His father put on a stuffy expression and said, “Join us, James. That is, if you want, sincerely, to see the opposition at work. And if you can remember that opposition is one of the honest functions of democracy.”
Jimmie nodded meekly and sprawled in a leather chair. For a while the meeting amused him. An American ship had been fired on by a submarine, and it appeared that the Muskogewan members of America Forever had passed a resolution “suggesting” that the submarine had been English. Then the Germans had admitted it was their submarine.
The incident was two months old, but due to it, the America Forever Committee in Muskogewan had been grossly lampooned in a new issue of a monthly magazine. Their first agendum was to draw up a resolution informing the magazine that England had perfidiously drawn America into the war. They next framed a resolution to stay out of war.
After that a long telegram was read. It came from a gentleman of national importance. Its purport was that, even with a congressional declaration of war, the work of America Forever would go forward. Such a declaration, the message said, could only be regarded as the act of a body of rubberstamps who no longer represented the people, or held the power originally vested in them by the Constitution but now assumed by a band of thieves. In view of the fact that no act of Congress could be considered responsible, the wire said, the members of America Forever were urged to disregard all such acts. And so on.
Jimmie reflected that the “members” were, in effect, being urged to consider the future possibility of treason. The men did not seem to see it in that light. Jimmie grinned inwardly.
Money was voted for an advertisement in the local paper which would proclaim that American boys were about to die for the ideology of Red Russia. There were other matters, all heatedly executed and all steadfastly aimed at making it as hard as possible for the existing government to maintain its thesis that the United States was in terrible danger, not of its own making, but inescapable, nonetheless.
Jimmie was planning to slip out of the room, when his name was called. It was called after a whispered conversation at the long table.
A man with horn-rimmed glasses and a small, yellowish mustache said, “Jimmie!” overloudly. “Jimmie,” he repeated, “would you mind a couple of questions?”
Surprised, Jimmie rose awkwardly and said, “Why, no. Certainly not. Shoot!” He sat down again.
The man went on: “We—er—in this subcommittee—we keep an eye on things happening in this town. Feel it’s our duty. My name, incidentally, is Murton.” Jimmie ducked his head. Mr. Murton continued, “I don’t mean spying. Just—watching things.”