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don't want to have anything more to do with him." The French and the English had been

fighting ever since the year 1066.

XI

Oddly enough, it was the man from Iowa who served as international mediator. Parsifal

Dingle never meddled in anybody's affairs, but talked about the love of God, and perhaps it was

a coincidence that he talked most eloquently when he knew that two persons were at odds. God

was all and God was love; God was alive and God was here; God knew what we were doing and

saying and thinking, and when what we did was not right, we were deliberately cutting

ourselves off from Him and destroying our own happiness. That was the spiritual law; God

didn't have to punish us, we punished ourselves; and if we humbled ourselves before Him, we

exalted ourselves before one another. So on through a series of mystical statements which came

like a message from a much better world.

All this would have been familiar doctrine to the forebears of either of these young people.

Perhaps ideas have to be forgotten in order to become real again; anyhow, to both Marceline

and Alfy this strange gentleman was the originator or discoverer of awe-inspiring doctrines. A

rosy-cheeked, cherubic gentleman with graying hair and the accent of the prairies. Once when

he wanted to bathe his hands on board the sailboat he had used what he called a "wawsh-dish,"

which Alfy thought was the funniest combination of words he had ever heard.

But apparently God didn't object to the Iowa accent, for God came to him and told him what

to do. And when you thought of God, not somewhere up in the sky on a throne, but living in

your heart, a part of yourself in some incomprehensible way, then suddenly it seemed silly to

be quarreling with somebody who was a friend of the family, even if not your future spouse!

Better to forget about it—at least to the extent of a game of tennis.

Beauty thought how very convenient, having a spiritual healer in the family! She thought: "I

am an unworthy woman, and I must try to be like him and love everybody, and value them for

their best qualities. I really ought to go to Lanny's school, and meet some of those poor people,

and try to find in them what he finds." She would think these thoughts while putting on a costly

evening-gown which Irma had given her after two or three wearings; she would be escorted to

a party at the home of the former Baroness de la Tourette, and would listen to gossip about a

circus-rider who had married an elderly millionaire and was cutting a swath on this Coast of

Pleasure. The ladies would tear her reputation to shreds, and Beauty would enjoy their cruel

cleverness and forget all about the fact that God was listening to every word. A complicated

world, so very hard to be good in!

BOOK THREE

Blow, Winds, and Crack Your Cheeks

11

Woman's Whole Existence

I

THE betrayal of the British labor movement had entered like a white-hot iron into the flesh of

Eric Vivian Pomeroy-Nielson. He had brooded over it and analyzed its causes; he had filled his

soul with images of it; and the result was to be a drama called The Dress-Suit Bribe. No literary

title, dignified and impartial, but a fighting title, a propaganda title.

The central figure was a miner's son who had escaped from the pits by becoming a secretary

of his union. He had a wife who had been a schoolteacher, somewhat above him in station. They

had no children, because the labor movement was to be their child. At the opening of the play

he was a newly elected member of Parliament. There were characters and episodes recalling his

early days of fervor and idealism, but now we saw him absorbed in the not very edifying details of

party politics, the maneuvers for power, the payment of past obligations in the hope of

incurring more.

The leisure-class woman in the story had no doubt been modeled on Rosemary, Countess of

Sandhaven, Lanny's old flame; one of those women touched by the feminist movement who

did not permit themselves to love deeply because it would interfere with their independence,

their enjoyment of prominence and applause. She was a political woman who liked to wield

power; she set out to seduce a labor leader, not because she wanted to further the interests of

her Tory group, but because she enjoyed playing with a man and subjecting him to her will.

She tried to teach him what she called common sense, not merely about love, but about

politics and all the affairs of the world they lived in. She didn't mind breaking the heart of a

wife whom she considered an inferior and superfluous person; if in the process she broke up a

labor union, that was an incidental gain.

It was a "fat" part for an actress, and at Lanny's suggestion Rick had endowed the woman

with an American mother; a common enough phenomenon in London society, this would make

the role possible for Phyllis Gracyn. Lanny's old friend and playmate had been starred in two

plays which had "flopped" on Broadway through no fault of her own; so she was in a humble

frame of mind, and when Lanny wrote her about Rick's play she cabled at once, begging to be

allowed to see the script. The part had been written for her— even to allowing for traces of an

American accent.

Lanny had become excited about the play, and had talked out every scene with his friend,

both before and after it was put down on paper. Irma and Beauty read it, and Emily and

Sophie, and of course Rick's wife; these ladies consulted together, and contributed suggestions

as to how members of the grand and beau and haut monde felt and behaved. So the play

became a sort of family affair, and there was small chance of anything's being wrong with its

atmosphere and local color. After Emily had read the entire script, she offered to put in five

thousand dollars on the same terms as the rest of them, and Sophie, the ex-baroness, was not

to be outdone.

The play would be costly to produce, on account of the money atmosphere. If you want actors

to look like workingmen or labor leaders, you can hire them cheaply, but if you want one who

can play the Chancellor of the Exchequer, you have to dip into your own. Rick, who by now had

considerable experience, estimated the total at thirty thousand dollars, and the figure sounded

familiar to Lanny, because that had been the cost of Gracyn's first production, the sum for

which she had thrown him over. Now he would take a turn at being the "angel"; a higher,

celestial kind, for whom she wouldn't have to act anywhere but on the stage.

II

The play was finished early in April, and the family went north, with Alfy returning to school.

Lanny and Irma motored the mother and father as far as Paris, starting several days ahead; for

Zoltan Kertezsi was there, and they wanted to see the spring Salon through his expert eyes; also

there were plays to be seen, of interest to professionals such as they were about to become. As it

happened, France was in the midst of a furious election campaign, and when you had an uncle

running for the Chamber of Deputies, you were interested to see the show. Hansi and Bess had

consented to come and give a concert for the benefit of his campaign, so it would be a sort of

family reunion.

The Hungarian art expert was his usual serene and kindly self. He had just come back from a

trip to the Middle West, where, strange as it might seem, there were still millionaires who

enjoyed incomes and wanted to buy what they called "art paintings." Lanny had provided

Zoltan with photographs of the Detazes which were still in the storeroom, and three had been

sold, at prices which would help toward the production of The Dress-Suit Bribe. Irma insisted

upon putting up a share of the money, not because she knew anything about plays, but because

she loved Lanny and wanted him to have his heart's desires.

She took the same tolerant attitude toward political meetings. If Lanny wanted to go, she would

accompany him, and try to understand the French language shouted in wildly excited tones.

Jesse Blackless was running as candidate in one of those industrial suburbs which surrounded

Paris with a wide Red band. Under the French law you didn't have to be a resident of your

district but had to be a property-owner, so the Red candidate had purchased the cheapest

vacant lot he could find. He had been carefully cultivating the constituency, speaking to

groups of workers every night for months on end, attending committee meetings, even calling

upon the voters in their homes—all for the satisfaction of ousting a Socialist incumbent who had

departed from the "Moscow line." Irma didn't understand these technicalities, but she couldn't

help being thrilled to find this newly acquired uncle the center of attention on a platform,

delivering a fervid oration which drove the crowd to frenzies of delight. Also she couldn't fail to

be moved by the sight of Hansi Robin playing for the workers of a foreign land and being

received as a comrade and brother. If only they hadn't been such terrible-looking people!

III

All this put Lanny in a peculiar position. He attended his uncle's réunion, but didn't want

him to win and told him so. Afterward they repaired with a group of their friends to a cafe

where they had supper and argued and wrangled until the small hours of the morning. A noisy

place, crowded and full of tobacco smoke; Irma had been taken to such haunts in Berlin,

London, and New York, so she knew that this was how the intelligentsia lived. It was supposed

to be "bohemian," and certainly it was different; she could never complain that her marriage

had failed to provide her with adventures.

By the side of the millionairess sat a blond young Russian, speaking to her in English, which

made things easier; he had just come out of the Soviet Union, that place about which she had

heard so many terrible stories. He told her about the Five-Year Plan, which was nearing

completion. Already every part of its program had been overfulfilled; the great collective farms

were sowing this spring more grain than ever before in Russian history; it meant a complete

new era in the annals of mankind. The young stranger was quietly confident, and Irma

shivered, confronting the doom of the world in which she had been brought up. From the

attitude of the others she gathered that he was an important person, an agent of the Comintern,

perhaps sent to see that the campaign followed the correct party line; perhaps he was the

bearer of some of that "Moscow gold" about which one heard so much talk!

Across the table sat Hansi and Bess; and presently they were telling the Comintern man

details about the situation in Germany. Elections to the diets of the various states had just

been held, and the parties of the two extremes had made tremendous gains; the middle classes

were being wiped out, and with them the middle-class point of view. Hansi said that the battle

for the streets of the German cities, which had been waged for the last two or three years, was

going against the Communists; their foes had the money and the arms. Hansi had witnessed a

battle in broad daylight in Berlin. A squad of Stormtroopers had been marching with their

Hakenkreuz banners and a fife and drum, and passing a co-operative store they had hurled

stones through the windows; the men inside had rushed out and there had been a general

clubbing and stabbing. The Jewish violinist hadn't stayed to see the outcome. "I don't suppose

I ought to use my hands to beat people," he said, spreading them out apologetically.

"Poor Hansi!" thought Irma. He and Freddi were unhappy, having discovered how their

father was dealing with all sides in this German civil war. The Nazis were using Budd machine

guns in killing the workers, and how could that have come about without the firm of "R & R"

knowing about it? The boys hadn't quarreled with their father—they couldn't bear to—but their

peace of mind was gone and they were wondering how they could go on living in that home.

Also Irma thought: "Poor Lanny!" She saw her husband buffeted between the warring

factions. The Reds were polite to him in this crowd because he was Jesse's nephew, and also

because he was paying for the supper, a duty he invariably assumed. He seemed to feel that he

had to justify himself for being alive: a person who didn't enjoy fighting, and couldn't make up

his mind even to hate wholeheartedly.

Yet he couldn't keep out of arguments. When the Communist candidate for the Chamber of

Deputies put on his phonograph record and remarked that the Social-Democrats were a

greater barrier to progress than the Fascists, Lanny replied: "If you keep on asking for it,

Uncle Jesse, you may have the Fascists to deal with."

Said the phonograph: "Whether they mean to or not, they will help to smash the capitalist

system."

"Go and tell that to Mussolini!" jeered Lanny. "You've had ten years to deal with him, and

how far have you got?"

"He knows that he's near the end of his rope."

"But we're talking about capitalism! Have you studied the dividend reports of Fiat and

Ansaldo?"

So they sparred, back and forth; and Irma thought: "Oh, dear, how I dislike the

intelligentsia!"

But she couldn't help being impressed when the elections came off, and Zhess Block-less, as

the voters called him, showed up at the top of the poll in his district. On the following Sunday

came a runoff election, in which the two highest candidates, who happened to be the Red and

the Pink, fought it out between them. Uncle Jesse came to Irma secretly to beg for funds, and

she gave him two thousand francs, which cost her seventy-nine dollars. As it happened, the

Socialist candidate was a friend of Jean Longuet, and went to Lanny and got twice as much; but

even so, Zhess Block-less came out several hundred votes ahead, and Lanny had the distinction

of having an uncle who was a member of the Chamber of Deputies of the French Republic.

Many a young man had made his fortune from such a connection, but all Lanny could expect