GOING TO VISIT THE PRESIDENT.
She shook her head. “You never saw him surely—my beautiful little brother Laurens Cornwallis. He died seven years ago this Fourth of July—Papa and Ralph and Dr. Muelenberg found him lying alone in the woods on the river bank, all torn and mangled with fireworks. It was a dreadful sight and an awful mystery! but probably you never heard of it.”
“I was abroad then but it strikes me that I read of some such accident. Probably an outline of it and that there was something wrong about it; but I want to hear more. I want to hear all about the wrong things that have been, or are being done in this town. My belief is that private wrongs are too often hushed up. They ought to be talked about in the open, as a rule, and even where they are of a private nature they should be talked of in the right way and to the right persons.”
Thus encouraged, Ruth told more fully than she had ever done before, the effect of her brother’s death on herself—of the visions she had when the brain fever was at its height—of the colossal shadow of Millionaire Schwarmer looming into the sky scattering implements of death and destruction everywhere—of the white-winged figure of her brother flying along with the upward look, toward a pit of writhing, fiery, serpents—how she fancied that she ran after him and really did call and call for him to come back; and how Ralph came instead and made her think he was Laurens and the delusion saved her.
“And so you have married your delusion. Bless your heart, you have done just right,” laughed the President, but there was a suspicion of tears in his eyes and Ruth went on:
“I was only eleven years old then. My brain was saved, but I was a physical wreck. Year after year for seven years papa and mamma took me to Canada to save me from the horror of our National Day! Only think of that. Flying away from it and trying to hide my fears of it. You are right about ‘speaking out.’ I think now if I had been encouraged to speak of it freely and do something to remedy it, I need not to have gone away, at least, so many times; but poor mamma and papa! They were so broken down they couldn’t bear to talk about it—papa especially; but I know now that it would have been better for him if he had. His hair was a beautiful brown when little Laurens died, but now it’s as white as snow! And there are others that ought to speak out plainly. There have been a great many accidents here since Mr. Schwarmer’s advent. None of them have been quite so bad and mysterious as my little brother’s, but they have been too bad to pass by and have been increasing every year. Ralph will show you that it is so.”
After the statistics were read and commented upon, Ruth broke out: “It’s coming again. It’s almost here. We know dreadful things will happen if we don’t watch and watch and do everything we can to prevent them and stir everybody up to do the same. You can help us, I know you can.”
“Bless your heart! That’s just what I’m here for, to help everybody. I can help you stir up the people. I will call a mass meeting for this very evening, and you and your delusion will be there in the front row—and the curtains will all be torn away from this beastly Fourth of July business. He will read the figures and you will tell your story and encourage every hurt soul to do likewise. This is what I believe in. What I don’t believe in, is forcing people to do things. But I do believe in warming them up to do right things. I don’t believe in masterings, bossings, tie-ups or hold-ups; but I do believe in explainings, urgings and entreatings.”
“The Rev. Dr. Normander tried the gentler method with Schwarmer at the time of Lauren’s death,” said Ralph, “and he declared that Independence Day was a sacred day and that he had as good a right to distribute free fireworks on that day as a minister had to distribute free religious tracts on the Lord’s Day, or words to that effect.”