I was introduced to George, an ex-I. W. W. secretary. I suppose he has a last name, but I didn't know it and it didn't seem to matter when one met George. Here was a real personality. He had a light in his eyes that I have never seen before, a light that must have shone from his soul. He had the look of one who believes he is right and has the courage of his convictions. It is a scarce article.
I learned that he had been sentenced by Judge Landis to serve twenty year in the penitentiary, that he had served two years and was out because of ill-health. I did not learn the offence. It did not seem to matter.
A dreamer and a poet, he became wistfully gay on this hectic night among kindred spirits. In a mixed crowd of intellectuals he stood out.
He was going back to serve his eighteen years in the penitentiary and was remaining jovial. What an ordeal! But ordeal signifies what it would have been for me. I don't believe it bothered him. I hardly believe he was there. He was somewhere else in the place from which that look in his eyes emanated. A man whose ideas are ideals.
I pass no opinion, but with such charm one must sympathise.
It was an amusing evening. We played charades and I watched George act. It was all sorts of fun. We danced a bit.
Then George came in imitating Woodrow. It was screamingly funny, and he threw himself into the character, or caricature, making Wilson seem absurdly ridiculous. We were convulsed with laughter.
But all the time I couldn't help thinking that he must go back to the penitentiary for eighteen years.
What a party!
It didn't break up until two in the morning, though clock or calendar didn't get a thought from me.