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 T H E ΑΝΤΙ BOY SCOUT A s soon as the February issue reached our readers we began to receive requests to publish the Boy Scout article in leaflet form. F r o m east, west, north, and south letters came telling us that the Boy Scout Movement must be exposed, and that the publication of the leaflet would be a good way to do it. So we decided to publish the leaflet. It contains two beautiful illustrations, " A Boy Scout In The M a k i n g, " and " A Boy Scout, F i n  ished Product." The article, written by Geo. R. Kirkpatrick,

D o you believe in Socialism? Do you believe that Socialism is practical? Do you want to help us convince the people that Socialism is a practical economic movement ? If you do, help us teach the people practical co operation. Y o u can do this by acting as our agent. Upon your request, we will send you a bundle of magazines and subscription blanks. Get for us at our special rate of 1 0 Cents for 3 months, 100 subscriptions. Act äs our agent during these three months, and try to get as many renewals as possible, at the expiration of the subscriptions. If you have any magazines left for which

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Special Offer to Agents you cannot secure subscriptions, dispose of them singly, at 5 Cents each. W e will charge to you all single copies' at 4. Cents per copy. F o r your work we will present you with a premium worth $6.00, consisting of five copies of " W a r — W h a t F o r ? " by Geo. R. Kirkpatrick; price per single copy $1.20. T o secure the 100 subscriptions, you may en gage four other comrades who are anxious to get a free copy of the interesting and instructive book, " W a r — W h a t F o r ? " t

HOW ABOUT YOUR

MOVEMENT author of " W a r, What F o r , " is a terrible indict ment of this particularly hideous phase of capiialist Society the Boy Scout Movement. W e decided to distribute the leaflet to the locals at cost price." It is printed on good paper, and is attractive i n its appearance. The price is $2.25 per 1,000, and $1.25 per 500. This is the cost price, and therefore the postage will have to be added, at the rate of 80 cents per 1,000. If you want it sent by express, send check and we will forward it express collect.

T o encourage yearly subscriptions, we allow the agent 7 points in the contest for each yearly subscription, and 3 points for each half yearly subscription. If you want a different premium, let us know, and we will try to accommodate you. Do not order any more magazines than you feel certain you can dispose of. Should you desire any additional number, drop us a postal, and we will send them. In taking subscriptions, mark next to each name "1 R " which means first copy, received through you. Next to the name of a subscriber who does not receive his first copy from you, mark " N R " and we will mail current issue.

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ANOTHER Y o u did not respond to our yell. The logical consequence is another yell. Y o u do not like us to yell. W e do not like to yell, either. But there is only one way of stop ping us. One hundred comrades, with a loan of $ 1 0 each, will guarantee the success of the magazine forever. M a k e us a small loan of $ 1 0. W e will repay it with interest. Perhaps you did not respond to our yell be cause we look too prosperous. Perhaps you think we are supported by a number of rich comrades. W e regret to confess that we are not prosper ous, get no support from well-to-do comrades, nor expect any. W e know that we must depend upon you for

YELL

our support. O u r first yell immediately evoked an "I told you so," from our critics. Yes, a number of wiseacres told us so. They also told us you would not appreciate a high class magazine. They told us that what you want, is cheap, sensational journalism. That was an insult to your intelligence, to which you responded by subscribing in great numbers to The Masses. W e have doubled our subscriptions in the last thirty days. Comrades and friends, help us, if you want to have a high class Socialist magazine. The time is propitious. W e can build up the strongest propaganda organ with a little aid from you. The popular capitalist semi-radical magazines are doomed. The big interests are hot on their

trail. This is our opportunity, send us your aid. Y o u will not regret it. Do you.want to prove to the sneering critics that the working class does appreciate a high quality of literature? D o you want to prove to them that they have not cornered the brains of the Socialist Movement? If you do then help us at once by a small loan from $1 up. If you cannot lend us any money, we have another proposition. Send us any amount from $1 to $10, and we will mail you for every dollar, $1.25 worth of subscription cards. These cards are signed by The Masses Pub lishing Co., and will be accepted by us as sub scriptions when mailed to us.


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OUR ANTI-MILITARIST CAMPAIGN IT IS gratifying to see the enthu siastic welcome given George R. Kirkpatrick's article in the Feb ruary number of The Masses on "The Boy Scout Movement." The demand for the article has been so great that it was found necessary to print it separately in leaflet form. Of the 100,000 copies that were printed a large part had been ordered in advance. We are receiving letters daily telling us that the article should be put in the hands of every father and mother in the land. This aggressive stand against militar ism is one of the most cheering manifes tations of the growing signs of unrest among the workers. It argues a foresight rarely before displayed by the working class in our country. They seem to be de termined to stop the spread of the mili tary spirit before it is too late. They realize that greater even than the danger of war is the danger that our boys trained in church and school to the use of weapons will be made to fight their very own class in its struggles for larger pay and better conditions of labor. No matter what sophistical arguments may be advanced by advocates of militar ism, the workingmen know that the sol diery has been used before against them when they were fighting for their eco nomic improvement, and they argue justly that it is likely to be used against them in the future as well. Obedience is the alpha and omega of what a soldier should know, says that very Christian organ, The Brigadier, the oracle of the boy scout movement. What better word to conjure with when workingmen are ordered to shoot workingmen in a strike? The time has come when laborers can not be caught even when young and turned into the instruments of their mas ters. This we can clearly see from the cordial response of the boys themselves to Kirkpatrick's warning. Offers have come from many boys' organizations to help us in our fight against the scout movement. The Masses has taken up a systematic campaign against militarism. It will pur sue that evil wherever it crops up, whether in the comparatively open form of boy scouts in the churches, of military drills in schools and colleges, or in the more in sidious and more dangerous, because more hypocritical, guise of other associations that claim spiritual relationship with the gentle founder of Christianity. We invite all interested in the antimilitarist movement from the workingman's point of view to stand by us and give us aid and support. A l l contribu tions on the subject will be carefully con sidered, and all information concerning military or anti-military activity will be highly appreciated.

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CONTENTS Editorials. Thomas Seltzer The Boy Scout. Frontispiece. A. O. Fischer._ Revolutionary Mexico. I. Diaz and the Revolu tion. Carlo de Fornaro. Drawings by Author. Iolanthe's Wedding. (Continued.) Hermann Sudermann. Illustrated by Frank Van Sloun__ Signs of the Times. Rufus W. Weeks The American Wholesale Contract System. Piet Vlag Garotte. Reginald Wright Kauffman. Illustrated by Charles A. Winter A Vow. Stefan Zeromski. Illus. by A. O. Fischer Socialism and Success. Drawing by Art Young. Thomas Seltzer The Classmates. Inez Haynes Gillmore. Illus trated by Frank Van Sloun Irrelevancies and Irreverencies. Thomas L. Masson. Drawing by Art Young Co-operative Woolen Mill. Magnus Brown City Vignettes. II. A Glimpse of Fate. Edwin Björkman. Drawing by Samuel Schwarz The European Situation in Cartoon. Hahn The International Menace of the Roman Court (Cartoon). Wm. Washburn Nutting

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WRITING DOWN TO THE MASSES This magazine is written for the masses. It is not written down to the masses. Some friends have advised us that if we would live up to our name we must lower the tone of our articles and stories. That is to say, the writer for the people must not give the best that is in him, and he must not give it in the best way he knows how. He must not tell what he knows and feels. He must tell only what he thinks the people want to know and feel. His ideas must come to the people diluted, predigested, sugar-coated, atten uated, vulgarized, slangy, or, we are told, the people will not understand them. We do not share this opinion. We be lieve the best writers are those who, with out having to belie themselves or descend from their own level, can find an immedi ate and intelligent response in the hearts and minds of the people. Bunyan, Dick ens, Tolstoy are examples. It would be easy to multiply examples from every age and every country. In Europe at present the most popular writers are the writers who give instinctively and with perfect sincerity the choicest creations of their minds and spirits in the choicest form. Do we in this country ever hear of an author in Europe on the same plane as our Ella Wheeler Wilcox? We do not. But we do hear of Maeterlinck, Haupt mann, Anatole France, and such. Now, no one in Europe can claim knowledge of the dominant currents in present 3

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American literature unless he is ac quainted with Ella Wheeler Wilcox. This business of writing down to the people has been sadly overdone in our country—with what appalling results anyone who cares for good literature knows. Is it not time to turn a new page? (But, for heaven's sake, not of an Amer ican novel!) Writing down to the people is like walking downstairs when you want to reach the roof. It is no doubt easier and quicker, but you will find yourself in the basement instead of on the roof, and in darkness, instead of in the full light of the sun. No doubt, the man whom The Masses wants to reach often dwells in the base ment, or in some dark hole of a tenement, or is to be found digging deep down in the shaft of a mine. But by descending, in literature, to the level of the basement dweller, the author will merely dim his own light and obfuscate his own brain. He will not send one ray of light into the tenement, the basement, or the mine. There is only one way. Take the men from out of their dark places and let them climb with you to the height, where there is nothing to intercede between their vision and the sun. The ascent may be slow and difficult, but it is the only thing worth the while, though it is "no good," we are told, from a commercial point of view. By giving of his best the author will not be performing a charitable or "up lifting" act for others. He will simply be charitable and uplifting to himself. For woe betide the writer who once starts on the downward course of "writing down" to the people. He will soon be so deep down himself, as to be quite beyond the reach of the lowest writing down.

CARLO DE FORNARO P R O B A B L Y no writer in Amer ica can speak with more au thority on Mexico than Carlo de Fornaro. Fornaro was the owner and editor of a liberal paper in which he kept up a fearless cam paign against the government in a fight for Mexican liberty. When he found he would be gagged, he left for the United States, and wrote his book, "Diaz, Czar of Mexico." Diaz seized upon an unimportant pas sage and had Fornaro convicted by an American court for criminal libel of a cer tain Espindola, a tool of his. It was striking in the trial that the big American interests and persons close to high Amer ican officials showed extraordinary zeal in helping Diaz convict Fornaro. Fornaro served his term of a year, refusing all offers of pardon.

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 Drawn for The Masses by Anton O. Fischer

T h e B o y Scout—The Dream and the Reality By years of appropriate training the Boy Scout is lured gradually and imperceptibly from the cozy camp fire to the battlefield to shoot down strikers. Contemplate the horror of this picture, and decide whether you will not join The Masses in a vigorous fight against the Boy Scout Movement.

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 THE - MASSES Α MONTHLY MAGAZINE DEVOTED TO THE INTERESTS OF T H E W O R K I N G P E O P L E E D I T E D BY T H O M A S S E L T Z E R E U G E N E W O O D, PRES. H O Y D E N C A R R U T H, VICE-PRES. A N D R E T R I D O N, SEC'Y.

THE MASSES PUBLISHING COMPANY 112E.19thST.NEW YORK M A R C H, 1911

Vol. 1

No. 3

REVOLUTIONARY MEXICO By C A R L O D E F O R N A R O NΟ

M A T T E R what my friends and supporters say, I retire when my present term of office ends, and I shall not serve again, I shall be eighty years old then." These were the words of General Diaz as quoted in Pearson's Magazine, March, 1908. O n another occasion the same year he said to a newspaper man: "In 1879 when I declared that I was opposed to the re-election to the presidency I was sincere, but later my friends begged me to remain in power for the good of the country."

the fact that the campaign had proceeded very peacefully and quietly. B y so doing Diaz openly repudiated all his hypocritical talk about his un willingness to be president, and showed his true Drawings by the Author colors to the Mexicans and Americans. H e was afraid of a popular candidate. H e had never I really meant to leave the presidency until he was driven to it by force of arms. Diaz and the Revolution The Mexican people fear the rule of Porfirio Diaz, but they fear even more the clique of finan cial buccaneers surrounding him. This financial ring is called the cientifico party. Cientifico The series of articles to which this is an intro duction will deal with the conditions and events in means scientific, and the party derives its name Mexico that led up to the Revolution, with the from its alertness i n the gentle art of grafting. various Mexican partiesparatively fighting to little overthrow the at the present time. B u t Whether he was "sincere" in 1879isof com moment They have reduced graft to a science. I n 1904 present regime, with the complications that are there can be no question that he is not sincere likely to arise therefrom, and with the relation of the cientificos put up Limantour as their candi now. H e has refused to listen to the will of the the United States to Mexico. Fornaro is in close date for vice-president. The popular opposition touch with the leaders of the Mexican revolution Mexican nation. H e has refused it the right to to Limantour was so strenuous and violent that and is well posted as to the very latest happenings. nominate and elect its own president. More Diaz was forced to nominate another man in He has a wealth of interesting and weighty material than that, he would not even allow the people to which will be made public for the first time in his place. This man was Ramon Corral, gov nominate their own vice-president. Before each these articles in The Masses.—EDITOR. ernor of Sonora, also a cientifico. But popularity farcical election the citizens of Mexico are re never threw its mantle over the shoulders of galed with the same old story of Diaz's unwill Vice-President Corral. H e was hated by the ingness to run for office, of the great sacrifice he government are added the mismanagement, the entire Mexican nation. is making for the country by accepting the ardu The government of Mexico has thus for years arbitrariness, and the blunders of incompetency, ous duties of Chief of the Commonwealth, been i n the hands of Czar Diaz and his allies, then it becomes intolerable. T h e people of Prince of Peace, and M a n of Destiny. It is an Mexico grew more and more restless under the the cientificos. Under their rule every form of old comedy, a comedy eight times reenacted be wrongs and persecutions of the bungling, ineffi oppression and persecution known to an absolute fore each so-called election since his rise to cient coterie of officials and advisers, with whom and corrupt government has been practiced. T h e power i n 1876. There is no longer any novelty Diaz surrounded himself. A n d finally they system of peonage, the awful conditions under in it. The Mexican people are tired of it. They which workingmen are forced to labor, the re broke out into a revolution. want no sacrifices from Diaz, and since he in duction of a large part of the working population In 1910 the demand that General Reyes, the sists on making them, they have at last determ to virtual slavery, the cruel exploitation of the people's own candidate, should be nominated for ined to end them by force. vice-president became so insistent, that Diaz was country by American capitalists—all these are the fruits of the rule of Diaz and his cientificos. A s long as Diaz was i n complete possession of frightened, and sent Reyes away to Europe for his physical and mental alertness, there was two years. General Reyes's followers then Freedom of speech and the press is non-existent small chance of his defeat i n the game of poli transferred their allegiance to Francisco I. M a - in Mexico. A systematic policy of repression is tics. Mexico seems to have had no man his dero, who is now heading the Revolution in pursued, such as can be compared only to the persecution of the Russian revolutionists by the equal in playing it. But as he aged, his splendid Mexico. Madero is the son of the governor of physique degenerated, he became senile, and he Coahuila. H e is rich, cultured, liberal-minded, Russian government. A l l the liberal newspapers, lost that wonderful grip he had had on men and and patriotic, and is the author of a book dealing with the exception of the Catholic papers, have affairs which is necessary for despotic rule. H e with the presidential succession in Mexico. M a  been suppressed, and the editors and members remained the nominal autocrat, but the actual dero actually had the courage to let his name be of the Reyist and Maderist clubs have been sent burden of government fell upon less sturdy shoul put up as candidate for the presidency i n the to prison or killed or forced to flee to the United ders than were Diaz's i n his prime, and the result contest of 1910—a thing that had not happened States. was that the beautiful bureaucracy he had or in Mexico for the past twenty-five years. N o But the liberal movement could not be sup ganized became thoroughly demoralized. A Mexican before him had dared to do it. pressed. T h e government succeeded only in tyrannical government at its best is odious to a This was an act of usurpation which Porfirio fanning the flame of rebellion, until it broke out modern civilized people. It is an anachronism, Diaz simply could not permit. He eliminated into a conflagration, and the logical outcome was an anomaly, a monstrous relic of the past. B u t Madero from the political campaign and the an armed revolution. A s long as Porfirio Diaz when to the general evils of a despotic form of was in the vigor of his prime he was able to keep elections by throwing him into jail, in spite of THB CO-OPERATIVE PEESS 15 a P B U C E S T. , ΝΈW Y O R K.

Author of "Diaz,

Czar of

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6 the revolutionary spirit of the Mexicans dormant. Diaz understood how to preserve a republican and democratic government in form without yielding anything to republicanism or democracy in substance. L i k e a strong and skilful driver he drove the Mexican nation without pulling the reins too tightly, or releasing his control. But with old age his strength and skill left him. W h e n he turned over the reins to awkward hands, the horses ran away, carrying coach and drivers to destruction. W h e n Porfirio Diaz rose to power he was sur rounded with the halo of a legendary hero. H e stood before the people as the conqueror of the French, the destroyer of the political power of the Catholic Church, and the champion of de mocracy. But when, after Mexico had been ex hausted by years of toreign wars and interna tional strife, Juarez was elected president Diaz refused to submit to the voice of the people, and took up arms against his own country. Three times his presidential ambitions were disap pointed at the polls, and for nine consecutive years he kept the land in constant turmoil and anarchy. Then, after having been repeatedly defeated by the government troops, mere chance placed the victory in a battle in the hands of Manuel Gonzalez, and Diaz became president. General Diaz now began to divide the spoils among the victors. A l l the generals who had fought for him—and they make a formidable list—were made governors, ministers, senators, congressmen, and so forth. Mexico's constitution provided that a presi dent cannot be elected for two consecutive terms. During his first term Diaz respected this provision, and declared in Congress in 1879: " I shall never sanction a candidacy for re-election, because even if it were not prohibited by our code, I should always respect the principles from which emanated the Revolution of Tuxtepec." Therefore he was succeeded in 1880 by General Gonzalez. But that was as far as his democracy went. W h e n in 1884 he became president again, he had apparently made up his mind that there shall never again be any interregnum in Mexico so long as he was alive. H e forced Congress to amend the constitution so as to allow the presi dent two successive terms. But later he found that that was insufficient for his long span of life, and he had the presidential two-term clause still further amended to abolish any limitation whatsoever. It was easy for Diaz to do this.

To the Mexican—To the Foreigner The congressmen were his mere lackeys. They had to do his bidding, or go. In the meantime, while the congressmen were being drilled in the act of bowing and scraping before their omnipotent lord until almost the point of perfection was reached, the growth of that flower of modern civilization, the Diaz bureaucracy, about which the Americans are at last beginning to learn a few things, proceeded apace. A l l the little bandits were corralled, and made rurales and soldiers. T h e cleverer thieves and pickpockets were made detectives and police men. T h e great political pirates stepped into higher offices. A n d so the maker of modern Mexico placed a great deal of power into the

MASSES

hands of people who should have been safely lodged behind prison bars. A s for the jails, they are filled mostly with political prisoners. W h e n Diaz could not catch the political offenders in Mexico he followed them into the United States,

Diaz, the Executioner of Mexican Liberty and flooded that country with spies and secret service men. H e used the American government to pull the chestnuts out of the fire for him, and spent millions on literature extolling himself and his government. H e sold concessions to foreign ers, and gave away land to prominent Americans. H e flattered, cajoled, and bought them until every foreigner, American, or European, who had been befriended by him, became his great advertising medium at home and elsewhere. The legend of Porfirio Diaz went abroad like an echo that repeats itself. It is a stupid legend, absolutely devoid of meaning. T h e credit of Diaz's government was based entirely upon a fictitious peace and upon the ignorance of for eign investors concerning the real state of affairs in Mexico. Porfirio Diaz played his political and financial game with loaded dice, and won credit, fame, prestige, and power at the expense of Mexicans and foreigners. One day it happened that an inquiring mind discovered the political and financial bunco game, and informed the amazed and incredulous world that President Diaz was really a Czar of Mexico. Others took up the thread and dis covered that slavery existed in Mexico, untold graft, political persecutions, assassinations, i n  competence, and that Mexico was not a safe country for the investor. Books containing i n  formation about the actual conditions existing i n Mexico were suppressed, men were sent to jail, and millions were spent to prove that Mexico was great and Diaz was its prophet. Nevertheless the greater part of the outside world remained incredulous. That "skilfully ap plied influence," of which the American Maga zine spoke when it began its series of articles by Turner, called "Barbarous M e x i c o, " still con tinued to exert its power. American newspapers and magazines rushed to the rescue of the dear name and fame of Diaz, and the people rubbed their eyes in bewilderment, not knowing which side to believe.

March, 1911 Then suddenly one day the world was amazed to hear that there was a revolution in Mexico. Impossible, everybody said. T h e iron hand of Diaz will soon crush it. Day after day, the gov ernment informs us, it is winning victories, and week after week we are told the rebellion has been stamped out, and it is nothing but bandits that are disturbing and infesting the country. But we must remember that the only news we get over the wires is the news sanctioned by Diaz. There is supposed to be no revolution in Chihua hua, and yet the government keeps 5,000 soldiers fighting there for dear life. They are trapped, ambushed, and cut to pieces by the mounted re volutionists. W e are told the revolution is only local, confined to Chihuahua. The truth is, it has broken out in fourteen different states. The gov ernment reports say only bandits are fighting now. T h e Mexican government does not realize that this is a most damaging admission. What becomes of the vaunted strength of the Diaz régime when it is forced to admit that its won derful army cannot put down at once the guerilla warfare, and is forced to admit further that its wonderful corps of rurales cannot even cope with the incursions of bandits in half of Mexico? Where is the boasted safety of life and limb in Mexico? Where is the much-advertised stability of a government which has to suppress the truth for fear it will not be able to obtain any more loans in foreign countries? Where is the Gib raltar of the Diaz rule when it has to keep an ex-minister of finance in Paris to subsidize a venal press in order to be able to get loans in France, the greatest money-lending nation in the world ? The truth of the matter is, General Diaz has succeeded i n fooling the world for so long a time that he has finally succeeded in convincing himself. H e had neither the decency nor the patriotic courage to retire six years ago. I f he had done so then, he might with all his faults have gone down into history as a great man. History as it is written nowadays is full of great men of the type of Diaz. For the last six years he has been trying with the aid of the United States to stem the tide of revolutionary sentiment among the Mexicans. H e seems to have persuaded himself that he was successful. F o r, when finally the Revolution raised its terrible head, he was taken by surprise, (Continued on page 18)

The square deal for the native


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 IOIANTHE'S WDDING by HERMANN SUDERMANN

(Second A

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Instalment)

I O L A N T H E walked beside me in the twilight of the hall, she said very softly, with a sort of timid grief : "I know you don't want to come again." " N o, I don't," I said frankly, and was about to give her my reasons, when she suddenly snatched up my hand, pressed it between her slender white palms, and said, half crying: " O h, come again ! Please, please come again." That's the way you're taken in. O l d nincompoop that I was, she made me daft on the instant. In my excitement I chewed up the whole of my cigar on the ride home. I made right for a mirror—lit all the lights, locked the door—back to the mirror. Looked at myself front and back, and, with the help of my shaving mirror, my profile, too. Result—crushing. A heavy bald pate, bull's neck, puffs under my eyes, double chin, my skin a fiery russet, like a glowing copper kettle. A n d what was worse than all that—when I looked at myself in all my six feet of bulk, a chandelier went up. I knew why everybody immediately called me a "good fellow." Even in the regiment they used to call me a good fellow. Once you are branded with a Cain's mark like that, the rest of your life turns into nothing but a series of events to prove the truth of it. People come to you with hard-luck stories, you're a butt for their jokes, they pump you and blarney you. If once you make a timid attempt to defend yourself, then they say : " W h y, I thought you were a good fellow !" So you can't get out of it. Y o u are and you remain a good fellow. You've been stamped and sealed. A n d then you, good fellow, want to take up with women ! W i t h women who languish for the diabolic, who, to love properly, themselves want to be duped, deserted, and generally maltreated. "Hanckel, don't be an ass," I said to myself. " G o away from the mirror, put out the lights, knock those silly dreams out of your head, and get into bed." Gentlemen, I had a bed—and still have it— an absolutely ordinary bed, as narrow as a coffin. It's of pine, stained red—no springs, no mattress—a deerskin instead. Once a year it is filled with fresh straw. That was the extent of my luxury. Gentlemen, there are many stories about the poor camp couches of persons in very high life. Y o u see them on exhibit in castles and historical museums. A n d when the visitors look at them they invariably clasp their hands and dutifully exclaim: " W h a t power of renunciation ! What Spartan simplicity !" A base deception, gentlemen ! Y o u can't sleep more comfortably anywhere than on a bed like that—provided, of course, that you have a good day's work behind you, a good conscience within you, and no woman beside you—all of which things are about the same. Y o u stretch yourself deliciously until your feet just touch the bottom of the bed, you bite the

Illustrated

by Frank Van Sloun

comfortable a few times, burrow in the pillows, reach out for a good book lying on the table next to the bed, and groan from sheer bliss, That's what I did that night, after the tempter had left me, and as I slowly dozed off I thought : " W e l l, well. N o woman will make you traitor to your dear, hard, narrow bachelor's sack of straw, even if her name is Iolanthe, and even if she is the finest thoroughbred that ever galloped about on God's lovely pastures. "Perhaps all the less so. "Because;—who knows?" CHAPTER

II.

The next day I turned in my report to the boy leaving out my asininities, of course. H e glowered at me with his dark eyes, and said : "Let's say no more about it—I thought so." But a week later he returned to the subject as if casually. " Y o u ought to drive over again after all, uncle." " A r e you crazy, boy?" I said, though I felt as good as if a woman's soft warm hand were tickling the nape of my neck. " Y o u needn't speak about me," he said, examining the tips of his boots, "but if you go there several times, perhaps gradually things will right themselves." Gentlemen, you couldn't have broken a reed more easily than my resolution. So I drove over again. A n d again and again. I would listen to old Krakow's vaporings would drink the coffee his wife made for me, and would listen devoutly while Iolanthe sang her loveliest songs, even though music—in general— well, the offener I visited Krakowitz the uncannier the business seemed to me, but it drew me with a thousand arms. I couldn't help myself. The old A d a m in me wanted, before he went to sleep forever, to enjoy one feast again, even if it was nothing more than the pleasant sensation of a woman's nearness—for something more real than that I had no hopes at bottom. T o be sure, Iolanthe continued to cast furtive glances at me, but what was in them—a reproach, a cry for help, or merely the wish to be admired—I never could make out. Then—on my third or fourth visit—the following happened. It was early in the afternoon—blazing hot—· and from boredom or impatience I drove to Krakowitz. "The Baron and Baroness are asleep," said the lackey, "but the young lady is on the veranda." I began to suspect all sorts of things, and my heart started to thump. I wanted to turn back. But when I saw her standing there tall and snowy white in her mull dress, as if chiseled in marble, my old asininity came upon me again, stronger than ever. " H o w nice of you to come, Baron," she said. "I've been frightfully bored—let's take a walk in the garden—there's a cool arbor there—we can 7

have a pleasant chat in it without being disturbed." W h e n she put her arm in mine, I began to tremble. I tell you, I thought I'd rather climb a hill under fire than go down those steps. She said nothing—I said nothing. The atmosphere grew heavier. The gravel crunched under our tread—the bees buzzed about the spiraea bushes—nothing else to be heard far or near. She hung on my arm quite confidentially, and forced me every now and then to stop when she tore up a clump of grass or plucked a stalk of reseda to tickle her nose with it for an instant and then throw it away. "I wish I loved flowers," she said. "There are so many people who love flowers, or say they love them—in love affairs you can never get at the truth." " W h y not?" I asked. " W h y shouldn't it happen that two human beings like each other and say so—quite simply—without tricks or arrières pensées?" " L i k e each other—like each other," she said tauntingly. " A r e you such an icicle that you translate love into like?" "Unfortunately, whether I am an icicle or not has nothing to do with the case," I answered. "You're a noble-hearted man," she said, and looked at me sidewise, a bit coquettishly. "Everything you think comes from you as if shot from a pistol." "But I know how to keep quiet, too," I said. " O h, I feel that," she answered hastily. "I could confide everything, everything to you." It seemed to me she pressed my arm very gently. "What does she want of you?" I asked myself, and I felt my heart beating in my throat. A t last we reached the arbor, an arbor of aristolochia, you know, with those broad, heartshaped leaves which keep the sun out entirely. It's always night in aristolochia arbors, you know. She let go my arm, kneeled on the ground, and crept through a little hole on all fours. The entrance was completely overgrown, and this was the only way to get inside. A n d I, Baron von Hanckel of Ilgenstein, I, a paragon of dignity and staidness, I got down on all fours, and crept through a hole no larger than an oven door. Yes, gentlemen, that is what the women do with us. Inside in the cool twilight she sat half reclining on a bench, wiping her bared throat with her handkerchief. Beautiful—she looked perfectly beautiful. W h e n I stood before her breathless, panting like a bear—at forty-eight years of age, gentlemen, you don't go jumping about on all fours with impunity-—she burst out laughing—a short, sharp, nervous laugh. "Just laugh at me," I said. " I f you knew how little I felt like laughing," she said, and drew her mouth bitterly. Then there was silence. She stared into space with her eyebrows lifted high. H e r bosom rose and fell. "What are you thinking o f ? " I asked. She shrugged her shoulders.


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stand you're a trifle bored at K r a k o w i t z. It's a bit lonely—and your father kicks up a row with all the neighbors. B u t if you would consent to marry. A woman like you need only crook her little finger." " O h, nonsense! Empty words. W h o would want me? D o you know anybody who wants me?" M y heart beat frightfully. I didn't mean to say it—it was madness—but there! I had said it. I told her I wanted to prove to her that I for my part was not talking empty words—or something of the sort. Because even then I could not screw up my courage—God knows—to make regular love to her. She shut her eyes and heaved a deep sigh. Then she took hold of my arm and said : "Before you leave, Baron, I want to confess something, so that you should not be under a wholly wrong impression. M y father and mother are not asleep. W h e n they heard your carriage coming up the drive, they locked themselves in their room—that is, mother did not want to, but father forced her to. O u r being here together is a preconcerted plan. I was to turn your head, so that you should ask me in marriage. Ever since you were first here both of them, both father and mother, have been tormenting me. father with threats, mother with begging, not to let the chance slip, because an eligible party like you would never turn up again. Baron, forgive me. I didn't want to. E v e n i f I had loved you, oh, ever so much, that would have disgusted me with you. But now, after I have lifted that bur den from my conscience, now I am willing. If you want me, take me. I am yours." Gentlemen, put yourself in my place. A beau tiful young woman, a piece of Venus, throwing herself at me from pride and despair, and I, a good, corpulent gentleman at the end of the forties. W a s it not a sort of sacrilege to snatch up and carry off a bit of good fortune like that ? "Iolanthe," I said, "Iolanthe, dear, sweet child, do you know what you're doing ?" "I know," she replied, and smiled a woebegone smile. " I am lowering myself before God, be fore myself, and before you. I ' m making myself your slave, your creature, and I am deceiving you at the same time." " Y o u cannot even bear me, can you?" I asked. A t that she made the same old light-blue eyes of innocence, and said very softly and senti mentally : "You're the best, the noblest man in the world. I could love you—I could idolize you, but—" "But?" " O h, it's all so hideous—so impure. Just say you don't want me—just throw me over—I don't deserve anything better." I felt as i f the world were turning in a circle. I had to summon my last remnant of reason not to clutch the lovely, passionate creature straight to my breast. A n d with that last remnant o i reason I said: " F a r be it from me, dear child, to turn the excitement of this moment to m y profit. Y o u might regret it tomorrow when it would be too late. I will wait a week. T h i n k it all over in that time. I f by the end of the week you have not written to take back your word, I ' l l consider the matter settled, and I'll present myself to your father and mother to ask for your hand. But weigh everything carefully, so that you don't run into unhappiness." She seized my hand—this awful, fat, horny, brown hand, gentlemen, and before I could pre vent her, kissed it. It was not till much, much later that I realized the meaning of that kiss. A s soon as we had crawled out of the arbor, following her, we heard the old gentleman screaming from a distance: "Is it possible? Hanckel—my friend Hanckel (Continued on page 18) (

"When she put her arm in mine I began to tremble" "Thinking—what's the good of thinking? I'm tired—I want to sleep." "Then sleep." "But you must sleep, too," she said. " V e r y well. I ' l l sleep, too." I half stretched myself out on the bench op posite her. "But you must shut your eyes," she com manded again. I obediently shut my eyes. I saw suns and light-green wheels and sheaves of fire the whole time—saw them the whole time. That comes when your blood is stirred up. A n d every now and then I'd say to myself : "Hanckel, you're making a fool of yourself." It was so quiet I could hear the little bugs crawling on the leaves. Even Iolanthe's breath ing had ceased to be audible. " Y o u must see what she's doing," 1 thought, at the same time hoping to be able to admire her to my heart's content as she lay there in her glory. But when I furtively opened my eyes the least little bit, I saw—and, gentlemen, fright sent a cold shiver through me to the very tips of my toes—I saw her eyes fixed on me in a wide, wild stare, in a sort of a spying frenzy, I may say. "But, Iolanthe, dear child," I said, "why are you looking at me that way? What have I done to you ?" She jumped to her feet as i f startled out of a dream, wiped her forehead and cheeks, and

tried to laugh—two or three times—short, abrupt little laughs like before—and then she burst into tears, and cried and cried. I got up quickly and stood in front of her. I should have liked to put my hand on her head, but I lacked the courage. I asked her if something was troubling her and whether she would not confide in me, and so on. " O h, I'm the most miserable creature on earth," she sobbed. "But w h y ? " "I want to do something—something horrible —and I'm afraid to." " W e l l, well, what is it?" "I can't tell y o u ! I can't tell y o u ! " That was all I could get out of her, though 1 did my best to persuade her to confide more in me. Gradually her expression changed and grew gloomier and more set. A n d finally she said in a suppressed voice as i f to herself : "I want to go away—I want to run away." "Good L o r d, with whom ?" I asked, completely taken aback. She shrugged her shoulders. " W i t h whom? Nobody. There's nobody here who takes up for me—not even the shepherd boy. But I must go away. I'm choking here—I have nothing to hope for here. I'm going to ruin. A n d since nobody comes to take me away, I'm going to go off by myself." "But, my dear young lady," I said, " I under -


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 SIGNS O F T H E TIMES "Coming Events Cast Their Shadow T

H

E

S I G N S of the times!—a phrase, this, which carries a modern sound, yet which comes down from days re mote. F o r that revolutionist carpen ter-rabbi whom we of the Occident have uniquely revered for so many centuries, is said to have uttered such a phrase. W h e n leaders of the cultured classes one day derisively de manded of him a "sign"—some stroke of super human power in proof of his divine mission— he is reported to have turned upon them with this fling: " I n the evening you say, 'It will be fine weather, for the sky is as red as fire.' But in the morning you say, 'Today it will be stormy, for the sky is as red as fire and threatening.' Y o u learn to read the sky ; yet you are unable to read the signs of the times !" A n d indeed the events which the following years brought upon the Jewish nation proved that the educated had read the signs wrong, while the humble, or a few of them at least, had had true glimpses. Even so we Socialists may now say of the proudly i n  tellectual of our own generation, that they, too, have been blind to the greatest impending changes. Years ago the few who learned of M a r x fore saw the alternative which would shortly face the nation—foresaw the dethronement of Competi tion, and the choice which would then have to be made between Private Monopoly and Social Co operation. Today the honored teachers of the people are painfully perceiving that that dilemma is upon us. Hear Senator Cummins, of the great farmer State, the Massachusetts-beyond-Mississippi, cry out that "between a monopoly of selfish interests on the one hand, and Socialism on the other, the American people will certainly choose Socialism." H e is not in love with the alterna tive; in almost pathetic terms he makes his ap peal for one more desperate effort to destroy monopoly. H e wants Congress to limit the amount of capital which can be held by any one corporation, but he will surely be disappointed, for the people will never consent to any measure of limitation drastic enough to break up the pres ent great combinations, and thus "upset busi ness" on a vast scale. Imbedded in Senator Cummins' appeal (Edi torial Review, February, 1911) I find so strange a passage as this : "It is not intended to take up for examina tion at this time the interesting and indeed most important controversy between indi vidualism, as represented, for instance, in the philosophy of Herbert Spencer, and Social ism, as represented, for instance, in the teachings of K a r l M a r x . I only venture the prophecy that in the end we shall have either competition in full vigor, which means an unending struggle in prices and for profits, or we shall have full co-operation in which all the people will participate. W e are now keeping a middle ground, but we can not long hold it, and in my judgment it is not desirable to hold it. Competition has, in a measure, given way to co-operation, but the co-operation is selfish and limited to cer tain persons and classes. If competition is to permanently give way it must be to al truistic co-operation, that is to say, to co operation which will include all men and all women who live under our common govern ment." Do not these words sound almost as if Cum mins himself had caught, though unwillingly, the breath of life from the coming epoch? If now we look to those paragons of light and leading, our triumvirate of the Highest Culture, ex-presidents of great Eastern universities, we find one of them, him under whose mild sway Co lumbia peacefully throve, echoing the Cummins

By R U F U S W. W E E K S cry : "The alternative we seem to be facing is either to iraintain competition by limiting capi tal or amount of business, or to have government regulation of price, whether one likes it or not." H e admits, moreover, that "to limit the amount of business a corporation may do was proved im practicable a few years ago" ; and Cummins points out that if we were to "establish a govern ment tribunal to fix the price of every article bought or sold, we would have drifted into the ante-room of complete State Socialism." Another of our Culture triumvirate, he who ruled at Princeton and now rules at Trenton, seems quite disillusioned, has no hopes of reviv ing the murdered K i n g Competition, calmly ac cepts the new business systen, and remarks that we must now proceed to rebuild our social and political fabric to fit revolutionized business. T o us Socialists such saying comes as a tantalizing echo of one strain of our own dear tune—Economic Determinism. The remaining one of the triumvirate, he who should have been named first, stoops from Β rah minic heights to bestow generous words upon the toiling comrades of Milwaukee, praising them for what they are trying to effect, though point ing out that their attempt is not Socialis only approximate collectivism ! Now comes forward the ex-President of the United States, inventor of the N e w Nationalism, and weekly reviser of its content, and offers a pregnant suggestion : that the trusts should be parted into two sets—the injurious and the others; that "the proceeding should be, in substance, to declare any corporation an injurious monop oly, and when that declaration should be definitely affirmed by the proper body, what ever it might be, to subject the corporation to thoroughgoing Governmental control as to rates, prices and general conduct." He thinks that "nothing could be more desirable.at the pres ent moment than to have the Bureau of Cor porations exercise over the oil production of the country, and over the operations of the Sugar Trust, the same thoroughgoing, dras tic and radical control that the Government of Germany is now exercising over the potash production of Germany." (Outlook, Jan. 28, 1911.)

The fixing of prices, Senator Cummins tells us, is the ante-room of State Socialism, but our exPresident thinks not so ; he says : "So far is this kind of collectivism from being necessarily the herald of Socialism, as Socialism is ordinarily defined, that it can more truthfully be described as the preserver and restorer of individualism." W h e n the blind lead the blind, we know on good authority where leaders and led are likely to land. These and their like, who were the people's leaders for so many years, now begin to recognize that they and we are floundering in the ditch, and begin to grope for footing towards firm ground, and that is surely a hopeful sign of the times, especially as their stumbling steps seem headed towards Socialistic ground. The led, too, seem to be turning their thoughts the same way. The proletariat, to be sure, shows as yet scant tendency to set up for itself, but the great middle classes are disposed to doubt whether possibly Socialism may not be some thing like what they need. The evidence of this change is strikingly seen in the new attitude of our most respectable magazines. They find that it no longer pays to be silent about Socialism ; even the conservative among them are coquetting 9

Before" with it. The most "high-toned" of all, the At lantic Monthlv, in announcing new features for 1911, leads off with this: "Whether for good or i l l, the progress of Socialistic sentiment in this country is the plainest sign of the times, and, during the winter, the Atlantic will approach this subject from several points of view, notably in an eloquent paper of defense by V i d a D. Scudder." Even Harper's Monthly, which has for years avowed its purpose to let alone the disturbing questions of the day, has discovered that such silence is beginning to look stupid, and has lately printed a strong paper by a Socialist, Robert W . Bruère, on "The Perpetual Poor," in which Socialist remedies are more than hinted at ; and, in the February number, the "Editor's Study" speaks thus : "Ours is indeed the living present. Its swift mutations give a new measure to time itself—the measure of our forever renascent purpose and sensibility, the measure of our human consciousness, expanding with each new movement of the more and more intensive life. W h e n we consider the forwardlooking purpose of our time, we are sensibly impressed by immense undertakings, and achievements furthering our material progress, and we know that in this field the modern man is self-sufficient. But the organization of our twentieth-century life, apart from its practical side, where we aim at efficiency, is coming to participate in our creative ideals. W e take note of this, especially, of course, in associate altruistic work, prompted, not by conscience, but by sensitive sympathy. But our creation of a new politics springs from the same beautiful motive, in full harmony with the vital altruism which desires to effect, in so far as possible, the equalization of social opportunity. The organization of business on a non-competitive basis, working hand in hand with this new politics, promises to reach a rhythmic harmony which shall not only transcend arbitrary industrial control, but connote brotherhood and expel war from Christendom." It is worth while to read this again, to enjoy the delicate precision of the phrasing, and then note what the prognosis is. A n alliance is here foreshadowed between B i g Business (viewed as a benevolent feudalism) and the workers, leading on consciously and by peaceful methods to an ultimate democratization of the whole process of production and distribution. O f course it is conceivable that the Revolution may come by this sweet method ; but, even so, the class struggle will be there, in posse, behind the scenes, and its potentiality will be the driving force which makes the capitalist feudalism a benevolent one. B i g Business must not be surprised, either, if a warning cry is raised, equivalent to the antique Timeo Danaos et dona ferentes. I used to wonder why some intelligent and adventurous young king did not dare the great venture of joining with his people to abolish kingship and set up the republic; but no such glorious use of their lives do kings make. What none of them has done, however, has just been ventured by one of our money magnates—nowa-days a mightier order than kings. H e has abdicated, and is now, in weighty sentences, warning his fellows of B i g Business that the axe is laid at the root of the tree, and that unless they hasten to bring forth fruits meet for repentance the tree will fall. H e tells them in some detail what they ought to do, arid the Independent devotes an editorial to his utterances, under the caption " M r . Perkins on the Crisis." The editorial opens thus :


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"It was not a muckraker, nor a professor, nor any of the familiar type of the danger ous element, but M r . George W . Perkins, lately of the banking firm of J . P . Morgan & Co., who told the National Civic Federa tion the other night that this country faces a crisis as grave as that which preceded the Civil W a r . " Further on, M r. Perkins is quoted as saying that— "There are just three possible ways to solve our present problem W e may create a co-operation on a vast scale and put it under the regulation of the Federal Govern ment ; we may turn over all the big and i m  portant enterprises to Government owner ship; or, third, we shall have, whether we

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like it or not, Out and out Socialism'." But what precisely is the federally regulated co-operation on a vast scale which M r . Perkins prefers to the other two possibilities? O n this question the Independent remarks : "In all seriousness we hope that M r. Perkins will, on some suitable occasion, de scribe more explicitly his scheme for an inclusive co-operation under federal regula tion. E v e r y phrase that he has so far used to express his idea might have been taken from any standard exposition of 'out and out Socialism,' which, we understand, M r. Perkins does not at all advocate." A n d the editor closes with this strange dictum : " M r. Perkins' analysis is scientifically

sound. There are just three possibilities be fore us in the present crisis, and M r. Perkins has named them." Consider now that the editor has already told us that he sees no difference between M r . Perkins' first possibility and Socialism, and then let us ask ourselves what this summing up means. Is it not very much like saying that the American people can have Socialism, or they can have Socialism, or they can have Socialism, but other choice they have none? Surely that last sentence of the article could not knowingly have flowed from the Independent's editorial pen. M a y we guess that we have here a frag ment dictated by the editor's subliminal self, of which his primary personality was unaware? The gods grant it to be a true prophecy !

The American Co-operative Contract System By P I E T V L A G T

H

E

A M E R I C A N Wholesale Co-opera tive has recently introduced into its stores a new co-operative feature known as the Contract System. B y this system the co-operatives are en abled to enlarge their volume of business and greatly increase their earnings with no additional investment of capital and but slight expense. It has been tried in a number of the stores with extremely good results. The plan was submitted a few months ago to The American Wholesale Co-operative by Charles Behrens, Secretary of T h e American Co-operative of Hoboken. T h e co-operative stores enter into contracts with local merchants dealing i n such articles as jewelry, shoes, drugs, bread, meat, etc.—articles which the co-operative stores do not as yet carry. The merchants hav ing contracts with the various stores display signs i n the windows announcing that co-opera tive stamps may be procured there. They pur chase for cash from the American Co-operative checks at the rate of $5.00 per $100.00 worth of

checks. These checks are of different denomina tions ranging from five cents to one dollar. Merchants give them upon request to their customers. The co-operative stores accept the checks and credit the purchaser monthly with the total amount of purchases made both from the co operative store direct and from the private mer chants. A dividend is then declared on the total amount of purchases, as explained in my article on co-operation i n the February number of The Masses. If a customer who is not a member of the co operative store takes checks, he must, in order to get credit for them, go to the co-operative store. In this way the non-members are attracted to the co-operative. According to Section I, Paragraph 3, of the constitution of The American Wholesale Co-operative, persons buying i n contract stores and receiving co-operative checks thereby become members of the Co-operative. B y this Contract System the workingmen are taught to realize i n a very concrete way what

they can accomplish by uniting their purchasing power. It is possible that in the future the private mer chants will try to counteract the Contract Sys tem by forming an organization of their own. But the middle class move slowly, and it is safe to predict that they will not think of organization until it is too late. B y the time they are ready the workingmen will have tasted of the sweets of solidarity i n buying, and they will stand by their own co-operative organization. They will not hesitate then to take their savings from their banks and invest them i n their own enterprises. The experience derived from the operation of the Contract System will prove a powerful educative factor in co-operation. W e strongly urge all co-operative stores to adopt this plan. W e advise the stores in the East to get i n touch with Comrade Behrens. H e is a good German speaker, and those co-operatives that have a large German speaking membership should try to arrange a general meeting at which to discuss the plan

G A U O T Τ Ε BY R E G I N A L D W R I G H T K A U F F M A N Let

it come now! Ο God, Thou nearest us groan Deep in our dungeons, who were never free— The Samsons that, through earth's eternity, Paid for their masters' ease with blood and bone; If, at the last, our lords will not atone, If, at the last, they rob us of our fee, If, at the last, the worst we dread must be: If Right must strangle Wrong to win her own— Then, hear me 'mid Thy swirling systems, Thou: By whatsoever pity we have won, By ail our tyrants' crimes beneath the sun, I beg Thee this one mighty boon allow: In mine own time let that high deed be done; Let it come now, my God,—let it come now!

Drawn by Charles A. Winter


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L A D I S L A W had conscientious ly, industriously, ardently devoted himself to the study of the social sciences. That was in the past. In the same epoch of his life he had followed little sewing girls also with zeal and conscientiousness. B u t that was still true of the present. I n his leisure hours, when unassailed by his Titanic thoughts, he even outlined a plan for a funny little book to be entitled " A Practical Guide for Scoundrels." It was to con tain a number of keen observations on sewinggirl psychology and no less telling proof of the writer's dialectic skill. M r. Ladislaw explained his prejudice in favor of sewing girls partly by his great sensibility to the charms of those pretty creatures fading away i n concealment, partly by the humane i m  pulse to bring material help to that class of human beings, and finally—according to the strictly scientific method—by atavism. Just a few days before he had met a little thing—simply adorable. She had eyes like two pools, of course, a small nose, not exactly Greek, but inconceivably charming, shell-pink from the cold, a little mouth like the opening bud of a wild rose, a—well—and so on, and so on. M r. Ladislaw introduced himself—at her side—with an adroitness i n such self-introduction that did credit to the author of the "Practical Guide." Then he accompanied Miss Mary—he had clever ly elicited that her name was M a r y — t o the door of a high, narrow house in the centre of the city. But on reaching the door they turned back a few steps to flirt a bit. Then they made an appoint ment for the following Sunday at the home of the little sewing girl with eyes like two pools. O n the stated Sunday M r. Ladislaw passed through the gate of the narrow house and hunted for the janitor to ask h i m which the girl's home was. H e strayed into the rooms of a monstrously fat, evil woman who explained to him sourly that the janitor lived one flight up. M r. Ladis law groped about in the dark for the stairs. H e waded through slippery mud, and tapped the walls to the right and the left, until finally he found the ruins of a staircase. H e felt as if he were climbing up stairs inside of a chimney. A sour smell choked him, a damp cold penetrated to his bones. H e could hear talking in suppressed tones on the other side of a door invisible in the obscurity. A t last he hit upon the knob, opened the door, and found himself in a cell, lighted by a window set high in the wall directly under the ceiling. "Does the janitor live here?" he asked, with his face turned to the small iron stove. " E h ? " growled a voice from a corner. W h e n his eyes had somewhat adjusted them selves to the twilight, M r. Ladislaw distinguished a bed in the corner from which the voice came. The bed was made of a pile of rags, and on the rags lay a man who looked like a skeleton. T h e skeleton raised itself with difficulty and showed a bald, yellow head resembling a furrowed old bone. Just a few strands of hair clung to the

By S T E F A N

ZEROMSK]

saw the child standing on the same spot gazing rapturously at the money on her palm. Illustrated by Anton Otto Fischer H e opened the door and entered a large room back of the skull. F o r a few moments he stared filled with tubs and heaps of wet wash. H e was at the intruder. H i s eyes lay deep in their great nearly stifled by the steam and the smell of soap round sockets. Then he lisped in a piping voice : suds. H e asked for Miss M a r y. A n ancient dame, seated at the great stove with her feet " W h a t is i t ? " resting on the cold iron, nodded scornfully to a " A r e you the janitor?" door in the background. M r. Ladislaw bowed "Yes. W e l l ? " with mock courtesy, and walked past her. Curs F o r an instant M r. Ladislaw had the feeling ing the whole expedition in his heart he knocked that he ought not to ask here for what he wanted at Miss Mary's door. to know. Nevertheless he inquired : It was opened instantly, and Miss M a r y "Where does Miss M a r y Fisk live?" greeted him with a bewitching laugh. H e grace " M a r y who?" fully removed his fur coat, and held out his "Perhaps he means the M a r y who sews in the hand to her. T h e pressure he gave her hand factory, papa," a pleasant child's voice cried emphatically betokened his vivid sensibility to from back of the door. womanly charms. H e was so occupied with "That's whom I mean." Miss Mary's own person that he did not i m  "Show the gentleman the way," the sick man mediately notice the two other girls, who, at his breathed, and sank back wearily on his couch of appearance, had arisen from their seats at the rags. window. The little girl ran past M r. Ladislaw and What an unpleasant surprise ! leaped down the stairs four steps at a time. O n Nevertheless he bowed politely to the unknown the ground floor he reached, under her guidance, ladies, seated himself on the one chair in the a sort of shallow cess-pool, in which a great heap room, and while he gave play to his unusual con of disgusting rubbish and garbage was piled up. versational talents he made silent observations. Then she pointed to a dark corridor, and said Miss M a r y was by far not so pretty as she looking at him with wide-open, penetrating eyes: had seemed to him at the first meeting. She was "That's the door to the wash room. Back of thin, round-shouldered, and worn by work. H e r the wash room, there, is where M a r y lives." friends looked still more haggard. Young girls though they were, they seemed to have been ground down by some merciless power. That this power was not licentiousness he could tell from the poverty-stricken appearance of the room and from the girls' entire behavior. A l l three of them were shy and embarrassed. Their eyes had a tortured, puzzling expression—an importunate, unpleasant expression, which changed every instant from ecstasy to rage. " Y o u three live here together?" asked M r. Ladislaw with suppressed resentment. " Y e s, " Miss M a r y replied, biting her lower lip. "They are my friends, and we work together in the same white-goods factory." " O h, that must be very pleasant—three Graces—" " N o t always so very pleasant," remarked Catherine. " T h e Graces, I imagine, get lunch every day. N o wonder it's so pleasant for them." "What—do you mean?" " Y o u see," M a r y interposed to explain. " O u r BOSS pays me five dollars a week, and Kate and Hetty, three, and besides gives us our lunch on workdays. Breakfast costs us each ten cents a day, supper twenty-five cents. W e pay eight dol lars a month rent for this room. Y o u can count out for yourself that with carfare and something "What an unpleasant surprise!" to wear nothing is left for a Sunday dinner. So we sit here chewing our nails." The girl's little feet were lost in her father's "That is if we don't rope a man in and get him boots, her ragged dress, coated with dirt, scarcely to buy us some ham sandwiches!" cried Kate, reached to her naked red knees. M r. Ladislaw and glanced at M a r y with a venomous smile. hastily fumbled for his purse, thrust a fewM a r y looked at her, an expression of unspeak nickels into the child's hand, and walked on. able sadness in her eyes. Then she went over to After taking a few steps he glanced back, and (Continued on page 18) 11


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 SOCIALISM

A N D SUCCESS

A Book by W. J. Ghent that Fills a Real Need and Answers Oft-asked Questions about Socialism By T H O M A S S E L T Z E R "UNINVITED Messages," Ghent calls his six essays, and uninvited and unwelcome they must be to the de votées of the various cults to whom they are addressed. They bring home some unpalatable truths, the more ex asperating because of the form in which they are couched. W r i t t e n sine ira et studio, with perfect sobriety of tone and evident restraint, they disarm the criticism of exaggeration, a crit icism to which our more heated Socialist friends frequently make themselves liable. Fact is heaped upon fact, and all available statistics are adduced. What is there to do in such a case but just get mad? A n d that is what some of the critics have done. In the first essay, " T o the Seekers of Success," the great and mighty American deity Success is dissected, turned inside out, shivered into bits. There have been heretics in the world's history from Socrates and Savanarola to Strauss and Haeckel. They have questioned the Catholic trinity, questioned the divinity of Jesus, even questioned God. But what can equal the profan ity of one who dares to overthrow faith in the god Success? A n d yet Ghent calmly writes, e pur si muove, your American Success is humbug. After exposing the childish yet wide-spread fallacy that success is possible to all, Ghent turns to a brief analysis of the quality of success as it is known today, and reveals it in all its ugly nakedness. H e quotes Thiers : " M e n of principle need not succeed. Success is necessary only to schemers." A n d in his own words : " A n ardent pursuit of success involves an almost entire avoidance of ethical precepts. . . . It [suc cess] is too often defeat and impoverishment. It is the sacrifice of what is best in man for a trumpery prize. Whether, as with the over whelming mass of mankind, by whom the goal can never be attained, or whether, as with the few, by whom it is attained in some measure, the rage of pursuit inevitably means the harden ing of the social feelings, the extinguishment of the spirit of brotherhood, the clouding and darkening of the social vision by which a people live and become great." Returning to the subject in a subsequent essay the author says to the retainers: " Y o u cannot understand, such is your sub servient complacence, that multitudes among the revolutionary working class are proud of their unsuccess and wear it as a badge of honor. P r a y you, under the existing scheme of things, how many and what quality of men achieve 'success,' and what must they not do to achieve it? . . . It is, in the majority of cases, grafting and lying, fawning and cringing, selfishness and brutality, restrained only by that Chinese ethical standard, the necessity of 'saving your face,' that give vic tory in the struggle. A n d the men who are seek ing the overthrow of this system disdain to make use of these means. They leave the function to you." 1

It is a fact well known to Socialists that the hardest class to deal with are those who are w i l l  ing to go with us a certain distance, but who stop short at the very point at which they can become useful. I n his second message Ghent turns his logical and statistical batteries upon the re formers. H i s arguments seem irrefutable. But what psychologist can tell the effect of good logic applied to indisputable facts when brought into contact with the brain of a reformer? T h e author asks the reformers exactly what they have

accomplished in their long years of activity by their favorite go-slow, "step-at-a-time" policy. His answer is : "The practical things done by you these last twenty years have not perceptibly impeded the tide of wealth concentration or lightened the gen eral lot of the poor." The trouble with the reformers, says Ghent, is, they have not the correct "philosophy of his tory." Yes, they do not know, or do not care to know, the materialistic conception of history, and they throw up their hands in pious horror at the mere mention of the class struggle. T o be a politician out of a job is bad enough. But to be a politician with no prospect of a job is worse still. So Ghent, perhaps, is wasting his time in trying to teach the reformer the materialistic conception of history and the class struggle. Nevertheless, there are sincere reformers who must be taken account of. F o r although their condition is chronic and in most cases hopeless, it occasionally yields to expert radical treatment. Ghent is at his best in speaking " T o the Re tainers," and also at his angriest. The author of

that the subject is not worth discussing. "So cialism and Success" is in the main a criticism of the present social order in advocacy of Socialism. To introduce a question of differences between certain individuals within the Socialist party in such a general book on Socialism is as ap propriate as it would be to give the NewtonLeibnitz controversy in a textbook on calculus. It not only attaches exaggerated importance to the differences but assumes a degree of interest in them among non-Socialist readers—for it is to the non-Socialist that the book is in the main ad dressed—which is unwarranted by fact. Surely M r. Ghent realizes that it is one thing to know So cialism, another, to be familiar with the compo sition and spirit of the Socialist party. A knowl edge of the one can be obtained from books; a thorough knowledge of the other is scarcely pos sible without actual and continued participation in the work of the party. W h a t place, then, has " T o Some Socialists" in the general plan of the book?

" T o Skeptics and Doubters" is a real and much-needed addition to 'Socialist literature. Here Ghent may be said to have undertaken street cleaner's work in Socialist authorship. A n d he has done it well. W e hope his recompense will be commensurate with the unpleasantness of his task, and some form of reward will be found by the Socialists to keep the incentive alive in him. For what Socialist has not smarted under an at The Ordered Restraints tack of the questions that are answered so ably in this essay? H o w can you bring about Social OF SOCIALISM- WILL ism ? What will be the incentive to work ? What Endow MANKIND WITH will you do with the lazy people? W h o will do the dirty work? T o those of us who are im A L I B E R T Y WHICH IT patient and whose sense of humor is insufficient HAS NEVER BEFORE to carry them easily over such futilities there is now an excellent way out. Give your questioner K N O W N. the last essay in "Socialism and Success." Make him read it. If he is sincere he will stop asking W.J. GHENT questions. F o r M r. Ghent answers them as well as any man can who is not endowed with the gift of prophecy. If the querist does not stop ask ing questions, draw your own conclusions.

"Our Benevolent F e u d a l i s m " cannot touch this subject without w a x i n g thoroughly indignant. W h a t was said above of his restraint does not apply to his essay on the "retainers." H e r e he throws aside his reserve, and i n plain terms berates the lawyer, the professor, the teacher, the minister, the editor—all those upon whom devolves the duty of preserving by precept and practice the system of capitalism which is their masters'. W e doubt whether many of the retainers will read this essay, not to speak of enjoying it. It is too shockingly direct and outspoken. It has none of the precious quality of talking around the subject and evading the essential which makes the bulk of our contemporary literature so safe and 'sane, and« gives so pleasant a feeling of security. Its argument is not based upon a technicality, but upon the broad basis of a comprehensive prin ciple. "Crude" is a nice little word with which to characterize this style of writing and dismiss the subject summarily. " T o the Retainers" is the best of the essays. It will prove a source of pleasure and instruction to many readers not within the circle of "retainers." The message " T o Some Socialists" strikes a jarring note. It is out of keeping with the entire scheme of the book. Not that Socialists need be afraid of showing their faults to the public, nor 12

The book throughout breathes a warm, manly, proletarian spirit. It shows that esteem for the working class which comes from a full apprecia tion of the grand historic mission it is destined to fulfil and which, is characteristic of the best Socialist writers in our own country and abroad. Blind to the faults of the working class Ghent certainly is not, but for that very reason the trib ute he pays it is all the more convincing. "This class," he says, "for all its present de fects has vast latent powers of self-reformation and upbuilding. It learns by experience—a thing the ruling class rarely does; and its experiences in this day of capitalist supremacy are of a sort which tend ever to give it a better understanding of its environment, a closer unity, a greater de termination and a higher ideal of its mission. F r o m every repulse it returns upon itself, gaining new strength and a riper knowledge. Year by year it sees more clearly the futility of its earlier modes of warfare and comes more generally to accept the tactics of its Socialist vanguard. There are momentary reactions from this tendency here and there, but the whole movement of the work ing class throughout the civilized world is in creasingly toward Socialism." Is it heresy for a Socialist to admit a weakness for good English? If so the reviewer pleads guilty. The pleasure of reading "Socialism and Success" was heightened for him by its fine style.


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 T H E CLASSMATES M

I

S

S

W E L L M A N dragged down one flight of stairs from the Reading Room. Saturday afternoon and the June examinations near—Fay House bore its most deserted aspect. A sound of rustling papers in one room, the murmur of voices in another, clamored through the stillness, but they seemed only to point the fact that the machinery of the college year was running down. O n the first landing, she paused midway between the pictures of Charles I. and Henrietta M a r i a to stare out of doors. She wondered for the hundreth time through what cunning of perspective the scrap of lawn, cut into a dozen angles by buildings put down anywhere, managed to seem so spacious, through what miracle of landscape gardening it contrived to seem so sequestered. T h e grassy levels of the Common on one side, the green environs of Brattle Street on the other, appeared to add to its dimensions; but the clang of an electric-car, the rattle of an automobile, less than two rods away, brought Cambridge crowding to the college gate. Y e t after all it was cloistral. Miss Wellman continued to gaze. T h e soft stillness called to her in scores of bird-calls.. The green coolness beckoned to her in a hundred leafy stirrings. She loved it and yet she had never succeeded in making herself feel a part of it. T h e remedy lay in her own hands and yet. . . . T o be offered the class-presidency for the coming year. . . . her senior year. . . . Surely that was an honor to which any junior would leap. But how could she accept i t ? The Chaucer notes, downstairs in her locker, seemed, by a hundred voices audible only to her conscience, to be reminding her of Monday's examination. Idling was impossible for her, she decided. W i t h a sigh, she pegged slowly down a second flight of stairs. Here, doors opening level with green vistas presented further entrances to dalliance. Nothing offered refuge from this temptation. Busts of the Venus and the Hermes, staring with sightless eyes, seemed to dare her to truancy. She peeped into the Dean's room. It was tenantless, too. Titian's Bella mocked her with a pair of liquid Italian eyes that seemed anything but sightless. Miss Wellman examined the letter-board, poked into the silent Auditorium, wandered into the empty Office, came out and, with her foot on the threshold, stopped short. A n old negro was seated in the little receptionhall. H e might have walked off the boards of the vaudeville theatre or slipped out of the pages of the comic weeklies. H e was very old, very black, very bent. H i s profile presented the most striking A f r i c a n malformations of contours. T h e patches of grizzled hair distributed in tufts over his shining black skull and his wrinkled black face had a look of premeditated eccentricity. Even his clothes—they included a huge sagging umbrella, a loose alpaca coat, a black string-tie with long hanging ends—contributed to a pervading effect of a comic make-up. A n d yet something—a kind of inherent dignity in conjunction with a scrupulous neatness—prevented him from seeming ridiculous. A t Miss Wellman's approach he turned the pleading, smoky light of an extraordinary pair of eyes upon her. Moonspectacles magnified their pupils until they seemed to bulge, beetle-like, from filmed yellow whites. In their depths hung a vague look of alarm as of a congenital, racial unease. Miss Wellman retreated in the direction of the Auditorium. She sat down on the sofa that faces the Dean's room, her eyes fixed straight ahead, her eye-lids flittering. She breathed hard. Presently she heard footsteps at the main entrance— heard them stop at the little reception-hall— heard a low-voiced conversation there. After a

By I N E Z H A Y N E S

GILLMORE

every inch of her height. It seemed to stretch to its tensest every curve of her long slimness. Author of "Phoebe and Ernest," "June Jeopardy" "Please go on," Miss Wellman prompted. and ' ' Maida 's Little Shop ' ' Nora's eyes dropped to the toe of her shoe. "I can't go on," she said at last. "You're a Illustrated by Frank Van Sloun. southerner?" she asked inexplicably after anfew moments the footsteps started again. N o r a other pause. " F r o m South Carolina." O'Riley came around the corner with a dash. N o r a sighed. " Y o u see I was going to ask a " O h, Miss Wellman," she said, a definite note favor of you, but I can't. Y o u know Mabel of relief struggling with the pleasure in her tone, "I'm so glad to find you. D o come somewhere Johnson of your class?" Miss Wellman's face changed subtly. It was where we can talk. I've a great favor to ask of as if some darkening of her mood translated ityou." Miss Wellman's whole manner showed her sur- self, subcutaneously, into an actual physical prise. But she leaped irentally as well as phys- blackness. "I don't know her," she replied. ically to accept the invitation. It was a great "Naturally, one doesn't know niggers. But I've honor to have N o r a O'Riley ask a favor. F o r it seen her about the college." N o r a did not answer for a moment ;and again was the dictum of their small, self-centred college world that she was a very wonderful person she studied the toe of her shoe. " W e l l, I'm sorry indeed. Moreover she was popular and influen- to have troubled you and sorrier to have offended tial ; she was president both of the Senior Class you, but for a moment I forgot. Y o u see, Mabel and the Idler Club. Johnson's away on a geological trip. She won't Inside the Auditorium, Miss Wellman turned be back until late to-night. H e r grandfather's a flattered face to her companion. " Y o u know come down here unexpectedly from the country I'd do anything on earth for you, Miss O'Riley, ' to see her. He's very old, and he seems a little she said. A cadence, positively bewitching, rip- dazed and helpless. He's never been in Campled in her voice and that voice, it was conceded, bridge before, and he's been counting for three years on being here with Mabel. The truth of the was the most musical in college. "Have you any engagement for this after- matter is, it's on my conscience to see that he's noon?" Miss O'Riley asked briskly. looked out for. But I've got the Class Day Com"No—not exactly. I'm grinding for Chaucer, mittee on my hands this afternoon, and though but I don't have to do it. The fact is I've been it's conceivable that I may cut Judgment Day, looking about for an hour for an excuse to I can't cut that. I'm looking for somebody who'll engage to take care of him. Y o u hapcut it." pened to be the first girl I saw." Miss Wellman arose. She had the effect, more than ever, of standing at the full of her superb height. F r o m the top of this columnar fairness her face, like a lamp in a lighthouse, seemed to emit swift flashes of rage. N o r a did not move. She bore this emotional bombardment with no perceptible change of expression. Miss Wellman swept haughtily to the door. W i t h her hand on the knob, she paused, wheeled irresolutely. She came back. " M i s s O'Riley," she said. A l l the liquid drawl had gone out of her voice. The curtness of her utterance exploded her words. They came like bullets from a gun. N o r a waited, still silent, still moveless. " M i s s O'Riley, I want you to understand that if any one of my father's servants came up north —a nigger who knew his place, I mean—I'd take him about Cambridge with pleasure. But as for a northern—Miss O'Riley, I wonder if you, as a northern girl, have the remotest idea what I, as a southern girl, have been through in these three years in which I've gone to college with a nigger? I wonder if you have the faintest con"Cambridge sees many strange pictures in ception of what I feel when Ï see her studying with white girls ? W h e n I come across her talkthe month of June." ing to a group of you—I want to tear you all ' ' F i n e ! I ' l l supply you with an excuse. Y o u away from her. I wouldn't speak to her—I know M a b e l — " Miss O'Riley had begun with wouldn't take the same courses with her—. T h e the liveliest air of confidence. But, suddenly, she thought of it makes me boil with rage. D o you stopped flat. A look of intense embarrassment know what she's done for me?" Miss Wellman paused to reflect. Then she deluged her face with a thick crimson. T h e blush died away. Apparently the embarrassment went on with no diminution of intensity. "It will be all right for me to tell you this, went also, for she turned and studied Miss W e l l and it will show you—you who are yourself a man's face with an acute air of scrutiny. It was a face that, by no possibility, could go Senior President—what my feeling is. M a y unnoticed. Y o u would see first, perhaps, the' Glover drops out of our class this year—she's brilliance of the massed red-gold hair, the subtle going to be married in June. The girls have sugmodelling in the Tanagra-like features ; but later gested to me that they would like me to be classthey became merely frame and background to the president. B u t do you think that I would convirile intelligence of her look. Y o u would note sider for a moment becoming president of a class immediately the beauty of her clear gray eyes, that includes a nigger? Yes, she's ruined it all long-lashed and deep-irised ; but afterwards they for me. I've a certain feeling for the college but became a single physical element in the more I have no more feeling for my class—as a class—. salient impression of a splendid mental fearless- I've kept on with it through pride—I would not ness. T h e very carriage of her body deepened be driven away by Mabel Johnson. A n d I didn't believe that she could possibly last more this impression. It seemed to take advantage of 1

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 14 than a year. But now I'm considering seriously dropping out this June and taking my degree two years from now with the sophomores." It was hard to say what made N o r a O'Riley the most popular girl in college. Perhaps it was the combination in her of New England, which gave her character and balance, with Ireland, which added personality and charm. In other words, she was half Puritan, half Celt. She sheered close to being temperamental, but she was saved from that absurdity by her sense of values and proportions. N o w her long, lean, freckled face seemed almost stern—for the moment, certainly, New England was in the ascendant. Then Ireland broke in a smile that glittered, in whimsical lines and creases, through the freckles. ' O h, Patty-Maud," she wheedled, "where's your sense of humor?" The shot told. In spite of herself, Miss W e l l man smiled. She had plenty of sense of humor. A n d then what girl could resist her babysobriquet as cooed from the lips of the adored Nora? But Patty-Maud conquered her mirth. "There are some things that go beyond a sense of humor, Miss O'Riley," she said sombrely. Perhaps N o r a O'Riley's most wonderful quality was her power to project herself into tht point of view of another. In debate, she had the attitude of one who is on the look-out to see with how many of her antagonist's points she can agree. This only made her own points the more telling. "That's one of the profoundest things that's ever been dropped in this here seat of learning. Patty-Maud," she said soberly ; and she paid her companion the compliment of considering the statement a moment with frowning brows and compressed lips. "I feel as if you were too young to know how important that is. I feel as if I were watching a baby playing with a stick of dynamite. Come, sit down and listen to me for a moment." A l l the Irishness in her birred in her coaxing tone. Miss Wellman hesitated, but in the end she seated herself again. " I ' m not going to talk about Mabel Johnson with you," N o r a began, "only to say that I've known her for years. I met her first in Medwin. M y whole family got interested in her, and I was the one to encourage her to come to Radclifïe. I feel a good deal of responsibility on that account. But I assure you she's an unusual person—is Mabel Johnson—and I'm certain she'll justify all we've believed of her. That's all for that." The briskness dropped out of her tone. She began to go a little more slowly. "I'm not going to discuss the race-question with you, Patty-Maud. I don't think I have the right. I might say, perhaps, that you don't know the northern negro, that I don't know the southern negro and, for that reason, argument would be futile. I don't say that. W h a t I do say is that probably you know the southern negro much better than we know the northern one, that you care much more for your darkies than we do for ours and that, deep down in your hearts, you are much more interested to help them than we to help ours. But let's drop the whole subject." She reached forward and took Patty-Maud's hand. The cajolery had gone out of her voice, the wheedle out of her manner. Patty-Maud did not stir. "Dear Patty-Maud, because you're the ablest girl in your class, I expect you to have the broadest point of view. F o r that reason and partly because I can't bear to let that poor old thing out there go back to Medwin disappointed —I can still find the courage somewhere in my system to ask this favor of you. I don't ask it as northerner to southerner. I ask it simply as girl to girl, as senior to junior." N o r a waited, but no answer came. Patty-Maud kept her look of statuesque calm.

THE

MASSES

But, inside, all kinds of emotions were stirring. O l d prejudices shook her with their violent rage. Myriads of unanalyzable scorns and hatreds seemed to make electric prickles in her blood. But she kept her eyes—only by their increased brilliancy did they betray these inner fires—on Nora's face. It occurred to her that she had never seen that face express so perfectly Nora's peculiar wonderfulness. "I ask you to drop the whole question for the afternoon. I want you to take that funny old man all over Cambridge and show him every living spot that will interest him. I want you to try not to let him see that you're condescending to

him. You're such a big person, Patty-Maud, and such a good actress—." Nora's warm smile again made whimsical beauty along the long lean lines of her colorless face—"that I believe you can do it if you want to. A n d I think you will do it just to help out one of your dear, departing senior friends." There was a long silence. W h e n Patty-Maud spoke again, it was with slowness, with a strange air of detachment. " M y father would kill me," she said simply. Nora's face seemed to catch in a tangle of expressions. "I guess I'm sorry I asked you," she began. "But I reckon I'm going to say, 'yes'," PattyM a u d went on, taking no notice of the interruption. " O n l y if you think for a moment that I've changed or ever w i l l —. " She turned on N o r a with so impetuous a movement that it seemed to strike sparks from her hair, her eyes, her very voice. " A n d don't you fancy for a moment that you ever will realize how—" she added in quite another tone. She did not finish. The two girls shook hands. But after all it was a good deal harder than Patty-Maud anticipated. She bowed stiffly when N o r a introduced the Reverend W i l l i a m Johnson, and she stood in g r i n silence until the president of the Senior Class had left them inexorably alone. It was not easy to talk then. Indeed, she had a sudden fiery impulse to go back on her bargain. But all that noblesse oblige teaches to hot young blood forbade this course. Instead, she ushered the old man out of Fay House and into the glaring sunlight of the early afternoon. Cambridge sees many strange pictures in the course of the month of June. Not least among them, that year, was the combination of a tall

March, 1911 blonde girl who carried her head as if she could look over neighboring roofs and a grotesque old darkey, who, shambling along at her side, examined everything the girl pointed out with a veneration that amounted to awe. There were only two strings to his conversational bow, Patty-Maud very soon discovered— the glories of Cambridge and the excellencies of big granddaughter Mabel. Talk of Cambridge, she could endure. But when they veered to a consideration of his granddaughter's uncountable virtues, she listened with her teeth clenched. For it seemed to Patty-Maud that she had never hated anybody as she hated Mabel Johnson. W i t h N o r a O'Riley, P a t t y - M a u d had been ashamed to touch on this personal element. That Mabel Johnson was conscious of her feeling, Patty-Maud was very well aware. That it troubled and flurried her, P a t t y - M a u d was maliciously conscious. In college, Mabel Johnson always disappeared whenever she saw PattyM a u d approach. The number of elective course offered by the University made it possible for the two girls not to conflict, but P a t t y - M a u d knew perfectly well that their complete separation was the result of careful planning on Mabel's part. In other words, at the beginning of each year Patty-Maud chose her courses from the whole list and Mabel, then, made her selection from what was left. T o do her justice, Patty-Maud said nothing unfavorable about his granddaughter, although she gave the old man the shortest and curtest answers to his questions. But as he rabbled on about Mabel's quickness, her ease and brilliancy in study, she recalled for her own pleasure that Mabel had to work very hard indeed to keep up with the lower middle of her class—that she would certainly graduate without honors and that it might be a long hard pull to graduate at all. One thing troubled her more and more as the afternoon pulled itself out to inter ninable lengths : Mabel Johnson would have to know what she had done. She hated the thought of what this knowledge might entail. Perhaps the next time they met, she would find in Mabel's eyes a look of complacency, as of a definitely established social equality. P a t t y - M a u d had been in the habit of looking through her every time opportunity offered. N o w she decided she would never glance in her direction again. . The first thing she did after she reached her room was to wash her hands—the act took on symbolic virtues to her. She settled herself to her grinding with a perceptible lift in her spirits. Late that evening a maid came to PattyMaud's room with the information that she had a visitor downstairs. "She's on the front steps, Miss Wellman—she wouldn't come in. She told me to tell you that she was from the college. In the lower hall, Patty-Maud stopped short. It was Mabel Johnson. The increased statuesqueness that was PattyMaud's graceful substitute for a stiffening of the figure, made her seem unusually tall. She did not ask her guest into the house. She did not speak. She waited. In contrast, Mabel Johnson looked decidedly humble. She was not a picturesque figure. She was dumpy and shabby. A s she talked, one hand plucked nervously at the vine that dropped over the doorway. H e r voice came in gasps, her words in jerked-out phrases. But she had remarkable eyes, liquid in look, gentle in expression. She kept those eyes fixed steadily on Patty-Maud's face. "I happened to come home earlier than I expected, Miss Wellman," she said, "and I met my grandfather in—in—in the South Station. H e told me how kind you were—and—and—all the things you'd done—I didn't know—I couldn't quite believe—but that he'd made some mistake in the name—and I couldn't get N o r a until—just now on the telephone—and then I thought—I— I must come up—and thank you."