“She grew up out there. I had as fine a woman as I could find—educated—horse sense—to look after her, but we never could do much with Nancy. She wouldn’t go to school but she’d read more books than all the girls in Sabinsport before she was sixteen and spoke French and German like a native. She hated the town and she loved dogs and horses, and, by George, how she understood ’em. I never saw anything like it. Of course, I let her have all she wanted, and before I knew what I was getting into she was breeding ’em—had a stable, kennels, began to go East to horse shows, dog shows; go anywhere she heard of a good animal. Regular passion—didn’t think of anything else. Funny to see her—so slight and fine and free-moving, talking to jockeys and breeders and bookmen—never seeing them—only the horses. ’Twan’t long before horsemen began to listen to her, and she began to enter her own and then I lost her from here. Mrs. Peters is always with her, but Nancy is all right. Just naturally don’t know anything but the best men or horses. Has an instinct for points. She is always saying she’ll come back some day and stay. I wanted to build in town for her but she won’t have it. Farm’s home to her. But I don’t expect ever to see her again, Ingraham.
“It was like her to throw herself in this thing. Never could stand it to see anything suffer—hated anything she thought was unjust.
“I tell you she rules me. Remember once you complimented me for leaving the old Paradise just as it came down to the town, building in the big addition as a kind of background, to set off the original? That was Nancy—would have it so—sent an architect here that she had coached herself. And you remember four years ago when I turned front on compensation—time of the big accident in the ‘Emma’? Well, that was Nancy—got my orders from her. Queer thing how she keeps track of things here—reads the Argus every day, no matter where she is. She was all crumpled up over the ‘Emma,’ naturally enough—and when the Argus began on compensation she wrote me a better argument than ever Gardner put up and told me she’d never take another dollar from me if I didn’t support it. What could I do? I knew she meant it.
“She was visiting in London when the war came. Patsy McCullon saw her there—like her to go to Serbia. She said the Belgians were near and bound to get help, but everybody seemed to have forgotten Serbia. She went in October. I’ve had only a few letters—all cheerful—wouldn’t do anything else—she’s putting in all her income and it’s a pretty good one. Nancy’s rich as a girl ought to be, from her granddad and mother. I don’t believe she’ll ever come out. They’re bound to run over the country. Nancy will stick till she drops. God, Ingraham, it’s hard to lose her.
“It’s her being there makes me suspicious, maybe—Littman says so—laughed at the idea that Otto was working for anybody but America. But I don’t know, Ingraham—I don’t know. I ought not to have thrown him out, maybe, but I didn’t like it. Sweden! That means Germany, and Otto Littman knows it, or—it means tying up the plant if they can’t ship.
“Another thing I’m telling you this for—it ain’t natural the feeling in the town against selling munitions to the Allies should be so strong as it is. It would have died out long ago if somebody from outside wasn’t stirring it up. There are more pacifists around town than is normal, more in the factory and even in the wire plant. Don’t seem to go deep enough to make ’em give up their jobs—just talk, and there must be somebody behind it. I’m making allowance for those that’s honestly against it, those that think not believing in war will make a difference. Couldn’t stop an earthquake that way, and that’s what this war is, Ingraham—earthquake—convulsion. Guess men have ’em—burst their bonds like the earth its crust. Guess we won’t end them until we put more give into the bonds—make ’em more elastic. That’s the way I see it. Hope you won’t mind my disturbing you. Had to get it off my mind.”
Dick had listened in amazed silence through the talk. He reached out his hand, deeply moved. “Disturb me, Mr. Cowder? I think your confidence an honor, and I don’t think your suspicion idle. On the contrary, I agree with you that the feeling against munition making here isn’t normal, but I take it that we must expect propaganda. I don’t like the secrecy of it, if it is propaganda. As for Littman, I often talk with him. He’s quite openly for Germany. He has lived there as a student, you know. He has caught the faith that consumes Germany and is driving her now—her faith that her destiny is to rule the earth by virtue of her superior ability, knowledge, strength. It’s not easy for young men of Otto’s type to resist. Whether he is being used as a tool consciously or unconsciously, I cannot say. It would be quite in keeping with Germany’s practice to stir up trouble here with England if she could. She naturally wants to take our minds off Belgium—to build back fires. I am not sure but the feeling growing in the country against Mexico—the fear of Japan—is largely German propaganda. And Otto may be helping it on, not out of disloyalty to the United States but because his German advisers—if he has them—have made him believe that the country is threatened in these directions. It was Otto, you remember, who brought that lecturer here a few weeks ago to warn us about a Mexican-Japanese alliance. It might have happened naturally enough, to be sure. But if pro-German citizens are introducing such lecturers into quiet towns like ours, all over the land, I should feel it was distinctly a disloyal act. I don’t know that they are, though it’s sure the lecture we heard and the maps we saw had been used before—frequently I should say.”
“I don’t think it worried anybody,” said Cowder, dryly.
“I rather think it would be difficult to make Sabinsport nervous over a Mexican-Japanese attack,” laughed Dick. “It was evident the audience regarded it as a fairy tale.”
“It’s nothing else as far as I can see.”