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Sturdy Oak, The

<h2> CHAPTER IX. BY ALICE DUER MILLER </h2> It was a relief to both men when at this point the door of the office opened and Martin Jaffry entered. Not since the unfortunate anti-suffrage statement of George's had Uncle Martin dropped in like this. George, looking at him with that first swift glance that often predetermines a whole interview, made up his mind that bygones were to be bygones. He greeted his uncle with the warmest cordiality. "Well, George," said Uncle Martin, "how are things going?" "I'm going to be elected, if that's what you mean," answered George. Doolittle gave a snort. "Indeed, are ye?" said he. "As a friend and well-wisher, I'm sure I'm delighted to hear the news." "Do I understand that you have your doubts, Mr. Doolittle?" Jaffry inquired mildly. "There's two things we need and need badly, Mr. Jaffry," said Doolittle. "One's money—" "A small campaign contribution would not be rejected?" "But there's something we need more than money—and God knows I never expected to say them words—and that's common sense." "Good," said Uncle Martin, "I have plenty of that, too!" "Then for the love of Mike pass some of it on to this precious nephew of yours." "What seems to be the matter?" "It's them women," said Doolittle. Uncle Martin turned inquiringly to George: "The tender flowers?" he suggested. "Look here, Uncle Martin," said George, who had had a good deal of this sort of thing to bear, "I don't understand you. Do you believe in woman suffrage?" Uncle Martin contemplated a new crumpling of his long-suffering cap before he answered. "Yes and no, George. I believe in it in the same way that I believe in old age and death. I can't avoid them by denying their existence." "But you fight against them, and put them off as long as you can." "But I yield a little to them, too, George. What is it? Has Genevieve become a convert to suffrage?" "Has Genevieve—has my wife——" Then George remembered that his uncle was an older man and that chivalry is not limited to the treatment of the weaker sex. "No," he said with a calm hardly less magnificent than the tempest would have been, "no, Uncle Martin, Genevieve has not become a suffragist." "Well," said Doolittle rising, as if such things were hardly worth his valuable time, "I fail to see the difference between a suffragette an' a woman who goes pokin' her nose into what——" "You're speaking of my wife, Mr. Doolittle," said George, with a significant lighting of the eye. "Speakin' in general," said Doolittle. Uncle Martin was interested. "Has Genevieve been—well, we won't say poking the nose—but taking a responsible civic interest where it would be better if she didn't?" "It seems," answered George, casting an angry glance at his campaign manager, "that Mr. Doolittle has heard from a friend of his who overheard a conversation between Betty Sheridan and my wife at luncheon. From this he inferred that the two were planning an investigation of some of the city's problems." Uncle Martin looked relieved. "Oh, your wife and your stenographer. That can be stopped, I suppose, without undue exertion." "Betty is no longer my stenographer." "Left, has she?" said Jaffry. "I had an idea she would not stay with you long." This intimation was not agreeable to George. He would have liked to explain that Miss Sheridan's departure had been dictated by the will of the head of the firm; in fact he opened his mouth to do so. But the remembrance that this would entail a long and wearisome exposition of his reasons caused him to remain silent, and his uncle went on: "Well, anyhow, you can get Genevi�ve to drop it." If Doolittle had not been there, George would have been glad to discuss with his uncle, who had, after all, a sort of worldly shrewdness, how far a man is justified in controlling his wife's opinions. But before an audience now a trifle unsympathetic, he could not resist the temptation of making the gesture of a man magnificently master in his own house. He smiled quite grandly. "I think I can promise that," he said. Doolittle got up slowly, bringing his jaws together in a relentless bite on the unresisting gum. "Well," he said, "that's all there is to it." And he added significantly as he reached the door, "If you kin do it!" When the campaign manager had gone, Uncle Martin asked very, very gently: "You don't feel any doubt of being able to do it, do you, George?" "About my ability to control—I mean influence, my wife? I feel no doubt at all." "And Penfield, I suppose, can tackle Betty? You won't mind my saying that of the two I think your partner has the harder job." A slight cloud appeared upon the brow of the candidate. "I don't feel inclined to ask any favor of Penny just at present," he said haughtily. "Has it ever struck you, Uncle Martin, that Penny has an unduly emotional, an almost feminine type of mind?" "No," said the other, "it hasn't, but that is perhaps because I have never been sure just what the feminine type of mind is." "You know what I mean," answered George, trying to conceal his annoyance at this sort of petty quibbling. "I mean he is too personal, over-excitable, irrational and very hard to deal with." "Dear me," said Jaffry. "Is Genevi�ve like that?" "Genevi�ve," replied her husband loyally, "is much better poised than most women, but—yes,—even she—all women are more or less like that." "All women and Penny. Well, George, you have my sympathy. An excitable partner, an irrational stenographer, and a wife that's very hard to deal with!" "I never said Genevi�ve was hard to deal with," George almost shouted. "My mistake—thought you did," answered his uncle, now moving rapidly away. "Let me know the result of the interview, and we'll talk over ways and means." And he shut the door briskly behind him. George walked to the window, with his hands in his pockets. He always liked to look out while he turned over grave questions in his mind; but this comfort was now denied to him, for he could not help being distracted by the voiceless speech still relentlessly turning its pages in the opposite window. The heading now was: DOES THE FIFTY-FOUR-HOUR-A-WEEK LAW APPLY TO FLOWERS? He flung himself down on his chair with an exclamation. He knew he had to think carefully about something which he had never considered before, and that was his wife's character. Of course he liked to think about Genevi�ve—; of her beauty, her abilities, her charms; and particularly he liked to think about her love for him. A week ago he would have met the present situation very simply. He would have put his arm about her and said: "My darling, I think I'd a little rather you dropped this sort of thing for the present." And that would have been enough. But he knew it would not be enough now. He would have to have a reason, a case. "Heavens," he thought, "imagine having to talk to one's wife as if she were the lawyer for the other side." He did not notice that he was reproaching Genevi�ve for being too impersonal, too unemotional and not irrational enough. When he went home at five, he had thought it out. He put his head into the sitting-room, where Alys was ensconced behind the tea-kettle. "Come in, George dear," she called graciously, "and let me give you a really good cup of tea. It's some I've just ordered for you, and I think you'll find it an improvement on what you've been accustomed to." George shut the door again, pretending he had not heard; but he had had time enough to note that dear little Eleanor was building houses out of his most treasured books. The memory of his quarrel with his wife had been partly obliterated by memories of so many other quarrels during the day that it was only when he was actually standing in her room that he remembered how very bitter their parting had been. He stood looking at her doubtfully, and it was she who came forward and put her arms about him. They clung to each other like two children who have been frightened by a nightmare. "We mustn't quarrel again, George," she said. "I've had a real, true, old-fashioned pain in my heart all day. But I think I understand better now than I did. I lunched with Betty and she made me see." "What did Betty make you see?" asked George nervously, for he had not perfect confidence in Miss Sheridan's visions. "That it was all a question of efficiency. She said that in business a man's stenographer is just an instrument to make his work easier, and if for any reason at all that instrument does not suit him he is justified in getting rid of it, and in finding one that does." "Betty is very generous," he said coldly. He wanted to hear his wife say that she had not thought him pompous; it was very hard to be thankful for a mere ethical rehabilitation. Part of his thought-out plan was that Genevi�ve must herself tell him of the Woman's Forum's investigation; it would not do for him to let her know he had heard of it through a political eavesdropper. So after a moment he added casually: "And what else did Betty have to say?" "Nothing much." His heart sank. Was Genevi�ve becoming uncandid? "Nothing else," he said. "Just to justify me in your eyes?" She hesitated, "No, that was not quite all, but it is too early to talk about it yet." "Anything that interests you, my dear, I should like to hear about from the beginning." Perhaps Genevi�ve was not so unemotional after all, for at this expression of his affection, her eyes filled with tears. "I long to tell you," she said. "I only hesitated on your account, but of course I want all your help and advice. It's this: There seems to be no doubt that the conditions under which women are working in our factories are hideous—dangerous—the law is broken with perfect impunity. I know you can't act on rumors and hearsay. Even the inspectors don't give out the truth. And so we are going to persuade the Woman's Forum to abandon its old policy of mere discussion. "We—Betty and I—are going to get the members for once to act—to make an investigation; so that the instant you come into the office you will have complete information at your disposal—facts, and facts and facts on which you can act." She paused and looked eagerly at her husband, who remained silent. Seeing this she went on: "I know what you're thinking. I thought of it myself. Am I justified in using my position in the Woman's Forum to further your political career? Well, my answer is, it isn't your political career, only; it's truth and justice that will be furthered." Here in the home there was no voiceless speech to make the view intolerable, and George moved away from his wife and walked to the window. He looked out on his own peaceful trees and lawn, and on Hanna, like a tiger in the jungle, stalking a competent little sparrow. A temptation was assailing George. Suppose he did put his opposition to this investigation on a high and mighty ground? Suppose he announced a moral scruple? But no, he cast Satan behind him. "Genevi�ve," he said, turning sharply toward her, "this question puts our whole attitude to a test. If you and I are two separate individuals, with different responsibilities, different interests, different opinions, then we ought to be consistent; that ought to mean economic independence of each other, and equal suffrage; it means that husband and wife may become business competitors and political opponents. "But if, as you know I believe, a man and woman who love each other are one, are a unit as far as society is concerned, why then our interests are identical, and it is simply a question of which of us two is better able to deal with any particular situation." "But that is what I believe, too, George." "I hoped it was, dear; I know it used to be. Then you must let me act for you in this matter." "Yes, in the end; but an investigation—" "My darling, politics is not an ideal; it is a practical human institution. Just at present, from the political point of view, such an investigation would do me incalculable harm." "George!" He nodded. "It would probably lose me the election." "But why?" "Genevi�ve, am I your political representative or not?" "You are," she smiled at him, "and my dear love as well; but may I not even know why?" "If you dismissed the cook, and I summoned you before me and bade you give me your reasons for such an action, would you not feel in your heart that I was disputing your judgment?" She looked at him honestly. "Yes, I should." "And I would not do such a discourteous thing to you. In the home you are absolute. Whatever you do, whatever you decide, is right. I would not dream of questioning. Will you not give me the same confidence in my special department?" There was a short pause; then Genevi�ve held out her hand. "Yes, George," she said, "I will, but on one condition——" "I did not make conditions, Genevi�ve." "You do not have to, my dear. You know that I am really your representative in the house; that I am really always thinking of your wishes. You must do the same as my political representative. I mean, if I am not to do this work myself, you must do it for me." "Even if I consider it unwise?" "Unwise to protect women and children?" "Genevi�ve," he said seriously, as one who confides something not always confided to women, "enforcing law sometimes does harm." "But an investigation——" "That's where you are ignorant, my dear. If an investigation is made, especially if the women mix themselves up in it, then we shall have no choice but enforcement." She had sunk down on her sofa, but now she sprang up. "And you don't mean to enforce the law in respect of women? Is that why you don't want the investigation?" "Not at all. You are most unjust. You are most illogical, Genevi�ve. All I am asking is that the whole question should not be taken up at this moment—just before election." "But this is the only moment when we can find out whether or not you are a candidate who will do what we want." "We, Genevi�ve! Who do you mean by 'we'?" She stared for a second at him, her eyes growing large and dark with astonishment. "Oh, George," she gasped finally, "I think I meant women when I said 'we.' George, I'm afraid I'm a suffragist. And oh," she added, with a sort of wail, "I don't want to be, I don't want to be!" "Damn Betty Sheridan," exclaimed George. "This is all her doing." His wife shook her head. "No," she said, "it wasn't Betty who made me see." "Who was it?" "It was you, George." "I don't understand you." "You made me see why women want to vote for themselves. How can you represent me, when we disagree fundamentally?" "How can we disagree fundamentally when we love each other?" "You mean that because we love each other, I must think as you do?" "What else could I mean, darling?" "You might have meant that you would think as I do." George glanced at her in deep offense. "We have indeed drifted far apart," he said. At this moment there was a knock at the door, and the news was conveyed to George that Mr. Evans was downstairs asking to see him. "Oh dear," said Genevi�ve, "it seems as if we never could get a moment by ourselves nowadays. What does Penny want?" "He wants to tell me whether he intends to dissolve partnership or not." Any fear that his wife had disassociated herself from his interests should have been dispelled by the tone in which she exclaimed: "Dissolve partnership! Penny? Well, I never in my life! Where would Penny be without you, I should like to know! He must be crazy." These words made George feel happier than anything that had happened to him throughout this day. His self-esteem began to revive. "I think Penny has been a little hasty," he said, judicially but not unkindly. "He lost all self-control when he heard I had let Betty go." "Isn't that like a man," said Genevi�ve, "to throw away his whole future just because he loses his temper?" George did not directly answer this question, and his wife went on. "However, it will be all right. He has seen Betty this afternoon, and she won't let him do anything foolish." George glanced at her. "You mean that Betty will prevent his leaving the firm?" "Of course she will." George walked to the door. "I seem to owe a good deal to my former stenographer," he said, "my wife, my partner; next, perhaps it will be my election." <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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