The Conflict [14]
She had walked round where her father could see her, as she delivered herself of this speech so redolent of the fumes of collegiate smugness. He proceeded to examine her--with an expression of growing dissatisfaction. Said he fretfully:
``You don't calculate to go out, looking like that?''
``Out to the swellest blow-out of the year, popsy,'' said she.
The big heavy looking head wobbled about uneasily. ``You look too much like your old pappy's daughter,'' said he.
``I can afford to,'' replied she.
The head shook positively. ``You ma wouldn't 'a liked it. She was mighty partic'lar how she dressed.''
Jane laughed gayly. ``Why, when did you become a critic of women's dress?'' cried she.
``I always used to buy yer ma dresses and hats when I went to the city,'' said he. ``And she looked as good as the best--not for these days, but for them times.'' He looked critically at the portrait. ``I bought them clothes and awful dear they seemed to me.'' His glance returned to his daughter. ``Go get yourself up proper,'' said he, between request and command. ``SHE wouldn't 'a liked it.''
Jane gazed at the common old crayon, suddenly flung her arms round the old man's neck. ``Yes-- father,'' she murmured. ``To please HER.''
She fled; the old man wiped his eyes, blew his nose and resumed the careful smoking of the cheap, smelly cigar. He said he preferred that brand of his days of poverty; and it was probably true, as he would refuse better cigars offered him by fastidious men who hoped to save themselves from the horrors of his. He waited restlessly, though it was long past his bedtime; he yawned and pretended to listen while Davy Hull, who had called for Jane in the Hull brougham, tried to make a favorable impression upon him. At last Jane reappeared-- and certainly Letitia Hastings would have been more than satisfied.
``Sorry to keep you waiting,'' said she to Hull, who was speechless and tremulous before her voluptuous radiance. ``But father didn't like the way I was rigged out. Maybe I'll have to change again.''
``Take her along, Davy,'' said Hastings, his big head wagging with delight. ``She's a caution--SHE is!''
Hull could not control himself to speak. As they sat in the carriage, she finishing the pulling on of her gloves, he stared out into the heavy rain that was deluging the earth and bending low the boughs. Said she, half way down the hill:
``Well--can't you talk about anything but Victor Dorn?''
``I saw him this afternoon,'' said Hull, glad that the tension of the silence was broken.
``Then you've got something to talk about.''
``The big street car strike is on.''
``So father said at dinner. I suppose Victor Dorn caused it.''
``No--he's opposed to it. He's queer. I don't exactly understand his ideas. He says strikes are ridiculous-- that it's like trying to cure smallpox by healing up one single sore.''
Jane gave a shiver of lady-like disgust. ``How-- nasty,'' said she.
``I'm telling you what he said. But he says that the only way human beings learn how to do things right is by doing them wrong--so while he's opposed to strikes he's also in favor of them.''
``Even _I_ understand that,'' said Jane. ``I don't think it's difficult.''
``Doesn't it strike you as--as inconsistent?''
``Oh--bother consistency!'' scoffed the girl. ``That's another middle class virtue that sensible people loathe as a vice.''
Anyhow, he's helping the strikers all he can--and fighting US. You know, your father and my father's estate are the two biggest owners of the street railways.''
``I must get his paper,'' said Jane. ``I'll have a lot of fun reading the truth about us.''
But David wasn't listening. He was deep in thought. After a while he said: ``It's amazing--and splendid-- and terrible, what power he's getting in our town. Victor Dorn, I mean.''
``Always Victor Dorn,'' mocked Jane.
``When he started--twelve years ago as a boy of twenty, just out of college and working as a carpenter --when he started, he was alone and poor, and