The 42nd Parallel (44 page)

that the day has come when America is privileged to spend her

blood and her might for the principles that gave her birth

and happiness and the peace that she has treasured. God

helping her she can do no other

It’s a long way to Tipperary

It’s a long way to go

It’s a long way to Tipperary

And the sweetest girl I know

TRAITORS BEWARE

four men in Evanston fined for killing birds

WILSON WILL FORCE DRAFT

food gamblers raise price of canned foods move for dry U S in war files charges when men ignore national air

JOFFRE ASKS TROOPS NOW

Mooney case incentive

Goodby Piccadilly, farewell Leicester Square

It’s a long long way to Tipperary

But my heart’s right there.

HOUSE REFUSES TO ALLOW T R TO RAISE TROOPS

the American Embassy was threatened today with an attack by a mob of radical socialists led by Nicolai Lenin an exile who recently returned from Switzerland via Germany

ALLIES TWINE FLAGS ON TOMB OF WASHINGTON

Eleanor thought that things were very exciting that winter. She and J.W. went out a great deal together, to all the French operas and to first nights. There was a little French restaurant where they ate hors d’œuvres way east in Fiftysixth Street. They went to see French paintings in the galleries up Madison Avenue. J.W. began to get interested in art, and Eleanor loved going round with him because he had such a romantic manner about everything and he used to tell her she was his inspiration and that he always got good ideas when he’d been talking to her. They often talked about how silly people were who said that a man and a woman couldn’t have a platonic friendship. They wrote each other little notes in French every day. Eleanor often thought it was a shame J.W. had such a stupid wife who was an invalid too, but she thought that the children were lovely and it was nice that they both had lovely blue eyes like their father.

She had an office now all by herself and had two girls working with her to learn the business and had quite a lot of work to do. The office was in the first block above Madison Square on Madison Avenue and she just had her own name on it. Eveline Hutchins didn’t have anything to do with it any more as Dr. Hutchins had retired and the Hutchinses had all moved out to Santa Fe. Eveline sent her an occasional box of Indian curios or pottery and the watercolors the Indian children did in the schools, and Eleanor found they sold very well. In the afternoon she’d ride downtown in a taxi and look up at the Metropolitan Life tower and the Flatiron Building and the lights against the steely Manhattan sky and think of crystals and artificial flowers and gilt patterns on indigo and claretcolored brocade.

The maid would have tea ready for her and often there would be friends waiting for her, young architects or painters. There’d always be flowers, calla lilies with the texture of icecream or a bowl of freesias. She’d talk a while before slipping off to dress for dinner. When J.W. phoned that he couldn’t come she’d feel very bad. If there was still anybody there who’d come to tea she’d ask him to stay and have potluck with her.

The sight of the French flag excited her always or when a band played
Tipperary
; and one evening when they were going to see
The Yellow Jacket
for the third time, she had on a new fur coat that she was wondering how she was going to pay for, and she thought of all the bills at her office and the house on Sutton Place she was remodeling on a speculation and wanted to ask J.W. about a thousand he’d said he’d invested for her and wondered if there’d been any turnover yet. They’d been talking about the air raids and poison gas and the effect of the war news downtown and the Bowmen of Mons and the Maid of Orleans and she said she believed in the supernatural, and J.W. was hinting something about reverses on the Street and his face looked drawn and worried; but they were crossing Times Square through the eight o’clock crowds and the skysigns flashing on and off. The fine little triangular men were doing exercises on the Wrigley sign and suddenly a grindorgan began to play
The Marseillaise
and it was too beautiful; she burst into tears and they talked about Sacrifice and Dedication and J.W. held her arm tight through the fur coat and gave the organgrinder man a dollar. When they got to the theater Eleanor hurried down to the ladies’ room to see if her eyes had got red. But when she looked in the mirror they weren’t red at all and there was a flash of heartfelt feeling in her eyes, so she just freshened up her face and went back up to the lobby, where J.W. was waiting for her with the tickets in his hand; her gray eyes were flashing and had tears in them.

Then one evening J.W. looked very worried indeed and said when he was taking her home from the opera where they’d seen
Manon
that his wife didn’t understand their relations and was making scenes and threatening to divorce him. Eleanor was indignant and said she must have a very coarse nature not to understand that their relations were pure as driven snow. J.W. said she had and that he was very worried and he explained that most of the capital invested in his agency was his mother-in-law’s and that she could bankrupt him if she wanted to, which was much worse than a divorce. At that Eleanor felt very cold and crisp and said that she would rather go out of his life entirely than break up his home and that he owed something to his lovely children. J.W. said she was his inspiration and he had to have her in his life and when they got back to Eighth Street they walked back and forth in Eleanor’s white glittering drawingroom in the heavy smell of lilies wondering what could be done. They smoked many cigarettes but they couldn’t seem to come to any decision. When J.W. left he said with a sigh, “She may have detectives shadowing me this very minute,” and he went away very despondent.

After he’d gone Eleanor walked back and forth in front of the long Venetian mirror between the windows. She didn’t know what to do. The decorating business was barely breaking even. She had the amortization to pay off on the house on Sutton Place. The rent of her apartment was two months overdue and there was her fur coat to pay for. She’d counted on the thousand dollars’ worth of shares J.W. had said would be hers if he made the killing he expected in that Venezuela Oil stock. Something must have gone wrong or else he would have spoken of it. When Eleanor went to bed she didn’t sleep. She felt very miserable and lonely. She’d have to go back to the drudgery of a department store. She was losing her looks and her friends and now if she had to give up J.W. it would be terrible. She thought of her colored maid Augustine with her unfortunate loves that she always told Eleanor about and she wished she’d been like that. Maybe she’d been wrong from the start to want everything so justright and beautiful. She didn’t cry but she lay all night with her eyes wide and smarting staring at the flowered molding round the ceiling that she could see in the light that filtered in from the street through her lavender tulle curtains.

A couple of days later at the office she was looking at some antique Spanish chairs an old furniture dealer was trying to sell her when a telegram came:
DISAGREEABLE DEVELOPMENTS MUST SEE YOU INADVISABLE USE TELEPHONE MEET ME TEA FIVE OCLOCK PRINCE GEORGE HOTEL
It wasn’t signed. She told the man to leave the chairs and when he’d gone stood a long time looking down at a pot of lavender crocuses with yellow pistils she had on her desk. She was wondering if it would do any good if she went out to Great Neck and talked to Gertrude Moorehouse. She called Miss Lee who was making up some curtains in the other room and asked her to take charge of the office and that she’d phone during the afternoon.

She got into a taxi and went up to the Pennsylvania Station. It was a premature Spring day. People were walking along the street with their overcoats unbuttoned. The sky was a soft mauve with frail clouds like milkweed floss. In the smell of furs and overcoats and exhausts and bundledup bodies came an unexpected scent of birchbark. Eleanor sat bolt upright in the back of the taxi driving her sharp nails into the palms of her graygloved hands. She hated these treacherous days when winter felt like Spring. They made the lines come out on her face, made everything seem to crumble about her, there seemed to be no firm footing any more. She’d go out and talk to Gertrude Moorehouse as one woman to another. A scandal would ruin everything. If she talked to her a while she’d make her realize that there had never been anything between her and J.W. A divorce scandal would ruin everything. She’d lose her clients and have to go into bankruptcy and the only thing to do would be to go back to Pullman to live with her uncle and aunt.

She paid the taximan and went down the stairs to the Long Island Railroad. Her knees were shaky and she felt desperately tired as she pushed her way through the crowd to the information desk. No, she couldn’t get a train to Great Neck till 2:13. She stood in line a long time for a ticket. A man stepped on her foot. The line of people moved maddeningly slowly past the ticketwindow. When she got to the window it was several seconds before she could remember the name of the place she wanted a ticket for. The man looked at her through the window, with peevish shoebutton eyes. He wore a green eyeshade and his lips were too red for his pale face. The people behind were getting impatient. A man with a tweed coat and a heavy suitcase was already trying to brush past her. “Great Neck and return.” As soon as she’d bought the ticket the thought came to her that she wouldn’t have time to get out there and back by five o’clock. She put the ticket in her gray silk purse that had a little design in jet on it. She thought of killing herself. She would take the subway downtown and go up in the elevator to the top of the Woolworth Building and throw herself off.

Instead she went out to the taxistation. Russet sunlight was pouring through the gray colonnade, the blue smoke of exhausts rose into it crinkled like watered silk. She got into a taxi and told the driver to take her round Central Park. Some of the twigs were red and there was a glint on the long buds of beeches but the grass was still brown and there were piles of dirty snow in the gutters. A shivery raw wind blew across the ponds. The taximan kept talking to her. She couldn’t catch what he said and got tired of making random answers and told him to leave her at the Metropolitan Art Museum. While she was paying him a newsboy ran by crying “Extra!” Eleanor bought a paper for a nickel and the taximan bought a paper. “I’ll be a sonova . . .” she heard the taximan exclaim, but she ran up the steps fast for fear she’d have to talk to him. When she got in the quiet silvery light of the museum she opened up the paper. A rancid smell of printer’s ink came from it; the ink was still sticky and came off on her gloves.

DECLARATION OF WAR

A matter of hours now Washington Observers declare.

German note thoroughly unsatisfactory.

She left the newspaper on a bench and went to look at the Rodins. After she’d looked at the Rodins she went to the Chinese wing. By the time she was ready to go down Fifth Avenue in the bus—she felt she’d been spending too much on taxis—she felt elated. All the way downtown she kept remembering the Age of Bronze. When she made out J.W. in the stuffy pinkish light of the hotel lobby she went towards him with a springy step. His jaw was set and his blue eyes were on fire. He looked younger than last time she’d seen him. “Well, it’s come at last,” he said. “I just wired Washington offering my services to the government. I’d like to see ’em try and pull a railroad strike now.” “It’s wonderful and terrible,” said Eleanor. “I’m trembling like a leaf.”

They went to a little table in the corner behind some heavy draperies to have tea. They had hardly sat down before the orchestra started playing
The Star-Spangled Banner
, and they had to get to their feet. There was great bustle in the hotel. People kept running about with fresh editions of the papers, laughing and talking loud. Perfect strangers borrowed each other’s newspapers, chatted about the war, lit cigarettes for each other.

“I have an idea, J.W.,” Eleanor was saying, holding a piece of cinnamontoast poised in her pointed fingers, “that if I went out and talked to your wife as one woman to another, she’d understand the situation better. When I was decorating the house she was so kind and we got along famously.”

“I have offered my services to Washington,” said Ward. “There may be a telegram at the office now. I’m sure that Gertrude will see that it is her simple duty.”

“I want to go, J.W.,” said Eleanor. “I feel I must go.”

“Where?”

“To France.”

“Don’t do anything hasty, Eleanor.”

“No, I feel I must . . . I could be a very good nurse . . . I’m not afraid of anything; you ought to know that, J.W.”

The orchestra played
The Star-Spangled Banner
again; Eleanor sang some of the chorus in a shrill little treble voice. They were too excited to sit still long and went over to J.W.’s office in a taxi. The office was in great excitement. Miss Williams had had a flagpole put up in the center window and was just raising the flag on it. Eleanor went over to her and they shook hands warmly. The cold wind was rustling the papers on the desk and typewritten pages were sailing across the room but nobody paid any attention. Down Fifth Avenue a band was coming near playing
Hail, Hail, the Gang’s All Here.
All along office windows were brightly lit, flags were slapping against their poles in the cold wind, clerks and stenographers were leaning out and cheering, dropping out papers that sailed and whirled in the bitter eddying wind.

“It’s the Seventh Regiment,” somebody said and they all clapped and yelled. The band was clanging loud under the window. They could hear the tramp of the militiamen’s feet. All the automobiles in the stalled traffic tooted their horns. People on the tops of the busses were waving small flags. Miss Williams leaned over and kissed Eleanor on the cheek. J.W. stood by looking out over their heads with a proud smile on his face.