The Beauty and the Bolshevist Part 11

Mr. Cord started up--his eyes shining like black flames.

"By G.o.d! Crystal," he said, "you sha'n't marry that fellow--Eugenia--perhaps--but not you."

"But, father, you said yourself, you thought he was a fine--"

"I don't care what I said," replied Mr. Cord, and, striding to the door, he flung it open and called in a voice that rolled about the stone hall: "Mr. Moreton, Mr. Moreton! Come up here, will you?"

Ben came bounding up the stairs like a panther. Cord beckoned him in with a sharp gesture and shut the door.

"This won't do at all, Moreton," he said. "You can't have Crystal."

Ben did not answer; he looked very steadily at Cord, who went on:

"You think I can't stop it--that she's of age and that you wouldn't take a penny of my money, anyhow. That's the idea, isn't it?"

"That's it," said Ben.

Cord turned sharply to Crystal. "Does what I think make any difference to you?" he asked.

"A lot, dear," she answered, "but I don't understand. You never seemed so much opposed to the radical doctrine."

"No, it's the radical, not the doctrine, your father objects to," said Ben.

"Exactly," answered Mr. Cord. "You've put it in a nutsh.e.l.l. Crystal, I'm going to tell you what these radicals really are--they're failures--everyone of them. Sincere enough--they want the world changed because they haven't been able to get along in it as it is--they want a new deal because they don't know how to play their cards; and when they get a new hand, they'll play it just as badly.

It's not their theories I object to, but them themselves. You think if you married Moreton you'd be going into a great new world of idealism.

You wouldn't. You'd be going into a world of failure--of the pettiest, most futile quarrels in the world. The chief characteristic of the man who fails is that he always believes it's the other fellow's fault; and they hate the man who differs with them by one per cent more than they hate the man who differs by one hundred. Has there ever been a revolution where they did not persecute their fellow revolutionists worse than they persecuted the old order, or where the new rule wasn't more tyrannical than the old?"

"No one would dispute that," said Ben. "It is the only way to win through to--"

"Ah," said Cord, "I know what you're going to say, but I tell you, you win through to liberal practices when, and only when, the conservatives become converted to your ideas, and put them through for you. That's why I say I have no quarrel with radical doctrines--they are coming, always coming, but"--Cord paused to give his words full weight--"I hate the radical."

There was a little pause. Crystal, who had sunk into a low chair, raised her eyes to Ben, as if she expected a pa.s.sionate contradiction from him, but it did not come.

"Yes," he said, after a moment, "that's all true, Mr. Cord--with limitations; but, granting it, you've put my side, too. What are we to say of the conservative--the man who has no vision of his own--who has to go about stealing his beliefs from the other side? He's very efficient at putting _them_ into effect--but efficient as a tool, as a servant. Look at the mess he makes of his own game when he tries to act on his own ideas. He crushes democracy with an iron efficiency, and he creates communism. He closes the door to trade-unionism and makes a revolution. That's efficiency for you. We radicals are not so d.a.m.ned inefficient, while we let the conservatives do our work for us."

"Well, let it be revolution, then," said Cord. "I believe you're right. It's coming, but do you want to drag a girl like Crystal into it? Think of her! Say you take her, as I suppose a young fellow like you can do. She'd have perhaps ten years of an exciting division of allegiance between your ideas and the way she had been brought up, and the rest of her life (for, believe me, as we get older we all return to our early traditions)--the rest of her life she'd spend regretting the ties and environment of her youth. On the other hand, if she gives you up she will have regrets, too, I know, but they won't wreck her and embitter her the way the others will."

Ben's face darkened. No man not a colossal egotist could hear such a prophesy with indifference. He did not at once answer, and then he turned to Crystal.

"What do you think of that?" he asked.

To the surprise of both men, Crystal replied with a laugh. "I was wondering," she said, "when either of you would get round to asking what I thought of it all."

"Well, what do you think?" said Cord, almost harshly.

Crystal rose, and, slipping her arm through his, leaned her head on the point of her father's shoulder--he was of a good height. "I think," she said, "you both talk beautifully. I was so proud of you both--saying such profound things so easily, and keeping your tempers so perfectly" (both brows smoothed out), "and it was all the more wonderful because, it seemed to me, you were both talking about things you knew nothing about."

"What do you mean?" burst from both men with simultaneous astonishment.

"Ben, dear, father doesn't know any radicals--except you, and he's only seen you twice. Father dear, I don't believe Ben ever talked five minutes with an able, successful conservative until he came here to-day."

"You're going to throw me over, Crystal?" said Ben, seeing her pose more clearly than he heard her words.

"No," said Mr. Cord, bitterly, "she's going to throw over an old man in favor of a young one."

"You silly creatures," said Crystal, with a smile that made the words affectionate and not rude. "How can I ever throw either of you over?

I'm going to be Ben's wife, and I am my father's daughter. I'm going to be those two things for all my life."

Ben took her hand. She puzzled him, but he adored her. "But some day, Crystal," he said, "you will be obliged to choose between our views--mine or your father's. You must see that."

"He's right," her father chimed in. "This is not a temporary difference of opinion, you know, Crystal. This cleavage is as old as mankind--the radical against the conservative. Time doesn't reconcile them."

Again the idea came to her: "They do love to form gangs, the poor dears." Aloud she said: "Yes, but the two types are rarely pure ones.

Why, father, you think Ben is a radical, but he's the most hidebound conservative about some things--much worse than you--about free verse, for instance. I read a long editorial about it not a month ago. He really thinks anyone who defends it ought to be deported to some poetic limbo. Ben, you think my father is conservative. But there's a great scandal in his mental life. He's a Baconian--"

"He thinks Bacon wrote the plays!" exclaimed Ben, really shocked.

"Certainly I do," answered Mr. Cord. "Every man who uses his mind must think so. There is nothing in favor of the Shakespeare theory, except tradition--"

He would have talked for several hours upon the subject, but Crystal interrupted him by turning to Ben and continuing what she had meant to say:

"When you said I should have to choose between your ideas, you meant between your political ideas. Perhaps I shall, but I won't make my choice, rest a.s.sured, until I have some reason for believing that each of you knows something--honestly knows something about the other one's point of view."

"I don't get it, exactly," said Ben.

She addressed Mr. Cord.

"Father," she went on, "Ben has a little flat in Charles Street, and an old servant, and that's where I'm going to live."

Her father, though bitterly wounded, had regained his sardonic calm.

"Perhaps," he said, "you'll bring him up to Seventy-ninth Street for Sunday dinner now and then."

Crystal shook her head. "No, dear," she said. "That isn't the way it's going to be. As soon as I get settled and have time to look about me, I shall take another little flat for you. You will live with us, for a few months in the winter, and get to know Ben's friends--his gang, as you would say--get to know them not as a philanthropist, or an employer, or an observer, but just as one of our friends--see if they really are the way you think they are. And then, in March you shall go off to Palm Beach or Virginia just as usual."

"That's a fine idea," said Mr. Cord, sarcastically. "Do you realize that I shall hardly survive your marriage with the editor of _Liberty_. I shall be kicked off--requested to resign from half a dozen boards for having such a son-in-law--"

"There's freedom for you," said Ben.

"And," continued Mr. Cord, "if it were known that I consented to the marriage, and actually consorted with such fellows! You must realize, Crystal, that most of the most influential men in the country think the way Eddie does. Half my boards are composed of older Eddies."

"You'll do better to resign from them, then," said Crystal.

Ben had been very much struck by Crystal's suggestion.

"Really, Mr. Cord," he said, "I believe that is a great idea of Crystal's. I really believe if capital had more idea of the real views of labor--as you said, you eventually adopt all our ideas, why wouldn't an intimate knowledge of individuals hurry that process?"

"Simply because I should lose all influence with my own people by merely investigating you in a friendly spirit."

"Glory!" exclaimed Ben, with open contempt for such people. "Think of penalizing the first honest attempt to understand!"