VIII
Two weeks later the Great War smote Europe.
For a month Gopher Prairie had the delight of shuddering,
then, as the war settled down to a business of trench-fighting,
they forgot.
When Carol talked about the Balkans, and the possibility
of a German revolution, Kennicott yawned, "Oh yes, it's a
great old scrap, but it's none of our business. Folks out here
are too busy growing corn to monkey with any fool war that
those foreigners want to get themselves into."
It was Miles Bjornstam who said, "I can't figure it out. I'm
opposed to wars, but still, seems like Germany has got to be
licked because them Junkers stands in the way of progress."
She was calling on Miles and Bea, early in autumn. They
had received her with cries, with dusting of chairs, and a
running to fetch water for coffee. Miles stood and beamed at
her. He fell often and joyously into his old irreverence about
the lords of Gopher Prairie, but always—with a certain
difficulty—he added something decorous and appreciative.
"Lots of people have come to see you, haven't they?"
Carol hinted.
"Why, Be's cousin Tina comes in right along, and the
foreman at the mill, and— Oh, we have good times. Say,
take a look at that Bea! Wouldn't you think she was a
canary-bird, to listen to her, and to see that Scandahoofian
tow-head of hers? But say, know what she is? She's a mother
hen! Way she fusses over me—way she makes old Miles wear
a necktie! Hate to spoil her by letting her hear it, but she's
one pretty darn nice—nice— Hell! What do we care if
none of the dirty snobs come and call? We've got each
other."
Carol worried about their struggle, but she forgot it in the
stress of sickness and fear. For that autumn she knew that
a baby was coming, that at last life promised to be interesting
in the peril of the great change.
