“Where’s the President?” asked Father Ferrill.
“Inside with the aldermen;” cried Ralph, “but we need not wait for him. We will go on at once. He will approve. He believes in the people. He sings a song about them. Come on Dick Solomon! Come on everybody! I will sing his song for you while we go.” He burst forth in a beautiful tenor voice:
“O I’m a man without a party—a free untrammeled soul!
An undivided atom, within a mighty whole!
I believe in all the people; in them we shall be blest,
It is through the common people we shall find the promised rest.”
They went on, Ralph and Ruth, arm in arm, and the crowd followed. The moon came out in regal splendor as they reached the bridge. It was Schwarmer’s bridge that the corporation had built for him. It had a lamp on each end, making it light enough to read the names on the boxes without difficulty. There was a large assortment of patriotic death-dealers such as the bill had shown—and more too. In a bundle tied up separately they found some choice specimens such as Powdered Crackers, Sacred Mandarins, Aaron’s Rod, Yankee Doodle Doos, and Giant Torpedos.
“These were for the large boys,” said Ralph. “Truly Mr. Schwarmer was going to give every boy in Killsbury a glorious chance to kill himself this year.”
“Do you suppose that any of those boxes could possibly be fished out?” asked Ruth after the last box had gone over the falls.
“Hardly,” laughed Ralph. “I never heard of anything being fished out that went over the falls into the deep hole at the foot. Some say it goes through to China. If it did it would be serving old China right—sending their vicious wares back to them.”
“And a curious reminder to John Chinaman if it be true that he uses the American Missionaries’ tracts in the construction of firecrackers for the American market,” said Father Ferrill. “At any rate we have the consolation of knowing that this batch of powder will be too wet to do any damage this Fourth. The City Fathers can get their ordinance in perfect working order before the next—so perfect that no miracle will be needed to help them out. Cromwell’s order to his soldiers was to ‘trust in the Lord and keep their powder dry.’ Lord grant that we may trust in His Holy Name and keep our powder wet.”
It was a reversion of the brutal saying that has been taught in military schools for more than a century, and it sounded like a benediction to Ruth as she took Ralph’s arm and turned away with a thankful heart.
They walked on in lover-like silence until Ruth broke out in her enthused way: