The Conflict [3]
service in return. For instance, you and I--what have we done, what are we doing that entitles us to draw so much? Somebody must earn by hard labor all that is produced. We are not earning. So''--he was looking handsome now in his manly earnestness--``Jen, it's up to us to do our share--to stop stealing--isn't it?''
She was genuinely interested. ``I hadn't thought of these things,'' said she.
``Victor Dorn says we ought to go to work like laborers,'' pursued David. ``But that's where he's a crank. The truth is, we ought to give the service of leadership--especially in politics. And I'm going to do it, Jane Hastings!''
For the first time she had an interest in him other than that of conquest. ``Just what are you going to do?'' she asked.
``Not upset everything and tear everything to pieces, as Victor Dorn wants to do,'' replied he. ``But reform the abuses and wrongs--make it so that every one shall have a fair chance--make politics straight and honest.''
This sounded hazy to her. ``And what will you get out of it?'' asked she.
He colored and was a little uneasy as he thus faced a direct demand for his innermost secret--the secret of selfishness he tried to hide even from himself. But there was no evading; if he would interest her he must show her the practical advantages of his proposal. ``If I'm to do any good,'' said he, putting the best face, and really not a bad face, upon a difficult and delicate matter--``if I'm to do any good I must win a commanding position--must get to be a popular leader--must hold high offices--and--and--all that.''
``I understand,'' said she. ``That sounds attractive. Yes, David, you ought to make a career. If I were a man that's the career I'd choose.''
``You can choose it, though you're a woman,'' rejoined he. ``Marry me, and we'll go up together. You've no idea how exciting campaigns and elections are. A little while, and you'll be crazy about it all. The women are taking part, more and more.''
``Who's Victor Dorn?'' she suddenly asked.
``You must remember him. It was his father that was killed by the railway the day we all went on that excursion to Indianapolis.''
``Dorn the carpenter,'' said Jane. ``Yes--I remember.'' Her face grew dreamy with the effort of memory. ``I see it all again. And there was a boy with a very white face who knelt and held his head.''
``That was Victor,'' said Hull.
``Yes--I remember him. He was a bad boy--always fighting and robbing orchards and getting kept after school.''
``And he's still a bad boy--but in a different way. He's out against everything civilized and everybody that's got money.''
``What does he do? Keep a saloon?''
``No, but he spends a lot of time at them. I must say for him that he doesn't drink--and professes not to believe in drink. When I pointed out to him what a bad example he set, loafing round saloons, he laughed at me and said he was spending his spare time exactly as Jesus Christ did. `You'll find, Davy, old man,' he said, `if you'll take the trouble to read your Bible, that Jesus traveled with publicans and sinners--and a publican is in plain English a saloonkeeper.' ''
``That was very original--wasn't it?'' said Jane. ``I'm interested in this man. He's--different. I like people who are different.''
``I don't think you'd like him, Victor Dorn,'' said David.
``Don't you?''
``Oh, yes--in a way. I admire him,'' graciously. ``He's really a remarkable fellow, considering his opportunities.''
``He calls you `Davy, old man,' '' suggested Jane.
Hull flushed. ``That's his way. He's free and easy with every one. He thinks conventionality is a joke.''
``And it is,'' cried Miss Hastings.
``You'd not think so,'' laughed Hull, ``if he called you Jane or Jenny or my dear Jenny half an hour after he met you.''
``He wouldn't,'' said Miss Hastings in a peculiar tone.
``He would if he felt like it,'' replied Hull. ``And if you resented it, he'd laugh at you and walk away. I suspect him of being a good deal of a poseur and a fakir. All those
She was genuinely interested. ``I hadn't thought of these things,'' said she.
``Victor Dorn says we ought to go to work like laborers,'' pursued David. ``But that's where he's a crank. The truth is, we ought to give the service of leadership--especially in politics. And I'm going to do it, Jane Hastings!''
For the first time she had an interest in him other than that of conquest. ``Just what are you going to do?'' she asked.
``Not upset everything and tear everything to pieces, as Victor Dorn wants to do,'' replied he. ``But reform the abuses and wrongs--make it so that every one shall have a fair chance--make politics straight and honest.''
This sounded hazy to her. ``And what will you get out of it?'' asked she.
He colored and was a little uneasy as he thus faced a direct demand for his innermost secret--the secret of selfishness he tried to hide even from himself. But there was no evading; if he would interest her he must show her the practical advantages of his proposal. ``If I'm to do any good,'' said he, putting the best face, and really not a bad face, upon a difficult and delicate matter--``if I'm to do any good I must win a commanding position--must get to be a popular leader--must hold high offices--and--and--all that.''
``I understand,'' said she. ``That sounds attractive. Yes, David, you ought to make a career. If I were a man that's the career I'd choose.''
``You can choose it, though you're a woman,'' rejoined he. ``Marry me, and we'll go up together. You've no idea how exciting campaigns and elections are. A little while, and you'll be crazy about it all. The women are taking part, more and more.''
``Who's Victor Dorn?'' she suddenly asked.
``You must remember him. It was his father that was killed by the railway the day we all went on that excursion to Indianapolis.''
``Dorn the carpenter,'' said Jane. ``Yes--I remember.'' Her face grew dreamy with the effort of memory. ``I see it all again. And there was a boy with a very white face who knelt and held his head.''
``That was Victor,'' said Hull.
``Yes--I remember him. He was a bad boy--always fighting and robbing orchards and getting kept after school.''
``And he's still a bad boy--but in a different way. He's out against everything civilized and everybody that's got money.''
``What does he do? Keep a saloon?''
``No, but he spends a lot of time at them. I must say for him that he doesn't drink--and professes not to believe in drink. When I pointed out to him what a bad example he set, loafing round saloons, he laughed at me and said he was spending his spare time exactly as Jesus Christ did. `You'll find, Davy, old man,' he said, `if you'll take the trouble to read your Bible, that Jesus traveled with publicans and sinners--and a publican is in plain English a saloonkeeper.' ''
``That was very original--wasn't it?'' said Jane. ``I'm interested in this man. He's--different. I like people who are different.''
``I don't think you'd like him, Victor Dorn,'' said David.
``Don't you?''
``Oh, yes--in a way. I admire him,'' graciously. ``He's really a remarkable fellow, considering his opportunities.''
``He calls you `Davy, old man,' '' suggested Jane.
Hull flushed. ``That's his way. He's free and easy with every one. He thinks conventionality is a joke.''
``And it is,'' cried Miss Hastings.
``You'd not think so,'' laughed Hull, ``if he called you Jane or Jenny or my dear Jenny half an hour after he met you.''
``He wouldn't,'' said Miss Hastings in a peculiar tone.
``He would if he felt like it,'' replied Hull. ``And if you resented it, he'd laugh at you and walk away. I suspect him of being a good deal of a poseur and a fakir. All those