Mr. George Ade, Mr. Booth Tarkington, Mr. James Whitcomb Riley, Mr. Meredith Nicholson and other noted Indiana authors had been invited to "read from their works" before the Society, and while none of them had been able to accept, each and every one had written a polite note of regret to the secretary, who not only read them aloud to the Society but preserved them in her own private scrap book and spoke feelingly of her remarkable "collection."
The room was crowded to hear the "celebrated air-man" relate his experiences at the front. The exercises were delayed for nearly an hour while Mr. Hatch, the photographer, prepared and foozled three attempts to get a flashlight picture of the gathering. Everybody was coughing violently when A. Lincoln Pollock arose to introduce the speaker of the evening. In conclusion he said:
"Mr. Thane was not only wounded in the service of humanity but he was also gassed. I wish to state here and now that it was not laughing gas the Germans administered. Far from it, my friends. Mr. Thane will tell you that it was no laughing matter. He has come to God's own country to recuperate and to regain his once robust health. After looking the world over, he chose the health-giving climate of his native state,—ahem! I should say, his father's native state,—and here he is not only thriving but enjoying himself. I take it upon myself to announce that he left all of his medals at his home in New York. They are too precious to be carried promiscuously about the country. It is my pleasure, ladies and gentlemen, to introduce to you one of the real heroes of the Great War, Mr. Courtney Thane, of New York City, who will now speak to you."
Alix Crown sat at the back of the room. There were no chairs, of course. Each person present occupied a scholar's seat and desk. Courtney had seen her come in. She was so late that he began to fear she was not coming at all. The little thrill of exultation that came with her arrival was shortly succeeded by an even greater fear that she would depart as soon as the meeting was over, without stopping to meet him at the "reception" which was to follow.
In his most agreeable drawl and with the barest reference to his own exploits, he described, quite simply, a number of incidents that had come under his personal observation while with the American Ambulance and afterwards in the British Flying Corps. Most of his talk was devoted to the feats of others and to the description of scenes and events somewhat remote from the actual fighting zone. He confessed that he knew practically nothing of the work of the American Expeditionary Force, except by hearsay, as he did not come in contact with the American armies, except an occasional unit brigaded with British troops in the Cambrai section of the great line. His listeners, no doubt, knew a great deal more about the activities and achievements of the Americans than he, so he was quite sure there was nothing he could say that would interest or enlighten them. In concluding he very briefly touched upon his own mishap.
"We were returning from a bombing flight over the German positions when somebody put a bullet into our petrol and down we came in flames. There was a gas attack going on at the time. We managed to land in a cloud of it, and—somehow we got back to our own lines, a little the worse for wear and all that sort of thing, you know. It wasn't as bad as you'd think,—except for the gas, which isn't what you would call palatable,—and I came out not much worse off than a chap who has been through a hard football scrimmage. Knee and ankle bunged up a little,—and a dusty uniform,—that's about all. I hope you will excuse me from talking any longer. My silly throat goes back on me, you see. My mother probably would tell you, 'too many cigarettes.' Perhaps she is right. Thank you for listening to all this rot, ladies and gentlemen. You are very kind to have given me this undeserved honour."
Not once during his remarks did he allow his gaze to rest upon Alix Crown. It was his means of informing her that she had not made the slightest impression upon him.
As he resumed his seat beside Mr. Pollock, and while the generous hand-clapping was still going on, Pastor Mavity arose and benignly waited for the applause to cease. Mr. Mavity invariably claimed the ecclesiastical privilege of speech. No meeting was complete, no topic exhausted, until he had exercised that right. It did not matter whether he had anything pertinent to say, the fact still remained that he felt called upon to say something:
"I should like to ask Mr. Thane if he thinks the Germans are preparing for another war. We have heard rumours to that effect. Many of our keenest observers have declared that it is only a matter of a few years before the Germans will be in a position to make war again, and that they will make it with even greater ferocity than before. We all know of the conflict now raging in Russia, and the amazing rebellion of De Annunzio in Fiume, and the—er—as I was saying, the possibility of the Kaiser seizing his bloody throne and calling upon his minions to—ah—er—renew the gigantic struggle. The history of the world records no such stupendous sacrifice of life on the cruel altars of greed and avarice and—er—ambition. We may turn back to the vast campaigns of Hannibal and Hamilcar and Julius Caesar and find no—er—no war comparable to the one we have so gloriously concluded. Our own Civil War, with all its,—but I must not keep you standing, Mr. Thane. Do you, from your experience and observation, regard another war as inevitable?"
"I do," was Courtney's succinct reply.