The Conflict [130]
marriage--and a home --and a social circle--and all that,'' ventured David.
``I'll probably not marry.''
``No. You'd hardly take a doctor.''
``The only one I'd want I can't get,'' said Jane.
She wished to shock David, and she saw with pleasure that she had succeeded. Indeed so shocked was he that in a few minutes he took leave. And as he passed from her sight he passed from her mind.
Victor Dorn described Davy Hull's inaugural address as ``an uninteresting sample of the standard reform brand of artificial milk for political infants.'' The press, however, was enthusiastic, and substantial people everywhere spoke of it as having the ``right ring,'' as being the utterance of a ``safe, clean man whom the politicians can't frighten or fool.'' In this famous speech David urged everybody who was doing right to keep on doing so, warned everybody who was doing wrong that they would better look out for themselves, praised those who were trying to better conditions in the right way, condemned those who were trying to do so in the wrong way. It was all most eloquent, most earnest. Some few people were disappointed that he had not explained exactly what and whom he meant by right and by wrong; but these carping murmurs were drowned in the general acclaim. A man whose fists clenched and whose eyes flashed as did David Hull's must ``mean business''--and if no results came of these words, it wouldn't be his fault, but the machinations of wicked plutocrats and their political agents.
``Isn't it disgusting!'' exclaimed Selma, reading an impassioned paragraph aloud to Victor Dorn. ``It almost makes me despair when I see how people--our sort of people, too--are taken in by such guff. And they stand with their empty picked pockets and cheer this man, who's nothing but a stool pigeon for pickpockets.''
``It's something gained,'' observed Victor tranquilly, ``when politicians have to denounce the plutocracy in order to get audiences and offices. The people are beginning to know what's wrong. They read into our friend Hull's generalities what they think he ought to mean--what they believe he does mean. The next step is--he'll have to do something or they'll find him out.''
``He do anything?'' Selma laughed derisively. ``He hasn't the courage--or the honesty.''
``Well--`patience and shuffle the cards,' as Sancho Panza says. We're winning Remsen City. And our friends are winning a little ground here, and a little there and a little yonder--and soon--only too soon-- this crumbling false politics will collapse and disappear. Too soon, I fear. Before the new politics of a work-compelling world for the working class only is ready to be installed.''
Selma had been only half attending. She now said abruptly, with a fluttering movement that suggested wind blowing strongly across open prairies under a bright sky:
``I've decided to go away.''
``Yes, you must take a vacation,'' said Victor. ``I've been telling you that for several years. And you must go away to the sea or the mountains where you'll not be harassed by the fate of the human race that you so take to heart.''
``I didn't mean a vacation,'' said Selma. ``I meant to Chicago--to work there.''
``You've had a good offer?'' said Victor. ``I knew it would come. You've got to take it. You need the wider experience--the chance to have a paper of your own--or a work of your own of some kind. It's been selfishness, my keeping you all this time.''
Selma had turned away. With her face hidden from him she said, ``Yes, I must go.''
``When?'' said Victor.
``As soon as you can arrange for some one else.''
``All right. I'll look round. I've no hope of finding any one to take your place, but I can get some one who will do.''
``You can train any one,'' said Selma. ``Just as you trained me.''
``I'll see what's to be done,'' was all he said.
A week passed--two weeks. She waited; he did not bring up the subject. But she knew he was thinking of it; for there had been a change in his manner toward her--a constraint, a self-consciousness
``I'll probably not marry.''
``No. You'd hardly take a doctor.''
``The only one I'd want I can't get,'' said Jane.
She wished to shock David, and she saw with pleasure that she had succeeded. Indeed so shocked was he that in a few minutes he took leave. And as he passed from her sight he passed from her mind.
Victor Dorn described Davy Hull's inaugural address as ``an uninteresting sample of the standard reform brand of artificial milk for political infants.'' The press, however, was enthusiastic, and substantial people everywhere spoke of it as having the ``right ring,'' as being the utterance of a ``safe, clean man whom the politicians can't frighten or fool.'' In this famous speech David urged everybody who was doing right to keep on doing so, warned everybody who was doing wrong that they would better look out for themselves, praised those who were trying to better conditions in the right way, condemned those who were trying to do so in the wrong way. It was all most eloquent, most earnest. Some few people were disappointed that he had not explained exactly what and whom he meant by right and by wrong; but these carping murmurs were drowned in the general acclaim. A man whose fists clenched and whose eyes flashed as did David Hull's must ``mean business''--and if no results came of these words, it wouldn't be his fault, but the machinations of wicked plutocrats and their political agents.
``Isn't it disgusting!'' exclaimed Selma, reading an impassioned paragraph aloud to Victor Dorn. ``It almost makes me despair when I see how people--our sort of people, too--are taken in by such guff. And they stand with their empty picked pockets and cheer this man, who's nothing but a stool pigeon for pickpockets.''
``It's something gained,'' observed Victor tranquilly, ``when politicians have to denounce the plutocracy in order to get audiences and offices. The people are beginning to know what's wrong. They read into our friend Hull's generalities what they think he ought to mean--what they believe he does mean. The next step is--he'll have to do something or they'll find him out.''
``He do anything?'' Selma laughed derisively. ``He hasn't the courage--or the honesty.''
``Well--`patience and shuffle the cards,' as Sancho Panza says. We're winning Remsen City. And our friends are winning a little ground here, and a little there and a little yonder--and soon--only too soon-- this crumbling false politics will collapse and disappear. Too soon, I fear. Before the new politics of a work-compelling world for the working class only is ready to be installed.''
Selma had been only half attending. She now said abruptly, with a fluttering movement that suggested wind blowing strongly across open prairies under a bright sky:
``I've decided to go away.''
``Yes, you must take a vacation,'' said Victor. ``I've been telling you that for several years. And you must go away to the sea or the mountains where you'll not be harassed by the fate of the human race that you so take to heart.''
``I didn't mean a vacation,'' said Selma. ``I meant to Chicago--to work there.''
``You've had a good offer?'' said Victor. ``I knew it would come. You've got to take it. You need the wider experience--the chance to have a paper of your own--or a work of your own of some kind. It's been selfishness, my keeping you all this time.''
Selma had turned away. With her face hidden from him she said, ``Yes, I must go.''
``When?'' said Victor.
``As soon as you can arrange for some one else.''
``All right. I'll look round. I've no hope of finding any one to take your place, but I can get some one who will do.''
``You can train any one,'' said Selma. ``Just as you trained me.''
``I'll see what's to be done,'' was all he said.
A week passed--two weeks. She waited; he did not bring up the subject. But she knew he was thinking of it; for there had been a change in his manner toward her--a constraint, a self-consciousness