Ma Pettengill Page 9

  IX

  THE TAKER-UP

  On a tired evening, in front of the Arrowhead's open fire, I lived overfor the hundredth time a great moment. From the big pool under the fallsfour miles up the creek I had landed the Big Trout. Others had failed inyears past; I, too, had failed more than once. But to-day!

  At the hour of 9:46 A.M., to be exact, as one should in these matters, Ihad cast three times above the known lair of this fish. Then I cast afourth time, more from habit than hope; and the fight was on. I put ithere with the grim brevity of a communique. Despite stout resistance, theobjective was gained at 9:55 A.M. And the Big Trout would weigh a goodtwo and one half--say three or three and one quarter--pounds. These arethe bare facts.

  Verily it was a moment to live over; and to myself now I was morediscursive. I vanquished the giant trout again and again, alteringdetails of the contest at will--as when I waded into icy water to thewaist in a last moment of panic. My calm review disclosed that this hadbeen fanciful overcaution; but at the great crisis and for three minutesafterward I had gloried in the wetting.

  Now again I three times idly flicked that corner of the pool with asynthetic moth. Again for the fourth time I cast, more from habit thanhope. Then ensued that terrific rush from the pool's lucent depths--

  "Yes, sir; you wouldn't need no two guesses for what she'd wear at agrand costume ball of the Allied nations--not if you knew her like I do."This was Ma Pettengill, who had stripped a Sunday paper from the greatcity to its society page. She lifted this under the lamp and made strangebut eloquent noises of derision:

  "You take Genevieve May now, of a morning, before that strong-armJapanese maid has got her face rubbed down and calked with paints,oils, and putty, and you'd say to her, as a friend and well-wisher:'Now look here, old girl, you might get by at that costume ball asStricken Serbia or Ravaged Belgium, but you better take a well-meanthint and everlastingly do not try to get over as La Belle France. True,France has had a lot of things done to her,' you'd say, 'and she mayshow a blemish here and there; but still, don't try it unless you wishto start something with a now friendly ally--even if it is in your ownhouse. That nation is already pushed to a desperate point, and any littlething might prove too much--even if you are Mrs. Genevieve May Popper andhave took up the war in a hearty girlish manner.' Yes, sir!"

  This, to be sure, was outrageous--that I should hear myself addressing astrange lady in terms so gross. Besides, I wished again to be present atthe death of my favourite trout. I affected not to have heard. I affectedto be thinking deeply.

  It worked, measurably. Once more I scanned the pool's gleaming surfaceand felt the cold pricking of spray from the white water that tumbledfrom a cleft in the rocks above. Once more I wondered if this, by chance,might prove a sad but glorious day for a long-elusive trout. Once more Ilooked to the fly. Once more I--

  "What I never been able to figger out--how can a dame like that foolherself beyond a certain age? Seams in her face! And not a soul but wouldknow she got her hair like the United States acquired Louisiana. Thatlady's power of belief is enormous. And I bet she couldn't put two andtwo together without making a total wreck of the problem. Like fair timea year ago, when she was down to Red Gap taking up the war. She comesalong Fourth Street in her uniform one morning, fresh from the hands ofthis hired accomplice of hers, and meets Cousin Egbert Floud and me wherewe'd stopped to talk a minute. She is bubbling with war activity asusual, but stopped and bubbled at us a bit--kind of hale and girlish, youmight say. We passed the time of day; and, being that I'm a first-classsociety liar, I say how young and fresh she looks; and she gets the balland bats it right back to Cousin Egbert.

  "'You'd never dream,' says she, 'what my funny little mite of a Japanesemaid calls me! You'd really never guess! She calls me Madam PeachBlossom! Isn't that perfectly absurd, Mr. Floud?'

  "And poor Cousin Egbert, instead of giggling in a hearty manner andsaying 'Oh, come now, Mrs. Popper! What's in the least absurd aboutthat?'--like he was meant to and like any gentleman would of--what doesthe poor silly do but blink at her a couple of times like an old barn owlthat's been startled and say 'Yes, ma'am!'--flat and cold, just likethat!

  "It almost made an awkward pause; but the lady pretended she had beensaying something to me, so she couldn't hear him. That Cousin Egbert! Hecertainly wouldn't ever get very high in the diplomatic service ofanybody's country.

  "And here's this grand ball of the Allied nations in costume, give inGenevieve May's palatial residence. It must of throwed a new panic intoBerlin when they got the news off the wire. Matter of fact, I don't seehow them Germans held out long as they did, with Genevieve May Popperputting crimps into 'em with her tireless war activities. That provesitself they'd been long preparing for the fray. Of course, with GenevieveMay and this here new city marshal, Fotch, the French got, it was only aquestion of time. Genevieve is sure one born taker-up! Now she's made acomplete circle of the useful arts and got round to dancing again. Yes,sir!"

  I affected to believe I was solitary in the room. This time it did notwork--even measurably. Almost at once came: "I said she was the darndestwoman in the world to take things up!" The tone compelled notice, so Isaid "Indeed!" and "You don't say!" with a cautiously extended spacebetween them, and tried to go on thinking.

  Then I knew the woman's full habit of speech was strong upon her andthat one might no longer muse upon a caught trout--even one to weighwell up toward four pounds. So I remembered that I was supposed to bea gentleman.

  "Go right ahead and talk," I murmured.

  "Sure!" said the lady, not murmuring. "What in time did you think I wasgoing to do?"

  Yes, sir; I bet she's the greatest taker-up--bar none--the war has yetproduced. She's took up France the latest. I understand they got asociety of real workers somewhere that's trying to house and feed andgive medicine and crutches to them poor unfortunates that got in the wayof the dear old Fatherland when it took the lid off its Culture and triedto make the world safe--even for Germans; but I guess this here societygets things over to devastated France without much music or flourishes oruniforms that would interest Genevieve May.

  But if that country is to be saved by costume balls of the Alliednations, with Genevieve May being La Belle France in a dress hardly longenough to show three colours, then it needn't have another uneasy moment.Genevieve stands ready to do all if she can wear a costume and dance thesteps it cost her eight dollars a lesson to learn from one of these slimprofessionals that looks like a rich college boy.

  It was this reckless dancing she'd took up when I first knew her, thoughshe probably goes back far enough to of took up roller skating when thatwas sprung on an eager world; and I know she got herself talked about in1892 for wearing bloomers on a bicycle. But we wasn't really acquaintedtill folks begun to act too familiar in public, and call it dancing, andpay eight dollars a lesson to learn something any of 'em that was healthywould of known by instinct at a proper time and place. Having lots ofmoney, Genevieve May travelled round to the big towns, learning new stepsand always taking with her one of these eight-dollar boys, with his hairdone like a seal, to make sure she'd learn every step she saw.

  She was systematic, that woman. If she was in Seattle and heard about anew step in San Francisco, she'd be on the train with her instructor inone hour and come back with the new step down pat. She scandalized RedGap the year she come to visit her married daughter, Lucille Stultz, byintroducing many of these new grips and clinches; but of course that soonwore off. Seems like we get used to anything in this world after it'sdone by well-dressed people a few times.

  Then, as I say, these kind-hearted, music-loving Germans, with theirstrong affection for home life and little ones, started in to shoot therest of the world up to German standards, and they hadn't burned morethan a dozen towns in Belgium, after shooting the oldest and youngestand sexecuting the women--I suppose sexecution is what you might callit--before Genevieve took up the war herself.

  Yes, sir--took it right up; no sooner said
than done with her. It wasreally all over right then. The Germans might just as well of begun fouryears ago to talk about the anarchistic blood-lust of Woodrow Wilson asto wait until they found out the Almighty knows other languages besidesGerman.

  I believe the Red Cross was the first handle by which Genevieve May tookup the war. But that costume is too cheap for one that feels she's a bornsocial leader if she could only get someone to follow. She found thatyoung chits of no real social standing, but with a pleasing exterior,could get into a Red Cross uniform costing about two-eighty-five and sellobjects of luxury at a bazaar twice as fast as a mature woman of sterlingcharacter in the same simple garb.

  So Genevieve May saw it had got to be something costing more money andbeyond the reach of an element you wouldn't care to entertain in yourown drawing room. And next thing I was up to Spokane, and here she is,dashing round the corridors of the hotel in a uniform that never cost apenny under two hundred and fifty, what with its being made by a swelltailor and having shiny boots with silver spurs and a natty tuckedcap and a shiny belt that went round the waist and also up over oneshoulder, with metal trimming, and so on. She was awful busy, dartinghither and yon at the lunch hour, looking prettily worried and like shewould wish to avoid being so conspicuous, but was foiled by the staresof the crowd.

  Something always seemed to be happening to make her stand out; like inthe restaurant, where, no sooner did she pick out just the right table,after some hesitation, and get nicely seated, than she'd see someoneacross the room at a far table and have to run over and speak. She spoketo parties at five distant tables that day, getting a scratchy lunch, Ishould say. One of the tables was mine. We wasn't what you'd call closefriends, but she cut a swath clean across a crowded dining room to tellme how well I was looking.

  Of course I fell for the uniform and wanted to know what it meant. Well,it meant that she was organizing a corps of girl ambulance drivers fromthe city's beet families. She was a major herself already, and was beingsaluted by he-officers. She said it was a wonderful work, and how did Ithink she looked in this, because it was a time calling for everyone'sbest, and what had I taken up for my bit? I was only raising beef cattle,so I didn't have any answer to that. I felt quite shamed. And Genevievewent back to her own table for another bite of food, bowing tolerantly tomost of the people in the room.

  I don't know how far she ever got with this girl's ambulance corpsbeyond her own uniform. She certainly made an imposing ambulance driverherself on the streets of that town. You'd see her big, shiny, light-bluelimousine drive up, with two men on the seat and Genevieve, in uniform,would be helped out by one of 'em, and you knew right off you'd love tobe a wounded soldier and be drove over shell-torn roads by her own hands.

  Anyway, she got mad and left the ambulance service flat, getting intosome sort of brawl with an adjutant general or something through wantingto take a mere detail out of his hands that he felt should stay rightwhere it was, he being one of these offensive martinets and a sticklerfor red tape, and swollen with petty power. So Genevieve May said.

  So she looked round for another way to start a few home fires burningon the other side of the Rhine. I forget what her next strategy was, butyou know it was something cute and busy in a well-fitting uniform, andcalculated to shorten the conflict if Germany found it out. You knowthat much.

  I remember at one time she was riding in parades when the boys wouldmarch down to the station to go off and settle things in their own crudeway. I lost track of what she was taking up for a while, but I knowshe kept on getting new uniforms till she must of had quite a time everymorning deciding what she was going to be that day, like the father ofthe German Crown Prince.

  Finally, last spring, it got to be the simple uniform of a waitress. Shehad figgered out that all the girls then taking the places of men waiterswould get called for nurses sooner or later; so why shouldn't prominentsociety matrons like herself learn how to wait on table, so as to takethe girl waiters' places when they went across? Not exactly that; theywouldn't keep on lugging trays forever in this emergency--only till theycould teach new girls the trade, when some new ones come along to takethe places of them that had met the call of duty.

  So Genievieve agitated and wrote letters from the heart out to about twodozen society buds; and then she terrified the owner of the biggest hotelin her home town till he agreed to let 'em come and wait on table everyday at lunch.

  Genevieve May's uniform of a poor working girl was a simple black dress,with white apron, cuffs, and cap, the whole, as was right, not costingover six or seven dollars, though her string of matched pearls that costtwo hundred thousand sort of raised the average. The other society budswas arrayed similar and looked like so many waitresses. Not in a hotel,mebbe, but in one of these musical shows where no money has beenspared.

  The lady had a glorious two days ordering these girls round as headwaiter and seeing that everybody got a good square look at her, and soon. But the other girls got tired the second day. It was jolly and alltips went to the Red Cross, and the tips was big; but it was just as hardwork as if they had really been poor working girls, with not enoughrecreation about it. So the third day they rebelled at the head waiterand made Genevieve herself jump in and carry out trays full of dishesthat had served their purpose.

  This annoyed Genevieve May very much. It not only upset discipline butmade the arms and back ache. So she now went into the kitchen to show thecook how to cook in a more saving manner. Her intentions were beautiful;but the head cook was a sensitive foreigner, and fifteen minutes aftershe went into his kitchen he had to be arrested for threatening to harmthe well-known society matron with a common meat saw.

  The new one they got in his place next day let her mess round all shewanted to, knowing his job depended on it, though it was told that he gota heartless devil-may-care look in his eyes the minute he saw her makinga cheap fish sauce. But he said nothing.

  That hotel does a big business, but it fell off surprising the day afterthis, twenty-three people having been took bad with poison from somethingthey'd et there at lunch. True, none of these got as fur as the coroner,so it never was known exactly what they'd took in; but the thing made alot of talk at stricken bedsides and Genevieve spent a dull day denyingthat her cooking had done this outrage. Then, her dignity being muchhurt, she wrote a letter to the papers saying this hotel man was givinghis guests cheap canned goods that had done the trick.

  Next morning this brought the hotel man and one of the best lawyersin the state of Washington up to the palatial Popper residence, makingthreats after they got in that no lady taking up war activities should beobliged to listen to. She got rattled, I guess, or had been dreaming orsomething. She told the hotel man and lawyer to Ssh! Ssh!--because thatnew cook had put ground glass in the lemon pie and she had a right tolull his suspicions with this letter to the papers, because she wasconnected with the Secret Service Department. She would now go back tothe hotel and detect this spy committing sabotage on the mashed potatoes,or something, and arrest him--just like that! I don't know whatever putthe idea into her head. I believe she had tried to join the SecretService Department till she found they didn't have uniforms.

  Anyway, this hotel man, like the cowardly dog he was, went straight offto some low sneak in the district attorney's office; and he went like asnake in the grass and found out it wasn't so; and a real officer comedown on Genevieve May to know what she meant by impersonating a SecretService agent. This brutal thug talked in a cold but rough way, and Iknow perfectly well this minute that he wasn't among those invited tothe Popper costume ball of the Allied nations. He threw a fine scare intoGenevieve May. For about a week she didn't know but she'd be railroadedto Walla Walla. She wore mere civilian creations and acted like aslacker.

  But finally she saw the Government was going to live and let live; so shetook up something new. It was still On to Berlin! with Genevieve May.

  She wasn't quite up to pulling anything new in her home town; so she wentinto the outlying districts to t
each her grandmother something. I didn'tthink up the term for it. That was thought up by G.H. Stultz who is herson-in-law and president of the Red Gap Canning Factory. This here newwar activity she'd took up consisted of going rough to different placesand teaching housewives how to practice economy in putting up preserves,and so on.

  It ain't on record that she ever taught one single woman anythingabout economy, their hard-won knowledge beginning about where hers leftoff--which wasn't fur from where it started; but she did bring a lot ofwholesome pleasure into their simple, hard-working lives.

  In this new war activity it wasn't so much how you canned a thing aswhat you canned. Genevieve May showed 'em how to make mincemeat out oftomatoes and beets; how to make marmalade out of turnips and orange peel;how to make preserves out of apple peelings and carrots; and guava jellyout of mushmelon rinds, or some such thing. She'd go into towns and renta storeroom and put up her canning outfit, hiring a couple of the lowerclasses to do the actual work, and invite women to bring in their truckof this kind and learn regular old rock-bottom economy. They'd come, withtheir stuff that should of been fattening shotes, and Genevieve May wouldlecture on how to can it. It looked through the glass like sure-enoughhuman food.

  Then, after she'd got 'em all taught, she'd say wouldn't it be niceof these ladies to let her sell all this canned stuff and give theproceeds to the different war charities! And there wasn't a woman thatdidn't consent readily, having tasted it in the cooking. Not a one of'em wanted to take home these delicacies. It was right noble or cautious,or something. And after visiting six or eight of these communitiesGenevieve May had quite a stock of these magic delicacies on sale indifferent stores and was looking forward to putting the war firmly onits feet--only she couldn't get many reports of sales from this stock.

  Then she got a dandy idea. She would come to the Kulanche CountyFair at Red Gap, assemble all her stock there, give one of thesehere demonstrations in economic canning, and auction off the wholelot with a glad hurrah. She thought mebbe, with her influence, shemight get Secretary Baker, or someone like that, to come out and dothe auctioning--all under the auspices of Mrs. Genevieve May Popper,whose tireless efforts had done so much to teach the dear old Fatherlandits lesson, and so on. She now had about three hundred jars and bottlesof this stuff after her summer's work, and it looked important.

  I got down to the county fair myself last year, having some sure-fireblue-ribbon stock there, and it was then that I hear G.H. Stultz talkingabout this here mother-in-law of his, he taking me aside at their homeone night, so his wife, Lucille, wouldn't hear.

  "This respected lady is trying to teach her grandmother how to suckeggs--no more, no less," he says. "Now she's coming here to pullsomething off. You watch her--that's all I ask. Everything that womantouches goes funny. Look how she poisoned those innocent people up atthat hotel. And I'll bet this canned stuff she's going to sell off willkill even mere tasters. If she only hadn't come to my town! That womandon't seem to realize that I'm cursed with a German name and have to bemiles above suspicion.

  "Suppose she sells off this stuff! I give you my word she puts things init that even a professional canning factory wouldn't dare to. And supposeit poisons off a lot of our best patriots! Do you think a mob will bevery long blaming me for a hand in it? Why, it'll have me, in no time atall, reaching my feet down for something solid that has been carefullyremoved."

  I tried to cheer the man up, but he was scared stiff.

  "Mark my words," he says. "She'll pull a bloomer! If that woman could gointo an innocent hotel kitchen, where every care is taken to keep thingsright, and poison off twenty-three people till they picked at the coversand had relatives wondering what might be in their safe-deposit boxes,think what she'd do in the great unsanitary outside, where she can useher imagination!

  "There's but one salvation for me; I must have trusted agents in thecrowd when that stuff is auctioned off, and they got to collar every lastbottle of it, no matter what the cost. I have to lay down like a pupon the next bond drive, but this is my only hope. For the Lord's sake,don't you go there and start bidding things up, no matter who she getsfor auctioneer! Don't you bid--even if Woodrow Wilson himself comesout."

  That's the impression Genevieve May had made on her own daughter'shusband, who is a clear-seeing man and a good citizen. And it lookedlike he must secretly buy up her output. She not only come to town withher canning outfit and her summer's stock of strange preserves, allbeauteous in their jars, but she brought with her to auction off thisstuff a regular French flying man with an honourable record.

  She'd met this French officer in the city and entertained him at thepalatial Popper home; and mebbe she'd hypnotized him. He wasn't in goodshape, anyway. First place, he'd been fighting in the air for threeyears and had been wounded in five places--including the Balkans. Then,like that wasn't enough for one man, he'd been sent over here to teachour men to fly when they got a machine; and over here he'd fell out of acloud one day when his brake or something went wrong, and this had givehim a nice pleasant vacation on crutches.

  Genevieve had fastened on him at a time when he probably hadn't thesteely resistance Frenchmen been showing on the West Front. Or, being ina strange country, mebbe he didn't know when politeness to Genevieve MayPopper would become mere cowardice. Anyway, he could talk English wellenough; and Genevieve May brought him to town and made a big hit.

  First thing she done was to set up her stock of canned goods in asection they give her in Horticultural Hall. Them three hundred bottlestook up a lot of room and showed up grand between the fancy-work section,consisting of embroideries, sofa cushions, and silk patch quilts, and theart section, consisting of hand paintings of interesting objects bybright pupils in the public school. Then she put in her canning outfit,with a couple of hired natives to do the work while she lectured on thescience of it and tried to get weak-minded patriots to taste things.

  Genevieve May had a good time at these demonstrations, speaking in tonesof oratory and persuasion and encouraging the tasters to take a chance.She certainly had discovered some entirely new flavours that the bestchemists hadn't stumbled on. She was proud of this, but a heap prouderof her French flying man. When she wasn't thinking up new infamies withrutabagas and watermelon rinds, she'd be showing him off to the faircrowds. She give the impression when she paraded him that the French Armywould of had few flyers if she hadn't stepped into the breach.

  And mebbe she wasn't desperate with fear that some of the Red Gap societybuds and matrons would want to stick in with nursing and attentions forthe interesting invalid! Nothing like that with Genevieve May! She keptcloser guard on that man than he would of got in the worst German prisoncamp. About the only other person in town she'd trust him to was CousinEgbert Floud.

  Cousin Egbert liked the Frenchman a lot at first, and rode him round townto see the canning factory and the new waterworks and the Chamber ofCommerce, and Price's Addition to Red Gap, and so on. Also, he'd drag himall over the fair grounds to look at prize bulls and windmills and patentsilos.

  Cousin Egbert had refused from the first to taste any of Genevieve May'sdeviltry with the vegetable kingdom. He swore he was on a diet and thedoctor wouldn't answer for his life if he even tasted anything outside.He was telling me that last day of the fair that the woman ought to bearrested for carrying on so, Genevieve May being now busy with somehighly artificial ketchup made of carrots, and something elseunimportant, with pure vegetable dyes.

  "Yes; and she just tried to hand me that same old stuff about what herJapanese maid calls her," he says to me at this time. "She says I couldnever guess what that funny little mite calls her. And I says no, I nevercould of guessed it if she hadn't already told me; but I says I know itis Madam Peach Blossom, and that Jap maid sure is one funny little mite,thinking up a thing like that, the Japanese being a serious race andnot given to saying laughable things."

  That's Cousin Egbert all over. He ain't a bit like one of them courtersof the old French courts that you read about in
the Famous Crimes ofHistory.

  "Madam Peach Blossom!" he says, snickering bitterly. "Say, ain't themJaps got a great sense of humour! I bet what she meant was Madam LemonBlossom!"

  Anyway, Genevieve May trusted her flying man to this here brutal cynicwhen she wouldn't of trusted him to any of the younger, dancing set.And Cousin Egbert pretty near made him late for his great engagement toauction off the strange preserves. It was on this third day of the fair,and Genevieve May was highly excited about it.

  She had her stock set up in tiers against the wall and looking rightimposing in the polished glass; and she had a box in front where theFrenchman would stand when he did the auctioning.

  That hall was hot, let me tell you, with the high sun beating down on thethin boards. I looked in a minute before the crowd come, and it lookedlike them preserves had sure had a second cooking, standing there dayafter day.

  And this Cousin Egbert, when he should of been leading the Frenchman backto Horticultural Hall to the auction block, was dragging him elsewhere tosee a highly exciting sight. So he said. He was innocent enough. Hewanted to give that Frenchman a good time, he told me afterward. So hetells him something is going to take place over at the race track thatwill thrill him to the bone, and come on quick and hurry over!

  The Frenchman is still using one crutch and the crowd is already surgingin that direction; but after finding out it ain't any more silos orwindmills, he relies on Cousin Egbert that it really is exciting, andthey manage to get through the crowd, though it was excited even nowand stepped on him and pushed him a lot.

  Still he was game, all right. I've always said that. He was about asexcited as the crowd; and Cousin Egbert was, too, I guess, by the timethey had pushed up to the railing. I guess he was wondering what WildWestern kind of deviltry he was going to see now. Cousin Egbert had toldhim it wasn't a horse race; but he wouldn't tell him what it was, wishingto keep it for a glad surprise when the Frenchman would see it with hisown eyes.

  "Just you wait one minute now!" says Cousin Egbert. "You wait one minuteand I bet you'll be glad you got through that rough crowd with me. You'dgo through ten crowds like that, crutch or no crutch, to see what's goingto be here."

  The poor man was kind of used up, but he stands there waiting for thethrill, with Cousin Egbert beaming on him fondly, like a father that'sgoing in one minute to show the little tots what Santa Claus brought 'emon the tree.

  Then the Frenchman hears a familiar roar and a airplane starts up fromthe lower end of the field inside the track.

  "There!" says Cousin Egbert. "Now I guess you're glad you pushed in here,leg or no leg. I knew it would be a dandy surprise for you. Yes, sir; thecommittee got a regular airplane to give a thrilling flight right herein front of us. You look up in the sky there and pretty soon you'll seeit just as plain, sailing round and round like some great bird; and theysay this man flying it is going to loop the loop twice in succession. NowI bet you're glad you come!"

  Cousin Egbert says right at this minute he begun to take a dislike tothe Frenchman. After he'd took all that trouble to get him there to seesomething exciting, the Frenchman just looked at him kind of sad for along time, and then says he believes he'd rather go back some place wherehe can set down and rest his leg.

  Cousin Egbert says he turned out to be like the Frenchmen you read aboutthat is blase about everything in the world and kind of tired of life,not having the least bit of interest in whatever happens. But, of course,he was polite to his guest and helped push a way back through the crowd,with the crowd more excited than ever by this time, because the flyingmachine was right up in the air, hundreds of feet off the ground.

  "You'll think I'm a liar," he says to me; "but it's the God's truth thisFrenchman just kept pushing through that crowd and didn't even turn tolook up in the air when this man was actually risking his life by loopingthe loop twice in succession. He never turned his head the least bit."

  Cousin Egbert says, here he'd been up in one himself and knew whatflying meant, but he probably wouldn't of took the least notice if thisdare-devil had been killed right there before thousands.

  "I don't understand it," he says. "It sure wouldn't be the leastuse boosting for a brighter and busier Red Gap if everybody was ascold-blooded as the French." He was right grouchy about the Frenchafter this.

  Anyway, he got his suffering man back to Horticultural Hall somewhat theworse for being stepped on by the crowd; in fact, the Frenchman is kindof all in when he gets to the auction block. He sets right down on itlooking white, and Genevieve May gets him a glass of water to revive him.Pretty soon he says he's nearly as well as ever, but that wasn't much.

  Now the patriots for the auction begun to throng in and Genevieve May isonce more proud and fluttering. She glances fondly at her noble array ofjars, with these illegitimate preserves shining richly through, and shegets the Frenchman on his feet and onto the box; and the crowd cheerslike mad and presses close. I was standing close to G.H. Stultz, and hewhispers to me:

  "My Lord! If there was only some means of getting that stock into theGerman commissary! But I'm told they analyze everything. Anyway, I got mybidders planted and I'll have to buy up the stock if it breaks me."

  Then the Frenchman begun to talk in a very nice way. He said a few wordsabout his country--how they had been fighting all these years, notknowing whether they could win or not, but meaning to fight till therewasn't any fighters left; and how grateful France was for the timely aidof this great country and for the efforts of beautiful ladies like MadamPopper, and so on.

  You bet no one laughed, even if he didn't talk such very good English.They didn't even laugh when he said beautiful ladies like Madam Popper,though Cousin Egbert, somewhere off in the crowd, made an undignifiedsound which he pretended was coughing.

  The Frenchman then said he would now ask for bids for these beautifultable delicacies, which were not only of rich food value but were morepriceless than gold and jewels because of having been imprisoned in thecrystal glass by the fair hands of the beautiful Madam Popper; and whatwas he offered for six bottles of this unspeakable jelly?

  Of course G.H. Stultz would of had 'em in no time if the panic hadn'tsaved him. Yes, sir; right then something terrible and unforeseenhappened to cause a frightful panic. About five of them jars of preservesblew up with loud reports. Of course everyone's first thought was that aGerman plot was on to lay Horticultural Hall in ruins with dynamite. Itsounded such. No one thought it was merely these strange preserves thathad been working overtime in that furnace.

  Women screamed and strong men made a dash for the door over prostratebodies. And then a lot more explosions took place. The firing becamegeneral, as the reports say. Bottle after bottle shot its dread contentsinto the fray, and many feeble persons was tromped on by the mob.

  It wasn't any joke for a minute. The big jars, mostly loaded withpreserves, went off with heavy reports; then there was these smallerbottles, filled with artificial ketchup and corked. They went off likea battery of light field guns, putting down a fierce barrage of ketchupon one and all. It was a good demonstration of the real thing, all right.I ain't never needed any one since that to tell me what war is.

  The crowd was two thirds out before any one realized just what kind offrightfulness was going on. Then, amid shot and shell that would stillfly from time to time, the bravest, that hadn't been able to fight theirway out, stood by and picked up the wounded under fire and helped brushtheir clothes off. The groans of the sufferers mingled with the hiss ofescaping ketchup.

  Genevieve May was in hysterics from the minute the first high-poweredgun was fired. She kept screaming for everyone to keep cool. And atlast, when they got some kind of order, she went into a perfectly newfit because her Frenchman was missing. She kept it up till they foundthe poor man. He was found, without his crutch, at the far end of thehall, though no one has ever yet figgered how he could get there throughthe frenzied mob. He was on a chair, weak and trembling, behind a fancyquilt made by Grandma Watkins, containing o
ver ten thousand pieces ofsilk. He was greenish yellow in colour and his heart had gone wrong.

  That'll show you this bombardment wasn't any joke. The poor man had beenexhausted by Cousin Egbert's well-meant efforts to show him somethingexciting, and he was now suffering from sure-enough shell shock, whichhe'd had before in more official circumstances.

  He was a brave man; he'd fought like a tiger in the trenches, and hadlater been shot down out of the air four times, and was covered withwounds and medals and crosses; but this here enfilade at the fair handsof the beautiful Madam Popper, coming in his weak state, had darn neardevastated what few nerves the war had left him.

  It was a sad moment. Genevieve May was again exploding, like her ownhandiwork, which wasn't through itself yet by any means, because asolitary shot would come now and then, like the main enemy had retreatedbut was leaving rear guards and snipers. Also, people that had hadexhibits in the art section and the fancy-work section was now settingup yells of rage over their treasures that had been desecrated by thefar-flung ketchup.

  But tender hands was leading the stricken Frenchman back of the lines toa dressing station, and all was pretty near calm again, except for G.H.Stultz, who was swearing--or words to that effect.

  It really took a good hour to restore perfect calm and figure up thelosses. They was severe. Of course I don't mean to say the whole threehundred bottles of this ammunition dump had exploded. Some had beenput up only a short while and hadn't had time to go morbid; and evensome of the old stuff had remained staunch.

  The mincemeat shrapnel had proved fairly destructive, but the turnipmarmalade didn't seem to of developed much internal energy. All of themjars of marmalade proved to be what they call "duds." But you bet enoughhad gone up to make a good battle sketch. The ketchup, especial, wasvenomous.

  I met G.H. Stultz as I left the trenches. He'd been caught in amachine-gun nest of ketchup and had only wiped about half of it offhis face. He looked like a contagious disease.

  "Say, look here," he says; "you can't tell me there isn't a Providenceever watching over this world to give some of us just what's coming tous!" That was very silly, because I'd never told him anything of thesort.

  Then I go out into No Man's Land and meet Cousin Egbert by a lemonadestand. He was one radiant being. He asked me to have a glass of thebeverage, and I done so; and while I was sipping it he says brightly:

  "Wasn't that some gorgeous display of fireworks? And wasn't it fine tostand there and watch them bottles laugh their heads off at this foodprofiteer?"

  I said he ought to be right sorry for her--after all the work she'd done.

  "Not me!" he says firmly. "She never done any work in her life except toboost her own social celebrity."

  Then he took another gulp of his lemonade and says, very bitter:

  "Madam Peach Blossom! I wonder what that funny little mite of hers willsay when she sees her to-night? Something laughable, I bet--like it wouldbe 'Madam Onion Blossom!'--or something comical, just to give her a goodlaugh after her hard day."

  Such is Cousin Egbert, and ever will be. And Genevieve May, having tookup things all round the circle, is now back to the dance.