Waldron’s heels came together with a sharp military click, his big neck bent in the slightest bow, and he led the way into the hall without a word.
He made no pretense at politeness or apology. He left her to his servants and mounted the grand stairway in a tumult of blind rage.
CHAPTER XX
FOR two years the nation drifted without a rational policy of defense, while the world war continued to drench the earth in blood. The combination of forces represented by Waldron had succeeded in lulling the people into a sense of perfect security. We had always been lucky. A faith that God watched over children and our Republic had become one of the first articles of our creed.
John Vassar became an officer in the National Security League and attempted to extend its organization into every election district of the Union. For two years he had given himself body and soul to the task. At every turn he found an organized and militant opposition. They had money to spend and they had leaders who knew how to fight.
In spite of his hatred of Waldron he was compelled to acknowledge his genius for leadership, and the inflexible quality of his will. Within a week of the date his Security League was organized in a district, a fighting “peace” organization appeared overnight to destroy his work.
The optimism of the American people was the solid rock against which his hopes were constantly dashed.
He ignored the fact that Virginia Holland was the most eloquent and dangerous opponent of his propaganda. It was the irony of fate that he should feel it his solemn duty to devote every energy of his life to combating the cause for which she stood. It was the will of God. He accepted it now in dumb submission.
In the midst of his campaign for Congressmen pledged to national defense, the great war suddenly collapsed and the professional peace advocates filled the world with the tumult of their rejoicing.
It was useless to argue. The danger had passed. Men refused to listen. Vassar was regarded with a mild sort of pity.