VIII
"They're too much for me," Carol sighed to Kennicott.
"I've been thinking about getting up an annual Community
Day, when the whole town would forget feuds and go out and
have sports and a picnic and a dance. But Bert Tybee (why
did you ever elect him mayor?)—he's kidnapped my idea.
He wants the Community Day, but he wants to have some
politician `give an address.' That's just the stilted sort of
thing I've tried to avoid. He asked Vida, and of course she
agreed with him."
Kennicott considered the matter while he wound the clock
and they tramped up-stairs.
"Yes, it would jar you to have Bert butting in," he said
amiably. "Are you going to do much fussing over this
Community stunt? Don't you ever get tired of fretting and stewing
and experimenting?"
"I haven't even started. Look!" She led him to the
nursery door, pointed at the fuzzy brown head of her daughter.
"Do you see that object on the pillow? Do you know what
it is? It's a bomb to blow up smugness. If you Tories were
wise, you wouldn't arrest anarchists; you'd arrest all these
children while they're asleep in their cribs. Think what that
baby will see and meddle with before she dies in the year 2000!
She may see an industrial union of the whole world, she may
see aeroplanes going to Mars."
"Yump, probably be changes all right," yawned Kennicott.
She sat on the edge of his bed while he hunted through his
bureau for a collar which ought to be there and persistently
wasn't.
"I'll go on, always. And I am happy. But this Community
Day makes me see how thoroughly I'm beaten."
"That darn collar certainly is gone for keeps," muttered
Kennicott and, louder, "Yes, I guess you I didn't quite
catch what you said, dear."
She patted his pillows, turned down his sheets, as she
reflected:
"But I have won in this: I've never excused my failures
by sneering at my aspirations, by pretending to have gone
beyond them. I do not admit that Main Street is as beautiful
as it should be! I do not admit that Gopher Prairie is
greater or more generous than Europe! I do not admit that
dish-washing is enough to satisfy all women! I may not have
fought the good fight, but I have kept the faith."
"Sure. You bet you have," said Kennicott. "Well, good
night. Sort of feels to me like it might snow tomorrow. Have
to be thinking about putting up the storm-windows pretty
soon. Say, did you notice whether the girl put that
screwdriver back?"
