A PARODY OUTLINE OF HISTORY

By Donald Ogden Stewart

 Wherein may be found a curiously irreverent treatment of AMERICAN HISTORICAL EVENTS Imagining them as they would be narrated by American's most characteristic contemporary authors

 To

 GILBERT HOLLAND STEWART, Jr. 

Preface

Mr. H. G. Wells, in his "Outline of History, " was of necessity forced toomit the narration of many of the chief events in the history of theseUnited States. Such omissions I have in this brief volume endeavoredto supply. And as American history can possibly best be written byAmericans and as we have among us no H. G. Wells, I have imaginedan American history as written conjointly by a group of our mostcharacteristic literary figures. 

Apologies are due the various authors whose style and, moreparticularly, whose Weltanschauung I have here attempted to reproduce;thanks are due The Bookman for permission to reprint such of thesechapters as appeared in that publication. I give both freely. D. O. S. 

Contents

I INTRODUCTION: A Critical Survey of American History In the Manner ofWilliam Lyon Phelps

II CRISTOFER COLOMBO: A Comedy of Discovery In the Manner of JamesBranch Cabell

III MAIN STREET: Plymouth, Mass In the Manner of Sinclair Lewis

IV THE COURTSHIP OF, MILES STANDISH In the Manner of F. Scott Fitzgerald

V THE SPIRIT OF '75: Letters of a Minute Man In the Manner of RingLardner

VI THE WHISKY REBELLION In the Bedtime Story Manner of Thornton W. Burgess

VII HOW LOVE CAME TO GENERAL GRANT In the Manner of Harold Bell Wright

VIII CUSTER'S LAST STAND In the Manner of Edith Wharton

IX FOR THE FREEDOM OF THE WORLD: A Drama of the Great War Act I--In theManner of Mary Raymond Shipman Andrews Act 2--In the Manner of EugeneO'Neill

CHAPTER ONE

INTRODUCTION

A CRITICAL SURVEY OF AMERICAN HISTORY

In the Manner of William Lyon Phelps

On a memorable evening in the year 1904 I witnessed the openingperformance of Maude Adams in "Peter Pan". Nothing in the world candescribe the tremendous enthusiasm of that night! I shall never forgetthe moment when Peter came to the front of the stage and asked theaudience if we believed in fairies. I am happy to say that I wasactually the first to respond. Leaping at once out of my seat, I shouted"Yes--Yes!" To my intense pleasure the whole house almost instantlyfollowed my example, with the exception of one man. This man was sittingdirectly in front of me. His lack of enthusiasm was to me incredible. I pounded him on the back and shouted, "Great God, man, are you alive!Wake up! Hurrah for the fairies! Hurrah!" Finally he uttered a ratherfeeble "Hurrah!" Childe Roland to the dark tower came. 

That was my first meeting with that admirable statesman Woodrow Wilson, and I am happy to state that from that night we became firm friends. When Mr. Wilson was inaugurated in 1913 I called on him at the WhiteHouse, taking with me some members of my Yale drama class. Each one ofus had an edition of the president's admirable "History of the AmericanPeople", and I am glad to say that he was kind enough to autograph eachof the ten volumes for all of us. 

Early in Mr. Wilson's second term as president, just before the breakwith Germany, I was sitting in the quiet of my library rereadingBrowning's "Cristina". When I came to the third stanza I leaped to myfeet--the thing seemed incredible, but here before my eyes was actuallyBrowning's prophetic message to America in regard to the submarinesinkings. 

"Oh, we're sunk enough here, God knows! But not so sunk thatmoments--etc. " It is an extraordinary evidence of the man's genius thatin 1840 he should have perhaps foreseen prophetically the happeningsof seventy-six years later! Not only did Browning seem to know what wasbound to happen, but he told us the remedy. I sat right down and wroteto my good friend the president, enclosing a marked copy of the poem. Onthe sixth of April, 1917, war was declared. 

May 7, 1912, was the one hundredth anniversary of the birth of RobertBrowning. On that memorable date I was traveling to Ohio at the requestof my dear friend Miss Jones to deliver an address at the ColumbusSchool for Girls. Curiously enough the name of my Pullman car wasPauline. Not only did that strike me as remarkable, but I occupied upperberth number 9 in car 11, two numbers which, added together, producedthe exact age at which Browning published the poem of that name. At onceI recited the opening lines, "Pauline, mine own, bend o'er me--thy softbreast shall pant to mine--bend o'er me, " to the porter. 

I like to believe that the spirit of Browning arranged that entirejourney, for the other occupant of this well-omened berth was thatadmirable statesman Warren G. Harding. When I sat down I noticed thathe was reading Henry Sydnor Harrison's "Queed", a book which was justlypopular at that time. I at once showed Mr. Harding an article I hadwritten in which I stated that not only was "Queed" a real novel, witha real plot, and real characters, but that I believed the readers werestimulated by the spiritual advance of the hero. The future presidentagreed with me and said he thought that literature was a great thing. Encouraged by this I confessed that I was on my way to deliver a lectureon modern poetry. Mr. Harding replied that he thought poetry was a greatthing. "Splendid!" I cried, and taking a copy of Browning from my bag Iread him several selections. Mr. Harding said that of the American poetshe liked James Whitcomb Riley best. Personally, while I have for Mr. Riley only wonder and praise, I think that the English poet strikes amore inspiring, more eternal note. 

I then read to Mr. Harding Browning's "Evelyn Hope". He said that heknew a Mrs. Walter Hope in Marion, but that he was not sure her firstname was Evelyn. As I knew that Mr. Harding liked a good pun, I remarkedfacetiously that "hope springs eternal", meaning that probably therewere in existence several families of that name. 

I am happy to state that with that meeting began a friendship whichhas lasted for many years. When Mr. Harding was nominated for thepresidency, I wrote at once, enclosing a copy of "The Advance of theEnglish Novel" which I had published in 1916. On the title-page I wrote, "To the Hero of a Much More Spectacular Advance", meaning that theprogress made by the English novel was as nothing compared to Mr. Harding's rapid and well-deserved rise. In reply I received thefollowing:

 6 July, 1920. MY DEARPROFESSOR PHELPS:

Many thanks to you for your congratulations and your kindness in sendingme your brilliant, searching essays which I hope to be able to read inthe near future. WARREN G. HARDING. 

Just as I am always glad that I am an American, so I think we should allbelieve whole-heartedly in the glorious future which lies ahead of us. We should all pay high tribute to the ideals and sincerity of thosegreat leaders Woodrow Wilson and Warren Harding. What a pity that somepeople believe that there is any antagonism or essential difference inthe aims of those two worthy men. Both are absolutely sincere--bothtry to make the world a better, more happy place. And to the critic ofhistory--as to the critic of art and literature--those are the essentialthings. Viewing the past and glimpsing the future of American history Icannot help feeling that Browning had us perhaps unconsciously in mindwhen he wrote:

 God's in his heaven: All's right with the world!

Chapter Two

CRISTOFER COLOMBO A Comedy of Discovery. In the Manner of James BranchCabell

 In fourteen hundred ninety two In the city of Genoa. --Old Song. 

They of Genoa tell with a shrug how in the old days Cristofer Colombowhom men called the Dreamer left Dame Colombo to go in search of theland of his imagining. 

And the tale tells how, on a twilight Thursday, Colombo walked aloneon the edge of a doubtful wood, and viewed many things not salutaryto notice. And there came to him one who was as perversely tall asa certain unmentionable object and bearded in a manner it is notconvenient to describe. 

But Colombo set about that which the stranger said was necessary andwhen he had finished he drank the contents of the curious skull as hadbeen foretold on a certain All-Saints day. Then it was that the strangerspoke. 

"Whom are you", said he, "to be thus wandering in the very unspeakableforest of the very unnamable sorcerer Thyrston?"

Said Colombo, "I have heard of this Thyrston. And while I do notcriticize, yet I cannot entirely agree with your improper use of thepronoun WHOM, and oh my dear sir", said Colombo, "those two VERYS wouldsurely--oh, most surely--be mentioned in 'The Conning Tower'. "

"Eh!" said Thyrston, frowning. 

"I allude", said Colombo, "to the scribbling of a certain Adams withwhom you are doubtless familiar, and of course, my dear Thyrston", saidColombo, "I spoke only jestingly, for I am Cristofer Colombo whom mencall the Dreamer, and I go in search of the land of my imagining andit is truly a pleasure to meet the greatest sorcerer since Ckellyr, andhow", said Colombo, "is dear Mrs. Thyrston?"

Then Thyrston showed Colombo what was written on the insecure parchment. It frightened Colombo a little, but he assented. And when the sorcererhad borrowed a silk hat and a gold watch he caused the skies to darkenand Colombo saw that which men refuse to believe. 

"But, oh, now really sir", said Colombo, "that is indeed extremelyclever and I do wish that the children were here to see it and would youmind, my dear Thyrston", said Colombo, "doing that egg trick again?"

Then Thyrston showed Colombo that he had nothing up either sleeveand after an interval he consented to teach Colombo the secret of hisconjuring. 

"Why now to be sure", said Colombo, after he had thoroughly mastered thetrick, "that is indeed quite simple and I am sorry I broke those foureggs by mistake in your silk hat, and while I do not wish to appearoversensitive, do you not think, my dear Thyrston", said Colombo, "thatthe trick would go just as well without those abominable jokes aboutmarried life?"

"My dear sir", said Thyrston, "those jokes have been used by everyconjurer since Merlin, and while perhaps without them your trick wouldwork, yet I have never heard of it being done and I have found", saidThyrston, "that in sorcery the best results are obtained by doing thecustomary thing. "

"Which only goes to show", said Colombo, "that sorcery is somewhat akinto business, and now that I think of it", said Colombo, "I believe thatthe term wizard of industry is perhaps not entirely a misnomer. "

Thus it was that Colombo took leave of Thyrston, and the tale tellshow on Walburga's Eve he came to the court of King Ferdinand and QueenIsabel. And as he entered one met him who was not unpleasing to the eye, and she was weeping. And, as it was somewhat dark, Colombo decided tocomfort her. 

"Now, do you tell me, my dear", said Colombo, after an interval, "whyit is you weep, for I am Colombo whom men call the Dreamer, and I go insearch of the land of my imagining, and I think", said Colombo, "thatyou have most remarkably lovely eyes. "

"Oh messire", said the lady, "I weep because it is this evening thatI am to entertain the ladies of our Progress Literary Club, and DonnaMargarita whom men call the Spanish Omelet, but who really, messire, hasa lovely voice, was going to sing 'The Rosary' and now she has a coldand cannot sing, and King Ferdinand is coming, and oh, messire, what", said the lady, "shall I do?"

"Why now, truly", said Colombo, "in Genoa it was the judgment of all thereally musically intelligent ladies, except perhaps my wife, that I sangnot an unpleasing baritone, and while I do not know the song to whichyou refer, yet I have devoted most of my life to the composition of apoem concerning the land of my imagining which might well be sung andbesides that", said Colombo, "I can do a most remarkable egg trick. "

So it was that Colombo became for a short time not undeservedly the lifeof the Progress Literary Club party. And the tale tells how, after apaper by Donna Violet Balboa on "Spanish Architecture--Then and Now", Colombo sang to them the song of the land of Colombo's imagining. Andpoignantly beautiful was the song, for in it was the beauty of a poet'sdream, and the eternal loveliness of that vision which men have glimpsedin all ages if ever so faintly. And when he had finished, the eyes ofColombo were wet with tears, for into this poem had he woven thedreams of his disillusionment. And somewhat ironical to Colombo was theapplause of those fine ladies who did not at all understand. 

"Now that is a pretty song", said King Ferdinand, "and do you tell us, Colombo, how one may get to this land, so that I may extend the bordersof my most Catholic Kingdom and spread the teachings of the true faith, for to bring the world under the blessed influence of my religion is myonly purpose, and really now", said King Ferdinand, "is there as muchgold there as you describe?"

"Ah, King Ferdinand", replied Colombo, "there is more gold than ever Ican tell, and I see only too plainly how grievously you suffer to thinkthat perhaps these people are living in ignorance of the true faith. And I could ask nothing better than that King Ferdinand give me shipsin which I may sail to the westward and come at last to the land of myimagining. This I would do in order that the blessed soldiers ofKing Ferdinand who will follow me may show to the inhabitants of mydiscovered land the grievous errors of their ways and bring them at lastto a realization of the true faith which has been so helpful to our owndear Spain, and", added Colombo, "our gracious sovereign Ferdinand. "

And droll it was to Colombo to think what might possibly happen wereKing Ferdinand to take his dream seriously or were the King perhaps tobe informed as to the true meaning of Colombo's subtleties. 

"Well, now", said King Ferdinand, "of course, to fit out such anexpedition would require great expense, my dear Colombo--greatexpense. And, of course, you know, Colombo, that when investors can buyInquisition 4 1/4's for 89 it would be extremely difficult to raise themoney for such a speculative project--oh, extremely difficult. And thenyou must consider the present depression--tell me now, Colombo", saidKing Ferdinand, "how long do you think this depression will last, for Iseek, above all things, a return to healthy normalcy. "

"Well, truly", replied Colombo, "that would be most difficult to say. Inote that on Rodigruez Babsyn's last chart--"

"I wish this Babsyn and his charts were in hell", said King Ferdinand, "for it was he who advised me to sell Queen Isabel's silver holdings. But it occurs to me, Colombo, that in connection with this land-of-goldscheme of yours, you mentioned something about sailing to the westward. Now Colombo, that would be a distinct disadvantage when it came tomarketing the bonds, for as you must already know, one cannot sail tothe west without encountering fierce and enormous monsters who swallow, I am told, whole ships at a gulp. "

"Now as to that", said Colombo, somewhat embarrassed at the turn of theconversation for WEST had merely happened to better suit the rhymes ofhis poem, "you may be right, and I should not go so far as to say youare wrong, but still at the same time", said Colombo, "is there anygentleman in the audience who can lend me an egg and a silk hat?"

And when an unmentionable egg and a doubtful silk hat had been producedin a manner which it is not convenient to mention Colombo rolled up bothhis sleeves and spoke the magic speech as he had learned it on a certainThursday from the sorcerer Thyrston. 

"Ladies and gentlemen", said Colombo, "I have here a common householdegg which I shall now ask the ushers to pass among you so you may seefor yourself that there are no wires or strings attached. While this isbeing done, ladies and gentlemen, I wish that three of you would step upon the stage. Any three--don't be bashful girls--I won't hurt you. Won'tthat couple over there kindly oblige me--that married couple--no, folks, I guess they aren't married either--they look too happy. "

Very painful it was to Colombo to hear these horrible jokes comingfrom his mouth, but Thyrston had quoted the authority of all successfulsorcerers and not for anything would Colombo have had his trick afailure. 

"Now ladies and gentlemen", said Colombo, "I am going to ask this ladyand these two gentlemen if they will be so good as to see if they cantake this little egg and make it stand on end without any support. "

And very droll it was to see the unsuccessful attempts which the threemade. Finally Colombo said:

"Now ladies and gentlemen, I want you to watch me closely. I put thesilk hat on my head--thus. And I take the egg in my right hand--thus. Now, if this young lady will be kind enough to hold my left hand--I hopethat her best fellow doesn't mind letting such a pretty girl hold myhand--it's lucky my wife can't see me, though--a friend said to me theother day, 'Who was that lady I seen you with?' and I said, 'That wasn'tno lady, that was my wife'. Now ladies and gentlemen I take this egg, and in order to make it stand upright I tap one end gently--thus againstthe table until that end is flattened--and then, presto--the egg standsupright. Ladies and gentlemen, I thank you one and all for your kindattention. "

Thus it was that Colombo impressed King Ferdinand and his court with hisprofound knowledge of geography. Next the tale tells how there came toColombo on Michaelmas Eve one sent by Queen Isabel, And when Colombo hadbuckled on his sword Impavide he followed the messenger through windingcorridors and came at last to the chamber of the Queen. And as he kneltbefore her it seemed to Colombo that never before had he seen suchunforgettable beauty as shone in the eyes of Queen Isabel. Yes, truly, this was the loveliest girl that Colombo had ever imagined. 

"Now do you rise", said she, "and you and I shall have a nice chat alonehere together, and you can tell me all about geography of which I amoh, frightfully ignorant. In truth", said she, "I have tried toget Ferdinand to instruct me, but I fear", said Queen Isabel, "thatFerdinand does not understand me. "

So Colombo instructed Queen Isabel in the fundamentals of geography. Andafter a while he spoke. 

"Now many people", said Colombo, "believe that the earth is flat, but", said Colombo, "such is not at all the case. "

And after an interval Colombo said, "There, my dear, do you not see howridiculous it is to suppose that the earth is anything but round?"

"Why surely, sire", said Queen Isabel, "you make it appear very round. And I wonder that I had not thought of that before. And I think", saidQueen Isabel, "that geography is a most fascinating subject and oh, messire Colombo", said the Queen, "you must come and instruct me often. "

Thus it was that Colombo became Royal Geographer. And the tale tells howafter a while various whisperings came to King Ferdinand of his queen'scurious enthusiasm for study. 

"Now about this geography", said King Ferdinand one evening to theQueen, "I am, my dear, indeed glad to see you take an interest in suchan important study and I have arranged", said the King, "to have yourtutoring in the future done by Father Bernadino who has had fifty-twoyears' experience at the University, and your lessons", said the King, "will commence tomorrow. "

Said the Queen, "How can I thank you enough, dear Ferdinand, for youruntiring interest in my welfare. For I have been struggling along inmy study of geography with a horribly dull clod whose name", said theQueen, "I cannot remember. "

"Was it, by any chance, Colombo?" asked the King. 

"Perhaps", said the Queen. "But I am oh so glad to be rid of him. " Andindeed so great was the happiness of Queen Isabel that her pillow thatnight was wet with tears. 

But King Ferdinand was an unusually efficient king, and he spared nopains in his craving for normalcy. So it was that the next day he calledto him the man who had chanced to be Royal Geographer before the coupd'oeuf of Colombo. 

"Now tell me", said the King, "is there any chance that a man who sailsto the westward will ever return?"

"None, your Majesty", said the ex-Royal Geographer. "For many have triedand horrible are the tales which they tell of demons and monsters lyingin wait for the ships of men. And I should say definitely, oh King", said he, "that whoever sails to the westward will never return. "

And the tale tells how that afternoon Colombo stood before KingFerdinand. And very strange to Colombo was the enthusiasm which burnedin the King's otherwise somewhat fishlike eye. 

"For know you, Colombo", the King was saying, "that God has spoken to meand commanded me to save from the fires of hell the inhabitants of thosegolden lands of which you sang. And to you, my dear Colombo, is tobe given the chance which you so ardently desire. For I have this daypurchased three ships which await your command, and within a week youshould be well on your way on this glorious mission for God and forSpain, and", said the King, "I might add that the Queen, too, is muchinterested in this voyage and has even been persuaded to dispose of herjewels in order that you may make haste. "

"Such instant obedience to the will of God", said Colombo, "and suchfine enthusiasm to further His kingdom on earth, does your Majestiesgreat credit. And I shall indeed congratulate the inhabitants of thisto-be-discovered land for their good fortune in obtaining such a devoutKing. "

And the tale tells how that night Colombo took leave of Queen Isabel. "Now do not weep, oh Queen", said he, "for I am only Colombo whom mencall the Dreamer, and I go in search of the land of my imagining, andperhaps", said Colombo, "I shall return. " But they tell how Queen Isabelrefused to be comforted for many and many a day. And unexplainablycurious to Father Bernadino was his absolute and complete failure asa royal instructor in geography, for Father Bernadino had taught forfifty-two years at the University. 

And so it was that Colombo sat alone in the cabin of the ship whichcarried him towards the land of his imagining. And strange and somewhatfearsome it was to the sailors to see their captain sitting thusmotionless night after night, for already had they left the Canaries farbehind and some there were who said that a madman commanded their ship, and others who whispered of horrible monsters in these western seas. 

And the tale tells how one night Colombo observed across his tableone who had not been sitting there a moment before and whose hair wasstrangely red. 

"Well now, truly, sir", said Colombo, "This is very curious. For I donot remember seeing you among the crew nor were you ever at the court, and on the whole", said Colombo, "your red hair and your sneering grininterrupt my dreams, and dreams", said Colombo, "are all that I haveleft. "

"For know you, sir", continued he to the stranger who did not speak, "that on this earth man has been able to endure only by playing the apeto his dreams. And in every generation", said Colombo, "there have beenthose who dreamed of beautiful things and in every age there have beenthose who caught some glimpse of that perfect beauty which the Greekscall Helen, and to have seen Helen", said Colombo, "is to have beentouched with divine and unbearable madness. "

And it became strangely quiet in the cabin as Colombo continued:

"And those authors who wrote perfectly of beautiful dreams", said he, "will, perchance, endure, and those who saw only men as they are, willperish--for so has it been in the past and so will it be in the future. All of which", said Colombo, "is a rather tiresome and pedantic excusefor the fact that I am about to read you my own poem. "

And Colombo read to the stranger the dream of the land of Colombo'simagining, and when he had finished the stranger smiled and shook hishead sadly. 

"Come, now, " said Colombo, somewhat hurt. "Do not, I pray you, pretendto like it unless you really do. Of course it is not at all the kind ofthing that will sell, is it--and the metre must be patched up in places, don't you think? And some of the most beautiful passages would never bepermitted by the censor--but still--" and Colombo paused hopefully, forit was Colombo's poem and into it he had poured the heart of his lifeand it seemed to him now, more than ever, a beautiful thing. 

The stranger handed Colombo a book. 

"There", said he, "is the land of your imagining", and in his eyesgleamed a curious sardonic mockery. 

And Colombo read the book. And when he had finished his face was greyas are old ashes in ancient urns, and about the mouth of him whom mencalled the Dreamer were curious hard lines. 

"Now, by Heaven", said Colombo brandishing his sword Impavide, "you lie. And your Gopher Prairie is a lie. And you are all, all contemptible, you who dip your pens in tracing ink and seek to banish beautiful dreamsfrom the world. "

But the red-haired stranger had vanished and Colombo found that he wasalone and to Colombo the world seemed cheerless and as a place that nonehas lived in for a long time. 

"Now this is curious", mused Colombo, "for I have evidently beendreaming and a more horrible dream have I never had, and I think", saidColombo, "that while all this quite certainly did not actually takeplace, yet that grinning red head has upset me horribly and on thewhole", said Colombo, "I believe the safest course would be to put backat once for Spain, for certainly I have no desire to take the remotestchance of discovering anything which may in the least resemble thatGopher Prairie. "

And the tale tells that as Colombo started for the deck in order thathe might give the signal for the return to Spain, there came across thewater from one of the other ships the faint cry of a sailor. And thesailor was waving his hat and shouting, "Land Ho!"

Thus it was that Cristofer Colombo became the discoverer of the land ofhis imagining, and as he stood on the deck Colombo mused. 

"Now this is a sorrowful jest and a very unfair jest that is happening, "said he. "For I who have dreamed a beautiful dream of the land of myimagining will quite probably henceforth be known only as the discovererof what will turn out to be merely one more hideous and stupid country. "And tears came to the eyes of Colombo, for on the waves behind himfloated the torn and scattered pages of the poem which sang the imaginedvision of Beauty of him whom men long and long ago called the Dreamer. 

Thus it was in the old days. 

ANALYSIS AND SUMMARY OF THE FOREGOING ARTICLE In the Manner of Dr. FrankCrane

There is a lesson for us all in this beautiful story of how Columbusrealized his ambition to be a great discoverer. 

Men called Columbus a Dreamer--but that is just what folks once saidabout Thomas A. Edison and Henry Ford. 

The world has a place for Dreamers--if they are Practical Dreamers. 

Columbus was ambitious. Ambition is a great thing if it is unselfishambition. By unselfish I mean for the greatest good of the greatestnumber. Shakespeare, the great teacher, shows us in "Macbeth" whathappens to the selfishly ambitious man. 

Columbus got ahead by paying attention to small details. Whatever hedid, he did to the best of his ability. Even when engaged in teachinggeography to the Queen, Columbus was the best geography teacher he knewhow to be. And before long he was made Royal Geographer. 

In our daily lives let us all resolve to be good teachers of geography. We may not all become Royal Geographers--but there will be to us thelasting satisfaction of having done our best. And that, as a greaterthan I has said, is "more precious than rubies--yea, than much finegold". 

Chapter Three

MAIN STREET: Plymouth, Mass. 

In the Manner of Sinclair Lewis

I

1620. 

Late autumn. 

The sour liver-colored shores of America. 

Breaking waves dashing too high on a stern and rockbound coast. 

Woods tossing giant branches planlessly against a stormy sky. 

Cape Cod Bay--wet and full of codfish. The codfish--wet and full ofbones. 

Standing on the deck of the anchored "Mayflower", gazing reflectively atthe shores of the new world, is Priscilla Kennicott. 

A youthful bride on a ship full of pilgrims; a lily floating in a dishof prunes; a cloissone vase in a cargo of oil cans. 

Her husband joins her. Together they go forward to where their fellowpilgrims are preparing to embark in small boats. 

Priscilla jumps into the bow of the first of these to shove off. 

As the small craft bumps the shore, Priscilla rises joyously. Shestretches her hands in ecstasy toward the new world. She leans forwardagainst the breeze, her whole figure alive with the joy of expectantyouth. 

She leaps with an irrepressible "Yippee" from the boat to the shore. 

She remains for an instant, a vibrant pagan, drunk with the joy of life;Pan poised for an unforgettable moment on Plymouth Rock. 

The next minute her foot slips on the hard, wet, unyielding stone. She clutches desperately. She slides slowly back into the cold chillsaltness of Cape Cod Bay. 

She is pulled, dripping and ashamed, into the boat. She crouches there, shivering and hopeless. She hears someone whisper, "Pride goeth beforedestruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall. "

A coarse mirthless chuckle. 

The pilgrims disembark. 

II

Plymouth. 

A year later. 

Night. 

She lay sleepless on her bed. 

She heard the outside door open; Kennicott returning from prayermeeting. 

He sat down on the bed and began pulling off his boots. She knew thatthe left boot would stick. She knew exactly what he would say and howlong it would take him to get it off. She rolled over in bed, a tacticalmovement which left no blanket for her husband. 

"You weren't at prayer meeting, " he said. 

"I had a headache, " she lied. He expressed no sympathy. 

"Miles Standish was telling me what you did today at the meeting of theJolly Seventeen. " He had got the boot off at last; he lay down besideher and pulled all the blankets off her onto himself. 

"That was kind of Miles. " She jerked at the covers but he held themtight. "What charming story did he tell this time?"

"Now look here, Prissie--Miles Standish isn't given to fabrication. Hesaid you told the Jolly Seventeen that next Thanksgiving they ought togive a dance instead of an all-day prayer service. "

"Well--anything else?" She gave a tremendous tug at the bedclothes andKennicott was uncovered again. 

"He said you suggested that they arrange a series of lectures on modernreligions, and invite Quakers and other radicals to speak right here inPlymouth and tell us all about their beliefs. And not only that but hesaid you suggested sending a message to the Roman Catholic exiles fromEngland, inviting them to make their home with us. You must have madequite a little speech. "

"Well this is the land of religious freedom, isn't it? That's whatyou came here for, didn't you?" She sat up to deliver this remark--amovement which enabled Kennicott to win back seven-eighths of the bedcovering. 

"Now look here Prissie--I'm not narrow like some of these pilgrims whocame over with us. But I won't have my wife intimating that a RomanCatholic or a Quaker should be allowed to spread his heresies broadcastin this country. It's all right for you and me to know something aboutthose things, but we must protect our children and those who have nothad our advantages. The only way to meet this evil is to stamp itout, quick, before it can get a start. And it's just such so-calledbroadminded thinkers as you that encourage these heretics. You'll becriticizing the Bible next, I suppose. "

Thus in early times did the pious Right Thinkers save the land fromHellfire and Damnation; thus the great-grandfathers of middle-westerncongressmen; thus the ancestors of platitudinous editorial writers, Sitters on Committees, and tin-horn prohibitionists. 

Kennicott got up to cool his wrath and indignation with a drink ofwater. He stumbled over a chair, reached for the jug, took a drink, setthe jug down, stumbled over the same chair, and crawled back into bed. His expedition cost him the loss of all bed covering; he gave up thefight. 

"Aside from dragging my own private views over the coals of yourrighteousness, did you and your friends find anything equally pleasantand self-satisfying to discuss this evening?"

"Eh--what's that? Why, yes, we did. We decided to refuse permission forone of these traveling medicine shows to operate in Plymouth. "

"Medicine shows?"

"Yes--you know--like a fair in England. This one claims to come fromdown south somewhere. 'Smart Set Medicine Show' it's called, run bya fellow named Mencken. Sells cheap whisky to the Indians--makes themcrazy, they say. He's another one of your radical friends we don't wantaround. "

"Yes, he might cut in on your own trading with the Indians. "

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Prissie--hire a hall. "

Silence. He began to snore. 

She lay there, sleepless and open-eyed. The clock struck eleven. 

"Why can't I get to sleep?"

("Did Will put the cat out?")

"I wonder what this medicine show is like?"

"What is the matter with these people?"

("Or is it me?")

She reached down, pulled the blankets from under her, spread themcarefully over the sleeping Kennicott, patting them down affectionately. 

The next day she learned what the medicine show was like. She alsolearned what was the matter with the pilgrims. 

III

Morning. 

A fog horn. 

A fog horn blowing unceasingly. 

At breakfast Kennicott pointed with his fork in the direction of thepersistent sound. 

"There's your Smart Set medicine show, " he said glumly. "He doesn't seemto care much whether we give him a permit or not. " Then, a minute later, "We'll have to let him stay. Won't do to have the Indians down on us. But I tell you this, Priscilla, I don't want you to go. "

"But Will--"

"Prissie, please! I'm sorry I said what I did last night. I was tired. But don't you see, well, I can't just exactly explain--but this fog hornsort of scares me--I don't like it--"

He suddenly rose and put both hands on her shoulders. He looked into hereyes. He leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. He picked up hishat and was gone. It was five minutes before Priscilla noticed that hisbreakfast had been left untouched. 

A fog horn, sounding unceasingly. 

She listlessly put away the breakfast dishes. She tried to drown outthe sound by singing hymns. She fell on her knees and tried to pray. Shefound her prayers keeping time to the rise and fall of the notes of thathorn. She determined to go out in the air--to find her husband--to go tochurch, anywhere--as far as possible from the Smart Set medicine show. 

So she went out the back door and ran as fast as she could toward theplace from which came the sound of the fog horn. 

IV

An open space on the edge of the forest. 

In the centre of the clearing a small gaudily-painted tent. 

Seated on the ground in a semicircle before the tent, some forty orfifty Indians. 

Standing on a box before the entrance to the tent, a man of twenty-fiveor fifty. 

In his left hand he holds a fog horn; in his right, a stein of beer. 

He puts the horn to his lips and blows heavy blast. 

He bellows, "Beauty--Beauty--Beauty!"

He takes a drink of beer. 

He repeats this performance nine times. 

He takes up some mud and deftly models the features of severalwell-known characters--statesmen, writers, critics. In many casesthe resemblance is so slight that Priscilla can hardly recognize thecharacter. 

He picks up a heavy club and proceeds to beat each one of his modeledfigures into a pulp. 

The Indians applaud wildly. 

He pays no attention to this applause. 

He clears his throat and begins to speak. Priscilla is so deafened bythe roar of his voice that she cannot hear what he says. Apparently heis introducing somebody; somebody named George. 

George steps out of the tent, but does not bow to the audience. Inone hand he carries a fencing foil, well constructed, of Europeanworkmanship; in his other hand he holds a number of pretty toy balloonswhich he has made himself. 

He smiles sarcastically, tosses the balloons into the air, and cleverlypunctures them one by one with his rapier. 

At each "pop" the announcer blows a loud blast on the fog horn. 

When the last balloon has been punctured George retires withoutacknowledging the applause of the Indians. 

The next act is announced as Helen of Troy in "Six Minutes of Beauty". Priscilla learns from the announcer that "this little lady is out of'Irony' by Theodore Dreiser". 

"All ready, Helen--"

The "little lady" appears. 

She is somewhat over six feet six in height and built like aboilermaker. She is dressed in pink tights. 

"Six Minutes of Beauty" begins when Helen picks up three large ironcannon balls and juggles them. She tosses them in the air and catchesthem cleverly on the back of her neck. 

The six minutes are brought to a successful conclusion when Helen, hanging head downward by one foot from a trapeze, balances lighted lampon the other foot and plays Beethoven's Fifth Symphony on the slidetrombone. 

The announcer then begins his lecture. Priscilla has by this time gottenused to the overpowering roar of his voice and she discovers that oncethis difficulty is overcome she is tremendously impressed by his words. 

She becomes more and more attracted to the man. She listens, fascinated, as his lecture draws to a close and he offers his medicine for sale. Shepresses forward through the crowd of Indians surrounding the stand. Shereaches the tent. She gives her coin and receives in return a bottle. She hides it in her cape and hurries home. 

She slips in the back way; she pours some of the medicine into a glass;she drinks it. 

V

A terrible overwhelming nausea. Vomiting, which lasts for agonizingminutes, leaving her helpless on the floor. 

Then cessation. 

Then light--blinding light. 

VI

At 3:10 Priscilla drank the Mencken medicine; at 3:12 she was lying inagony on the floor; at 3:20 she opened her eyes; at 3:21 she walkedout of her front door; and at 3:22 she discovered what was wrong withPlymouth and the pilgrims. 

Main Street. Straight and narrow. A Puritan thoroughfare in a Puritantown. 

The church. A centre of Puritan worship. The shrine of a narrow theologywhich persistently repressed beauty and joy and life. 

The Miles Standish house. The house of a Puritan. A squat, unlovelysymbol of repression. Beauty crushed by Morality. 

Plymouth Rock. Hard, unyielding--like the Puritan moral code. A hugetombstone on the grave of Pan. 

She fled home. She flung herself, sobbing, on the bed. She cried, "They're all Puritans that's what they are, Puritans!"

After a while she slept, her cheeks flushed, her heart beatingunnaturally. 

VII

Late that night. 

She opened her eyes; she heard men's voices; she felt her heart stillpounding within her at an alarming rate. 

"And I told them then that it would come to no good end. Truly, the Lorddoes not countenance such joking. "

She recognized the voices of Miles Standish and Elder Brewster. 

"Well--what happened then?" This from Kennicott. 

"Well, you see, Henry Haydock got some of this Mencken's medicine fromone of the Indians. And he thought it would be a good joke to put it inthe broth at the church supper this evening. "

"Yes?"

"Well--he did it, the fool. And when the broth was served, hell onearth broke loose. Everyone started calling his neighbor a Puritan, andcursing him for having banished Beauty from the earth. The Lord knowswhat they meant by that; I don't. Old friends fought like wildcats, shrieking 'Puritan' at each other. Luckily it only got to one table--butthere are ten raving lunatics in the lockup tonight. 

"It's an awful thing. But thanks to the Lord, some good has come out ofthis evil: that medicine man, Mencken, was standing outside looking inat the rumpus, smiling to himself I guess. Well, somebody saw him andyelled, 'There's another of those damned Puritans!' and before he couldget away five of them had jumped on him and beaten him to death. Hedeserved it, and it's a good joke on him that they killed him for beinga Puritan. "

Priscilla could stand no more. She rose from her bed, rushed into theroom, and faced the three Puritans. In the voice of Priscilla Kennicottbut with the words of the medicine man she scourged them. 

"A good joke?" she began. "And that is what you Puritan gentlemen of Godand volcanoes of Correct Thought snuffle over as a good joke? Well, with the highest respect to Professor Doctor Miles Standish, the PuritanHearse-hound, and Professor Doctor Elder Brewster, the Plymouth Dr. Frank Crane--BLAA!"

She shrieked this last in their faces and fell lifeless at their feet. 

She never recovered consciousness; an hour later she died. An overdoseof the medicine had been too much for her weak heart. 

"Poor William, " comforted Elder Brewster, "you must be brave. You willmiss her sorely. But console yourself with the thought that it was forthe best. Priscilla has gone where she will always be happy. She has atlast found that bliss which she searched for in vain on earth. "

"Yes William, " added Miles Standish. "Priscilla has now found eternaljoy. "

VIII

Heaven. 

Smug saints with ill-fitting halos and imitation wings, singingmeaningless hymns which Priscilla had heard countless times before. 

Sleek prosaic angels flying aimlessly around playing stale songs onsickly yellow harps. 

Three of the harps badly out of tune; two strings missing on another. 

Moses, a Jew. 

Methuselah, another Jew. Old and unshaven. 

Priscilla threw herself on a cloud, sobbing. 

"Well, sister, what seems to be the matter here?"

She looked up; she saw a sympathetic stranger looking down at her. 

"Because you know, sister, " he went on, "if you don't like it here youcan always go back any time you want to. "

"Do you mean to say, " gasped Priscilla, "that I can return to earth?"

"You certainly can, " said the stranger. "I'm sort of manager here, andwhenever you see any particular part of the earth you'd like to live in, you just let me know and I'll arrange it. "

He smiled and was gone. 

IX

It was two hundred years before Priscilla Kennicott definitely decidedthat she could stand it no longer in heaven; it was another hundredyears before she located a desirable place on earth to return to. 

She finally selected a small town in the American northwest, far fromthe Puritan-tainted Plymouth; a small town in the midst of fields ofbeautiful waving grain; a small town free from the artificiality oflarge cities; a small town named Gopher Prairie. 

She made known her desire to the manager; she said goodby to a smallgroup of friends who had gathered to see her off; she heard the soundof the eternal harp playing and hymn singing grow gradually fainter andfainter; she closed her eyes. 

When she opened them again she found herself on Main Street in GopherPrairie. 

X

From the "Heavenly Harp and Trumpet":

Mrs. Priscilla Kennicott, one of our most popular angels, left theseparts last Tuesday for an extended visit to the Earth. Mrs. K. Confidedto Ye Editor that she would probably take up her residence in GopherPrairie, Minn. , under the name of Carol Kennicott. The "Harp andTrumpet" felicitates the citizens of Gopher Prairie on their acquisitionof a charming and up-to-date young matron whose absence will be keenlyregretted by her many friends in the heavenly younger married set. Goodluck, Priscilla!

XI

Heaven. 

Five years later. 

The monthly meeting of the Celestial Browning Club. 

Seated in the chair reserved for the guest of honor, the manager. 

The meeting opens as usual with a reading by Brother Robert Browningof his poem "Pippa Passes"; as he proclaims that "God's in his heaven, all's right with the world", the members applaud and the manager risesand bows. 

The chairman announces that "today we take up a subject in which I amsure we are all extremely interested--the popular literature of theUnited States". 

The members listen to selected extracts from the writings of GeneStratton-Porter, Zane Grey, and Harold Bell Wright; at the conclusionthey applaud and the manager again bows. 

"I am sure", says the chairman, "that we are all glad to hear thatthings are going so nicely in the United States. " (Applause. ) "And now, in conclusion, Brother Voltaire has requested permission to address usfor a few minutes, and I am sure that anything Brother Voltaire has tosay will be eminently worthwhile. "

Brother Voltaire rises and announces that he has listened with interestto the discussion of American literature; that he, too, rejoices thatall is well in this best of all possible United States; and that hehopes they will pardon him if he supplements the program by readinga few extracts from another extremely popular American book recentlypublished under the name of "Main Street". 

XII

At the next meeting of the Celestial Browning Club it was unanimouslyvoted that the privileges of the club be denied Brother Voltaire for theperiod of one year, and that the name of Priscilla Kennicott be strickenfrom the list of non-resident members of heaven. 

CHAPTER FOUR

THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH

In the Manner of F. Scott Fitzgerald

This story occurs under the blue skies and bluer laws of Puritan NewEngland, in the days when religion was still taken seriously by a greatmany people, and in the town of Plymouth where the "Mayflower", havingploughed its platitudinous way from Holland, had landed its preciouscargo of pious Right Thinkers, moral Gentlemen of God, and--Priscilla. 

Priscilla was--well, Priscilla had yellow hair. In a later generation, in a 1921 June, if she had toddled by at a country club dance you wouldhave noticed first of all that glorious mass of bobbed corn-coloredlocks. You would, then, perhaps, have glanced idly at her face, andsuddenly said "Oh my gosh!" The next moment you would have clutched thenearest stag and hissed, "Quick--yellow hair--silver dress--oh Judas!"You would then have been introduced, and after dancing nine feetyou would have been cut in on by another panting stag. In those ninedelirious feet you would have become completely dazed by one of thesmoothest lines since the building of the Southern Pacific. You wouldthen have borrowed somebody's flask, gone into the locker room andgotten an edge--not a bachelor-dinner edge but just enough to giveyou the proper amount of confidence. You would have returned to theballroom, cut in on this twentieth century Priscilla, and taken her andyour edge out to a convenient limousine, or the first tee. 

It was of some such yellow-haired Priscilla that Homer dreamed when hesmote his lyre and chanted, "I sing of arms and the man"; it was at thesight of such as she that rare Ben Johnson's Dr. Faustus cried, "Wasthis the face that launched a thousand ships?" In all ages has suchbeauty enchanted the minds of men, calling forth in one century theFiesolian terza rima of "Paradise Lost", in another the passionate ariasof a dozen Beethoven symphonies. In 1620 the pagan daughter of Helen ofTroy and Cleopatra of the Nile happened, by a characteristic jest of thegreat Ironist, to embark with her aunt on the "Mayflower". 

Like all girls of eighteen Priscilla had learned to kiss and be kissedon every possible occasion; in the exotic and not at all uncommonpleasure of "petting" she had acquired infinite wisdom and completedisillusionment. But in all her "petting parties" on the "Mayflower" andin Plymouth she had found no Puritan who held her interest beyond thefirst kiss, and she had lately reverted in sheer boredom to her boardingschool habit of drinking gin in large quantities, a habit which was notentirely approved of by her old-fashioned aunt, although Mrs. Brewsterwas glad to have her niece stay at home in the evenings "instead", asshe told Mrs. Bradford, "of running around with those boys, and really, my dear, Priscilla says some of the FUNNIEST things when she gets alittle er--'boiled', as she calls it--you must come over some evening, and bring the governor. "

Mrs. Brewster, Priscilla's aunt, is the ancestor of all New Englandaunts. She may be seen today walking down Tremont Street, Boston, inher Educator shoes on her way to S. S. Pierce's which she pronouncesto rhyme with HEARSE. The twentieth century Mrs. Brewster wears ahighnecked black silk waist with a chatelaine watch pinned over her leftbreast and a spot of Gordon's codfish (no bones) over her right. Whena little girl she was taken to see Longfellow, Lowell, and Ralph WaldoEmerson; she speaks familiarly of the James boys, but this has noreference to the well-known Missouri outlaws. She was brought up onblueberry cake, Postum and "The Atlantic Monthly"; she loves the Boston"Transcript", God, and her relatives in Newton Centre. Her idea of adaring joke is the remark Susan Hale made to Edward Everett Hale aboutsending underwear to the heathen. She once asked Donald Ogden Stewartto dinner with her niece; she didn't think his story about the ladymind reader who read the man's mind and then slapped his face, was veryfunny; she never asked him again. 

The action of this story all takes place in MRS. BREWSTER'S Plymouthhome on two successive June evenings. As the figurative curtain risesMRS. BREWSTER is sitting at a desk reading the latest instalment ofFoxe's "Book of Martyrs". 

The sound of a clanking sword is heard outside. MRS. BREWSTER looks up, smiles to herself, and goes on reading. A knock--a timid knock. 

MRS. BREWSTER: Come in. 

(Enter CAPTAIN MIKES STANDISH, whiskered and forty. In a latergeneration, with that imposing mustache and his hatred of Indians, Miles would undoubtedly have been a bank president. At present he seemssomewhat ill at ease, and obviously relieved to find only PRISCILLA'Saunt at home. )

MRS. BREWSTER: Good evening, Captain Standish. 

MILES: Good evening, Mrs. Brewster. It's--it's cool for June, isn't it?

MRS. BREWSTER: Yes. I suppose we'll pay, for it with a hot July, though. 

MILES (nervously): Yes, but it--it is cool for June, isn't it?

MRS. BREWSTER: So you said, Captain. 

MILES: Yes. So I said, didn't I? (Silence. )

MILES: Mistress Priscilla isn't home, then?

MRS. BREWSTER: Why, I don't think so, Captain But I never can be surewhere Priscilla is. 

MILES (eagerly): She's a--a fine girl, isn't she? A fine girl. 

MRS. BREWSTER: Why, yes. Of course, Priscilla has her faults but she'dmake some man a fine wife--some man who knew how to handle her--an olderman, with experience. 

MILES: Do you really think so, Mrs. Brewster? (After a minute. ) Do youthink Priscilla is thinking about marrying anybody in particular?

MRS. BREWSTER: Well, I can't say, Captain. You know--she's a littlewild. Her mother was wild, too, you know--that is, before the Lord spoketo her. They say she used to be seen at the Mermaid Tavern in Londonwith all those play-acting people. She always used to say that Priscillawould marry a military man. 

MILES: A military man? Well, now tell me Mrs. Brewster, do you thinkthat a sweet delicate creature like Priscilla--

A VOICE (in the next room): Oh DAMN!

MRS. BREWSTER: That must be Priscilla now. 

THE VOICE: Auntie!

MRS. BREWSTER: Yes, Priscilla dear. 

THE VOICE: Where in hell did you put the vermouth?

MRS. BREWSTER: In the cupboard, dear. I do hope you aren't going toget--er--"boiled" again tonight, Priscilla. (Enter PRISCILLA, infinitelyradiant, infinitely beautiful, with a bottle of vermouth in one hand anda jug of gin in the other. ) PRISCILLA: Auntie, that was a dirty trick tohide the vermouth. Hello Miles--shoot many Indians today?

MILES: Why--er er--no, Mistress Priscilla. 

PRISCILLA: Wish you'd take me with you next time, Miles. I'd love toshoot an Indian, wouldn't you, auntie?

MRS. BREWSTER: Priscilla! What an idea! And please dear, give AuntieBrewster the gin. I--er--promised to take some to the church socialtonight and it's almost all gone now. 

MILES: I didn't see you at church last night, Mistress Priscilla. 

PRISCILLA: Well I'll tell you, Miles. I started to go to church--reallyfelt awfully religious. But just as I was leaving I thought, "Priscilla, how about a drink--just one little drink?" You know, Miles, churchgoes so much better when you're just a little boiled--the lights andeverything just kind of--oh, its glorious. Well last night, after I'dhad a little liquor, the funniest thing happened. I felt awfully good, not like church at all--so I just thought I'd take a walk in the woods. And I came to a pool--a wonderful honest-to-God pool--with the moonshining right into the middle of it. So I just undressed and dove in andit was the most marvelous thing in the world. And then I danced on thebank in the grass and the moonlight--oh, Lordy, Miles, you ought to haveseen me. 

MRS. BREWSTER: Priscilla!

PRISCILLA: 'Scuse me, Auntie Brewster. And then I just lay in the grassand sang and laughed. 

MRS. BREWSTER: Dear, you'll catch your death of cold one of thesenights. I hope you'll excuse me, Captain Standish; it's time I was goingto our social. I'll leave Priscilla to entertain you. Now be a goodgirl, Priscilla, and please dear don't drink straight vermouth--rememberwhat happened last time. Good night, Captain--good night, dear. 

(Exit MRS. BREWSTER with gin. )

PRISCILLA: Oh damn! What'll we do, Miles--I'm getting awfully sleepy. 

MILES: Why--we might--er--pet a bit. 

PRISCILLA (yawning): No. I'm too tired--besides, I hate whiskers. 

MILES: Yes, that's so, I remember. (Ten minutes' silence, with MILESlooking sentimentally into the fireplace, PRISCILLA curled up in a chairon the other side. )

MILES: I was--your aunt and I--we were talking about you before you camein. It was a talk that meant a lot to me. 

PRISCILLA: Miles, would you mind closing that window?

(MILES closes the window and returns to his chair by the fireplace. )

MILES: And your aunt told me that your mother said you would some daymarry a military man. 

PRISCILLA: Miles, would you mind passing me that pillow over there?

(MILES gets up, takes the pillow to PRISCILLA and again sits down. )

MILES: And I thought that if you wanted a military man why--well, I'vealways thought a great deal of you, Mistress Priscilla--and since myRose died I've been pretty lonely, and while I'm nothing but a roughold soldier yet--well, what I'm driving at is--you see, maybe you and Icould sort of--well, I'm not much of a hand at fancy love speeches andall that--but--

(He is interrupted by a snore. He glances up and sees that PRISCILLA hasfallen fast asleep. He sits looking hopelessly into the fireplace for along time, then gets up, puts on his hat and tiptoes out of the door. )

THE NEXT EVENING

PRISCILLA is sitting alone, lost in revery, before the fireplace. It isalmost as if she had not moved since the evening before. 

A knock, and the door opens to admit JOHN ALDEN, nonchalant, disillusioned, and twenty-one. 

JOHN: Good evening. Hope I don't bother you. 

PRISCILLA: The only people who bother me are women who tell me I'mbeautiful and men who don't. 

JOHN: Not a very brilliant epigram--but still--yes, you ARE beautiful. 

PRISCILLA: Of course, if it's an effort for you to say--

JOHN: Nothing is worthwhile without effort. 

PRISCILLA: Sounds like Miles Standish; many things I do without effortare worthwhile; I am beautiful without the slightest effort. 

JOHN: Yes, you're right. I could kiss you without any effort--and thatwould be worthwhile--perhaps. 

PRISCILLA: Kissing me would prove nothing. I kiss as casually as Ibreathe. 

JOHN: And if you didn't breathe--or kiss--you would die. 

PRISCILLA: Any woman would. 

JOHN: Then you are like other women. How unfortunate. 

PRISCILLA: I am like no woman you ever knew. 

JOHN: You arouse my curiosity. 

PRISCILLA: Curiosity killed a cat. 

JOHN: A cat may look at a--Queen. 

PRISCILLA: And a Queen keeps cats for her amusement. They purr sodelightfully when she pets them. 

JOHN: I never learned to purr; it must be amusing--for the Queen. 

PRISCILLA: Let me teach you. I'm starting a new class tonight. 

JOHN: I'm afraid I couldn't afford to pay the tuition. 

PRISCILLA: For a few exceptionally meritorious pupils, variousscholarships and fellowships have been provided. 

JOHN: By whom? Old graduates?

PRISCILLA: NO--the institution has been endowed by God--

JOHN: With exceptional beauty--I'm afraid I'm going to kiss you. NOW. 

(They kiss. )

(Ten minutes pass. )

PRISCILLA: Stop smiling in that inane way. 

JOHN: I just happened to think of something awfully funny. You know thereason why I came over here tonight?

PRISCILLA: To see me. I wondered why you hadn't come months ago. 

JOHN: No. It's really awfully funny--but I came here tonight becauseMiles Standish made me promise this morning to ask you to marry him. Miles is an awfully good egg, really Priscilla. 

PRISCILLA: Speak for yourself, John. (They kiss. )

PRISCILLA: Again. 

JOHN: Again--and again. Oh Lord, I'm gone. 

(An hour later JOHN leaves. As the door closes behind him PRISCILLAsinks back into her chair before the fireplace; an hour passes, andshe does not move; her aunt returns from the Bradfords' and after afew ineffectual attempts at conversation goes to bed alone; the candlesgutter, flicker, and die out; the room is filled of sacred silence. Oncemore the clock chimes forth the hour--the hour of fluted peace, of deaddesire and epic love. Oh not for aye, Endymion, mayst thou unfold thepurple panoply of priceless years. She sleeps--PRISCILLA sleeps--anddown the palimpsest of age-old passion the lyres of night breathe forththeir poignant praise. She sleeps--eternal Helen--in the moonlight ofa thousand years; immortal symbol of immortal aeons, flower of the godstransplanted on a foreign shore, infinitely rare, infinitely erotic. [1])

[1] For the further adventures of Priscilla, see F. Scott Fitzgerald'sstories in the "Girl With the Yellow Hair" series, notably "This Sideof Paradise, " "The Offshore Pirate, " "The Ice Palace, " "Head andShoulders, " "Bernice Bobs Her Hair, " "Benediction" and "The Beautifuland Damned. "

CHAPTER FIVE

THE SPIRIT OF '75

LETTERS OF A MINUTE MAN

In the Manner of Ring Lardner

Friend Ethen--

Well Ethen you will be surprised O. K. To hear I & the wife took alittle trip down to Boston last wk. To a T. Party & I guess you arethinking we will be getting the swelt hed over being ast to a T. Party. In Boston. 

Well Ethen if you think that why you will be a 100 mi. Offen the trackbecause Ethen I and Prudence sent the kind that gets a swelt hed overbeing ast any wares like some of are naybers up here when they are astany wares so you see Ethen even if we had been ast any wares we wouldntof had no swelt hed. On acct of being ast any wares. 

Well last Thurs. I and Prudence drove old Bessy down to Boston Bessy isare horse see Ethen which is about 13 mi. From here Boston I mean Ethenas the crow flys only no crow would ever fly to Boston if he couldhelp it because all the crows that ever flew to Boston was shot bythem lousie taverin keepers to make meals out of Ethen I never tastit nothing so rotten in my life as the meals they give us there & thepriceis would knock your I out. 3 shillings for a peace of stake aboutas big as your I, and 4 pence for a cup of coffy. The streets sent theonly thing about Boston thats crook it. Them taverin keepers is crook itto I mean see Ethen. 

After supper I & her was walking a round giving the town the double Owhen we seen that Fanny Ewell Hall was all lit up like Charley Davis onSat. Night & I says to Prudence lets go inside I think its free andshe says I bet you knowed it was free al right befor you ast me & sureenough it was free only I hadnt knowed it before only I guess thatPrudence knows that when I say a thing it is generally O. K. Well FannyEwell Hall was pack jam full of people & we couldnt see nothing becausethere was a cockide stiff standing right in front of us & jumping up &down & yelling No T. No T. At the top of his lunges & Prudence says wellwhy dont you take coffy or milk & for Gods sake stay offen my foot & heturns to her & says maddam do you want T. & slavery & she says no coffy& a hot dog just kidding him see Ethen & he says maddam no T. Shall everland & she says no but my husbend will in a bout 1 min. & I was justgoing to plank him 1 when the door behint us bust open & a lot ofindyans come in yelling every body down to Grifins worf there is goingto be a T. Party only Ethen they wasnt indyans at all but jest wite mendrest up to look like indyans & I says to a fello those aint indyans &he say no how did you guess it & I says because I have seen real indyansmany a time & he says to a nother fello say Bill here is a man who saysthem sent real indyans & the other fello says gosh I dont believe it& they laffed only the laff was on them Ethen because they wasnt realindyans & that is only tipical of how you cant tell these Boston sweltheds nothing & I guess if they had ever seen a real indyan they would ofknown better than to laff. Well I and Prudence follered the crowd downto Grifins worf & them indyans which was only wite men drest up clumbonto a ship there & begun throwing the cargo into Boston harber & I saysto a fello what is in them boxes & he says T. & I says well why are theythrowing it away & he says because they do not want to pay the tackswhich is about as sensable Ethen if I was to rite a lot of letters &then as fast as I rote I would tare it up because I did not want to payfor a stamp. Well I says somebody ought to catch he--ll for this & hesays are you a torie & I seen he was trying to kid me & I says no I ama congregationalis & a loyal subject of king Geo. Rex & he says o Ithought you was a torie & a lot of fellos who was with him give him thelaff because he hadnt been abel to kid me. Well after a whiles he saysthe indyans seem to be about threw & I says yes only they sent indyans& the laff was on him again & he seen it wasnt no use to try & kid me &Prudence says come on lets beat it & on the way home I says I bet themBoston birds will feel small when they find out that those wasnt indyansat all & she act it like she was mad about something & says well theycant blame you for not trying to tell them & its a wonder you didnt hireFanny Ewell Hall while you was about it & I says o is it & I might knowyoud get sore because I was the 1st to find out about the indyans beingwite men in disgised & she says yes I suppose if somebody was to paintstripes on a cow you would make a speech about it & say that you haddiscovered that it wasnt no tiger & I wish I had been 1 of them indyanstonight because I would of loved to of beened you with a Tommy Hawk & Isays o you would would you & she seen it wasnt no use to argue with me& anyway Ethen nobody would be fool enough to paint stripes on a cowunless maybe they was born in Boston. Well Ethen thats the way it goes& when you do put one over on the wife they want to hit you with a TommyHawk with best rgds. Ed. 

Friend Ethen--

No matter what a married man does in this world he gets in wrong &I suppose if I was to die tonight Prudence would bawl me out for nothaving let her know I was going to do it & just because I joined theminit men the other eve. She has been acting like as if I had joined theBaptis Church & I bet you are saying what in the h--ll is a minit man. Well Ethen I will tell you. The other night I says to Prudence I think Iwill drive over to Lexington to get Bessy shodd. Bessy is are horse seeEthen. Well she says you will do nothing of the kind because all youwant to do in Lexington is get a snoot ful & if you think I am going towate up all night while you get boiled well you have got another guesscoming. She says the last time you had Bessy shodd the naybers aretalking about it yet & I says do you mean because I & Charley Davis wassinging & having a little fun & she says no because nobody wouldnt callthat singing & do you call it a little fun when you brought Bessy upstares with you to show me how well she had been shodd at 3 A. M. In themorning answer me that which is only her way of exagerating things Ethenbecause we didnt bring Bessy only as far as the stares & I only did itbecause Charley had been drinking a little to much & I didnt want toiritate him because the way to handel drunks is to not iritate them theyare only worse only you cant tell a woman that & they think the wayto handel drunks is to look him in the eye & say arent you ashamed ofyourselves which only iritates him the moar. Well I says I am not goingto half no horse of mine going a round 1/2 shodd al the time & Prudencesays well I am not going to half no husband of mine going a round 1/2shot al the time & I says I will not go near Charley Davis this timebecause I have lernt my lesson & she says al right if you will promiseto not go near Charley Davis you can go & when I got to Lexington Ithought I would stop in the taverin a min. Just to say hulloh to theboys because if a fello doesnt stop in the taverin to say hulloh to theboys who are just as good as he is they are lible to say he has a swelthed & is to proud to stop in the taverin to say hulloh to the boys. Whoare just as good as he is. Well I didnt have any i dear that CharleyDavis would be there because I had told Prudence I wasnt going to gonear him & just because I said that I cant be expect it to sneek intotoun like as if I was a convick can I Ethen. Well the taverin was crowdit & they had all got a good start & the long & the short of it wasthat the 1st person I seen was Charley Davis & he says hulloh therepink whiskers you are just in time to join the minit men which is only anicked name he has for me because my whiskers are red brown. No I says Icannot join anything tonight fellos because I must go right back home& he says if you dont join the minit men now some day you wont have nohome to go home to & I says what do you mean I wont have no home to gohome to & he says because the Brittish are going to burn down all thehomes of we farmers because we will not sell them any food but firstyou had better have a drink. Well Ethen a fello dont like to be a sisseyabout taking 1 drink does he & then I says now fellos I must go home& then a couple of more fellos come in & they said Ed you wont go hometill we have brought you a drink & elect it you to the minit men willyou & I said no but I must go home right after that. Well then we got tosinging & we was going pretty good & after a while I said now fellos Imust go home & Charley Davis says to me Ed before you go I want to haveyou shake hands with my friend Tom Duffy who is here from Boston & hewill tell you all about the minit men & you can join tonight but lookout or he will drink you under the tabel because he is the worst fish inBoston & I says sure only I have got to be going home soon becauseyou remember what hapend last time & I would like to see any body fromBoston drink me under the tabel & bet. You & I Ethen if that fellow is afish then my grandmother is the prince of whales & let me tell you whathapend. After we had drank about 4 or 5 I seen he was getting sortof wite & I says well Boston lets settle down now to some good steadydrinking & he says listen & I says what & he says listen & I says what &he says do you know my wife & I says no & he says listen & I says what &he says shes the best little woman in the world & I says sure & he sayswhat did you say & I says when & he says you have insult it my wife thebest little woman in the world & he begun to cry & we had only had about 1 qt & wouldnt that knock you for a cockide gool Ethen, only Iguess you arent surprised knowing how much I can holt without feelingany affects. Well I was feeling pretty good on acct. Of drinking thepride of Boston under the tabel & not feeling any affects only I wasfeeling good like a fello naturely feels & the fellos kind of made a lotof fuss on acct. Me drinking him under the tabel so I couldnt very wellof gone home then & after a while Charley Davis made a speech & wellcomed me into the minit men & so I am a minit man Ethen but I cantexackly explain it to you until I see Charley again because he didntmake it very clear that night. Well after a while we woke the Bostonfish up & we all went home & I was feeling pretty good on acct. It beingsuch a nice night & all the stars being out & etc. & when I got home Isaid Prudence guess what hapend & she says I can guess & I says PrudenceI have been elect it a minit man & she says well go on up stares & sleepit off & I says sleep what off & she says stop talking so loud do youwant the naybers to wake up & I says whos talking loud & she says o goto bed & I says I am talking in conversational tones & she says wellyou must be conversing with somebody in Boston & I says o you mean thatlittle blond on Beecon St. & Ethen she went a 1, 000, 000 mi. Up in theair & I seen it wasnt no use to try & tell her that the reason I wasfeeling good was on acct. Having drank a Boston swelt hed to sleepwithout feeling any affects & I bet the next time I get a chanct I amgoing to get snooted right because a fello gets blamed just as much ifhe doesnt feel the affects as if he was brought home in a stuper & Iwas just kidding her about that blond on Beecon St. Some women dont knowwhen they are well off Ethen & I bet that guy from Bostons Tom DuffyI mean wife wishes she was in Prudences shoes instead of her havingmarried a man what cant holt no more than a qt. Without being broughthome in a stuper. Best rgds. Ed. 

Friend Ethen--

Well Ethen this is a funny world & when I joined the minit men last mo. How was I to know that they called them minit men because they was libleto get shot any minit. & here I am riteing to you in a tent outsideBoston & any minit a canon ball is lible to knock me for a continentalloop & my house has been burnt & Prudence is up in Conk Cord with hersister the one who married that short skate dum bell Collins who hasowed me 2 lbs. For a yr. & 1/2 well Ethen it never ranes but it pores &you can be glad you are liveing in a nice quiet place like Philly. 

Well the other night I and Prudence was sound asleep when I heard somebody banging at the frt. Door & I stuck my head out the up stares window& I says who are you & he says I am Paul Revear & I says well this is ah--ll of a time to be wakeing a peaceiful man out of their bed what doyou want & he says the Brittish are comeing & I says o are they wellthis is the 19 of April not the 1st & I was going down stares to plankhim 1 but he had rode away tow wards Lexington before I had a chanct& as it turned out after words the joke was on me O. K. Well who is itsays Prudence Charley Davis again because you might as well come backto bed if it is & I says no it was some Boston smart alick trying to befunny & I guess they are soar down there on acct. What hapened to theirprize fish up here last mo. & are trying to get even do you know a PaulRevear & she says yes there was a boy at school named Paul Revear whowas crazy about me was he dark well Ethen if all the fellos she says hasbeen crazy about her was layed end to end they would circum navygate theglobe twicet & I says no he was yello & that had her stopt so we wentback to sleep only I couldn't help laffing over the way I had slipt itacross. About Revear being yello. Well along a bout A. M. There was alot of gun firing tow wards Lexington & Prudence grabed me & says whetsthe shooting for & I says probably that fello Revear who was so crazya bout you has got funny oncet to oft ten & it will teach them Bostondoodes a lesson. Well Ethen I was wrong for oncet & the firing keptgetting worse & I hitcht up old Bessy & drove over to Lexington Bessy isare horse & Ethen there was the h--ll to pay there because the g--dd--m Brittish redcotes had marcht nup from Boston & had fired on theLexington fellos & Charley Davis had been shot dead & a lot of the otherfellos was wooned it & they said you had better get your wife to theh--ll out of your house because the g--d d--m Brittish redcotes arecoming back & they will burn everything along the rode the ---- I guessyou know what word goes there Ethen & I was so d--m mad at those g--dd--m Brittish redcotes on acct. Shooting Charley Davis dead that I saidgive me a gun & show me the ---- who done it & they says no you hadbetter get your wife to a safe place to go to & then you can come backbecause the ---- will be along this way again the ----. Well I drove asfast as I could back to the farm & somebody had already told Prudencewhat had hapend & as soon as I drove into the yd. She come out with mymuskit & hand it it to me & says dont you worry about me but you killevery d--m redcote you can see & I says the ----s has killed CharleyDavis & she says I know it & here is all the bullits I could find. Wellwhen I got back to Lexington the redcotes was just coming along & EthenI guess they wont forget that march back to Boston for a little whiles& I guess I wont either because the ----s burnt down my house & barn& Prudence is gone to stay with her sister in Conk Cord & here I amcamping in a tent with a lot of other minit men on the out skirts ofBoston & there is a roomer a round camp that to morrow we are going tomove over to Bunker Hill which is a good name for a Boston Hill Ill say& Ethen if you was to of told me a mo. Ago that I would be fighting toget Boston away from the Brittish I would of planked you 1 because theycould of had Boston for all I cared. Well Ethen I must go out and drillsome more now & probably we will half to listen to some Boston birdmakeing a speech they are great fellos for speeches about down withBrittish tirrany & give me liberty or give me death but if you wasto ast me Ethen I would say give me back that house & barn what thoselousie redcotes burnt & when this excitement is all over what I want toknow is Ethen where do I get off at. Yrs Ed. 

Chapter Six

THE WHISKY REBELLION. 

In the Bedtime Story Manner of Thornton W. Burgess

"Just the DAY for a Whisky Rebellion, " said Aunt Polly and off she ran, lipperty-lipperty-lip, to get a few shooting rifles. 

"Oh goody goody, " cried little Emily. "Now we can all shoot at thosehorrid Revenue Officers, " for the collectors of internal revenue werefar from popular with these kindly Pennsylvania folk and Aunt PollyPinkwood had often promised the children that if they were good some daythey would be allowed to take a shot at a Revenue Officer. 

Soon she returned, bearing in her arms a number of bright shiny newguns. The children crowded around in glee and soon all were suppliedwith weapons except little Frank who of course was too young to use agun and was given a two-gallon jug of nice, old whisky to carry. Jedhitched up old Taylor, the faithful farm horse, and as quick as youcould say Jack Robinson the little ones had piled into the old carryall. Round Mr. Sun was just peeping over the Purple Hills when the merrylittle party started on its way, singing and laughing at the prospect ofthe day's sport. 

"I bet I kill five Revenue Officers, " said little Edgar. 

"Ha Ha Ha--you boaster, you, " laughed Aunt Polly. "You will be lucky ifyou kill two, for I fear they will be hard to find today. "

"Oh do you think so, Aunt Polly?" said little Elinor and she began tocry, for Elinor dearly loved to shoot. 

"Hush dear, " said Miss Pinkwood with a kindly pat, for she loved herlittle charges and it hurt her to see them unhappy. "I was only joking. And now children I will tell you a story. "

"Oh goody goody, " cried they all. "Tell us a true story. "

"All right, " said Aunt Polly. "I shall tell you a true story, " and shebegan. 

"Once there was a brave handsome man--"

"Mr. Welsbach, " cried the children with one voice, for it was wellknown in the neighborhood that Aunt Polly had long been sweet on JuliusWelsbach, the popular superintendent of the Sabbath School and the bestwhisky maker for miles around. 

"Hush children, " said Aunt Polly blushing in vexation. "Of course not. And if you interrupt me I shall not tell my story at all. " But she wasnot really angry. 

"And one day this brave handsome man was out making whisky and he hadjust sampled some when he looked up and what do you suppose he saw?"

"Snakes, " cried little Elmer whose father had often had deliriumtremens, greatly to the delight of his children. 

"No, Elmer, " said Miss Pinkwood, "not snakes. "

"Pink lizards, " cried little Esther, Elmer's sister. 

"No, " said Aunt Polly, with a hearty laugh, "he saw a--stranger. Andwhat do you suppose the stranger had?"

"A snoot full, " chorused the Schultz twins. "He was pie-eyed. "

"No, " replied Miss Pinkwood laughing merrily. "It was before noon. Guessagain children. What did the stranger have?"

"Blind staggers, " suggested little Faith whose mother had recently beenadjudged insane. 

"Come children, " replied Aunt Polly. "You are not very wide awake thismorning. The stranger had a gun. And when the brave handsome man offeredthe stranger a drink what do you suppose the stranger said?"

"I know, " cried little Prudence eagerly. "He said, 'Why yes I don't careif I do. ' That's what they all say. "

"No, Prudence, " replied Miss Pinkwood. "The stranger refused a drink. "

"Oh come now, Aunt Polly, " chorused the boys and girls. "You said youwere going to tell us a true story. " And their little faces fell. 

"Children, " said Miss Polly, "the stranger refused the drink because hewas a Revenue Officer. And he pointed his gun at the brave handsome manand said he would have to go to jail because he had not paid the tax onhis whisky. And the brave handsome man would have had to have gone tojail, too; but fortunately his brother came up just at the right timeand--"

"Shot the Revenuer dead, " cried the children in glee. 

"Yes children, " said Miss Polly. "He shot the Revenue Officer dead. "

"Oh goody goody, " cried all. "Now tell us another story. Tell us aboutthe time your father killed a Revenue Officer with an ax. "

"Oh you don't want to hear that again, do you children?" said AuntPolly. 

"Oh yes--yes--please, " they cried, and Aunt Polly was just going tobegin when Jed the driver stopped his horses and said:

"This hilltop is as good a place to shoot from as I know of, MissPinkwood. You can see both roads, and nobody can see you. "

"Thank you, Jed, " said Aunt Polly giving him a kindly smile, and withoutmore ado the children clambered out of the carryall and filled theirguns with powder and bullets. 

"I get first shot, " proudly announced Robert, the oldest boy, andsomewhat of a bully. 

"Robert!" said Aunt Polly severely, and she looked almost ready to cry, for Aunt Polly had tried hard to teach the boys to be true knights ofchivalry and it hurt her to have Robert wish to shoot a Revenue Officerbefore the girls had had a chance. Robert had not meant to hurt AuntPolly's feelings but had only been thoughtless, and soon all wassunshine again as little Ellen the youngest made ready to fire the firstshot. 

The children waited patiently and soon they were rewarded by the sightof a Revenue Officer riding on horseback in the distant valley, aspretty a target as one could wish. 

"Now do be careful, dear, " whispered Miss Pinkwood, "for if you miss, hemay take alarm and be off. " But little Ellen did not miss. "Bang" wenther gun and the little Merry Breezes echoed back and forth, "She gothim. She got him", and old Mother West Wind smiled down at the happysport. Sure enough, when old Mr. Smoke had cleared away there was a nicedead Revenue Officer lying in the road. "Well done, Ellen, " said MissPinkwood, patting her little charge affectionately which caused thehappy girl to coo with childish delight. 

Mary had next shot and soon all were popping away in great glee. Allthe merry wood folk gathered near to watch the children at their sport. There was Johnny Chuck and Reddy Fox and Jimmy Skunk and Bobby Coon andoh everybody. 

Soon round Mr. Sun was high in the Blue Sky and the children began totire somewhat of their sport. "I'm as hungry as a bear, " said littleDick. "I'm as hungry as two bears, " said Emily. "Ha Ha Ha, " laughed MissPinkwood, "I know what will fix that, " and soon she had spread out adelicious repast. "Now children, " said Miss Pinkwood when all hadwashed their faces and hands, "while you were busy washing I prepareda surprise for you, " and from a large jug, before their delighted gaze, she poured out--what do you think? "Bronxes, " cried little Harriet. "Ohgoody goody. " And sure enough Aunt Polly had prepared a jug of deliciousBronx cocktails which all pronounced excellent. 

And after that there were sandwiches and olives and pie and good threeyear old whisky, too. 

"That's awfully smooth rye, Aunt Polly, " said little Prudence smackingher two red lips. "I think I'll have another shot. "

"No dear, " said Miss Pinkwood, pleased by the compliment, but firmwithal. "Not now. Perhaps on the way home, if there is any left, " forAunt Polly knew that too much alcohol in the middle of the day is badfor growing children, and she had seen many a promising child spoiled byover-indulgent parents. 

After lunch those children who could stand helped Aunt Polly to clearaway the dishes and then all went sound asleep, as is the custom inPennsylvania. 

When they awoke round Mr. Sun was just sinking behind the Purple Hillsand so, after taking a few more scattered shots at Revenue Officers, they piled once more into the carryall and drove back to town. Andas they passed Mrs. Oliphant's house (Aunt Polly's sister) Aunt FloOliphant came out on the porch and waved her handkerchief at the merryparty. 

"Let's give her a cheer, " said Fred. 

"Agreed, " cried they all, and so twelve little throats united in threelusty "huzzahs" which made Auntie Flo very happy you may be sure. 

And as they drove up before the Pinkwoods' modest home twelve tired buthappy children with one accord voted the Whisky Rebellion capital funand Aunt Polly a brick. 

CHAPTER SEVEN

HOW LOVE CAME TO GENERAL GRANT

In the Manner of Harold Bell Wright

On a brisk winter evening in the winter of 1864 the palatial FifthAvenue "palace" of Cornelius van der Griff was brilliantly lighted withmany brilliant lights. Outside the imposing front entrance a small groupof pedestrians had gathered to gape enviously at the invited guests ofthe "four hundred" who were beginning to arrive in elegant equipages, expensive ball-dresses and fashionable "swallowtails". 

"Hully gee!" exclaimed little Frank, a crippled newsboy who was the onlysupport of an aged mother, as a particularly sumptuous carriage droveup and a stylishly dressed lady of fifty-five or sixty stepped outaccompanied by a haughty society girl and an elderly gentleman inclerical dress. It was Mrs. Rhinelander, a social leader, and herdaughter Geraldine, together with the Rev. Dr. Gedney, pastor of anexclusive Fifth Avenue church. 

"What common looking people, " said Mrs. Rhinelander, surveying the crowdaristocratically with her lorgnette. 

"Yes, aren't they?" replied the clergyman with a condescending glancewhich ill befit his clerical garb. 

"I'm glad you don't have people like that dans votre eglise, Dr. Gedney, " said young Geraldine, who thought it was "smart" to display herproficiency in the stylish French tongue. At this moment the door of thevan der Griff residence was opened for them by an imposing footman inscarlet livery and they passed into the abode of the "elect". 

"Hully gee!" repeated little Frank. 

"What's going on to-night?" asked a newcomer. 

"Gee--don't youse know?" answered the newsboy. "Dis is de van derGriffs' and tonight dey are giving a swell dinner for General Grant. Datlady wot just went in was old Mrs. Rhinelander. I seen her pitcher inde last Harper's Weekly and dere was a story in de paper dis morning dather daughter Geraldine was going to marry de General. "

"That isn't so, " broke in another. "It was just a rumor. "

"Well, anyway, " said Frank, "I wisht de General would hurry up andcome--it's getting cold enough to freeze the tail off a brass monkey. "The onlookers laughed merrily at his humorous reference to the frigidtemperature, although many cast sympathetic looks at his thin threadbaregarments and registered a kindly thought for this brave boy who sophilosophically accepted the buffets of fate. 

"I bet this is him now, " cried Frank, and all waited expectantly as avehicle drove up. The cabman jumped off his box and held the carriagedoor open. 

"Here you are, Miss Flowers, " he said, touching his hat respectfully. 

A silver peal of rippling laughter sounded from the interior of thecarriage. 

"Why Jerry, " came in velvet tones addressed to the coachman, "Youmustn't be so formal just because I have come to New York to live. Call me 'Miss Ella, ' of course, just like you did when we lived out inKansas, " and with these words Miss Ella Flowers, for it was she, steppedout of the carriage. 

A hush fell on the crowd as they caught sight of her face--a hush ofsilent tribute to the clear sweet womanhood of that pure countenance. A young man on the edge of the crowd who was on the verge of becominga drunkard burst into tears and walked rapidly away to join the nearestchurch. A pr-st---te who had been plying her nefarious trade on theavenue, sank to her knees to pray for strength to go back to her agedparents on the farm. Another young man, catching sight of Ella's pureface, vowed to write home to his old mother and send her the money hehad been expending in the city on drinks and dissipation. 

And well might these city people be affected by the glimpse of thesweet noble virtue which shone forth so radiantly in this Kansas girl'scountenance. Although born in Jersey City, Ella had moved with herparents to the west at an early age and she had grown up in the opencountry where a man's a man and women lead clean sweet womanly lives. Out in the pure air of God's green places and amid kindly, simple, bighearted folks, little Ella had blossomed and thrived, the pride ofthe whole country, and as she had grown to womanhood there was many amasculine heart beat a little faster for her presence and many a manlyblush of admiration came into the features of her admirers as shewhirled gracefully with them in the innocent pleasure of a simplecountry dance. But on her eighteenth birthday, her parents had passed onto the Great Beyond and the heartbroken Ella had come East to live withMrs. Montgomery, her aunt in Jersey City. This lady, being sociallyprominent in New York's "four hundred", was of course quite ambitiousthat her pretty little niece from the West should also enter society. For the last three months, therefore, Ella had been feted at all thebetter class homes in New York and Jersey City, and as Mrs. Van derGriff, the Fifth Avenue social leader, was in the same set as Ella'saunt, it was only natural that when making out her list of guests forthe dinner in honor of General Grant she should include the beautifulniece of her friend. 

As Ella stepped from the carriage, her gaze fell upon little Frank, thecrippled newsboy, and her eyes quickly filled with tears, for socialsuccess had not yet caused her to forget that "blessed are the weak". Taking out her purse, she gave Frank a silver dollar and a warm look ofsympathy as she passed into the house. 

"Gee, there went an angel, " whispered the little cripple, and many whoheard him silently echoed that thought in their hearts. Nor were theyfar from wrong. 

But even an angel is not free from temptation, and by letting Ellago into society her aunt was exposing the girl to the whisperings ofSatan--whisperings of things material rather than things spiritual. Manya girl just as pure as Ella has found her standards gradually loweredand her moral character slowly weakened by the contact with theso-called "refined" and "cultured" infidels one meets in fashionablesociety. Many a father and mother whose ambition has caused them to havetheir daughter go out in society have bitterly repented of that step asthey watched the poor girl gradually succumbing to the temptation of theworld. Let her who thinks it is "smart" to be in society consider thatour brothels with their red plush curtains, their hardwood floors andtheir luxurious appointments, are filled largely with the worn outbelles and debutantes of fashionable society. 

The next minute a bugle call sounded down the street and up drove a teamof prancing grays. Two soldiers sprang down from the coachman's box andstood at rigid attention while the door of the carriage opened and outstepped General Ulysses S. Grant. 

A murmur of admiration swept over the crowd at the sight of his manlyinspiring features, in which the clean cut virility of a life free fromdissipation was accentuated by the neatly trimmed black beard. His erectmilitary bearing--his neat, well fitting uniform--but above all hisfrank open face proclaimed him a man's man--a man among men. A cheerburst from the lips of the onlookers and the brave but modest generallowered his eyes and blushed as he acknowledged their greeting. 

"Men and women, " he said, in a voice which although low, one could seewas accustomed to being obeyed, "I thank you for your cheers. It makesmy heart rejoice to hear them, for I know you are not cheering mepersonally but only as one of the many men who are fighting for thecause of liberty and freedom, and for----" the general's voice broke alittle, but he mastered his emotion and went on--"for the flag we alllove. "

At this he pulled from his pocket an American flag and held it up sothat all could see. Cheer after cheer rent the air, and tears came tothe general's eyes at this mark of devotion to the common cause. 

"Wipe the d--d rebels off the face of the earth, G-d d--'em, " shouted atoo enthusiastic member of the crowd who, I fear, was a little the worsefor drink. In an instant General Grant had stepped up to him and fixedupon him those fearless blue eyes. 

"My man, " said the general, "It hurts me to hear you give vent to thoseoaths, especially in the presence of ladies. Soldiers do not curse, andI think you would do well to follow their example. "

The other lowered his head shamefacedly. "General, " he said, "You'reright and I apologize. "

A smile lit up the general's handsome features and he extended his handto the other. 

"Shake on it, " he said simply, and as the crowd roared its approval ofthis speech the two men "shook". 

Meanwhile within the van der Griff house all were agog with excitementin expectation of the arrival of the distinguished guest. Expensivelydressed ladies fluttered here and there amid the elegant appointments;servants in stylish livery passed to and fro with trays of wine andother spirituous liquors. 

At the sound of the cheering outside, the haughty Mrs. Rhinelanderpatted her daughter Geraldine nervously, and between mother and daughterpassed a glance of understanding, for both felt that to-night, if ever, was Geraldine's opportunity to win the handsome and popular general. 

The doorbell rang, and a hush fell over the chattering assemblage;then came the proud announcement from the doorman--"General Ulysses S. Grant"--and all the society belles crowded forward around the guest ofhonor. 

It had been rumored that the general, being a soldier, was ignorant ofsocial etiquette, but such proved to be far from the case. Indeed, hehandled himself with such ease of manner that he captivated all, and foreach and every young miss he had an apt phrase or a pretty compliment, greatly to their delight. 

"Pleased to know you"--"Glad to shake the hand of such a prettygirl"--"What a nice little hand--I wish I might hold it allevening"--with these and kindred pleasantries the general won the wayinto the graces of Mrs. Van der Griff's fair guests, and many a femaleheart fluttered in her bosom as she gazed into the clear blue eyes ofthe soldier, and listened to his well chosen tactful words. 

"And how is the dear General this evening?"--this in the affected toneof old Mrs. Rhinelander, as she forced her way through the crowd. 

"Finer than silk, " replied he, and he added, solicitously, "I hope youhave recovered from your lumbago, Mrs. Rhinelander. "

"Oh quite, " answered she, "and here is Geraldine, General, " and theambitious mother pushed her daughter forward. 

"Comment vous portez vous, mon General, " said Geraldine in French, "Ihope we can have a nice tete-a-tete to-night, " and she fawned upon herprey in a manner that would have sickened a less artificial gathering. 

Were there not some amid all that fashionable throng in whom idealsof purity and true womanhood lived--some who cared enough for thesacredness of real love to cry upon this hollow mockery that was beingused to ensnare the simple, honest soldier? There was only one, and shewas at that moment entering the drawing room for the purpose of beingpresented to the general. Need I name her?

Ella, for it was she, had been upstairs busying herself with her toiletwhen General Grant had arrived and she now hurried forward to pay herhomage to the great soldier. And then, as she caught sight of his face, she stopped suddenly and a deep crimson blush spread over her features. She looked again, and then drew back behind a nearby portiere, her heartbeating wildly. 

Well did Ella remember where she had seen that countenance before, andas she stood there trembling the whole scene of her folly came back toher. It had happened in Kansas, just before her parents died, on onesunny May morning. She had gone for a walk; her footsteps had led her tothe banks of a secluded lake where she often went when she wished to bealone. Many an afternoon had Ella dreamed idly away on this shore, butthat day, for some reason, she had felt unusually full of life and notat all like dreaming. Obeying a thoughtless but innocent impulse, withno intention of evil, she had taken off her clothes and plunged thusn-k-d into the cool waters of the lake. After she had swum around alittle she began to realize the extent of her folly and was hurriedlyswimming towards the shore when a terrific cramp had seized her lowerlimbs, rendering them powerless. Her first impulse, to scream for help, was quickly checked with a deep blush, as she realized the consequencesif a man should hear her call, for nearby was an encampment of Unionsoldiers, none of whom she knew. The perplexed and helpless girl was insore straits and was slowly sinking for the third time, when a beardedstranger in soldier's uniform appeared on the bank and dove into thewater. To her horror he swam rapidly towards her--but her shame was soonchanged to joy when she realized that he was purposely keeping his eyestight shut. With a few swift powerful strokes he reached her side, and, blushing deeply, took off his blue coat, fastened it around her, openedhis eyes, and swam with her to the shore. Carrying her to where she hadleft her clothes he stayed only long enough to assure himself that shehad completely recovered the use of her limbs, and evidently to spareher further embarrassment, had vanished as quickly and as mysteriouslyas he had appeared. 

Many a night after that had Ella lain awake thinking of the splendidfeatures and, the even more splendid conduct of this unknown knight whowore the uniform of the Union army. "How I love him, " she would whisperto herself; "but how he must despise me!" she would cry, and her pillowwas often wet with tears of shame and mortification at her folly. 

It was shortly after this episode that her parents had taken sick andpassed away. Ella had come East and had given up hope of ever seeing herrescuer again. You may imagine her feelings then when, on entering thedrawing room at the van der Griffs', she discovered that the strangerwho had so gallantly and tactfully rescued her from a watery grave wasnone other than General Ulysses S. Grant. 

The poor girl was torn by a tumult of contrary emotions. Suppose heshould remember her face. She blushed at the thought. And besides whatchance had she to win such a great man's heart in competition with thesesociety girls like Geraldine Rhinelander who had been "abroad" and spokeFrench. 

At that moment one of the liveried servants approached the general witha trayful of filled wine glasses. So engrossed was the soldier heroin talking to Geraldine--or, rather, in listening to her alluringchatter--that he did not at first notice what was being offered him. 

"Will you have a drink of champagne wine, General?" said Mrs. Van derGriff who stood near. 

The general raised his head and frowned as if he did not understand. 

"Come, mon General, " cried Geraldine gayly, "We shall drink a votresucces dans la guerre, " and the flighty girl raised a glass of wine onhigh. Several of the guests crowded around and all were about to drinkto the general's health. 

"Stop, " cried General Grant suddenly realizing what was being done, andsomething in the tone of his voice made everyone pause. 

"Madam, " said he, turning to Mrs. Van der Griff, "Am I to understandthat there is liquor in those glasses?"

"Why yes, General, " said the hostess smiling uneasily. "It is just alittle champagne wine. "

"Madam, " said the general, "It may be 'just champagne wine' to you, but 'just champagne wine' has ruined many a poor fellow and to me allalcoholic beverages are an abomination. I cannot consent, madam, toremain under your roof if they are to be served. I have never takena drop--I have tried to stamp it out of the army, and I owe it to mysoldiers to decline to be a guest at a house where wine and liquor areserved. "

An excited buzz of comment arose as the general delivered thisultimatum. A few there were who secretly approved his sentiments, butthey were far too few in numbers and constant indulgence in alcohol hadweakened their wills so that they dared not stand forth. An angry flushappeared on the face of the hostess, for in society, "good form" is moreimportant than courage and ideals, and by his frank statement GeneralGrant had violently violated the canons of correct social etiquette. 

"Very well, Mr. Grant, " she said, stressing the "Mr. "--"if that's theway you feel about it----"

"Stop, " cried an unexpected voice, and to the amazement of all EllaFlowers stepped forward, her teeth clenched, her eyes blazing. 

"Stop, " she repeated, "He is right--the liquor evil is one of the worstcurses of modern civilization, and if General Grant leaves, so do I. "

Mrs. Van der Griff hesitated for an instant, and then suddenly forced asmile. 

"Why Ella dear, of course General Grant is right, " said she, for it waswell known in financial circles that her husband, Mr. Van der Griff, hadrecently borrowed heavily from Ella's uncle. "There will not be a dropof wine served to-night, and now General, shall we go in to dinner? Willyou be so kind as to lead the way with Miss Rhinelander?" The hostesshad recovered her composure, and smiling sweetly at the guest of honor, gave orders to the servants to remove the wine glasses. 

But General Grant did not hear her; he was looking at Ella Flowers. Andas he gazed at the sweet beauty of her countenance he seemed to feelrising within him something which he had never felt before--somethingwhich made everything else seem petty and trivial. And as he looked intoher eyes and she looked into his, he read her answer--the only answertrue womanhood can make to clean, worthy manhood. 

"Shall we go a la salle-a-manger?" sounded a voice in his ears, andGeraldine's sinuous arm was thrust through his. 

General Grant took the proffered talon and gently removed it from him. 

"Miss Rhinelander, " he said firmly, "I am taking this young lady as mypartner, " and suiting the action to the word, he graciously extended hisarm to Ella who took it with a pretty blush. 

It was General Grant's turn to blush when the other guests, with a fewexceptions, applauded his choice loudly, and made way enthusiasticallyas the handsome couple advanced to the brilliantly lighted dining room. 

But although the hostess had provided the most costly of viands, I amafraid that the brave general did not fully appreciate them, for in hissoul was the joy of a strong man who has found his mate and in his heartwas the singing of the eternal song, "I love her--I love her--I loveher!"

It was only too apparent to the other guests what had happened and totheir credit be it said that they heartily approved his choice, forMrs. Rhinelander and her scheming daughter Geraldine had made countlessenemies with their haughty manners, whereas the sweet simplicity ofElla Flowers had won her numerous friends. And all laughed merrily whenGeneral Grant, in his after dinner speech, said "flowers" instead of"flour" when speaking of provisioning the army--a slip which caused boththe general and Miss Flowers to blush furiously, greatly to the delightof the good-natured guests. "All the world loves a lover"--truer wordswere never penned. 

After dinner, while the other men, according to the usages of bestsociety, were filling the air of the dining room with the fumes ofnicotine, the general, who did not use tobacco, excused himself--amidmany sly winks from the other men--and wandered out into theconservatory. 

There he found Ella. 

"General, " she began. 

"Miss Flowers, " said the strong man simply, "Call me Ulysses. "

And there let us leave them. 

CHAPTER EIGHT

CUSTER'S LAST STAND

In the Manner of Edith Wharton

It was already late afternoon and the gas street lamps of the Boul'Mich' were being lighted for Paris, or at least for Paris in summer, bya somewhat frigid looking allumeur, when Philip Custer came to theend of his letter. He hesitated for an instant, wrote "Your----, " thencrossed that out and substituted "Sincerely. " No, decidedly the firstending, with its, as is, or, rather, as ordinarily is, the case inhymeneal epistles, somewhat possessive sense, would no longer suffice. "Yours truly"--perhaps; "sincerely"--better; but certainly not "Yourhusband. " He was done, thank God, with presences. 

Philip sipped his absinthe and gazed for an instant through the Cafewindow; a solitary fiacre rattled by; he picked up the result of hisafternoon's labor, wearily. 

"Dear Mary, " he read, "When I told you that my employers were sendingme to Paris, I lied to you. It was, perhaps, the first direct lie that Iever told you; it was, I know now, the last. But a falsehood by word ofmouth mattered really very little in comparison with the enormous liethat my life with you had become. "

Philip paused and smiled, somewhat bitterly, at that point in theletter. Mary, with her American woman's intuition, would undoubtedlysurmise that he had run off with Mrs. Everett; there was a certainironical humor in the fact that Mary's mistaken guess would be sadlyindicative of her whole failure to understand what her husband was, touse a slang expression, "driving at. "

"I hope that you will believe me when I say that I came to Paris topaint. In the past four years the desire to do that has grown steadilyuntil it has mastered me. You do not understand. I found no one inAmerica who did. I think my mother might have, had she lived; certainlyit is utterly incomprehensible to father. "

Philip stopped. Ay, there was the rub--General Custer, and all that hestood for. Philip glimpsed momentarily those early boyhood days with hisfather, spent mainly in army posts; the boy's cavalry uniform, in whichhe had ridden old Bess about the camp, waving his miniature sabre; theday he had been thrown to the ground by a strange horse which he haddisobediently mounted, just as his father arrived on the scene. Philip had never forgotten his father's words that day. "Don't crawl, son, --don't whine. It was your fault this time and you deserved what yougot. Lots of times it won't be your fault, but you'll have to takeyour licking anyway. But remember this, son--take your medicine like aman--always. "

Philip groaned; he knew what the general would say when the news of hisson's desertion of his wife and four year old boy reached him. He knewthat he never could explain to his father the absolute torture of thelast four years of enervating domesticity and business mediocrity--thetorture of the Beauty within him crying for expression, half satisfiedby the stolen evenings at the art school but constantly growing strongerin its all-consuming appeal. No, life to his father was a simple problemin army ethics--a problem in which duty was "a", one of the knownfactors; "x, " the unknown, was either "bravery" or "cowardice" whenbrought in contact with "a". Having solved this problem, his fatherhad closed the book; of the higher mathematics, and especially of thosecomplex problems to which no living man knew the final answer, he had noconception. And yet----

Philip resumed his reading to avoid the old endless maze of subtleties. 

"It is not that I did not--or do not--love you. It is, rather, thatsomething within me is crying out--something which is stronger thanI, and which I cannot resist. I have waited two years to be sure. Yesterday, as soon as I reached here, I took my work to the man who isconsidered the finest art critic in Paris. He told me that there was aquality to my painting which he had seen in that of no living artist; hetold me that in five years of hard work I should be able to produce workwhich Botticelli would be proud to have done. Do you understand that, Mary--Botticelli!

"But no, forgive me. My paean of joy comes strangely in a letter whichshould be of abject humility for what must seem to you, to father, andto all, a cowardly, selfish act of desertion--a whining failure to facelife. Oh dear, dear Mary if you could but understand what a hell I havebeen through--"

Philip took his pen and crossed out the last line so that no one couldread what had been there. 

"Materially, of course, you and little George will be better off; thefoolish pride with which I refused to let your parents help us nowno longer stands in their way. You should have no difficulty about adivorce. 

"You can dispose of my things as you see fit; there is nothing I careabout keeping which I did not bring. 

"Again, Mary, I cannot ask you to forgive, or even to understand, but Ido hope that you will believe me when I say that this act of mine isthe most honest thing I have ever done, and that to have acted out thetragi-comedy in the part of a happy contented husband would have made ofboth of our lives a bitter useless farce. Sincerely, Philip. "

He folded the pages and addressed the envelope. 

"Pardon, Monsieur"--a whiff of sulphur came to his nose as the waiterbent over the table to light the gas above him. "Would Monsieur liketo see the journal? There is a most amusing story about---- The bill, Monsieur? Yes--in a moment. "

Philip glanced nervously through the pages of the Temps. He was anxiousto get the letter to the post--to have done with indecision and worry. It would be a blessed relief when the thing was finally done beyondchance of recall; why couldn't that stupid waiter hurry?

On the last page of the newspaper was an item headlined "Recent Newsfrom America. " Below was a sub-heading "Horrible Massacre of Soldiers byIndians--Brave Stand of American Troopers. " He caught the name "Custer"and read:

"And by his brave death at the hands of the Indians, this gallantAmerican general has made the name of Custer one which will forever beassociated with courage of the highest type. "

He read it all through again and sat quietly as the hand of Polyphemusclosed over him. He even smiled a little--a weary, ironic smile. 

"Monsieur desires something more, perhaps"--the waiter held out thebill. 

Philip smiled. "No--Monsieur has finished--there is nothing more. "

Then he repeated slowly, "There is nothing more. "

* * * * *

Philip watched his son George blow out the twelve candles on hisbirthday cake. 

"Mother, " said George, "when I get to be eighteen, can I be a soldierjust like grandfather up there?" He pointed to the portrait of Philip'sfather in uniform which hung in the dining room. 

"Of course you can, dear, " said his mother. "But you must be a braveboy". 

"Grandfather was awful brave, wasn't he father?" This from little Marybetween mouthfuls of cake. 

"Yes, Mary, " Philip answered. "He was very, very brave. "

"Of course he was, " said George. "He was an American. "

"Yes, " answered Philip, "That explains it. --he was an American. "

Mrs. Custer looked up at the portrait of her distinguishedfather-in-law. 

"You know Philip, I think it must be quite nice to be able to paint apicture like that. I've often wondered why you never kept up your art. "

CHAPTER NINE

"FOR THE FREEDOM OF THE WORLD"

A DRAMA OF THE GREAT WAR

Act I: In the Manner of Mary Raymond Shipman Andrews

Act 2: In the Manner of Eugene O'Neill

ACT ONE

(Mary Raymond Shipman Andrews)

SCENE I

 A principal street of an American city in the spring of 1918. 

At the rear of the stage, representing the opposite sidewalk of thestreet, are gathered many people come to bid farewell to the boys of theBlankth regiment who are soon to march past on their way to France. 

Extending across the "street", from footlights to "sidewalk", is a largewhite plaster arch, gayly decorated with the Allied colors. 

On this arch is the inscription "For the Freedom of the World. "

At the rising of the curtain, distant march music is heard (off stage, right); this constantly grows louder during the ensuing dialogue whichtakes place between three elderly women crowded together at the edgeof the sidewalk. These women, although, before the war, of differentstations in social rank, are now united, as are all mothers in theAllied countries, by the glorious badge which each proudly wears pinnedover her heart--the service star. 

The Professor's Wife--I hear them coming. 

The Street-cleaner's Wife--So do I. I hope my boy Pat sees me. 

The Pawnbroker's Wife--I told my Jean where to look. 

The approaching music and the cheering of the spectators drowns outfurther conversation. 

Enter (right) the regimental band playing the "Stars and StripesForever. " They march through the arch and exit left. Following themcomes the flag, at the sight of which all the male spectators (youngboys and men too old to fight) remove their hats. After the colors comethe troops, splendid clean faced fellows, in whose eyes shines the lightof civilization's ideals, in whose ears rings the never forgettable cryof heroic France and brave little Belgium. The boys are marching fourabreast, with a firm determined step; it is as though each man weresaying to himself "They shall not pass. "

After the first few squads have marched through the arch and off left, the command is issued off-stage "Company--HALT. " A young lieutenantrepeats this order to his men, and the column comes to a stop. The menstand at attention until given the command "Rest", when they relax anda murmur of conversation arises from the ranks, in which characteristicsentences "German ideals are not our ideals" and "Suppose it was yourown sister" show only too well what the boys are thinking of day andnight. 

As the column halts, the three service star mothers rush out from thecurb and embrace their sons who happen to be in this company. At thesame time a very attractive girl runs up to the young lieutenant. 

 The Lieutenant--Ellen! His Fiancee--John! The Professor's Son} The Streetcleaner's Son } Mother! The Pawnbroker's Son }

 The Professor's Wife } The Streetcleaner's Wife } My Boy! The Pawnbroker's Wife } Voice off stage--Company--Atten SHUN!

The farewells are said, the men come to attention. 

Voice off stage--Forward--MARCH

The Lieutenant--(Pointing with his sword to the inscription on thearch)--Forward for the Freedom of the World--MARCH. 

The men's teeth click together, their heads are thrown back, and with alight in their eyes that somehow suggests Joan of Arc the Crusaders moveon. 

 SCENE 2

 Three months later. 

A section of an American front line trench now occupied by the Blankthregiment. 

It is early morning and the three soldiers mentioned in Scene 1 areconversing together for perhaps the last time, for soon they are to begiven the chance which every American man desires more than anything inthe world--the opportunity to go "over the top". 

The Professor's Son--Well fellows, in a few minutes we shall be able toshow the people at home that their boys are not cowards when the fate ofcivilization is at stake. 

The Pawnbroker's Son--Here's a newspaper clipping mother sent me. It'sfrom a speech made the other day in Congress. (He reads) "And we and ourchildren--and our children's children will never forget the debt we owethose brave boys who are now in France. "

The Streetcleaner's Son--That makes a fellow feel pretty good inside, doesn't it? It makes me glad I'm doing my bit--and after the war I hopethe ideals which have inspired us all will make us better citizens in abetter world. 

The Professor's Son--Not only will we be better citizens--not only willthe torch of liberty shine more brightly--but also each one of us willgo back to his job with a deeper vision. 

The Pawnbroker's Son--That's right I am a musician--a pianist, youknow--and I hope that after the war I shall be able to tell America, through my music, of the glory of this holy cause. 

The Professor's Son--I didn't know you were a pianist. 

The Pawnbroker's Son--Yes--ever since I was a boy--I have had no otherinterest. My father tried to make me go into his shop but I couldn'tstand it. He got angry and refused to support me; I had a hard timeuntil I won a scholarship at a New York musical college. Just before thewar I had a chance to play the Schumann concerto with the Philharmonic;the critics all said that in another year I would be--but fellows--youmust think me frightfully conceited to talk so, and besides what mattersmy musical career in comparison with the sacrifice which everyone ismaking?

The Streetcleaner's Son--And gladly making, too, for it is easy to giveup all, as did Joan of Arc, for France. Attention, men! here comes oneof our officers. 

 The three stand at attention. 

Enter the Lieutenant. 

The Lieutenant--Well, men, do you feel ready?

The Three--More than ready, sir--eager. 

The Lieutenant--Brave men! (To the Professor's Son) Come here a minute, Keating. I have something to ask you before we go over the top. 

The Professor's Son and the Lieutenant go to one side. 

The Lieutenant--(To the other two in a kindly manner)--At ease!

The Streetcleaner's Son--Thank you, sir. 

They relax from their rigid posture of "attention". 

The Lieutenant--(To the Professor's Son)--Keating, when we "go over", we--may--never come back, you know. And I want to ask a favor of you. I am engaged--to a girl back home--here is her picture (he draws aphotograph from his inner breast pocket and shows it to the Professor'sSon. )

The Professor's Son--She is beautiful, Sir. 

The Lieutenant--(Putting the photograph back in his pocket)--Yes verybeautiful. And (dropping his eyes)--I love her. If--if I should "gowest" I want you to write her and tell her that my last thoughts were ofmy country and--her. We are to be married--after the war--if (suddenlyclearing his throat). Her name is Ellen Radcliff--here, I'll write theaddress down for you. 

He does so, and hands the slip of paper to the Professor's Son, whodiscreetly turns away. 

The Lieutenant--(Brusquely)--That's all, Keating. 

A bugle sounds. 

The Lieutenant--Attention men! At the next bugle call you go over thetop--remember that you are Americans and that Americans know how tofight and die in the cause of liberty and for the freedom of the world. The Three Soldiers--We are ready to make the supreme sacrifice if needbe. 

 The bugle sounds. 

The Lieutenant--(Climbing up the ladder to the top of thetrench)--Follow me, men--

The Three Soldiers--(Climbing up after him)--Lafayette--we come, thoughpoppies bloom in Flanders field. 

They go "over the top". 

SCENE 3

 A section of a Hun trench a minute later. Two Hun soldiers areconversing together; another Hun is reading a copy of Nietzsche. 

First Hun Soldier--And then we cut the hands off all the littlechildren--oh it was wonderful. 

Second Hun Soldier--I wish I had been there. 

 A Hun Lieutenant rushes in. 

The Hun Lieutenant--(Kicking the three men and brandishing hisrevolver)--Swine--wake up--here come the Americans. 

 The three spring to their feet and seize their guns. At the topof the trench appears the American lieutenant, closely followed by thethree soldiers. 

The American Lieutenant--(Coolly)--We come to avenge the sinking of theLusitania. 

The Hun Lieutenant--Hoch der Kaiser! Might is stronger than right!

 He treacherously tries to shoot the American but the Professor'sSon disarms him with his bayonet. The three Hun soldiers offer a show ofresistance. 

The Streetcleaner's Son--(To first Hun soldier)--Your hands are uncleanwith the murder of innocent women and children. 

First Hun Soldier--(Dropping his gun)--Kamerad!

The Pawnbroker's Son--(To the other Hun soldiers)--Prussianism hasdestroyed the Germany of Bach and Beethoven and you fellows know it, too. 

Second and third Hun Soldiers--(Dropping their guns)--Kamerad!

The American Lieutenant--Men--you have kept the faith. I am proud ofyou. Forward!

 An explosion (not too loud to annoy the audience) is heard offstage right. 

The Professor's Son--(Sinking to the ground) Fellows, I'm afraid they'vegot me. 

The Streetcleaner's Son--What a shame!

The Lieutenant--Is there anything we can do to ease the pain?

The Professor's Son--(Weakening rapidly) No--go on, boys, carrythe--banner of--civilization's ideals--forward--without me--Tell motherI'm glad--I did--my bit--for the freedom--of the world--fellows, theonly--thing--I regret--is that I won't--be able to be with you--whenyou--go back--to enjoy the gratitude--of America--good-bye, fellows, mayyou drink--to the full--the rewards of a grateful nation. 

He dies. The others regretfully leave him behind as they push on afterthe fleeing Huns. 

The stage is slowly darkened--the noise of battle dies away. 

Enter an Angel in the uniform of the Y. M. C. A. She goes up to the fallenhero and taking him in her arms tenderly carries him off the stage. 

CURTAIN

TWO YEARS PASS

ACT TWO

(Eugene O'Neill)

SCENE I

 The bedroom of a bachelor apartment in New York City in the Fallof 1920. 

There is about the room an air of neglect, as though the occupant didnot particularly give a damn whether he slept in this room or in hell. This is evidenced in a general way by the absence of any attempts atdecoration and by the presence of dirty laundry and unopened lettersscattered about the room. 

The furniture consists of a bed and a bureau; at the foot of the formeris a trunk such as was used by American army officers in the recent war. 

Although it is three in the morning, the bed is unoccupied. The electriclight over the bureau has been left lighted. 

The lamp flickers and goes out for a minute; when it again flashes on, the Angel and the Professor's Son are seen standing in the room, asthough they had come there directly from the close of the preceding act;the Angel, however, has completely removed all Y. M. C. A. Insignia andnow has a beard and chews tobacco; from time to time he spits out of thewindow. 

The angel--Why the hell weren't you satisfied to stay in heaven?

The Professor's Son--Well, I just wanted to see my old buddies oncemore--I want to see them enjoying the gratitude of the world. 

The Angel--Hmmmm--well, this is where your Lieutenant now lives--and Ithink I hear him coming. 

 They step behind a curtain. The noise of a key rattling in alock is heard, then a light flashes on in the next room. The sound ofunsteady footsteps--a vase is knocked over--a curse--then enter theLieutenant. 

He wears a dinner-coat, one sleeve of which hangs empty. His face iswhite, his eyes set, his mouth hard and hopeless. He is drunk--nothilariously--but with the drunkenness of despair. 

He sits down on the bed and remains for several minutes, his head in hishands. 

The Lieutenant--God, I'm drunk--(after a pause)--drunk again--well, what of it--what the hell difference does it make--get drunk if I wantto--sure I will--get drunk--that's the dope DRUNK--oh Christ--!

He throws himself on the bed and after lying there a few minutes sitsup. 

The Lieutenant--Gotta have another drink--can't go sleep, Goddamn it--brain too clear--gotta kill brain--that's the dope--killbrain--forget--wipe out past--

He opens the trunk in his search for liquor. He suddenly pulls out hislieutenant's coat and holds it up. 

The Lieutenant--There's that God damn thing--never wanted to see itagain--wound stripes on right sleeve, too--hurrah for brave soldier--armshot off to--to make world safe for democracy--blaa--the god damnhypocrites--democracy hell--arm shot off because I wasn't clever enoughto stay out of it--ought to have had sense enough to join the--theordinance department or--or the Y. M. C. A. 

He feels aimlessly through the pockets of the coat. Suddenly, from theinside breast pocket he draws out something--a photograph--

The Lieutenant--Ellen! Oh God!

He gazes at the picture for a long time. 

The Lieutenant--Yes, Ellen, I should have joined the Y. M. C. A. Shouldn'tI?--where they don't get their arms shot off--couldn't marry a man withone arm, could you?--of course not--think of looking at an emptysleeve year after year--children might be born with only one arm, too--children--oh God damn you, Ellen, you and your Y. M. C. A. Husband!

 He tears the picture in two and hurls it into the trunk. Then hesinks onto the bed, sobbing drunkenly. After a few minutes, he walksover to the trunk and picks up one half of the torn picture. He turns itover in his hand and reads the writing on the back. 

The Lieutenant (Reading)--"I'm waiting for you, dear--when you have doneyour bit 'for the freedom of the world'. "

He smiles, wearily, and reaches down to pick up the other half of thepicture. His eye is caught by something shiny; it is his army revolver. He slowly picks it up and looks at it for a long time. 

The Lieutenant--For the freedom of the world--

He quickly opens his top bureau drawer and takes out a box ofcartridges. One of these he inserts in a chamber of his revolver. 

The Lieutenant--For the FREEDOM--

He laughs. 

As the curtain falls he presses the revolver against his temple andfires. 

 SCENE 2

 A bare room in a boarding house. To the left is a bed, to theright a grand piano--the latter curiously out of keeping with the othercheap furnishings. The room is in partial darkness. 

The door slowly swings open; the Angel and the Professor's Son enter. 

The Angel--And here you have the room of your friend the Pawnbroker'sSon--the musical genius--with a brilliant future. 

They hide in a closet, leaving the door partly open. 

Enter Jean, the Pawnbroker's Son. He has on a cutaway suit--a relicof his first and last public concert before the war. His shoulders sagdejectedly and his face is drawn and white. He comes in and sits on thebed. A knock--a determined knock--is heard at the door but Jean does notmove. The door opens and his landlady--a shrewish, sharp faced woman of40--appears. He gets up off the bed when he sees her and bows. 

The Landlady--I forgot you was deef or I wouldn't have wasted my timehitting my knuckles against your door. 

Jean gazes at her. 

The Landlady--Well Mr. Rosen I guess you know why I'm here--it's pay uptoday or get out. 

Jean--Please write it down--you know I cannot hear a word you say. Isuppose it's about the rent. 

The landlady takes paper and pencil and writes. 

The Landlady--(Reading over the result of herlabor)--"To-day--is--the--last day. If you can't pay, you must get out. "

She hands it to Jean and he reads. 

Jean--But I cannot pay. Next week perhaps I shall get work--

The Landlady--(Scornfully)--Yes--Next week maybe I have to sell anotherliberty bond for seventy dollars what I paid a hundred dollars for, too. No sir I need the money NOW. Here--

 She writes and hands it to him. 

Jean (Reading)--Sell my piano? But please I cannot do that--yet. 

The Landlady--A lot of good a piano does a deef person like you. That'sa good one--( She laughs harshly). The deef musician--ho ho--with apiano. 

Jean--Madam, I shall pay you surely next week. There has been some delayin my war risk insurance payment. I should think that you would trust asoldier who lost his hearing in the trenches--

The Landlady--That's old stuff. You soldiers think just because youwere unlucky enough to get drafted you can spend the rest of yourlife patting yourselves on the back. Besides--what good did the war doanyway--except make a lot of rich people richer?

She scribbles emphatically "Either you pay up tonight or out you go. "

Handing this to Jean with a flourish, she exits. 

 He sits on the bed for a long time. 

Finally he glances up at the wall over his bed where hangs a cheap photoframe. In the center is a picture of President Wilson; on one side ofthis is a crude print of a soldier, on the other side a sailor; above isthe inscription "For the Freedom of the World. "

Jean takes down the picture and looks at it. As he replaces it on thewall he sees hanging above it the bayonet which he had carried throughthe war. He slowly takes the weapon down, runs his fingers along theedge and smiles--a quiet tired smile which does not leave his faceduring the rest of the scene. 

He walks over to the piano and plays the opening chords of the Schumannconcerto. Then shaking his head sadly, he tenderly closes down the lidand locks it. 

He next writes a note which he folds and places, with the key to thepiano, in an envelope. Sealing and addressing the envelope, he placesit on the piano. Then, walking over to the bed, he picks up the bayonet, and shutting his eyes for an instant, he steps forward and cuts histhroat as the curtain falls. 

 SCENE 3

 Same as Act 1, Scene 1 except for the changes made in the citystreet by a year or more of peace. 

The arch across the thoroughfare still stands, although it has becomebadly discolored and dirty; the inscription "For the Freedom of theWorld" is but faintly visible. As the curtain rises workmen are busy atwork tearing the arch down. 

 Enter the Angel and the Professor's Son. 

The Angel--Stand over here, out of the way, and you'll see the last ofyour cronies--Pat, the Streetcleaner's Son--enjoying the gratitude ofthe world. 

The Professor's Son does not answer. 

 Enter Pat. He has on an old pair of corduroy trousers, with hisbrown army shirt, and shoes out at the heel. 

He looks as if he had not slept for days certainly he has not shaved fora week. He approaches one of the workmen. 

Pat--Say buddy any chance for a job here?

The Workman--Hell no. They was fifty applicants yesterday. (Lookingat his army shirt) Most of them ex-soldiers like you. Jobs is mightyscarce. 

Pat--I'll tell the world they are. I'd almost join the army again, except for my wife and kid. 

The Workman--God--don't do it. 

Pat--Why--was you across?

The Workman--Yes, God damn it--eight months. Next war I'll let somebodyelse do the fighting. 

Pat--Same here. The wise guys were them that stayed at home and kepttheir jobs. 

The Workman--I'll say they were. 

Pat--(Growing more excited)--And while we was over there fighting, nothing was too good for us--"brave boys, " they said, "we shall neverforget what you have done for us. " Never forget--hell! In about a yeareverybody forgot there ever was a war and a fellow has a hell of a timegetting a job--and when you mention the war they just laugh--why Goddamn it, I've been out of work for six months and I ain't no loafereither and my wife has had to go back to her folks and I'm just aboutall in--

 During this speech the work on dismantling the arch has steadilyprogressed. Suddenly there comes a warning cry--"Look out"--as thesupports unexpectedly give way. Pat is too engrossed in his tirade totake heed, and as the center portion of the arch falls it crushes himbeneath its weight. After the cloud of dust clears, he is seen lyingunder the mass. By a curious twist of fate he has been crushed by theportion of the arch bearing the inscription "For the Freedom of theWorld. " His eyes open for an instant--he reads, through the mist ofapproaching death, the words, and he laughs--

Pat--For the Freedom of the World--Oh Christ!

His mocking laughter is interrupted by a severe fit of coughing and hesinks back dead. 

The Professor's Son--Oh God--take me somewhere where I can't ever seethe world. 

The angel--Come to heaven. 

CURTAIN