CHAPTER XXIII

by Sinclair Lewis

　　IWHEN America entered the Great European War, Vida sent Raymie off to anofficers' training-camp--less than a year after her wedding. Raymie wasdiligent and rather strong. He came out a first lieutenant of infantry,and was one of the earliest sent abroad.Carol grew definitely afraid of Vida as Vida transferred the passionwhich had been released in marriage to the cause of the war; as shelost all tolerance. When Carol was touched by the desire for heroismin Raymie and tried tactfully to express it, Vida made her feel like animpertinent child.By enlistment and draft, the sons of Lyman Cass, Nat Hicks, Sam Clarkjoined the army. But most of the soldiers were the sons of German andSwedish farmers unknown to Carol. Dr. Terry Gould and Dr. McGanum becamecaptains in the medical corps, and were stationed at camps in Iowa andGeorgia. They were the only officers, besides Raymie, from the GopherPrairie district. Kennicott wanted to go with them, but the severaldoctors of the town forgot medical rivalry and, meeting in council,decided that he would do better to wait and keep the town well till heshould be needed. Kennicott was forty-two now; the only youngish doctorleft in a radius of eighteen miles. Old Dr. Westlake, who loved comfortlike a cat, protestingly rolled out at night for country calls, andhunted through his collar-box for his G. A. R. button.Carol did not quite know what she thought about Kennicott's going.Certainly she was no Spartan wife. She knew that he wanted to go; sheknew that this longing was always in him, behind his unchangedtrudging and remarks about the weather. She felt for him an admiringaffection--and she was sorry that she had nothing more than affection.Cy Bogart was the spectacular warrior of the town. Cy was no longer theweedy boy who had sat in the loft speculating about Carol's egotism andthe mysteries of generation. He was nineteen now, tall, broad, busy, the"town sport," famous for his ability to drink beer, to shake dice, totell undesirable stories, and, from his post in front of Dyer's drugstore, to embarrass the girls by "jollying" them as they passed. Hisface was at once peach-bloomed and pimply.Cy was to be heard publishing it abroad that if he couldn't get theWidow Bogart's permission to enlist, he'd run away and enlist withoutit. He shouted that he "hated every dirty Hun; by gosh, if he could justpoke a bayonet into one big fat Heinie and learn him some decency anddemocracy, he'd die happy." Cy got much reputation by whipping a farmboynamed Adolph Pochbauer for being a "damn hyphenated German." . . . Thiswas the younger Pochbauer, who was killed in the Argonne, while he wastrying to bring the body of his Yankee captain back to the lines. Atthis time Cy Bogart was still dwelling in Gopher Prairie and planning togo to war.IIEverywhere Carol heard that the war was going to bring a basic changein psychology, to purify and uplift everything from marital relations tonational politics, and she tried to exult in it. Only she did not findit. She saw the women who made bandages for the Red Cross givingup bridge, and laughing at having to do without sugar, but over thesurgical-dressings they did not speak of God and the souls of men, butof Miles Bjornstam's impudence, of Terry Gould's scandalous carryings-onwith a farmer's daughter four years ago, of cooking cabbage, and ofaltering blouses. Their references to the war touched atrocities only.She herself was punctual, and efficient at making dressings, but shecould not, like Mrs. Lyman Cass and Mrs. Bogart, fill the dressings withhate for enemies.When she protested to Vida, "The young do the work while these old onessit around and interrupt us and gag with hate because they're too feebleto do anything but hate," then Vida turned on her:"If you can't be reverent, at least don't be so pert and opinionated,now when men and women are dying. Some of us--we have given up so much,and we're glad to. At least we expect that you others sha'n't try to bewitty at our expense."There was weeping.Carol did desire to see the Prussian autocracy defeated; she didpersuade herself that there were no autocracies save that of Prussia;she did thrill to motion-pictures of troops embarking in New York; andshe was uncomfortable when she met Miles Bjornstam on the street and hecroaked:"How's tricks? Things going fine with me; got two new cows. Well, haveyou become a patriot? Eh? Sure, they'll bring democracy--the democracyof death. Yes, sure, in every war since the Garden of Eden the workmenhave gone out to fight each other for perfectly good reasons--handed tothem by their bosses. Now me, I'm wise. I'm so wise that I know I don'tknow anything about the war."It was not a thought of the war that remained with her after Miles'sdeclamation but a perception that she and Vida and all of thegood-intentioners who wanted to "do something for the common people"were insignificant, because the "common people" were able to do thingsfor themselves, and highly likely to, as soon as they learned thefact. The conception of millions of workmen like Miles taking controlfrightened her, and she scuttled rapidly away from the thought of a timewhen she might no longer retain the position of Lady Bountiful to theBjornstams and Beas and Oscarinas whom she loved--and patronized.IIIIt was in June, two months after America's entrance into the war, thatthe momentous event happened--the visit of the great Percy Bresnahan,the millionaire president of the Velvet Motor Car Company of Boston, theone native son who was always to be mentioned to strangers.For two weeks there were rumors. Sam Clark cried to Kennicott, "Say, Ihear Perce Bresnahan is coming! By golly it'll be great to see the oldscout, eh?" Finally the Dauntless printed, on the front page with a No. 1head, a letter from Bresnahan to Jackson Elder:DEAR JACK:Well, Jack, I find I can make it. I'm to go to Washington as a dollara year man for the government, in the aviation motor section, and tellthem how much I don't know about carburetors. But before I start inbeing a hero I want to shoot out and catch me a big black bass and cussout you and Sam Clark and Harry Haydock and Will Kennicott and the restof you pirates. I'll land in G. P. on June 7, on No. 7 from Mpls. Shakea day-day. Tell Bert Tybee to save me a glass of beer.Sincerely yours,Perce.All members of the social, financial, scientific, literary, and sportingsets were at No. 7 to meet Bresnahan; Mrs. Lyman Cass was beside DelSnafflin the barber, and Juanita Haydock almost cordial to Miss Villetsthe librarian. Carol saw Bresnahan laughing down at them from the trainvestibule--big, immaculate, overjawed, with the eye of an executive. Inthe voice of the professional Good Fellow he bellowed, "Howdy, folks!"As she was introduced to him (not he to her) Bresnahan looked into hereyes, and his hand-shake was warm, unhurried.He declined the offers of motors; he walked off, his arm about theshoulder of Nat Hicks the sporting tailor, with the elegant HarryHaydock carrying one of his enormous pale leather bags, Del Snafflinthe other, Jack Elder bearing an overcoat, and Julius Flickerbaughthe fishing-tackle. Carol noted that though Bresnahan wore spats anda stick, no small boy jeered. She decided, "I must have Will get adouble-breasted blue coat and a wing collar and a dotted bow-tie likehis."That evening, when Kennicott was trimming the grass along the walkwith sheep-shears, Bresnahan rolled up, alone. He was now in corduroytrousers, khaki shirt open at the throat, a white boating hat, andmarvelous canvas-and-leather shoes "On the job there, old Will! Say, myLord, this is living, to come back and get into a regular man-sized pairof pants. They can talk all they want to about the city, but my idea ofa good time is to loaf around and see you boys and catch a gamey bass!"He hustled up the walk and blared at Carol, "Where's that little fellow?I hear you've got one fine big he-boy that you're holding out on me!""He's gone to bed," rather briefly."I know. And rules are rules, these days. Kids get routed through theshop like a motor. But look here, sister; I'm one great hand at bustingrules. Come on now, let Uncle Perce have a look at him. Please now,sister?"He put his arm about her waist; it was a large, strong, sophisticatedarm, and very agreeable; he grinned at her with a devastatingknowingness, while Kennicott glowed inanely. She flushed; she wasalarmed by the ease with which the big-city man invaded her guardedpersonality. She was glad, in retreat, to scamper ahead of the two menup-stairs to the hall-room in which Hugh slept. All the way Kennicottmuttered, "Well, well, say, gee whittakers but it's good to have youback, certainly is good to see you!"Hugh lay on his stomach, making an earnest business of sleeping. Heburrowed his eyes in the dwarf blue pillow to escape the electric light,then sat up abruptly, small and frail in his woolly nightdrawers, hisfloss of brown hair wild, the pillow clutched to his breast. Hewailed. He stared at the stranger, in a manner of patient dismissal.He explained confidentially to Carol, "Daddy wouldn't let it be morningyet. What does the pillow say?"Bresnahan dropped his arm caressingly on Carol's shoulder; hepronounced, "My Lord, you're a lucky girl to have a fine young husk likethat. I figure Will knew what he was doing when he persuaded you to takea chance on an old bum like him! They tell me you come from St. Paul.We're going to get you to come to Boston some day." He leaned overthe bed. "Young man, you're the slickest sight I've seen this side ofBoston. With your permission, may we present you with a slight token ofour regard and appreciation of your long service?"He held out a red rubber Pierrot. Hugh remarked, "Gimme it," hid itunder the bedclothes, and stared at Bresnahan as though he had neverseen the man before.For once Carol permitted herself the spiritual luxury of not asking"Why, Hugh dear, what do you say when some one gives you a present?"The great man was apparently waiting. They stood in inane suspense tillBresnahan led them out, rumbling, "How about planning a fishing-trip,Will?"He remained for half an hour. Always he told Carol what a charmingperson she was; always he looked at her knowingly."Yes. He probably would make a woman fall in love with him. But itwouldn't last a week. I'd get tired of his confounded buoyancy.His hypocrisy. He's a spiritual bully. He makes me rude to him inself-defense. Oh yes, he is glad to be here. He does like us. He's sogood an actor that he convinces his own self. . . . I'd HATE him inBoston. He'd have all the obvious big-city things. Limousines.Discreet evening-clothes. Order a clever dinner at a smart restaurant.Drawing-room decorated by the best firm--but the pictures giving himaway. I'd rather talk to Guy Pollock in his dusty office. . . . How Ilie! His arm coaxed my shoulder and his eyes dared me not to admire him.I'd be afraid of him. I hate him! . . . Oh, the inconceivable egotisticimagination of women! All this stew of analysis about a man, a good,decent, friendly, efficient man, because he was kind to me, as Will'swife!"IVThe Kennicotts, the Elders, the Clarks, and Bresnahan went fishingat Red Squaw Lake. They drove forty miles to the lake in Elder's newCadillac. There was much laughter and bustle at the start, much storingof lunch-baskets and jointed poles, much inquiry as to whether it wouldreally bother Carol to sit with her feet up on a roll of shawls.When they were ready to go Mrs. Clark lamented, "Oh, Sam, I forgotmy magazine," and Bresnahan bullied, "Come on now, if you women thinkyou're going to be literary, you can't go with us tough guys!" Everyone laughed a great deal, and as they drove on Mrs. Clark explained thatthough probably she would not have read it, still, she might have wantedto, while the other girls had a nap in the afternoon, and she was rightin the middle of a serial--it was an awfully exciting story--it seemsthat this girl was a Turkish dancer (only she was really the daughter ofan American lady and a Russian prince) and men kept running after her,just disgustingly, but she remained pure, and there was a scene----While the men floated on the lake, casting for black bass, the womenprepared lunch and yawned. Carol was a little resentful of the manner inwhich the men assumed that they did not care to fish. "I don't want togo with them, but I would like the privilege of refusing."The lunch was long and pleasant. It was a background for the talk of thegreat man come home, hints of cities and large imperative affairs andfamous people, jocosely modest admissions that, yes, their friend Percewas doing about as well as most of these "Boston swells that think somuch of themselves because they come from rich old families and went tocollege and everything. Believe me, it's us new business men that arerunning Beantown today, and not a lot of fussy old bucks snoozing intheir clubs!"Carol realized that he was not one of the sons of Gopher Prairie who,if they do not actually starve in the East, are invariably spoken of as"highly successful"; and she found behind his too incessant flattery agenuine affection for his mates. It was in the matter of the war thathe most favored and thrilled them. Dropping his voice while they bentnearer (there was no one within two miles to overhear), he disclosedthe fact that in both Boston and Washington he'd been getting a lot ofinside stuff on the war--right straight from headquarters--he was intouch with some men--couldn't name them but they were darn high up inboth the War and State Departments--and he would say--only for Pete'ssake they mustn't breathe one word of this; it was strictly on theQ.T. and not generally known outside of Washington--but just betweenourselves--and they could take this for gospel--Spain had finallydecided to join the Entente allies in the Grand Scrap. Yes, sir, there'dbe two million fully equipped Spanish soldiers fighting with us inFrance in one month now. Some surprise for Germany, all right!"How about the prospects for revolution in Germany?" reverently askedKennicott.The authority grunted, "Nothing to it. The one thing you can bet on isthat no matter what happens to the German people, win or lose, they'llstick by the Kaiser till hell freezes over. I got that absolutelystraight, from a fellow who's on the inside of the inside in Washington.No, sir! I don't pretend to know much about international affairsbut one thing you can put down as settled is that Germany will be aHohenzollern empire for the next forty years. At that, I don't know asit's so bad. The Kaiser and the Junkers keep a firm hand on a lotof these red agitators who'd be worse than a king if they could getcontrol.""I'm terribly interested in this uprising that overthrew the Czar inRussia," suggested Carol. She had finally been conquered by the man'swizard knowledge of affairs.Kennicott apologized for her: "Carrie's nuts about this Russianrevolution. Is there much to it, Perce?""There is not!" Bresnahan said flatly. "I can speak by the book there.Carol, honey, I'm surprised to find you talking like a New York RussianJew, or one of these long-hairs! I can tell you, only you don't need tolet every one in on it, this is confidential, I got it from a man who'sclose to the State Department, but as a matter of fact the Czar willbe back in power before the end of the year. You read a lot about hisretiring and about his being killed, but I know he's got a big army backof him, and he'll show these damn agitators, lazy beggars hunting fora soft berth bossing the poor goats that fall for 'em, he'll show 'emwhere they get off!"Carol was sorry to hear that the Czar was coming back, but she saidnothing. The others had looked vacant at the mention of a country so faraway as Russia. Now they edged in and asked Bresnahan what he thoughtabout the Packard car, investments in Texas oil-wells, the comparativemerits of young men born in Minnesota and in Massachusetts, the questionof prohibition, the future cost of motor tires, and wasn't it true thatAmerican aviators put it all over these Frenchmen?They were glad to find that he agreed with them on every point.As she heard Bresnahan announce, "We're perfectly willing to talk toany committee the men may choose, but we're not going to stand for someoutside agitator butting in and telling us how we're going to run ourplant!" Carol remembered that Jackson Elder (now meekly receiving NewIdeas) had said the same thing in the same words.While Sam Clark was digging up from his memory a long and immenselydetailed story of the crushing things he had said to a Pullman porter,named George, Bresnahan hugged his knees and rocked and watched Carol.She wondered if he did not understand the laboriousness of the smilewith which she listened to Kennicott's account of the "good one he hadon Carrie," that marital, coyly improper, ten-times-told tale of how shehad forgotten to attend to Hugh because she was "all het up pounding thebox"--which may be translated as "eagerly playing the piano." She wascertain that Bresnahan saw through her when she pretended not to hearKennicott's invitation to join a game of cribbage. She feared thecomments he might make; she was irritated by her fear.She was equally irritated, when the motor returned through GopherPrairie, to find that she was proud of sharing in Bresnahan's kudosas people waved, and Juanita Haydock leaned from a window. She said toherself, "As though I cared whether I'm seen with this fat phonograph!"and simultaneously, "Everybody has noticed how much Will and I areplaying with Mr. Bresnahan."The town was full of his stories, his friendliness, his memory fornames, his clothes, his trout-flies, his generosity. He had givena hundred dollars to Father Klubok the priest, and a hundred to theReverend Mr. Zitterel the Baptist minister, for Americanization work.At the Bon Ton, Carol heard Nat Hicks the tailor exulting:"Old Perce certainly pulled a good one on this fellow Bjornstam thatalways is shooting off his mouth. He's supposed to of settled down sincehe got married, but Lord, those fellows that think they know it all,they never change. Well, the Red Swede got the grand razz handed to him,all right. He had the nerve to breeze up to Perce, at Dave Dyer's, andhe said, he said to Perce, 'I've always wanted to look at a man that wasso useful that folks would pay him a million dollars for existing,' andPerce gave him the once-over and come right back, 'Have, eh?' he says.'Well,' he says, 'I've been looking for a man so useful sweeping floorsthat I could pay him four dollars a day. Want the job, my friend?' Ha,ha, ha! Say, you know how lippy Bjornstam is? Well for once he didn'thave a thing to say. He tried to get fresh, and tell what a rottentown this is, and Perce come right back at him, 'If you don't like thiscountry, you better get out of it and go back to Germany, where youbelong!' Say, maybe us fellows didn't give Bjornstam the horse-laughthough! Oh, Perce is the white-haired boy in this burg, all rightee!"VBresnahan had borrowed Jackson Elder's motor; he stopped at theKennicotts'; he bawled at Carol, rocking with Hugh on the porch, "Bettercome for a ride."She wanted to snub him. "Thanks so much, but I'm being maternal.""Bring him along! Bring him along!" Bresnahan was out of the seat,stalking up the sidewalk, and the rest of her protests and dignitieswere feeble.She did not bring Hugh along.Bresnahan was silent for a mile, in words, But he looked at her asthough he meant her to know that he understood everything she thought.She observed how deep was his chest."Lovely fields over there," he said."You really like them? There's no profit in them."He chuckled. "Sister, you can't get away with it. I'm onto you. Youconsider me a big bluff. Well, maybe I am. But so are you, my dear--andpretty enough so that I'd try to make love to you, if I weren't afraidyou'd slap me.""Mr. Bresnahan, do you talk that way to your wife's friends? And do youcall them 'sister'?""As a matter of fact, I do! And I make 'em like it. Score two!" But hischuckle was not so rotund, and he was very attentive to the ammeter.In a moment he was cautiously attacking: "That's a wonderful boy, WillKennicott. Great work these country practitioners are doing. The otherday, in Washington, I was talking to a big scientific shark, a professorin Johns Hopkins medical school, and he was saying that no one has eversufficiently appreciated the general practitioner and the sympathyand help he gives folks. These crack specialists, the young scientificfellows, they're so cocksure and so wrapped up in their laboratoriesthat they miss the human element. Except in the case of a few freakdiseases that no respectable human being would waste his time having,it's the old doc that keeps a community well, mind and body. Andstrikes me that Will is one of the steadiest and clearest-headed counterpractitioners I've ever met. Eh?""I'm sure he is. He's a servant of reality.""Come again? Um. Yes. All of that, whatever that is. . . . Say, child,you don't care a whole lot for Gopher Prairie, if I'm not mistaken.""Nope.""There's where you're missing a big chance. There's nothing to thesecities. Believe me, I KNOW! This is a good town, as they go. You'relucky to be here. I wish I could shy on!""Very well, why don't you?""Huh? Why--Lord--can't get away fr----""You don't have to stay. I do! So I want to change it. Do you know thatmen like you, prominent men, do quite a reasonable amount of harm byinsisting that your native towns and native states are perfect? It'syou who encourage the denizens not to change. They quote you, and go onbelieving that they live in paradise, and----" She clenched her fist."The incredible dullness of it!""Suppose you were right. Even so, don't you think you waste a lot ofthundering on one poor scared little town? Kind of mean!""I tell you it's dull. DULL!""The folks don't find it dull. These couples like the Haydocks have ahigh old time; dances and cards----""They don't. They're bored. Almost every one here is. Vacuousness andbad manners and spiteful gossip--that's what I hate.""Those things--course they're here. So are they in Boston! And everyplace else! Why, the faults you find in this town are simply humannature, and never will be changed.""Perhaps. But in a Boston all the good Carols (I'll admit I have nofaults) can find one another and play. But here--I'm alone, in a stalepool--except as it's stirred by the great Mr. Bresnahan!""My Lord, to hear you tell it, a fellow 'd think that all the denizens,as you impolitely call 'em, are so confoundedly unhappy that it's awonder they don't all up and commit suicide. But they seem to strugglealong somehow!""They don't know what they miss. And anybody can endure anything. Lookat men in mines and in prisons."He drew up on the south shore of Lake Minniemashie. He glanced acrossthe reeds reflected on the water, the quiver of wavelets like crumpledtinfoil, the distant shores patched with dark woods, silvery oats anddeep yellow wheat. He patted her hand. "Sis----Carol, you're a darlinggirl, but you're difficult. Know what I think?""Yes.""Humph. Maybe you do, but----My humble (not too humble!) opinion is thatyou like to be different. You like to think you're peculiar. Why, if youknew how many tens of thousands of women, especially in New York, sayjust what you do, you'd lose all the fun of thinking you're a lonegenius and you'd be on the band-wagon whooping it up for Gopher Prairieand a good decent family life. There's always about a million youngwomen just out of college who want to teach their grandmothers how tosuck eggs.""How proud you are of that homely rustic metaphor! You use it at'banquets' and directors' meetings, and boast of your climb from ahumble homestead.""Huh! You may have my number. I'm not telling. But look here: You'reso prejudiced against Gopher Prairie that you overshoot the mark;you antagonize those who might be inclined to agree with you in someparticulars but----Great guns, the town can't be all wrong!""No, it isn't. But it could be. Let me tell you a fable. Imagine acavewoman complaining to her mate. She doesn't like one single thing;she hates the damp cave, the rats running over her bare legs, the stiffskin garments, the eating of half-raw meat, her husband's bushy face,the constant battles, and the worship of the spirits who will hoodoo herunless she gives the priests her best claw necklace. Her man protests,'But it can't all be wrong!' and he thinks he has reduced her toabsurdity. Now you assume that a world which produces a Percy Bresnahanand a Velvet Motor Company must be civilized. It is? Aren't we onlyabout half-way along in barbarism? I suggest Mrs. Bogart as a test. Andwe'll continue in barbarism just as long as people as nearly intelligentas you continue to defend things as they are because they are.""You're a fair spieler, child. But, by golly, I'd like to see you tryto design a new manifold, or run a factory and keep a lot of your fellowreds from Czech-slovenski-magyar-godknowswheria on the job! You'd dropyour theories so darn quick! I'm not any defender of things as they are.Sure. They're rotten. Only I'm sensible."He preached his gospel: love of outdoors, Playing the Game, loyaltyto friends. She had the neophyte's shock of discovery that, outsideof tracts, conservatives do not tremble and find no answer whenan iconoclast turns on them, but retort with agility and confusingstatistics.He was so much the man, the worker, the friend, that she liked him whenshe most tried to stand out against him; he was so much the successfulexecutive that she did not want him to despise her. His manner ofsneering at what he called "parlor socialists" (though the phrase wasnot overwhelmingly new) had a power which made her wish to placate hiscompany of well-fed, speed-loving administrators. When he demanded,"Would you like to associate with nothing but a lot of turkey-necked,horn-spectacled nuts that have adenoids and need a hair-cut, and thatspend all their time kicking about 'conditions' and never do a lick ofwork?" she said, "No, but just the same----" When he asserted, "Evenif your cavewoman was right in knocking the whole works, I bet somered-blooded Regular Fellow, some real He-man, found her a nice dry cave,and not any whining criticizing radical," she wriggled her head feebly,between a nod and a shake.His large hands, sensual lips, easy voice supported his self-confidence.He made her feel young and soft--as Kennicott had once made her feel.She had nothing to say when he bent his powerful head and experimented,"My dear, I'm sorry I'm going away from this town. You'd be a darlingchild to play with. You ARE pretty! Some day in Boston I'll show you howwe buy a lunch. Well, hang it, got to be starting back."The only answer to his gospel of beef which she could find, when she washome, was a wail of "But just the same----"She did not see him again before he departed for Washington.His eyes remained. His glances at her lips and hair and shoulders hadrevealed to her that she was not a wife-and-mother alone, but a girl;that there still were men in the world, as there had been in collegedays.That admiration led her to study Kennicott, to tear at the shroud ofintimacy, to perceive the strangeness of the most familiar.