IV
The Kennicotts, the Elders, the Clarks, and Bresnahan went
fishing at Red Squaw Lake. They drove forty miles to the lake
in Elder's new Cadillac. There was much laughter and bustle
at the start, much storing of lunch-baskets and jointed poles,
much inquiry as to whether it would really 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 forgot my
magazine," and Bresnahan bullied, "Come on now, if you
women think you're going to be literary, you can't go with
us tough guys!" Every one laughed a great deal, and as
they drove on Mrs. Clark explained that though probably she
would not have read it, still, she might have wanted to, while
the other girls had a nap in the afternoon, and she was right
in the middle of a serial—it was an awfully exciting story—
it seems that this girl was a Turkish dancer (only she was
really the daughter of an 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 women prepared lunch and yawned. Carol was a little
resentful of the manner in which the men assumed that they
did not care to fish. "I don't want to go with them, but
I would like the privilege of refusing."
The lunch was long and pleasant. It was a background
for the talk of the great man come home, hints of cities and
large imperative affairs and famous people, jocosely modest
admissions that, yes, their friend Perce was doing about as
well as most of these "Boston swells that think so much of
themselves because they come from rich old families and went
to college and everything. Believe me, it's us new business men
that are running Beantown today, and not a lot of fussy old
bucks snoozing in their 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 a genuine affection for his
mates. It was in the matter of the war that he most favored
and thrilled them. Dropping his voice while they bent nearer
(there was no one within two miles to overhear), he disclosed
the fact that in both Boston and Washington he'd been getting
a lot of inside stuff on the war—right straight from
headquarters—he was in touch with some men—couldn't name
them but they were darn high up in both the War and State
Departments—and he would say—only for Pete's sake they
mustn't breathe one word of this; it was strictly on the Q.T.
and not generally known outside of Washington—but just
between ourselves—and they could take this for gospel—Spain
had finally decided to join the Entente allies in the Grand
Scrap. Yes, sir, there'd be two million fully equipped Spanish
soldiers fighting with us in France in one month now. Some
surprise for Germany, all right!
"How about the prospects for revolution in Germany?"
reverently asked Kennicott.
The authority grunted, "Nothing to it. The one thing you
can bet on is that no matter what happens to the German
people, win or lose, they'll stick by the Kaiser till hell freezes
over. I got that absolutely straight, from a fellow who's on
the inside of the inside in Washington. No, sir! I don't
pretend to know much about international affairs but one thing
you can put down as settled is that Germany will be a Hohenzollern
empire for the next forty years. At that, I don't know
as it's so bad. The Kaiser and the Junkers keep a firm hand
on a lot of these red agitators who'd be worse than a king if
they could get control."
"I'm terribly interested in this uprising that overthrew
the Czar in Russia," suggested Carol. She had finally been
conquered by the man's wizard knowledge of affairs.
Kennicott apologized for her: "Carrie's nuts about this
Russian revolution. 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 Russian Jew, or one of these long-hairs! I
can tell you, only you don't need to let every one in on it,
this is confidential, I got it from a man who's close to the
State Department, but as a matter of fact the Czar will be back
in power before the end of the year. You read a lot about
his retiring and about his being killed, but I know he's got a
big army back of him, and he'll show these damn agitators,
lazy beggars hunting for a soft berth bossing the poor goats
that fall for 'em, he'll show 'em where they get off!"
Carol was sorry to hear that the Czar was coming back,
but she said nothing. The others had looked vacant at the
mention of a country so far away as Russia. Now they edged
in and asked Bresnahan what he thought about the Packard
car, investments in Texas oil-wells, the comparative merits of
young men born in Minnesota and in Massachusetts, the question
of prohibition, the future cost of motor tires, and wasn't
it true that American 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 to any committee the men may choose, but we're not
going to stand for some outside agitator butting in and telling
us how we're going to run our plant!" Carol remembered
that Jackson Elder (now meekly receiving New Ideas) had
said the same thing in the same words.
While Sam Clark was digging up from his memory a long
and immensely detailed 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 smile with which
she listened to Kennicott's account of the "good one he had
on Carrie," that marital, coyly improper, ten-times-told tale
of how she had forgotten to attend to Hugh because she was
"all het up pounding the box"—which may be translated as
"eagerly playing the piano." She was certain that Bresnahan
saw through her when she pretended not to hear Kennicott's
invitation to join a game of cribbage. She feared the comments
he might make; she was irritated by her fear.
She was equally irritated, when the motor returned through
Gopher Prairie, to find that she was proud of sharing in
Bresnahan's kudos as people waved, and Juanita Haydock
leaned from a window. She said to herself, "As though I
cared whether I'm seen with this fat phonograph!" and
simultaneously, "Everybody has noticed how much Will and
I are playing with Mr. Bresnahan."
The town was full of his stories, his friendliness, his memory
for names, his clothes, his trout-flies, his generosity. He had
given a hundred dollars to Father Klubok the priest, and a
hundred to the Reverend 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 that always is shooting off his mouth. He's
supposed to of settled down since he 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,
and he said, he said to Perce, `I've always wanted to look
at a man that was so useful that folks would pay him a million
dollars for existing,' and Perce 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 floors that 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't have a thing to say. He tried to get fresh,
and tell what a rotten town this is, and Perce come right
back at him, `If you don't like this country, you better get
out of it and go back to Germany, where you belong!' Say,
maybe us fellows didn't give Bjornstam the horse-laugh though!
Oh, Perce is the white-haired boy in this burg, all rightee!"
