U.S.A_ - John Dos Passos [142]
. . . I'm not afraid of anything; you ought to know that, J.W."
The orchestra played The Star-Spangled Banner again; Eleanor sang some of the chorus in a shril little treble voice. They were too excited to sit stil long and went over to J.W.'s office in a taxi. The office was in great excitement. Miss Wil iams had had a flagpole put up in the center window and was just raising the flag on it. Eleanor went over to her and they shook hands warmly. The cold wind was rustling the papers on the desk and typewritten pages were sailing across the room but nobody paid any attention. Down Fifth Avenue a band was com-ing near playing Hail, Hail, the Gang's All Here. Al along office windows were brightly lit, flags were slap-ping against their poles in the cold wind, clerks and stenographers were leaning out and cheering, dropping out papers that sailed and whirled in the bitter eddying wind.
"It's the Seventh Regiment," somebody said and they al clapped and yel ed. The band was clanging loud under the window. They could hear the tramp of the militia-men's feet. Al the automobiles in the stal ed traffic tooted their horns. People on the tops of the busses were waving smal flags. Miss Wil iams leaned over and kissed Eleanor on the cheek. J.W. stood by looking out over their heads with a proud smile on his face. After the band had gone and traffic was running again they put the window down and Miss Wil iams went
-358-around picking up and arranging loose papers. J.W. had a telegram from Washington accepting his services on the Public Information Committee that Mr. Wilson was gathering about him and said he'd leave in the morning. He cal ed up Great Neck and asked Gertrude if he could come out to dinner and bring a friend. Gertrude said he might and that she hoped she'd be able to stay up to see them. She was excited by the warnews but she said the thought of al that misery and slaughter gave her horrible pains in the back of the head.
"I have a hunch that if I take you out to dinner at Gertrude's everything wil be al right," he said to Eleanor. "I'm rarely wrong in my hunches."
"Oh, I know she'l understand," said Eleanor. As they were leaving the office they met Mr. Robbins in the hal . He didn't take his hat off or the cigar out of his mouth. He looked drunk. "What the hel is this, Ward?" he said. "Are we at war or not?"
"If we're not we wil be before morning," said J.W.
"It's the goddamnedest treason in history," said Mr. Robbins. "What did we elect Wilson for instead of Old Fuzzywhiskers except to keep us out of the goddam
mess?"
"Robbins, I don't agree with you for a minute," said J.W. "I think it's our duty to save . . ." But Mr. Rob-bins had disappeared through the office door leaving a strong reek of whisky behind him. "I'd have given him a piece of my mind," said Eleanor, "if I hadn't seen that he was in no condition."
Driving out to Great Neck in the Pierce Arrow it was thril ing. A long red afterglow lingered in the sky. Cross-ing the Queensboro Bridge with the cold wind back of them was like flying above lights and blocks of houses and the purple bulk of Blackwel 's Island and the steam-boats and the tal chimneys and the blue light of power-plants. They talked of Edith Cavel and airraids and flags
-359-and searchlights and the rumble of armies advancing and Joan of Arc. Eleanor drew the fur robe up to her chin and thought about what she'd say to Gertrude Moorehouse. When they got to the house she felt a little afraid of a scene. She stopped in the hal to do up her face with a pocketmirror she had in her bag.
Gertrude Moorehouse was sitting in a long chair be-side a crackling fire. Eleanor glanced around the room and was pleased at how lovely it looked. Gertrude Moorehouse went very pale when she saw her. "I wanted to talk to you," said Eleanor. Gertrude Moorehouse held out her hand without getting up. "Excuse me for not getting up, Miss Stoddard," she said, "but I'm absolutely prostrated by the terrible news."
"Civilization demands a sacrifice . . . from al of us," said Eleanor.
"Of course it is terrible what the Huns have done, cutting the hands off Belgian children and al that," said Gertrude Moorehouse.