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.
After the band had gone and traffic was running again they put the window down and Miss Williams went around picking up and arranging loose papers. J.W. had a telegram from Washington accepting his services on the Public Information Committee that Mr. Wilson was gathering about him and said he’d leave in the morning. He called up Great Neck and asked Gertrude if he could come out to dinner and bring a friend. Gertrude said he might and that she hoped she’d be able to stay up to see them. She was excited by the warnews but she said the thought of all that misery and slaughter gave her horrible pains in the back of the head.
“I have a hunch that if I take you out to dinner at Gertrude’s everything will be all right,” he said to Eleanor. “I’m rarely wrong in my hunches.”
“Oh, I know she’ll understand,” said Eleanor.
As they were leaving the office they met Mr. Robbins in the hall. He didn’t take his hat off or the cigar out of his mouth. He looked drunk. “What the hell is this, Ward?” he said. “Are we at war or not?”
“If we’re not we will be before morning,” said J.W.
“It’s the goddamnedest treason in history,” said Mr. Robbins. “What did we elect Wilson for instead of Old Fuzzywhiskers except to keep us out of the goddam mess?”
“Robbins, I don’t agree with you for a minute,” said J.W. “I think it’s our duty to save…” But Mr. Robbins had disappeared through the office door leaving a strong reek of whisky behind him. “I’d have given him a piece of my mind,” said Eleanor, “if I hadn’t seen that he was in no condition.”
Driving out to Great Neck in the Pierce Arrow it was thrilling. A long red afterglow lingered in the sky. Crossing the Queensboro Bridge with the cold wind back of them was like flying above lights and blocks of houses and the purple bulk of Blackwell’s Island and the steamboats and the tall chimneys and the blue light of powerplants. They talked of Edith Cavell and airraids and flags and searchlights and the rumble of armies advancing and Joan of Arc. Eleanor drew the fur robe up to her chin and thought about what she’d say to Gertrude Moorehouse.
When they got to the house she felt a little afraid of a scene. She stopped in the hall to do up her face with a pocketmirror she had in her bag.
Gertrude Moorehouse was sitting in a long chair beside a crackling fire. Eleanor glanced around the room and was pleased at how lovely it looked. Gertrude Moorehouse went very pale when she saw her. “I wanted to talk to you,” said Eleanor. Gertrude Moorehouse held out her hand without getting up. “Excuse me for not getting up, Miss Stoddard,” she said, “but I’m absolutely prostrated by the terrible news.”
“Civilization demands a sacrifice… from all of us,” said Eleanor.
“Of course it is terrible what the Huns have done, cutting the hands off Belgian children and all that,” said Gertrude Moorehouse.
“Mrs. Moorehouse,” said Eleanor. “I want to speak to you about this unfortunate misunderstanding of my relations with your husband… Do you think I am the sort of woman who could come out here and face you if there was anything in these horrible rumors? Our relations are pure as driven snow.”
“Please don’t speak of it, Miss Stoddard. I believe you.”
When J.W. came in they were sitting on either side of the fire talking about Gertrude’s operation. Eleanor got to her feet. “Oh, I think it’s wonderful of you, J.W.”
J.W. cleared his throat and looked from one to the other.
“It’s little less than my duty,” he said.
“What is it?” asked Gertrude.
“I have offered my services to the government to serve in whatever capacity they see fit for the duration of the war.” “Not at the front,” said Gertrude with a startled look.
“I’m leaving for Washington tomorrow… Of course I shall serve without pay.”
“Ward, that’s noble of you,” said Gertrude. He walked over slowly until he stood beside her chair, then he leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. “We must all make our sacrifices… My dear, I shall trust you and your mother…”
“Of course, Ward, of course… It’s all been a silly misunderstanding.” Gertrude flushed red. She got to her feet. “I’ve been a damn suspicious fool… but you mustn’t go to the front, Ward. I’ll talk mother around”… She went up to him and put her hands on his shoulders. Eleanor stood back against the wall looking at them. He wore a smoothfitting tuxedo. Gertrude’s salmoncolored teagown stood out against the black. His light hair was ashgray in the light from the crystal chandelier against the tall ivorygray walls of the room. His face was in shadow and looked very sad. Eleanor thought how little people understood a man like that, how beautiful the room was, like a play, like a Whistler, like Sarah Bernhardt. Emotion misted her eyes.