“Oh, we’ll be back here in a few years, all right,” said George. “I’ve got a lot of work to do in this job of governor.”
“Well—by that time the baby won’t any longer be a baby——”
She stopped short on the stairway. “Oh, George!” she cried. “Isn’t that a frightful thought! If we could only keep him as he is—and ourselves as we are—always!”
George did not like the thought either. But he said cheeringly, “I guess we’ll find as many things to like in to-morrow as we’ve found in to-day. Anyhow, let’s hope so.”
She gave his arm a squeeze. “Hope so? We know so! As many things? More things, George—every day more and more things—to like—to love—to live for.”
George was suddenly so happy that he carried her and the baby the rest of the way down stairs—she in one arm, the baby in the other, with equal ease. What a good old world it was, after all—if one only took it right! The one thing it lacked was “the people.” If there were a real “people”—intelligent, persistent, not easily fooled, no longer conquerable and easy to rob and oppress through their ignorance and their prejudices—if there were “the people,” refusing to be ruled except by and for themselves, what a heaven of a world it would become! Well—the thing to do was to fall to and do his share toward making this “people.”
They were at lunch—a little table, he, his wife, the baby in a high-chair. George and Eleanor looked at each other, and their eyes filled; for the same thought came to both. The “fat one” halted his spoon on its way to his mouth and looked inquiringly from one to the other. Said she unsteadily, laughing to keep from crying:
“Don’t, George—don’t look at me like that. We’ll make the baby cry.”
THE END
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES: