The Daughter of a Republican Part 9

The next instant he was felled to the earth and a broad-shouldered man stood over him ready to render a second blow if occasion demanded.

The soldier made an attempt to rise.

"Lie there, you brute," the man cried, hotly, and the drunken fellow obeyed.

"Nice-a-hic-way to treat a-hic-man that's protecting-a-hic-the-a-hic-honor-a-hic, the honor of----" he muttered.

But the gentleman turned to the woman, and Jean, trembling with fear and indignation, with crimson cheeks and flashing eyes, looked a second time into the face of the gentlemanly liquor dealer.

"I am so glad you came!" she gasped, and held out her hand to him.

As they turned to his buggy the gentleman cast a glance back at the prostrate soldier, who had crawled behind a bush to sleep until removed to the guardhouse.

"Such creatures are a disgrace to a civilized government," he exclaimed, with ill-concealed wrath.

"Our government is a disgrace to itself," she added. "It creates such creatures by a legal process, and yonder is the factory," and she pointed in the direction of the canteen.

"Canteen beer--canteen beer," she began again, with warmth, but stopped, for she knew that she was very much excited and that she might not speak wisely.

If she had opened an argument with the gentleman at her side she would have found that he was well posted with the old arguments about the canteen being an inst.i.tution to keep the soldiers from the greed of evil saloons outside the different posts, but her companion respected her silence, and did not speak until they had pa.s.sed the great iron gate, when it became necessary.

"Now," said he, "if you will direct the way, and have no objections, it will give me pleasure to see you safely home."

"I am Miss Thorn," said Jean, giving him her address.

"Miss Thorn? Perhaps you are related to Judge Thorn?"

"I am," replied Jean, smiling.

"That is nice. I have had the pleasure of meeting the judge, and I do not know a man whom I would rather oblige. He is a man all men honor."

"I am his daughter," Jean said, proudly, "and I a.s.sure you my father will feel under lasting obligations to you for your kindness to me this afternoon, Mr. ----"

"Allison," the gentleman said.

"Allison?" It was Jean's turn to look surprised.

"Yes, madam. Allison--Gilbert Allison."

"Not of the firm of Allison, Russell & Joy?"

"The same, madam."

She looked at him with mingled wonder and regret. The firm name of Allison, Russell & Joy to her mind was a synonym for heartless destruction of happiness and life. The traffic itself was a great evil generality, and as such met condemnation. But in generalities, as in mountain ranges, there are specific points that tower out distinctively for consideration. Such a pinnacle of iniquity this liquor firm had seemed to Jean to be since her acquaintance with the Crowleys.

"You must be mistaken," she observed at length.

Gilbert Allison had been amused before. Now he laughed. "If I am mistaken, life has been a vast mistake," he said, "for I have supposed myself to be this same Allison for over thirty years. But why do you think so?"

Jean shook her head sadly.

"I do not understand it at all," she said, gravely.

"I beg your pardon; but if you will explain to me the trouble, perhaps I may be able to enlighten your understanding."

"I do not understand how the same person can be so kind and yet so cruel. I do not understand how one person can risk his life to save a life--for perhaps you saved mine to-day--and yet cause death, and you have been the cause of death."

Jean spoke slowly and looked grave.

Mr. Allison felt like laughing again, but politely refrained.

"I have been accused of a number of things in my life," he said, good-naturedly, "but, until to-day, murder has been omitted from the list."

"There are different modes of procedure--but murder is murder after all!"

"Certainly, but I was not aware that I had been connected with a 'procedure.'"

"Men deal out slow death for gold and trust its clinking rattle to still the groans and cryings that they cause." Jean spoke reflectively, as if to herself. "In savage countries where there is no Christianity, where all is black, human life is sometimes offered as a sacrifice to G.o.ds.

Here in Christian America an altar is piled high with mother hearts and manhood and immortal souls.

"This sacrifice goes on unceasingly; the altar fires are never out, and the wail of the little ones and the groans of the crushed that go up from this great altar only cause this G.o.d to laugh.

"This G.o.d is made of atoms. EVERY ATOM IS A MAN.

"All this time the Christian men of this Christian nation stand around in a great circle, weeping and calling on a Christian's G.o.d to hasten the day when this other G.o.d shall be ground to dust, meantime mocking their G.o.d by legalizing this monstrous thing with their ballots."

Mr. Allison had probably never heard a young lady talk exactly as this one talked, and yet he enjoyed it, and watched the motion of her hand as she used it to impress her words.

"I am afraid I do not understand you even yet," he said, when she paused. "Do you refer to the tariff or seal fisheries or female suffrage or war or what?"

"I refer to the rum power in America. That is the G.o.d I mean. The most heartless, depraved monopoly on earth, yet men and governments grovel in the dust at its feet and cringe like dogs before its power."

Mr. Allison was silent, and she continued, presently, turning her face to him.

"It has always seemed to me that the firm of Allison, Russell & Joy was an important part of this great iniquity; partly, I presume, because I happen to be acquainted with a family that has been utterly destroyed by that firm. Tell me truly--have they, have YOU never heard wails and cries and bitter prayers in the stillness of the night? Have you never felt the burden of your _awful_ sin?"

Mr. Allison smiled.

"I am sure," he said, "I have never heard any weeping or wailing that I have been aware of, and really I hope to be pardoned, but the burden that you speak of has failed to make itself felt."

"Well, you will hear it some day. Even legal, licensed murder will have its reckoning time. You will see a face some day; you will hear a voice that will haunt you like the wail of a lost soul."

Mr. Allison shrugged his shoulders as if in apprehension.

"I hope not," he said; "but Miss Thorn, I am afraid you do not enjoy the society of a liquor dealer."

"On general principles, no. And yet I have enjoyed yours very much this afternoon, you may be sure. I thank you for it, and--I am sorry that you are a 'man atom' of the great iniquity."

"I am sorry that you are sorry," he answered, and then the Thorn homestead rose in view.