CHAPTER XL.
OPINIONS.
When the ride was ended, Leonore was sent home in the carriage, Wattssaying he would go with Peter to his club. As soon as they were in thecab, he said:
"I wanted to see you about your letter."
"Well?"
"Everything's going as well as can be expected. Of course the littlewoman's scandalized over your supposed iniquity, but I'm working theheavy sentimental 'saved-our-little-girl's life' business for all it'sworth. I had her crying last night on my shoulder over it, and no womancan do that and be obstinate long. She'll come round before a greatwhile."
Peter winced. He almost felt like calling Watts off from the endeavor.But he thought of Leonore. He must see her--just to prove to himselfthat she was not for him, be it understood--and how could he see enoughof her to do that--for Peter recognized that it would take a good dealof that charming face and figure and manner to pall on him--if he wasexcluded from her home? So he justified the continuance of the attemptby saying to himself: "She only excludes me because of something ofwhich I am guiltless, and I've saved her from far greater suffering thanmy presence can ever give her. I have earned the privilege if ever manearned it" Most people can prove to themselves what they wish to prove.The successful orator is always the man who imposes his frame of mind onhis audience. We call it "saying what the people want said." But many ofthe greatest speakers first suggest an idea to their listeners, and whenthey say it in plain English, a moment later, the audience say,mentally, "That's just what we thought a moment ago," and are convincedthat the speaker is right.
Peter remained silent, and Watts continued: "We get into our own houseto-morrow, and give Leonore a birthday dinner Tuesday week as acombined house-warming and celebration. Save that day, for I'mdetermined you shall be asked. Only the invitation may come a littlelate. You won't mind that?"
"No. But don't send me too many of these formal things. I keep out ofthem as much as I can. I'm not a society man and probably won't fit inwith your friends."
"I should know you were not _de societe_ by that single speech. Ifthere's one thing easy to talk to, or fit in with, it's a society man orwoman. It's their business to be chatty and pleasant, and they would bepolite and entertaining to a kangaroo, if they found one next them atdinner. That's what society is for. We are the yolk of the egg, whichholds and blends all the discordant, untrained elements. The oil,vinegar, salt, and mustard We don't add much flavor to life, but peoplewouldn't mix without us."
"I know," said Peter, "if you want to talk petty personalities andtrivialities, that it's easy enough to get through endless hours oftime. But I have other things to do."
"Exactly. But we have a purpose, too. You mustn't think society is allfrivolity. It's one of the hardest working professions."
"And the most brainless."
"No. Don't you see, that society is like any other kind of work, andthat the people who will centre their whole life on it must be theleaders of it? To you, the spending hours over a new _entree_, or over acotillion figure, seems rubbish, but it's the exact equivalent of yourspending hours over who shall be nominated for a certain office. Becauseyou are willing to do that, you are one of the 'big four.' Because weare willing to do our task, we differentiate into the 'four hundred.'You mustn't think society doesn't grind up brain-tissue. But we use somuch in running it, that we don't have enough for other subjects, and soyou think we are stupid. I remember a woman once saying she didn't likeconversazioni, 'because they are really brain-parties, and there isnever enough to go round, and give a second help,' Any way, how can youexpect society to talk anything but society, when men like yourself stayaway from it."
"I don't ask you to talk anything else. But let me keep out of it."
"'He's not the man for Galway'," hummed Watts. "He prefers talking to'heelers,' and 'b'ys,' and 'toughs,' and other clever, intellectualmen."
"I like to talk to any one who is working with a purpose in life."
"I say, Peter, what do those fellows really say of us?"
"I can best describe it by something Miss De Voe once said. We were at adinner together, where there was a Chicago man who became irritated atone or two bits of ignorance displayed by some of the other guests overthe size and prominence of his abiding place. Finally he said: 'Why,look here, you people are so ignorant of my city, that you don't evenknow how to pronounce its name.' He turned to Miss De Voe and said, 'Wesay Chicawgo. Now, how do you pronounce it in New York?' Miss De Voe puton that quiet, crushing manner she has when a man displeases her, andsaid, 'We never pronounce it in New York.'"
"Good for our Dutch-Huguenot stock! I tell you, Peter, blood does tell."
"It wasn't a speech I should care to make, because it did no good, andcould only mortify. But it does describe the position of the lower wardsof New York towards society. I've been working in them for nearlysixteen years, and I've never even heard the subject mentioned."
"But I thought the anarchists and socialists were always taking a whackat us?"
"They cry out against over-rich men--not against society. Don't confusethe constituents with the compound. Citric acid is a deadly poison, butweakened down with water and sugar, it is only lemonade. They growl atthe poison, not at the water and sugar. Before there can be hate, theremust be strength."
The next day Peter turned up in the park about four, and had aride--with Watts. The day after that, he was there a little earlier, andhad a ride--with the groom. The day following he had another ride--withthe groom. Peter thought they were very wonderful rides. Some one toldhim a great many interesting things. About some one's European life,some one's thoughts, some one's hopes, and some one's feelings. Someone really wanted a friend to pour it all out to, and Peter listenedwell, and encouraged well.
"He doesn't laugh at me, as papa does," some one told herself, "and soit's much easier to tell him. And he shows that he really is interested.Oh, I always said he and I should be good friends, and we are going tobe."
This put some one in a very nice frame of mind, and Peter thought he hadnever met such a wonderful combination of frankness, of confluence, andyet of a certain girlish shyness and timidity. Some one would tell himsomething, and then appeal to him, if he didn't think that was so? Petergenerally thought it was. Some one did not drop her little touch ofcoquetry, for that was ingrain, as it is in most pretty girls. But itwas the most harmless kind of coquetry imaginable. Someone was notthinking at all of winning men's hearts. That might come later. Atpresent all she wanted was that they should think her pretty, anddelightful, so that--that they should want to be friend.
When Peter joined Watts and Leonore, however, on the fourth day, therewas a noticeable change in Leonore's manner to him. He did not get anywelcome except a formal "Good-afternoon," and for ten minutes Watts andhe had to sustain the conversation by firing remarks at each other pasta very silent intermediary. Peter had no idea what was wrong, but whenhe found that she did not mollify at the end of that time, he said toher;
"What is the matter?"
"Matter with what?" asked Leonore, calmly.
"With you."
"Nothing."
"I shan't take that for an answer. Remember, we have sworn to befriends."
"Friends come to see each other."
Peter felt relieved; and smiled, "They do," he said, "when they can."
"No, they don't, sometimes," said Leonore severely. Then she unbent alittle. "Why haven't you been to see us? You've had a full week."
"Yes," said Peter, "I have had a very full week."
"Are you going to call on us, Mr. Stirling?"
"To whom are you talking?"
"To you."
"My name's Peter."
"That depends. Are you going to call on us?"
"That is my hope and wish."
Leonore unbent a little more. "If you are," she said, "I wish you woulddo it soon, because mamma said to-day she thought of asking you to mybirthday dinner next Tuesday, but I said you oughtn't to be asked till
you had called."
"Did you know that bribery is unlawful?"
"Are you going to call?"
"Of course I am."
"That's better. When?"
"What evening are you to be at home?"
"To-morrow," said Leonore, beginning to curl up the corners of hermouth.
"Well," said Peter, "I wish you had said this evening, because that'snearer, but to-morrow isn't so far away."
"That's right. Now we'll be friends again."
"I hope so."
"Are you willing to be good friends--not make believe, or half friends,but--real friends?"
"Absolutely."
"Don't you think friends should tell each other everything?"
"Yes." Peter was quite willing, even anxious, that Leonore should tellhim everything.
"You are quite sure?"
"Yes."
"Then," said Leonore, "tell me about the way you got that sword."
Watts laughed. "She's been asking every one she's met about that. Dotell her, just for my sake."
"I've told you already."
"Not the way I want it. I know you didn't try to make it interesting.Some of the people remembered there was something very fine, but Ihaven't found anybody yet who could really tell it to me. Please tellabout it nicely, Peter." Leonore was looking at Peter with the mostpleading of looks.
"It was during the great railroad strike. The Erie had brought some menup from New York to fill the strikers' places. The new hands were lodgedin freight cars, when off work, for it wasn't safe for them to passoutside the guard lines of soldiers. Some of the strikers applied forwork, and were reinstated. They only did it to get inside our lines. Atnight, when the substitutes in the cars were fast asleep, tired out withthe double work they had done, the strikers locked the car-doors. Theypulled the two cars into a shed full of freight, broke open a petroleumtank, and with it wet the cars and some others loaded with jute. Theyset fire to the cars and barricaded the shed doors. Of course we didn'tknow till the flames burst through the roof of the shed, when by thelight, one of the superintendents found the bunk cars gone. Thefire-department was useless, for the strikers two days before, had cutall the hose. So we were ordered up to get the cars out. Some strikershad concealed themselves in buildings where they could overlook theshed, and while we were working at the door, they kept firing on us. Wewere in the light of the blazing shed, and they were in the dark, whichgave them a big advantage over us, and we couldn't spare the time toattend to them. We tore up some rails and with them smashed in the door.The men in the cars were screaming, so we knew which to take, andfortunately they were the nearest to the door. We took our muskets--forthe frames of the cars were blazing, and the metal part too hot totouch--and fixing bayonets, drove them into the woodwork and so pushedthe cars out. When we were outside, we used the rails again, to smash anopening in the ends of the cars which were burning the least. We got themen out unharmed, but pretty badly frightened."
"And were you not hurt?"
"We had eight wounded and a good many badly burned."
"And you?"
"I had my share of the burn."
"I wish you would tell me what you did--not what the others did."
Peter would have told her anything while she looked like that at him.
"I was in command at that point. I merely directed things, except takingup the rails. I happened to know how to get a rail up quickly, withoutwaiting to unscrew the bolts. I had read it, years before, in a book onrailroad construction. I didn't think that paragraph would ever help meto save forty lives--for five minutes' delay would have been fatal. Theinside of the shed was one sheet of flame. After we broke the door down,I only stood and superintended the moving of the cars. The men did thereal work."
"But you said the inside of the shed was a sheet of flame."
"Yes. The railroad had to give us all fresh uniforms. So we made newtoggery out of that night's work. I've heard people say militia are nogood. If they could have stood by me that night, and seen my companyworking over those blazing cars, in that mass of burning freight, withthe roof liable to fall any minute, and the strikers firing every time aman showed himself, I think they would have altered their opinion."
"Oh," said Leonore, her eyes flashing with enthusiasm. "How splendid itis to be a man, and be able to do real things! I wish I had known aboutit in Europe."
"Why?"
"Because the officers were always laughing about our army. I used to getperfectly wild at them, but I couldn't say anything in reply. If I couldonly have told them about that."
"Hear the little Frenchwoman talk," said Watts.
"I'm not French."
"Yes you are, Dot."
"I'm all American. I haven't a feeling that isn't all American. Doesn'tthat make me an American, Peter, no matter where I was born?"
"I think you are an American under the law."
"Am I really?" said Leonore, incredulously.
"Yes. You were born of American parents, and you will be living in thiscountry when you become of age. That constitutes nationality."
"Oh, how lovely! I knew I was an American, really, but papa was alwaysteasing me and saying I was a foreigner. I hate foreigners."
"Confound you, chum, you've spoiled one of my best jokes! It's been suchfun to see Dot bristle when I teased her. She's the hottest littlepatriot that ever lived."
"I think Miss D'Alloi's nationality is akin to that of a case of which Ionce heard," said Peter, smiling. "A man was bragging about the numberof famous men who were born in his native town. He mentioned awell-known personage, among others, and one of his auditors said: 'Ididn't know he was born there,' 'Oh, yes, he was,' replied the man. 'Hewas born there, but during the temporary absence of his parents!'"
"Peter, how much does a written opinion cost?" asked Leonore, eagerly.
"It has a range about equal to the woman's statement that a certainobject was as long as a piece of string."
"But your opinions?"
"I have given an opinion for nothing. The other day I gave one to asyndicate, and charged eight thousand dollars."
"Oh, dear!" said Leonore. "I wonder if I can afford to get your opinionon my being an American? I should like to frame it and hang it in myroom. Would it be expensive?"
"It is usual with lawyers," said Peter gravely, "to find out how much aclient has, and then make the bill for a little less. How much do youhave?"
"I really haven't any now. I shall have two hundred dollars on thefirst. But then I owe some bills."
"You forget your grandmamma's money, Dot."
"Oh! Of course. I shall be rich, Peter, I come into the income of myproperty on Tuesday. I forget how much it is, but I'm sure I can affordto have an opinion."
"Why, Dot, we must get those papers out, and you must find some one toput the trust in legal shape, and take care of it for you," said Watts.
"I suppose," said Leonore to Peter, "if you have one lawyer to do allyour work, that he does each thing cheaper, doesn't he?"
"Yes. Because he divides what his client has, on several jobs, insteadof on one," Peter told her.
"Then I think I'll have you do it all. We'll come down and see you aboutit. But write out that opinion at once, so that I can prove that I'm anAmerican."
"Very well. But there's a safer way, even, of making sure that you're anAmerican."
"What is that?" said Leonore, eagerly.
"Marry one," said Peter.
"Oh, yes," said Leonore, "I've always intended to do that, but not for agreat many years."
The Honorable Peter Stirling and What People Thought of Him Page 40