A keen-eyed, quick-speaking woman met her at the elevator, and led her back into what she called “your corner” of the room. Evidently the room was divided into countless corners, for several groups were clustered together in different sections. But Eveley gave them only a fleeting glance. Her heart and soul were centered on the group before her, eight boys, dark-eyed, dark-skinned, of fourteen years or thereabouts. They looked at Eveley appraisingly, as we always look on those who come to do us good. Eveley looked upon them with tender solicitude, as philanthropists have looked on their subjects since the world was born.
The introductions over, the keen-eyed one hurried away and Eveley faced her sub-Americans.
Then she smiled, a winsome smile before which stronger men than they have fallen. But they were curiously unsmiling in response. Their eyes remained appraising almost to the point of open suspicion. Perhaps her very prettiness aroused the inherent opposition of the male creature to female uplift.
Eveley began, however, bravely enough, and told them her first and prettiest story of sacrifice and country love. They listened gravely, but they were not thrilled. Struggling against a growing sense of incompetence, Eveley talked on and on, one story after another, pretty word following pretty word. But each word fell alike on stony ground. They sat like graven images, except for the bright suspicious gleam of the dark eyes.
Finally Eveley stopped, and turned to them. “What do you think about it?” she demanded. “You want to be Americans, don’t you? You want to learn what being an American means, don’t you?” Her eyes were fastened appealingly on a slender Russian lad, slouching in his chair at the end of the row. “You want to be an American, I know.”
Suddenly the slim lithe figure straightened, and the dark brows drew together in a frown. “What are you getting at?” came in a sharp tone. “I’m an American, ain’t I? You don’t take me for no German, do you?”
“No, no, of course not,” she apologized placatingly. “Oh, certainly not. I mean, you want to learn the things of America, so you can love this country, and make it yours. Then you will forget that other land from which you came, and know this for your own, now and forever.”
Eveley was arrested by the steady gleam of a pair of eyes in the middle of the row. There was open denial and disbelief written in every feature and line of his face.
“Why?” came the terse query, as Eveley paused.
Eveley gazed upon him in wonderment. “Wh-what did you say?”