jane home."
"Oh, Jane! It's always Jane, Jane!"
"Well, why not?" said Larry. "For years Jane has been my greatest
pal, my best friend."
"Nothing more?" said Helen earnestly. "Cross your heart, Larry."
"Nothing more, cross my heart and all the rest of it," replied
Larry. "Why! here's another car, Helen."
"Oh, Larry, you are horrid, perfectly heartless! We may never walk
together again. Here I am throwing myself at you and you only
think of getting away back." Under her chaffing words there
sounded a deeper note.
"So I see," said Larry, laughing and refusing to hear the deeper
undertone. "But I see something else as well."
"What?" challenged Helen.
"I see Scuddy leading out from Trinity some day the loveliest girl
in Winnipeg."
"Oh, I won't talk about Scuddy," said Helen impatiently. "I want
to talk about you. Tell me about this Chicago business."
For the rest of the way home she led Larry to talk of his plans for
the future. At her door Helen held out her hand. "You won't come
in, Larry, I know, so we will say good-bye here." Her voice was
gentle and earnest. The gay, proud, saucy air which she had ever
worn and which had been one of her chief charms, was gone. The
moonlight revealed a lovely wistful face from which misty eyes
looked into his. "This is the end of our good times together,
Larry. And we have had good times. You are going to be a great
man some day. I wish you all the best in life."
"Thank you, Helen," said Larry, touched by the tones of her voice
and the look in her eyes. "We have been good friends. We shall
never be anything else. With my heart I wish you--oh, just
everything that is good, Helen dear. Good-bye," he said, leaning
toward her. "How lovely you are!" he murmured.
"Good-bye, dear Larry," she whispered, lifting up her face.
"Good-bye, you dear girl," he said, and kissed her.
"Now go," she said, pushing him away from her.
"Be good to Scuddy," he replied as he turned from her and hurried
away.
He broke into a run, fearing to be late, and by the time he arrived
at the Allens' door he had forgotten all about Helen Brookes and
was thinking only of Jane and of what he wanted to say to her. At
the inner door he met Macleod and Ethel coming out.
"Jane's gone," said Ethel, "some time ago."
"Gone?" said Larry.
"Yes, Scuddy took her home."
"Are they all gone?" inquired Larry.
"Yes, for the most part."
"Oh, all right then; I think I shall not go in. Good-night," he
said, turned abruptly about and set off for Dr. Brown's. He looked
again at his watch. He was surprised to find it was not so very
late. Why had Jane not waited for him? Had he hurt her again? He
was sorely disappointed. Surely she had no reason to be offended,
and this was his last night. As he thought the matter over he came
to the conclusion that now it was he that had a grievance. Arrived
at Dr. Brown's house the only light to be seen was in Jane's room
upstairs. Should he go in or should he go home and wait till to-
morrow. He was too miserable to think of going home without seeing
her. He determined that he must see her at all cost to-night. He
took a pebble and flung it up against her window, and another and
another. The window opened and Jane appeared.
"Oh, Larry," she whispered. "Is it you? Wait, I shall be down."
She opened the door for him and stood waiting for him to speak.
"Why didn't you wait?" he asked, passing into the hall. "I was not
very long."
"Why should I wait, Larry?" she said quietly. "Scuddy told me you
had gone home with Helen."
"But didn't I promise that I would take you home?"
"You did, and then went away."
"Well, all I have to say, Jane, is that this is not a bit like you.
I am sorry I brought you down, and I won't keep you any longer.
Good-night. I shall see you tomorrow."
But Jane got between him and the door and stood with her back to
it. "No, Larry, you are not going away like that. Go into the
study." Larry looked at her in astonishment. This was indeed a
new Jane to him. Wrathful, imperious, she stood waving him toward
the study door. In spite of his irritation he was conscious of a
new admiration for her. Feeling a little like a boy about to
receive his punishment, he passed into the study.
"Didn't Mrs. Allen give you my message?" he said.
"Your message, Larry?" cried Jane, a light breaking upon her face.
"Did you leave a message for me?"
"I did. I told Mrs. Allen to tell you where I had gone--Helen was
so anxious to go--and that I would be right back." Larry's voice
was full of reproach.
"Oh, Larry, I am so glad," said Jane, her tone indicating the
greatness of her relief. "I knew it was all right--that something
had prevented. I am so glad you came in. You must have thought me
queer."
"No," said Larry, appeased, "I knew all the time there must be some
explanation, only I was feeling so miserable."
"And I was miserable, too, Larry," she said gently. "It seemed a
pity that this should happen on our last night." All her wrath was
gone. She was once more the Jane that Larry had always known,
gentle, sweet, straightforward, and on her face the old transfiguring
smile. Before this change of mood all his irritation vanished.
Humbled, penitent, and with a rush of warm affection filling his
heart, he said,
"I should have known you were not to blame, but you are always
right. Never once in all these years have you failed me. You
always understand a fellow. Do you know I am wondering how I shall
ever do without you? Have you thought, Jane, that to-morrow this
old life of ours together will end?"
"Yes, Larry." Her voice was low, almost a whisper, and in her eyes
an eager light shone.
"It just breaks my heart, Jane. We have been--we are such good
friends. If we had only fallen in love with each other.--But that
would have spoiled it all. We are not like other people; we have
been such chums, Jane."
"Yes, Larry," she said again, but the eager light had faded from
her eyes.
"Let's sit a bit, Larry," she said. "I am tired, and you are
tired, too," she added quickly, "after your hard day."
For a little time they sat in silence together, both shrinking
from the parting that they knew was so near. Larry gazed at her,
wondering to himself that he had ever thought her plain. Tonight
she seemed beautiful and very dear to him. Next to his mother, was
her place in his heart. Was this that he felt for her what they
called love? With all his soul he wished he could take her in his
arms and say, "Jane, I love you." But still he knew that his words
would not ring true. More than that, Jane would know it too.
Besides, might not her feeling for him be of the same quality?
What could he say in this hour which he recognised to be a crisis
in their lives? Sick at heart and oppressed with his feeling of
loneliness and impotence, he could only look at her in speechless
misery. Then he thought she, too, was suffering, the same misery
was filling her heart. She looked utterly spent and weary.
"Jane," he said desperately. She started. She, too, had been
thinking. "Scuddy is in love with Helen, Macleod is in love with
Ethel. I wish to God I had fallen in love with you and you with
me. Then we would have something to look forward to. Do you know,
Jane, I am like a boy leaving home? We are going to drift apart.
Others will come between us."
"No, Larry," cried Jane with quick vehemence. "Not that. You
won't let that come."
"Can we help it, Jane?" Then her weariness appealed to him. "It
is a shame to keep you up. I have given you a hard day, Jane."
She shook her head. "And there is no use waiting. We can only say
good-bye." He rose from his chair. Should he kiss her, he asked
himself. He had had no hesitation in kissing Helen an hour ago.
That seemed a light thing to him, but somehow he shrank from
offering to kiss Jane. If he could only say sincerely, "Jane, I
love you," then he could kiss her, but this he could not say truly.
Anything but perfect sincerity he knew she would detect; and she
would be outraged by it. Yet as he stood looking down upon her
pale face, her wavering smile, her quivering lips, he was conscious
of a rush of pity and of tenderness almost uncontrollable.
"Good-bye, Jane; God keep you always, dear, dear Jane." He held
her hands, looking into the deep blue eyes that looked back at him
so bravely. He felt that he was fast losing his grip upon himself,
and he must hurry away.
"Good-bye, Larry," she said simply.
"Good-bye," he said again in a husky voice. Abruptly he turned and
left her and passed out through the door.
Sore, sick at heart, he stumbled down the steps. "My God," he
cried, "what a fool I am! Why didn't I kiss her? I might have
done that at least."
He stood looking at the closed door, struggling against an almost
irresistible impulse to return and take her in his arms. Did he
not love her? What other was this that filled his heart? Could he
honestly say, "Jane, I want you for my wife"? He could not.
Miserable and cursing himself he went his way.
CHAPTER XX
THE GERMAN TYPE OF CITIZENSHIP
Mr. Dean Wakeham was always glad to have a decent excuse to run up
to the Lakeside Farm. His duties at the Manor Mine were not so
pressing that he could not on occasion take leave of absence, but
to impose himself upon the Lakeside household as frequently as he
desired made it necessary for him to utilise all possible excuses.
In the letter which he held in his hand and which he had just read
he fancied he had found a perfectly good excuse for a call. The
letter was from his sister Rowena and was dated May 15th, 1914.
It was upon his sister's letters that he depended for information
regarding the family life generally and about herself in particular.
His mother's letters were intimate and personal, reflecting,
however, various phases of her ailments, her anxieties for each
member of the family, but especially for her only son now so far
from her in that wild and uncivilised country, but ever overflowing
with tender affection. Dean always put down his mother's letters
with a smile of gentle pity on his face. "Poor, dear Mater," he
would say. "She is at rest about me only when she has me safely
tucked up in my little bed." His father's letters kept him in touch
with the office and, by an illuminating phrase or two, with the
questions of Big Business. But when he had finished Rowena's
letters he always felt as if he had been paying a visit to his home.
Through her letters his sister had the rare gift of transmitting
atmosphere. There were certain passages in his letter just received
which he felt he should at the earliest moment share with the
Lakeside Farm people, in other words, with Nora.
His car conveyed him with all speed to Lakeside Farm in good time
for the evening meal. To the assembled family Dean proceeded to
read passages which he considered of interest to them. "'Well,
your Canadian has really settled down into his place in the office
and into his own rooms. It was all we could do to hold him with us
for a month, he is so fearfully independent. Are all Canadians
like that? The Mater would have been glad to have had him remain a
month longer. But would he stay? He has a way with him. He has
struck up a terrific friendship with Hugo Raeder. You remember the
Yale man who has come to Benedick, Frame and Company, father's
financial people? Quite a presentable young man he is of the best
Yale type, which is saying something. Larry and he have tied up to
each other in quite a touching way. In the office, too, Larry has
found his place. He captured old Scread the very first day by
working out some calculations that had been allowed to accumulate,
using some method of his own which quite paralysed the old chap.
Oh, he has a way with him, that Canadian boy! Father, too, has
fallen for him. To hear him talk you would imagine that he fully
intended handing over ere long the business to Larry's care. The
Mater has adopted him as well, but with reservations. Of course,
what is troubling her is her dread of a Canadian invasion of her
household, especially--'um um--" At this point Mr. Dean Wakeham
read a portion of the letter to himself with slightly heightened
colour. "'While as for Elfie, he has captured her, baggage and
bones. The little monkey apparently lives only for him. While as
for Larry, you would think that the office and the family were the
merest side issues in comparison with the kid. All the same it is
very beautiful to see them together. At times you would think they
were the same age and both children. At other times she regards
him with worshipful eyes and drinks in his words as if he were some
superior being and she his equal in age and experience. She has
taken possession of him, and never hesitates to carry him off to
her own quarters, apparently to his delight. Oh, he has a way with
him, that Canadian boy! The latest is that he has invited Elfie to
stay a month with him in Alberta when he gets his first holiday.
He has raved to her over Polly. Elfie, I believe, has accepted his
invitation regardless of the wishes of either family. The poor
little soul is really better, I believe, for his companionship.
She is not so fretful and she actually takes her medicine without a
fight and goes to bed at decent hours upon the merest hint of his
Lordship's desire in the matter. In short, he has the family quite
prostrate before him. I alone have been able to stand upright and
maintain my own individuality.'"
"I am really awfully glad about the kid," said Dean. "After all
she really has rather a hard time. She is so delicate and needs
extra care and attention, and that, I am afraid, has spoiled her a
bit."
"Why shouldn't the little girl spend a few weeks with us here this
summer, Mr. Wakeham?" said Mrs. Gwynne. "Will you not say to your
mother that we should take good care of her?"
"Oh, Mrs. Gwynne, that is awfully good of you, but I am a little
afraid you would find her quite a handful. As I have said, she is
a spoiled little monkey and not easy to do with. She would give
you all a lot of trouble," added Dean, looking at Nora.
"Trouble? Not at all," said Nora. "She could do just as she likes
here. We would give her Polly and let her roam. And on the farm
she would find a number of things to interest her."
"It would be an awfully good thing for her, I know," said Dean,
vainly trying to suppress the eagerness in his tone, "and if you
are really sure that it would not be too much of a burden I might
write."
"No burden at all, Mr. Wakeham," said Mrs. Gwynne. "If you will
write and ask Mrs. Wakeham, and bring her with you when you return,
we shall do what we can to make her visit a happy one, and indeed,
it may do the dear child a great deal of good."
Thus it came about that the little city child, delicate, fretted,
spoiled, was installed in the household at Lakeside Farm for a
visit which lengthened out far beyond its original limits. The
days spent upon the farm were full of bliss to her, the only
drawback to the perfect happiness of the little girl being the
separation from her beloved fidus Achates, with whom she maintained
an epistolary activity extraordinarily intimate and vivid. Upon
this correspondence the Wakeham family came chiefly to depend for
enlightenment as to the young lady's activities and state of
health, and it came to be recognised as part of Larry's duty
throughout the summer to carry a weekly bulletin regarding Elfie's
health and manners to the Lake Shore summer home, where the
Wakehams sought relief from the prostrating heat of the great city.
These week ends at the Lake Shore home were to Larry his sole and
altogether delightful relief from the relentless drive of business
that even throughout the hottest summer weather knew neither let
nor pause.
It became custom that every Saturday forenoon Rowena's big car
would call at the Rookery Building and carry off her father, if he
chanced to be in town, and Larry to the Lake Shore home. An hour's
swift run over the perfect macadam of the Lake Shore road that
wound through park and boulevard, past splendid summer residences
of Chicago financial magnates, through quiet little villages and by
country farms, always with gleams of Michigan's blue-grey waters,
and always with Michigan's exhilarating breezes in their faces,
would bring them to the cool depths of Birchwood's shades and
silences, where for a time the hustle and heat and roar of the big
city would be as completely forgotten as if a thousand miles away.
It was early on a breathless afternoon late in July when from
pavement and wall the quivering air smote the face as if blown from
an opened furnace that Rowena drove her car down La Salle Street
and pulled up at the Rookery Building resolved to carry off with
her as a special treat "her men" for an evening at Birchwood.
"Come along, Larry, it is too hot to live in town today," she said
as she passed through the outer office where the young man had his
desk. "I am just going in to get father, so don't keep me
waiting."
"Miss Wakeham, why will you add to the burdens of the day by
breezing thus in upon us and making us discontented with our lot.
I cannot possibly accept your invitation this afternoon."
"What? Not to-day, with the thermometer at ninety-four? Nonsense!"
said the young lady brusquely. "You look fit to drop."
"It is quite useless," said Larry with a sigh. "You see we have a
man in all the way from Colorado to get plans of a mine which is in
process of reconstruction. These plans will take hours to finish.
The work is pressing, in short must be done to-day."
"Now, look here, young man. All work in this office is pressing
but none so pressing that it cannot pause at my command."
"But this man is due to leave to-morrow."
"Oh, I decline to talk about it; it is much too hot. Just close up
your desk," said the young lady, as she swept on to her father's
office.
In a short time she returned, bearing that gentleman in triumph
with her. "Not ready?" she said. "Really you are most exasperating,
Larry."
"You may as well throw up your hands, Larry. You'd better knock
off for the day," said Mr. Wakeham. "It is really too hot to do
anything else than surrender."
"You see, it is like this, sir," said Larry. "It is that Colorado
mine reconstruction business. Their manager, Dimock, is here. He
must leave, he says, tomorrow morning. Mr. Scread thinks he should
get these off as soon as possible. So it is necessary that I stick
to it till we get it done."
"How long will it take?" said Mr. Wakeham.
"I expect to finish to-night some time. I have already had a
couple of hours with Dimock to-day. He has left me the data."
"Well, I am very sorry, indeed," said Mr. Wakeham. "It is a great
pity you cannot come with us, and you look rather fagged. Dimock
could not delay, eh?"
"He says he has an appointment at Kansas City which he must keep."
"Oh, it is perfect rubbish," exclaimed Rowena impatiently, "and we
have a party on to-night. Your friend, Mr. Hugh Raeder, is to be
out, and Professor Schaefer and a friend of his, and some perfectly
charming girls."
"But why tell me these things now, Miss Wakeham," said Larry, "when
you know it is impossible for me to come?"
"You won't come?"
"I can't come."
"Come along then, father," she said, and with a stiff little bow
she left Larry at his desk.
Before the car moved off Larry came hurrying out.
"Here is Elfie's letter," he said. "Perhaps Mrs. Wakeham would
like to see it." Miss Wakeham was busy at the wheel and gave no
sign of having heard or seen. So her father reached over and took
the letter from him.
"Do you know," said Larry gravely, "I do not think it is quite so
hot as it was. I almost fancy I feel a chill."
"A chill?" said Mr. Wakeham anxiously. "What do you mean?"
Miss Wakeham bit her lip, broke into a smile and then into a laugh.
"Oh, he's a clever thing, he is," she said. "I hope you may have a
real good roast this afternoon."
"I hope you will call next Saturday," said Larry earnestly. "It is
sure to be hot."
"You don't deserve it or anything else that is good."
"Except your pity. Think what I am missing."
"Get in out of the heat," she cried as the car slipped away.
For some blocks Miss Wakeham was busy getting her car through the
crush of the traffic, but as she swung into the Park Road she
remarked, "That young man takes himself too seriously. You would
think the business belonged to him."
"I wish to God I had more men in my office," said her father, "who
thought the same thing. Do you know, young lady, why it is that so
many greyheads are holding clerk's jobs? Because clerks do not
feel that the business is their own. The careless among them are
working for five o'clock, and the keen among them are out for
number one. Do you know if that boy keeps on thinking that the
business is his he will own a big slice of it or something better
before he quits. I confess I was greatly pleased that you failed
to move him."
"All the same, he is awfully stubborn," said his daughter.
"You can't bully him as you do your old dad, eh?"
"I had counted on him for our dinner party to-night. I particularly
want to have him meet Professor Schaefer, and now we will have a
girl too many. It just throws things out."
They rolled on in silence for some time through the park when
suddenly her father said, "He may be finished by six o'clock, and
Michael could run in for him."
At six o'clock Miss Wakeham called Larry on the 'phone. "Are you
still at it?" she enquired. "And when will you be finished?"
"An hour, I think, will see me through," he replied.
"Then," said Miss Wakeham, "a little before seven o'clock the car
will be waiting at your office door."
"Hooray!" cried Larry. "You are an angel. I will be through."
At a quarter of seven Larry was standing on the pavement, which was
still radiating heat, and so absorbed in watching for the Wakehams'
big car that he failed to notice a little Mercer approaching till
it drew up at his side.
"What, you, Miss Rowena?" he cried. "Your own self? How very
lovely of you, and through all this heat!"
"Me," replied the girl, "only me. I thought it might still be hot
and a little cool breeze would be acceptable. But jump in."
"Cool breeze, I should say so!" exclaimed Larry. "A lovely, cool,
sweet spring breeze over crocuses and violets! But, I say, I must
go to my room for my clothes."
"No evening clothes to-night," exclaimed Rowena.
"Ah, but I have a new, lovely, cool suit that I have been hoping to
display at Birchwood. These old things would hardly do at your
dinner table."
"We'll go around for it. Do get in. Do you know, I left my party
to come for you, partly because I was rather nasty this afternoon?"
"You were indeed," said Larry. "You almost broke my heart, but
this wipes all out; my heart is singing again. That awfully jolly
letter of Elfie's this week made me quite homesick for the open and
for the breezes of the Alberta foothills."
"Tell me what she said," said Rowena, not because she wanted so
much to hear Elfie's news but because she loved to hear him talk,
and upon no subject could Larry wax so eloquent as upon the
foothill country of Alberta. Long after they had secured Larry's
new suit and gone on their way through park and boulevard, Larry
continued to expatiate upon the glories of Alberta hills and
valleys, upon its cool breezes, its flowing rivers and limpid
lakes, and always the western rampart of the eternal snow-clad
peaks.
"And how is the mine doing?" inquired Rowena, for Larry had fallen
silent.
"The mine? Oh, there's trouble there, I am afraid. Switzer--you
have heard of Switzer?"
"Oh, yes, I know all about him and his tragic disappointment. He's
the manager, isn't he?"
"The manager? No, he's the secretary, but in this case it means
the same thing, for he runs the mine. Well, Switzer wants to sell
his stock. He and his father hold about twenty-five thousand
dollars between them. He means to resign. And to make matters
worse, the manager left last week. They are both pulling out, and
it makes it all the worse, for they had just gone in for rather
important extensions. I am anxious a bit. You see they are rather
hard up for money, and father raised all he could on his ranch and
on his mining stock."
"How much is involved?" inquired Rowena.
"Oh, not so much money as you people count it, but for us it is all
we have. He raised some fifty thousand dollars. While the mine
goes on and pays it is safe enough, but if the mine quits then it
is all up with us. There is no reason for anxiety at present as
far as the mine is concerned, however. It is doing splendidly and
promises better every day. But Switzer's going will embarrass them
terribly. He was a perfect marvel for work and he could handle the
miners as no one else could. Most of them, you know, are his own
people."
"I see you are worrying," said Rowena, glancing at his face, which
she thought unusually pale.
"Not a bit. At least, not very much. Jack is a levelheaded chap--
Jack Romayne, I mean--my brother-in-law. By the way, I had a wire
to say that young Jack had safely arrived."
"Young Jack? Oh, I understand. Then you are Uncle Larry."
"I am. How ancient I feel! And what a lot of responsibility it
lays upon me!"
"I hope your sister is quite well."
"Everything fine, so I am informed. But what was I saying? Oh,
yes, Jack is a level-headed chap and his brother-in-law, Waring-
Gaunt, who is treasurer of the company, is very solid. So I think
there's no doubt but that they will be able to make all necessary
arrangements."
"Well, don't worry to-night," said Rowena. "I want you to have a
good time. I am particularly anxious that you should meet and like
Professor Schaefer."
"A German, eh?" said Larry.
"Yes--that is, a German-American. He is a metallurgist, quite
wonderful, I believe. He does a lot of work for father, and you
will doubtless have a good deal to do with him yourself. And he
spoke so highly of Canada and of Canadians that I felt sure you
would be glad to meet him. He is really a very charming man,
musical and all that, but chiefly he is a man of high intelligence
and quite at the top of his profession. He asked to bring a friend
of his with him, a Mr. Meyer, whom I do not know at all; but he is
sure to be interesting if he is a friend of Professor Schaefer's.
We have some nice girls, too, so we hope to have an interesting
evening."
The company was sufficiently varied to forbid monotony, and
sufficiently intellectual to be stimulating, and there was always
the background of Big Business. Larry was conscious that he was
moving amid large ideas and far-reaching interests, and that though
he himself was a small element, he was playing a part not altogether
insignificant, with a promise of bigger things in the future.
Professor Schaefer became easily the centre of interest in the
party. He turned out to be a man of the world. He knew great
cities and great men. He was a connoisseur in art and something
more than an amateur in music. His piano playing, indeed, was far
beyond that of the amateur. But above everything he was a man of
his work. He knew metals and their qualities as perhaps few men in
America, and he was enthusiastic in his devotion to his profession.
After dinner, with apologies to the ladies, he discoursed from full
and accurate knowledge of the problems to be met within his daily
work and their solutions. He was frequently highly technical, but
to everything he touched he lent a charm that captivated his
audience. To Larry he was especially gracious. He was interested
in Canada. He apparently had a minute knowledge of its mineral
history, its great deposits in metals, in coal, and oil, which he
declared to be among the richest in the world. The mining
operations, however, carried out in Canada, he dismissed as being
unworthy of consideration. He deplored the lack of scientific
knowledge and the absence of organisation.
"We should do that better in our country. Ah, if only our
Government would take hold of these deposits," he exclaimed, "the
whole world should hear of them." The nickel mining industry alone
in the Sudbury district he considered worthy of respect. Here he
became enthusiastic. "If only my country had such a magnificent
bit of ore!" he cried. "But such bungling, such childish trifling
with one of the greatest, if not the very greatest, mining
industries in the world! To think that the Government of Canada
actually allows the refining of that ore to be done outside of its
own country! Folly, folly, criminal folly! But it is all the same
in this country, too. The mining work in America is unscientific,
slovenly, unorganised, wasteful. I am sorry to say," he continued,
turning suddenly upon Larry, "in your western coal fields you waste
more in the smoke of your coke ovens than you make out of your coal
mines. Ah, if only those wonderful, wonderful coal fields were
under the organised and scientific direction of my country! Then
you would see--ah, what would you not see!"
"Your country?" said Hugo Raeder, smiling. "I understood you were
an American, Professor Schaefer."
"An American? Surely! I have been eighteen years in this country."
"You are a citizen, I presume?" said Mr. Wakeham.
"A citizen? Yes. I neglected that matter till recently; but I
love my Fatherland."
"Speaking of citizenship, I have always wanted to know about the
Delbruck Law, Professor Schaefer, in regard to citizenship," said
Larry.
The professor hesitated, "The Delbruck Law?"
"Yes," said Larry. "How does it affect, for instance, your
American citizenship?"
"Not at all, I should say. Not in the very least," replied
Professor Schaefer curtly and as if dismissing the subject.
"I am not so sure of that, Professor Schaefer," said Hugo Raeder.
"I was in Germany when that law was passed. It aroused a great
deal of interest. I have not looked into it myself, but on the
face of it I should say it possesses certain rather objectionable
features."
"Not at all, not at all, I assure you," exclaimed Professor
Schaefer. "It is simply a concession to the intense, but very
natural affection for the Fatherland in every German heart, while
at the same time it facilitates citizenship in a foreign country.
For instance, there are millions of Germans living in America who
like myself shrank from taking the oath which breaks the bond with
the Fatherland. We love America, we are Americans, we live in
America, we work in America; but naturally our hearts turn to
Germany, and we cannot forget our childhood's home. That is good,
that is worthy, that is noble--hence the Delbruck Law."
"But what does it provide exactly?" enquired Mr. Wakeham. "I
confess I never heard of it."
"It permits a German to become an American citizen, and at the same
time allows him to retain his connection, his heart connection,
with the Fatherland. It is a beautiful law."
"A beautiful law," echoed his friend, Mr. Meyer.
"Just what is the connection?" insisted Hugo Raeder.
"Dear friend, let me explain to you. It permits him to retain his
place, his relations with his own old country people. You can
surely see the advantage of that. For instance: When I return to
Germany I find myself in full possession of all my accustomed
privileges. I am no stranger. Ah, it is beautiful! And you see
further how it establishes a new bond between the two countries.
Every German-American will become a bond of unity between these two
great nations, the two great coming nations of the world."
"Beautiful, beautiful, glorious!" echoed Meyer.
"But I do not understand," said Larry. "Are you still a citizen of
Germany?"
"I am an American citizen, and proud of it," exclaimed Professor
Schaefer, dramatically.
"Ach, so, geviss," said Meyer. "Sure! an American citizen!"
"But you are also a citizen of Germany?" enquired Hugo Raeder.
"If I return to Germany I resume the rights of my German citizenship,
of course."
"Beautiful, beautiful!" exclaimed Meyer.
"Look here, Schaefer. Be frank about this. Which are you to-day,
a citizen of Germany or of America?"
"Both, I tell you," exclaimed Schaefer proudly. "That is the
beauty of the arrangement."
"Ah, a beautiful arrangement!" said Meyer.
"What? You are a citizen of another country while you claim
American citizenship?" said Raeder. "You can no more be a citizen
of two countries at the same time than the husband of two wives at
the same time."
"Well, why not?" laughed Schaefer. "An American wife for America,
and a German wife for Germany. You will excuse me," he added,
bowing toward Mrs. Wakeham.
"Don't be disgusting," said Hugo Raeder. "Apart from the legal
difficulty the chief difficulty about that scheme would be that
whatever the German wife might have to say to such an arrangement,
no American wife would tolerate it for an instant."
"I was merely joking, of course," said Schaefer.
"But, Professor Schaefer, suppose war should come between Germany
and America," said Larry.
"War between Germany and America--the thing is preposterous
nonsense, not to be considered among the possibilities!"
"But as a mere hypothesis for the sake of argument, what would your
position be?" persisted Larry.
Professor Schaefer was visibly annoyed. "I say the hypothesis is
nonsense and unthinkable," he cried.
"Come on, Schaefer, you can't escape it like that, you know," said
Hugo Raeder. "By that law of yours, where would your allegiance be
should war arise? I am asking what actually would be your
standing. Would you be a German citizen or an American citizen?"
"The possibility does not exist," said Professor Schaefer.
"Quite impossible," exclaimed Meyer.
"Well, what of other countries then?" said Hugo, pursuing the
subject with a wicked delight. His sturdy Americanism resented
this bigamous citizenship. "What of France or Britain?"
"Ah," said Professor Schaefer with a sharpening of his tone. "That
is quite easy."
"You would be a German, eh?" said Raeder.
"You ask me," exclaimed Professor Schaefer, "you ask me as between
Germany and France, or between Germany and Britain? I reply," he
exclaimed with a dramatic flourish of his hand, "I am a worshipper
of the life-giving sun, not of the dead moon; I follow the dawn,
not the dying day."
But this was too much for Larry. "Without discussing which is the
sun and which is the moon, about which we might naturally differ,
Professor Schaefer, I want to be quite clear upon one point. Do I
understand you to say that if you were, say a naturalised citizen
of Canada, having sworn allegiance to our Government, enjoying the
full rights and privileges of our citizenship, you at the same time
would be free to consider yourself a citizen of Germany, and in
case of war with Britain, you would feel in duty bound to support
Germany? And is it that which the Delbruck Law is deliberately
drawn, to permit you to do?"
"Well put, Larry!" exclaimed Hugo Raeder, to whom the German's
attitude was detestable.
Professor Schaefer's lips curled in an unpleasant smile. "Canada,
Canadian citizenship! My dear young man, pardon! Allow me to ask
you a question. If Britain were at war with Germany, do you think
it at all likely that Canada would allow herself to become involved
in a European war? Canada is a proud, young, virile nation. Would
she be likely to link her fortunes with those of a decadent power?
Excuse me a moment," checking Larry's impetuous reply with his
hand. "Believe me, we know something about these things. We make
it our business to know. You acknowledge that we know something
about your mines; let me assure you that there is nothing about
your country that we do not know. Nothing. Nothing. We know the
feeling in Canada. Where would Canada be in such a war? Not with
Germany, I would not say that. But would she stand with England?"
Larry sprang to his feet. "Where would Canada be? Let me tell
you, Professor Schaefer," shaking his finger in the professor's
face. "To her last man and her last dollar Canada would be with
the Empire."
"Hear, hear!" shouted Hugo Raeder.
The professor looked incredulous. "And yet," he said with a sneer,
"one-half of your people voted for Reciprocity with the United
States."
"Reciprocity! And yet you say you know Canada," exclaimed Larry in
a tone of disgust. "Do you know, sir, what defeated Reciprocity
with this country? Not hostility to the United States; there is
nothing but the kindliest feeling among Canadians for Americans.
But I will tell you what defeated Reciprocity. It was what we
might call the ultra loyal spirit of the Canadian people toward the
Empire. The Canadians were Empire mad. The bare suggestion of the
possibility of any peril to the Empire bond made them throw out Sir
Wilfrid Laurier and the Liberal Party. That, of course, with other
subordinate causes."
"I fancy our Mr. Taft helped a bit," said Hugo Raeder.
"Undoubtedly Mr. Taft's unfortunate remarks were worked to the
limit by the Conservative Party. But all I say is that any
suggestion, I will not say of disloyalty, but even of indifference,
to the Empire of Canada is simply nonsense."
At this point a servant brought in a telegram and handed it to Mr.
Wakeham. "Excuse me, my dear," he said to his wife, opened the
wire, read it, and passed it to Hugo Raeder. "From your chief,
Hugo."
"Much in that, do you think, sir?" inquired Hugo, passing the
telegram back to him.
"Oh, a little flurry in the market possibly," said Mr. Wakeham.
"What do you think about that, Schaefer?" Mr. Wakeham continued,
handing him the wire.
Professor Schaefer glanced at the telegram. "My God!" he exclaimed,
springing to his feet. "It is come, it is come at last!" He spoke
hurriedly in German to his friend, Meyer, and handed him the
telegram.
Meyer read it. "God in heaven!" he cried. "It is here!" In
intense excitement he poured forth a torrent of interrogations in
German, receiving animated replies from Professor Schaefer. Then
grasping the professor's hand in both of his, he shook it with wild
enthusiasm.
"At last!" he cried. "At last! Thank God, our day has come!"
Completely ignoring the rest of the company, the two Germans
carried on a rapid and passionate conversation in their own tongue
with excited gesticulations, which the professor concluded by
turning to his hostess and saying, "Mrs. Wakeham, you will excuse
us. Mr. Wakeham, you can send us to town at once?"
By this time the whole company were upon their feet gazing with
amazement upon the two excited Germans.
"But what is it?" cried Mrs. Wakeham. "What has happened? Is
there anything wrong? What is it, Professor Schaefer? What is
your wire about, Garrison?"
"Oh, nothing at all, my dear, to get excited about. My financial
agent wires me that the Press will announce to-morrow that Austria
has presented an ultimatum to Servia demanding an answer within
forty-eight hours."
"Oh, is that all," she said in a tone of vast relief. "What a
start you all gave me. An ultimatum to Servia? What is it all
about?"
"Why, you remember, my dear, the murder of the Archduke Ferdinand
about three weeks ago?"
"Oh, yes, I remember. I had quite forgotten it. Poor thing, how
terrible it was! Didn't they get the murderer? It seems to me
they caught him."
"You will excuse us, Mrs. Wakeham," said Professor Schaefer,
approaching her. "We deeply regret leaving this pleasant party and
your hospitable home, but it is imperative that we go."
"But, my dear Professor Schaefer, to-night?" exclaimed Mrs. Wakeham.
"Why, Schaefer, what's the rush? Are you caught in the market?"
said Wakeham with a little laugh. "You cannot do anything to-night
at any rate, you know. We will have you in early to-morrow
morning."
"No, no, to-night, now, immediately!" shouted Meyer in uncontrollable
excitement.
"But why all the excitement, Schaefer?" said Hugo Raeder, smiling
at him. "Austria has presented an ultimatum to Servia--what about
it?"
"What about it? Oh, you Americans; you are so provincial. Did you
read the ultimatum? Do you know what it means? It means war!"
"War!" cried Meyer. "War at last! Thank God! Tonight must we in
New York become."
Shaking hands hurriedly with Mrs. Wakeham, and with a curt bow to
the rest of the company, Meyer hurriedly left the room, followed by
Professor Schaefer and Mr. Wakeham.
"Aren't they funny!" said Rowena. "They get so excited about
nothing."
"Well, it is hardly nothing," said Hugo Raeder. "Any European war
is full of all sorts of possibilities. You cannot throw matches
about in a powder magazine without some degree of danger."
"May I read the ultimatum?" said Larry to Mrs. Wakeham, who held
the telegram in her hand.
"Pretty stiff ultimatum," said Hugo Raeder. "Read it out, Larry."
"Servia will have to eat dirt," said Larry when he had finished.
"Listen to this: She must 'accept the collaboration in Servia of
representatives of the Austro-Hungarian Government for the
consideration of the subversive movements directed against the
Territorial integrity of the Monarchy.' 'Accept collaboration' of
the representatives of the Austro-hungarian Government in this
purely internal business, mind you. And listen to this:
'Delegates of the Austro-Hungarian Government will take part in the
investigation relating thereto.' Austrian lawyers and probably
judges investigating Servian subjects in Servia? Why, the thing is
impossible."
"It is quite evident," said Hugo Raeder, "that Austria means war."
"Poor little Servia, she will soon be eaten up," said Rowena. "She
must be bankrupt from her last war."
"But why all this excitement on the part of our German friends?"
inquired Mrs. Wakeham. "What has Germany to do with Austria and
Servia?"
At this point Professor Schaefer and his friend re-entered the room
ready for their departure.
"I was just inquiring," said Mrs. Wakeham, "how this ultimatum of
Austria's to Servia can affect Germany particularly."
"Affect Germany?" cried Professor Schaefer.
"Yes," said Hugo Raeder, "what has Germany to do with the scrap
unless she wants to butt in?"
"Ha! ha! My dear man, have you read no history of the last twenty
years? But you Americans know nothing about history, nothing about
anything except your own big, overgrown country."
"I thought you were an American citizen, Schaefer?" inquired Hugo.
"An American," exclaimed Schaefer, "an American, ah, yes, certainly;
but in Europe and in European politics, a German, always a German."
"But why should Germany butt in?" continued Hugo.
"Butt in, Germany butt in? Things cannot be settled in Europe
without Germany. Besides, there is Russia longing for the
opportunity to attack."
"To attack Germany?"
"To attack Austria first, Germany's ally and friend, and then
Germany. The trouble is you Americans do not live in the world.
You are living on your own continent here removed from the big
world, ignorant of all world movements, the most provincial people
in all the world. Else you would not ask me such foolish
questions. This ultimatum means war. First, Austria against
Servia; Russia will help Servia; France will help Russia; Germany
will help Austria. There you have the beginning of a great
European war. How far this conflagration will spread, only God
knows."
The car being announced, the Germans made a hurried exit, in their
overpowering excitement omitting the courtesy of farewells to
household and guests.
"They seem to be terribly excited, those Germans," said Miss
Rowena.
"They are," said Hugo; "I am glad I am not a German. To a German
war is so much the biggest thing in life."
"It is really too bad," said Mrs. Wakeham; "we shall not have the
pleasure of Professor Schaefer's music. He plays quite exquisitely.
You would all have greatly enjoyed it. Rowena, you might play
something. Well, for my part," continued Mrs. Wakeham, settling
herself placidly in her comfortable chair, "I am glad I am an
American. Those European countries, it seems to me, are always in
some trouble or other."
"I am glad I am a Canadian," said Larry. "We are much too busy to
think of anything so foolish and useless as war."
CHAPTER XXI
WAR
"Come, Jane, we have just time to take a look at the lake from the
top of the hill before we get ready for church," said Ethel Murray.
"It will be worth seeing to-day."
"Me too, me too," shrieked two wee girls in bare legs and sandals,
clutching Jane about the legs.
"All right, Isabel; all right, Helen. I'll take you with me," said
Jane. "But you must let me go, you know."
They all raced around the house and began to climb the sheer, rocky
hill that rose straight up from the rear.
"Here, Jim, help me with these kiddies," said Jane to a lank lad of
fifteen, whom she ran into at the corner of the house just where
the climb began.
Jim swung the younger, little Helen, upon his shoulder and together
they raced to the top, scrambling, slipping, falling, but finally
arriving there, breathless and triumphant. Before them lay a bit
of Canada's loveliest lake, the Lake of the Woods, so-called from
its myriad, heavily wooded islands, that make of its vast expanse a
maze of channels, rivers and waterways. Calm, without a ripple,
lay the glassy, sunlit surface, each island, rock and tree meeting
its reflected image at the water line, the sky above flecked with
floating clouds, making with the mirrored sky below one perfect
whole.
"Oh, Ethel, I had forgotten just how beautiful this is," breathed
Jane, while the rest stood silent looking down upon the mirrored
rocks and islands, trees and sky.
Even the two little girls stood perfectly still, for they had been
taught to take the first views from the top in silence.
"Look at the Big Rock," said Helen. "They are two rocks kissing
each other."
"Oh, you little sweetheart," said Jane, kissing her. "That is just
what they are doing. It is not often that you get it so perfectly
still as this, is it, Jim?"
"Not so very often. Sometimes just at sunrise you get it this
way."
"At sunrise! Do you very often see it then?"
"Yes, he gets up to catch fishes," said wee Helen.
"Do you?"
Jim nodded. "Are you game to come along to-morrow morning?"
"At what hour?"
"Five o'clock."
"Don't do it, Jane," said Ethel. "It tires you for the day."
"I will come, Jim; I would love to come," said Jane.
For some time they stood gazing down upon the scene below them.
Then turning to the children abruptly, Ethel said, "Now, then,
children, you run down and get ready; that is, if you are going to
church. Take them down, Jim."
"All right, Ethel," said Jim. "See there, Jane," he continued,
"that neck of land across the traverse--that's where the old Hudson
Bay trail used to run that goes from the Big Lakes to Winnipeg.
It's the old war trail of the Crees too. Wouldn't you like to have
seen them in the old days?"
"I would run and hide," said Isabel, "so they could not see me."
"I would not be afraid," said Helen, straightening up to her full
height of six years. "I would shoot them dead."
"Poor things," said Jane, in a pitiful voice. "And then their
little babies at home would cry and cry."
Helen looked distressed. "I would not shoot the ones that had
babies."
"But then," said Jane, "the poor wives would sit on the ground and
wail and wail, like the Indians we heard the other night. Oh, it
sounded very sad."
"I would not shoot the ones with wives or babies or anything," said
Helen, determined to escape from her painful dilemma.
"Oh, only the boys and young men?" said Jane. "And then the poor
old mothers would cry and cry and tear their hair for the boys who
would never come back."
Helen stood in perplexed silence. Then she said shyly, "I wouldn't
shoot any of them unless they tried to shoot me or Mother or Daddy."
"Or me," said Jane, throwing her arms around the little girl.
"Yes," said Helen, "or you, or anybody in our house."
"That seems a perfectly safe place to leave it, Helen," said Ethel.
"I think even the most pronounced pacifist would accept that as a
justification of war. I fancy that is why poor little Servia is
fighting big bullying Austria to-day. But run down now; hurry,
hurry; the launch will be ready in a few minutes, and if you are
not ready you know Daddy won't wait."
But they were ready and with the round dozen, which with the
visitors constituted the Murray household at their island home,
they filled the launch, Jim at the wheel. It was a glorious Sunday
morning and the whole world breathed peace. Through the mazes of
the channels among the wooded islands the launch made its way,
across open traverse, down long waterways like rivers between high,
wooded banks, through cuts and gaps, where the waters boiled and
foamed, they ran, for the most part drinking in silently the
exquisite and varied beauty of lake and sky and woods. Silent they
were but for the quiet talk and cheery laughter of the younger
portion of the company, until they neared the little town, when the
silence that hung over the lake and woods was invaded by other
launches outbound and in. The Kenora docks were crowded with
rowboats, sailboats, canoes and launches of all sorts and sizes, so
that it took some steering skill on Jim's part to land them at the
dock without bumping either themselves or any one else.
"Oh, look!" exclaimed Isabel, whose sharp eyes were darting
everywhere. "There's the Rushbrooke's lovely new launch. Isn't it
beautiful!"
"Huh!" shouted Helen. "It is not half as pretty as ours."
"Oh, hush, Helen," said the scandalised Isabel. "It is lovely,
isnt it, Jane? And there is Lloyd Rushbrooke. I think he's
lovely, too. And who is that with him, Jane--that pretty girl?
Oh, isn't she pretty?"
"That's Helen Brookes," said Jane in a low voice.
"Oh, isn't she lovely!" exclaimed Isabel.
"Lovely bunch, Isabel," said Jim with a grin.
"I don't care, they are," insisted Isabel. "And there is Mr.
McPherson, Jane," she added, her sharp eyes catching sight of their
Winnipeg minister through the crowd. "He's coming this way. What
are the people all waiting for, Jane?"
The Reverend Andrew McPherson was a tall, slight, dark man,
straight but for the student's stoop of his shoulders, and with a
strikingly Highland Scotch cast of countenance, high cheek bones,
keen blue eyes set deep below a wide forehead, long jaw that
clamped firm lips together. He came straight to where Mr. Murray
and Dr. Brown were standing.
"I have just received from a friend in Winnipeg the most terrible
news," he said in a low voice. "Germany has declared war on Russia
and France."
"War! War! Germany!" exclaimed the men in awed, hushed voices, a
startled look upon their grave faces.
"What is it, James?" said Mrs. Murray.
Mr. Murray repeated the news to her.
"Germany at war?" she said. "I thought it was Austria and Servia.
Isn't it?"
"Yes, my dear," said Mr. Murray hastily, as if anxious to cover up
his wife's display of ignorance of the European situation.
"Austria has been at war with Servia for some days, but now Germany
has declared war apparently upon France and Russia."
"But what has Germany to do with it, or Russia either, or France?"
They moved off together from the docks toward the church,
discussing the ominous news.
"Oh, look, Jane," said Isabel once more. "There's Ramsay Dunn.
Isn't he looking funny?"
"Pickled, I guess," said Jim, with a glance at the young man who
with puffed and sodden face was gazing with dull and stupid eyes
across the lake. On catching sight of the approaching party Ramsay
Dunn turned his back sharply upon them and became intensely
absorbed in the launch at his side. But Jane would not have it
thus.
"Ask him to come over this afternoon," she said to Ethel. "His
mother would like it."
"Good morning, Ramsay," said Ethel as they passed him.
Ramsay turned sharply, stood stiff and straight, then saluted with
an elaborate bow. "Good morning, Ethel. Why, good morning, Jane.
You down here? Delighted to see you."
"Ramsay, could you come over this afternoon to our island?" said
Ethel. "Jane is going back this week."
"Sure thing, Ethel. Nothing but scarlet fever, small-pox, or other
contectious or infagious, confagious or intexious--eh, disease will
prevent me. The afternoon or the evening?" he added with what he
meant to be a most ingratiating smile. "The late afternoon or the
early evening?"
The little girls, who had been staring at him with wide, wondering
eyes, began to giggle.
"I'll be there," continued Ramsay. "I'll be there, I'll be there,
when the early evening cometh, I'll be there." He bowed deeply to
the young ladies and winked solemnly at Isabel, who by this time
was finding it quite impossible to control her giggles.
"Isn't he awfully funny?" she said as they moved off. "I think he
is awfully funny."
"Funny!" said Ethel. "Disgusting, I think."
"Oh, Ethel, isn't it terribly sad?" said Jane. "Poor Mrs. Dunn,
she feels so awfully about it. They say he is going on these days
in a perfectly dreadful way."
The little brick church was comfortably filled with the townsfolk
and with such of the summer visitors as had not "left their
religion behind them in Winnipeg," as Jane said. The preacher was
a little man whose speech betrayed his birth, and the theology and
delivery of whose sermon bore the unmistakable marks of his
Edinburgh training. He discoursed in somewhat formal but in
finished style upon the blessings of rest, with obvious application
to the special circumstances of the greater part of his audience
who had come to this most beautiful of all Canada's beautiful spots
seeking these blessings. To further emphasise the value of their
privileges, he contrasted with their lot the condition of unhappy
Servia now suffering from the horrors of war and threatened with
extinction by its tyrannical neighbour, Austria. The war could end
only in one way. In spite of her gallant and heroic fight Servia
was doomed to defeat. But a day of reckoning would surely come,
for this was not the first time that Austria had exercised its
superior power in an act of unrighteous tyranny over smaller
states. The God of righteousness was still ruling in his world,
and righteousness would be done.
At the close of the service, while they were singing the final
hymn, Mr. McPherson, after a whispered colloquy with Mr. Murray,
made his way to the pulpit, where he held an earnest conversation
with the minister. Instead of pronouncing the benediction and
dismissing the congregation when the final "Amen" had been sung,
the minister invited the people to resume their seats, when Mr.
McPherson rose and said,
"Friends, we have just learned that a great and terrible evil has
fallen upon the world. Five days ago the world was shocked by the
announcement that Austria had declared war upon Servia. Through
these days the powers of Europe, or at least some of them, and
chief among them Great Britain, have been labouring to localise the
war and to prevent its extension. To-day the sad, the terrible
announcement is made that Germany has declared war upon both Russia
and France. What an hour may bring forth, we know not. But not in
our day, or in our fathers' day, have we faced so great a peril as
we face to-day. For we cannot forget that our Empire is held by
close and vital ties to the Republic of France in the entente
cordiale. Let us beseech Almighty God to grant a speedy end to war
and especially to guide the King's counsellors that they may lead
this Empire in the way that is wise and right and honourable."
In the brief prayer that followed there fell upon the people an
overpowering sense of the futility of man's wisdom, and of the need
of the might and wisdom that are not man's but God's.
Two days later Mr. Murray and the children accompanied Dr. Brown
and Jane to Kenora on their way back to the city. As they were
proceeding to the railway station they were arrested by a group
that stood in front of the bulletin board upon which since the war
began the local newspaper was wont to affix the latest despatches.
The group was standing in awed silence staring at the bulletin
board before them. Dr. Brown pushed his way through, read the
despatch, looked around upon the faces beside him, read the words
once more, came back to where his party were standing and stood
silent.
"What is it?" inquired Mr. Murray.
"War," said Dr. Brown in a husky whisper. Then clearing his
throat, "War--Britain and Germany."
War! For the first time in the memory of living man that word was
spoken in a voice that stopped dead still the Empire in the daily
routine of its life. War! That word whispered in the secret
silent chamber of the man whose chief glory had been his title as
Supreme War Lord of Europe, swift as the lightning's flash circled
the globe, arresting multitudes of men busy with their peaceful
tasks, piercing the hearts of countless women with a new and
nameless terror, paralysing the activities of nations engaged in
the arts of peace, transforming into bitter enemies those living in
the bonds of brotherhood, and loosing upon the world the fiends of
hell.
Mr. Murray turned to his boy. "Jim," he said, "I must go to
Winnipeg. Take the children home and tell their mother. I shall
wire you to-morrow when to meet me." Awed, solemnised and in
silence they took their ways.
Arrived at the railway station, Mr. Murray changed his mind. He
was a man clear in thought and swift in action. His first thought
had been of his business as being immediately affected by this new
and mighty fact of war. Then he thought of other and wider
interests.
"Let us go back, Dr. Brown," he said. "A large number of our
business men are at the Lake. I suppose half of our Board of Trade
are down here. We can reach them more easily here than any place
else, and it is important that we should immediately get them
together. Excuse me while I wire to my architect. I must stop
that block of mine."
They returned together to the launch. On their way back to their
island they called to see Mr. McPherson. "You were right," was Mr.
Murray's greeting to him. "It has come; Britain has declared war."
Mr. McPherson stood gazing at him in solemn silence. "War," he
said at length. "We are really in."
"Yes, you were right, Mr. McPherson," said Dr. Brown. "I could not
believe it; I cannot believe it yet. Why we should have gone into
this particular quarrel, for the life of me I cannot understand."
"I was afraid from the very first," said McPherson, "and when once
Russia and France were in I knew that Britain could not honourably
escape."
As they were talking together a launch went swiftly by. "That's
the Rushbrooke's launch," said Jim.
Mr. Murray rushed out upon the pier and, waving his hand, brought
it to a halt and finally to the dock. "Have you heard the news?"
he said to the lady who sat near the stern. "Britain has declared
war."
"Oh," replied Mrs. Rushbrooke, "why on earth has she done that? It
is perfectly terrible."
"Terrible, indeed," said Mr. McPherson. "But we must face it. It
changes everything in life--business, society, home, everything
will immediately feel the effect of this thing."
"Oh, Mr. McPherson," exclaimed Mrs. Rushbrooke, "I can hardly see
how it will quite change everything for us here in Canada. For
instance," she added with a gay laugh, "I do not see that it will
change our bonfire tonight. By the way, I see you are not gone,
Dr. Brown. You and Jane will surely come over; and, Mr. Murray,
you will bring your young people and Mrs. Murray; and, Mr.
McPherson, I hope you will be able to come. It is going to be a
charming evening and you will see a great many of your friends. I
think a bonfire on one of the islands makes a very pretty sight."
"I am not sure whether I can take the time, Mrs. Rushbrooke," said
Mr. Murray. "I had thought of seeing a number of our business men
who are down here at the Lake."
"Oh, can't you leave business even while you are here? You really
ought to forget business during your holidays, Mr. Murray."
"I mean in relation to the war," said Mr. Murray.
"Good gracious, what can they possibly do about the war down here?
But if you want to see them they will all be with us to-night. So
you had better come along. But we shall have to hurry, Lloyd; I
have a lot of things to do and a lot of people to feed. We have
got to live, haven't we?" she added as the launch got under way.
"Got to live," said Mr. McPherson after they had gone. "Ah, even
that necessity has been changed. The necessity for living, which I
am afraid most of us have considered to be of first importance, has
suddenly given place to another necessity."
"And that?" said Mr. Murray.
"The necessity not to live, but to do our duty. Life has become
all at once a very simple thing."
"Well, we have got to keep going in the meantime at any rate," said
Mr. Murray.
"Going, yes; but going where?" said Mr. McPherson. "All roads now,
for us, lead to one spot."
"And that spot?" said Mr. Murray.
"The battlefield."
"Why, Mr. McPherson, we must not lose our heads; we must keep sane
and reasonable. Eh, Doctor?"
"I confess that this thing has completely stunned me," said Dr.
Brown. "You see I could not believe, I would not believe that war
was possible in our day. I would not believe you, Mr. McPherson.
I thought you had gone mad on this German scare. But you were
right. My God, I can't get my bearings yet; we are really at war!"
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