The Beauty and the Bolshevist
Page 5
CHAPTER II
That same morning, about ten o'clock, Mr. William Cord was shut up inthe study of his house--shut up, that is, as far as entrance from therest of the house was concerned, but very open as to windows lookingout across the grass to the sea. It was a small room, and the leatherchairs which made up most of its furnishings were worn, and thebookshelves were filled with volumes like railroad reports and _Poor'sManual_, but somehow the total effect of the room was so agreeablethat the family used it more than Mr. Cord liked.
He was an impressive figure, tall, erect, and with that suggestionof unbroken health which had had something to do with his success inlife. His hair must have been of a sandy brown, for it had turned,not gray nor white, but that queer no-color that sandy hair does turn,melting into all pale surroundings. His long face was not vividlycolored, either, but was stamped with the immobility of expressionthat sensitive people in contact with violent life almost alwaysacquire. The result was that there seemed to be something dead abouthis face until you saw his eyes, dark and fierce, as if all the fireand energy of the man were concentrated in them.
He was dressed in gray golfing-clothes that smelled more of peat thanpeat does, and, though officially supposed to be wrestling with themore secret part of correspondence which even his own secretary wasnot allowed to see, he was actually wiggling a new golf-club over therug, and toying with the romantic idea that it would enable him todrive farther than he had ever driven before.
There was a knock at the door. Mr. Cord leaned the driver in a corner,clasped his hands behind his back, straddled his legs a trifle, sothat they seemed to grow out of the rug as the eternal oak grows outof the sod, and said, "Come in," in the tone of a man who, consideringthe importance of his occupation, bears interruption exceedingly well.
Tomes, the butler, entered. "Mr. Verriman, sir, to see you."
"To see _me_?"
"Yes, sir."
Cord just nodded at this, which evidently meant that the visitor wasto be admitted, for Tomes never made a mistake and Verriman presentlyentered. Mr. Cord had seen Eddie Verriman the night before at theball, and had thought him a very fine figure of a man, so now, puttingtwo and two together, he said to himself, "Is he here to ask myblessing?"
Aloud he said nothing, but just nodded; it was a belief that hadtranslated itself into a habit--to let the other man explain first.
"I know I'm interrupting you, Mr. Cord," Verriman began. Mr. Cord madea lateral gesture with his hand, as if all he had were at the disposalof his friends, even his most precious asset--time.
"It's something very important," Eddie went on. "I'm worried. Ihaven't slept. Mr. Cord, have you checked up Crystal's economicbeliefs lately?"
"Lately?" said Mr. Cord. "I don't know that I ever have. Have acigar?"
Eddie waved the cigar aside as if his host had offered it to him inthe midst of a funeral service.
"Well, I have," he said, as if some one had to do a parent's duty,"and I've been very much distressed--shocked. I had a long talk withher about it at the dance last night."
"About economics?"
"Yes, sir."
"Why, Eddie, don't I seem to remember your telling me you were in lovewith Crystal?"
"Yes, Mr. Cord, I am."
"Then what do you want to talk economics for? Or is it done like thatnowadays?"
"I don't want to," answered Eddie, almost in a wail. "_She_ does. Shegets me going and then we quarrel because she has terrible opinions.She talks wildly. I have to point out to her that she's wrong. Andlast night she told me"--Eddie glanced about to be sure he was notoverheard--"she told me that she was a socialist."
Mr. Cord had just lit the very cigar which Eddie had waved away, andhe took the first critical puffs at it before he answered:
"Did you ask her what that was?"
"No--no--I didn't."
"Missed a trick there, Eddie."
It was impossible to accuse so masklike a magnate of frivolity, butEddie was often dissatisfied with Mr. Cord's reactions to the seriousproblems of life.
"But don't you think it's terrible," he went on, eagerly, "for Crystalto be a socialist? In this age of the world--civilization trembling onthe brink--chaos"--Eddie made a gesture toward the perfectly orderedshelves containing _Poor's Manual_--"staring us in the face? You saythat the half-baked opinions of an immature girl make no difference?"
"No, I shouldn't say that--at least not to Crystal," murmured herfather.
"But the mere fact that she picks up such ideas proves that they arein the air about us and that terrifies me--terrifies me," ended Eddie,his voice rising as he saw that his host intended to remain perfectlycalm.
"Which terrifies you, Eddie--Crystal or the revolution?"
"The general discontent--the fact that civilization is tr--"
"Oh yes, that," said Mr. Cord, hastily. "Well, I wouldn't allow thatto terrify me, Eddie. I should have more sympathy with you if it hadbeen Crystal. Crystal is a good deal of a proposition, I grant you.The revolution seems to me simpler. If a majority of our fellowcountrymen really want it, they are going to get it in spite of youand me; and if they don't want it, they won't have it no matterhow Crystal talks to you at parties. So cheer up, Eddie, and have acigar."
"They can, they will," said Eddie, not even troubling to wave away thecigar this time. "You don't appreciate what an organized minority offoreign agitators can do in this country. Why, they can--"
"Well, if a minority of foreigners can put over a revolution againstthe will of the American people, we ought to shut up shop, Eddie."
"You're not afraid?"
"No."
"You mean you wouldn't fight it?"
"You bet your life I'd fight it," said Mr. Cord, gayly, "but I fightlots of things without being afraid of them. What's the use of beingafraid? Here I am sixty-five, conservative and trained to only onegame, and yet I feel as if I could manage to make my own way evenunder soviet rule. Anyway, I don't want to die or emigrate justbecause my country changes its form of government. Only it would haveto be the wish of the majority, and I don't believe it ever will be.In the meantime there is just one thing I _am_ afraid of--andthat's the thing that you and most of my friends want to dofirst--suppressing free speech; if you suppress it, we won't know whowants what. Then you really do get an explosion."
Eddie had got Mr. Cord to be serious now, with the unfortunate resultthat the older man was more shocking than ever.
"Free speech doesn't mean treason and sedition," Eddie began.
"It means the other man's opinion."
There was a pause during which Eddie became more perturbed and Mr.Cord settled back to his habitual calm.
"Wouldn't you suppress _anything_?" Verriman asked at length, willingto know the worst. "Not even such a vile sheet as _Liberty_?"
"Do you ever see it, Eddie?"
"Read a rotten paper like that? Certainly not. Do you?"
"I subscribe to it." And, bending down, Mr. Cord unlocked a drawer inhis desk and produced the issue of the preceding day.
"I notice you keep it locked up," said Eddie, and felt that he hadscored.
"I have to," replied Mr. Cord, "or else Crystal gets hold of it andcuts it all up into extracts--she must have sent you some--before Iget a chance to read it. Besides, it shocks Tomes. You ought to talkto Tomes, Eddie. He thinks about as you do--"
At this moment the door opened and Tomes himself entered.
"Mr. Moreton would like to see you, sir."
Even Cord's calm was a little disturbed by this unexpected news.
"Mr. Moreton!" he exclaimed. "Not--not--not--not?"
"No, sir," said Tomes, always in possession of accurate information."His brother, I believe."
"Show him in here," said Cord, and added to Eddie, as Tomes left theroom: "Well, here he is--the editor himself, Eddie. You can say it allto him."
"I don't want to see such fellows," Verriman began.
"Stay and protect me, Eddie. He may have a bomb in his pocket.
"
"You don't really believe that he's come to--"
"No, Eddie, I don't. I think he's come like young Lochinvar--to dancea little late at the wedding. To try to persuade me to accept thatlazy, good-looking brother of his as a son-in-law. He'll have quite ajob over that." Then, as the door opened, Mr. Cord's eyes concentratedon it and his manner became a shade sharper. "Ah, Mr. Moreton, goodmorning. Mr. Verriman--Mr. Moreton."
Ben was a good-looking young man, but it was his