The announcement came from labor headquarters in Washington, saying that the oil workers would get a living wage and the eight hour day; a government “conciliator” would be sent out to see to it, and meantime, they were to go back to work, so that the benevolent old gentleman with the white goatee and the red, white and blue suit might have all the oil he needed. The President of the United States was making speeches—oh, such wonderful, convincing speeches, about the war that was to end war, and bring justice to all mankind, and establish the rule of the people and by the people and for the people over all the earth. Such thrills as shook all hearts, such a fervor of consecration! And such rejoicing on the playground of the school-house at Paradise, when the news came that the gunmen would slink back into the slums from which they had come, and that work was to start up at once!
Dad got the news early in the morning, and Bunny danced all over the house, and made as much noise as if it were a football game; and Dad said he felt pretty good himself, it would sure be nice to get those wells on production again, he wouldn’t have been able to hold on another week without them. And Bunny said he’d cut school in the afternoon, and they’d drive out and see the celebration, and make friends with everybody again, and get things started. The first thing they would do was to tear down that barbed wire fence that separated capital from labor! In the new world there would be no more barbed wire and no more bad feeling—the roses would bloom on the hedges in front of the workers’ homes, and there would be a book of the President’s speeches in the reading-room, and all the oil workers would have time to read it!
CHAPTER VIII
THE WAR
I
Eunice Hoyt was the daughter of “Tommy” Hoyt, of Hoyt and Brainerd, whose advertisements of investment securities you saw on the financial pages of the Beach City newspapers. Tommy you saw at racing meets and boxing events, and generally you noticed that he had with him a new lady, highly and artificially colored; sometimes she wore a veil, and you kept tactfully out of the way, understanding that Tommy was “playing the woman game.” Mrs. Tommy you saw pictured among “the distinguished hostesses of the week”; she went in for art, and there would be a soulful young man about the house. The servants understood the situation, and so did Eunice.
She was dark and slender, a quick and impatient little thing, with an abundance of what was currently known as “pep.” She was in two of Bunny’s classes, and discovering that he was a serious youngster, she worried him by saying sharp and cutting things, that he was never sure whether she meant or not; he dared not ask, because then she would tease him worse than ever. There were always half a dozen fellows following her about, so it was easy to keep out of the way.
But one Saturday afternoon Bunny won the 220-yard run for the school team, and that made him a bit of a hero, and boys and girls swarmed about him, cheering and patting him on the back. Then, after he had had his shower and was dressed, he went out in search of his car, and there was Eunice just getting into her roadster, and she said, “Let me take you.” He answered, “I’ve got my own car here,” and she exclaimed, “Why, you horrid rude thing! Get into this car at once, sir!” So of course he did, a little rattled. When she said, “Are you afraid somebody will steal that cheap old car of yours?”—was it up to him to defend the newness and expensiveness of Dad’s latest gift?
“Bunny,” she said, “my mother and father are having a row at home, and it’s horrid there.”
“Well, what do you want to do?” said he, sympathetically.
“Let’s go somewhere and have supper—away from everything. You come, and it’ll be my party.”