Purple Springs - Nellie L. McClung
He heard himself say mechanically:
"There is no reason, Mr. Neelands; Pearl is free to decide. No one has
the smallest claim on her."
Peter sprang up and caught his hand, wondering why it should be so
cold. He also wondered at the flush which burned on the doctor's
cheeks.
"Thanks, old man," he cried impulsively, "I cannot tell you how I
thank you. You have rolled a house off me--and now, tell me you wish
me well--I want your good word."
The doctor took his outstretched hand, with an effort.
"I wish you well," he said slowly, in a voice that was like a shadow
of his own.
When Peter had gone, the doctor rose and paced the floor.
"I'm a liar and a hypocrite," he said bitterly. "I don't wish him
well. I said what was not so when I said I hoped to see her married
to some one else--I don't--I want her myself. I can't give her up! I
won't give her up!"
The next morning, before the doctor started to make his calls, Robert
Gilchrist, President of the Political Club, came to see him, again.
"I am not satisfied with that interview we had with you, doctor," he
said, "the day the organizer was here. That fellow made a mess of
everything, and I don't blame you for turning it down. But I tell you,
there's more in it than this fellow thinks. There is a real moral
issue to be decided, and I am here to admit I've had a new look at
things in the last few days. I am going into the city to see our
leader, and I want to see how he feels. But, doctor, some of our laws
are simply disgraceful; they've got to be changed."
He went on to tell the doctor of the day he went to buy Sylvester
Paine's farm.
"I never felt any meaner than when Pearl told me what it meant, and
what I was doing. Doctor, if you had seen the look in Mrs. Paine's
face when Pearl was putting it up to me; Lord, it was tragic. It was
as if her hope of Heaven was in dispute, and didn't Pearl put it to
me? Say, doctor, that girl can swing an election. No one can resist
her arguments--she's so fair about everything--no one can get away
from her arguments. The reason these laws have been left the way they
are, is that no one knows about them. Did you know that a man can sell
everything, and do what he likes with the money, no matter what his
wife says--and did you know a man can take his children away from the
mother--Did you know about these?"
"I did," said the doctor, "in a vague way. Fortunately they do not
often come up--men are better than the laws--and they would need to
be."
"Well, doctor, I'll tell you what I want to say. I believe it is your
duty to run. The women need a few members there to stick up for them.
Pearl thinks our party is all right too--she says they'll grant the
vote--if they get in--and she was at the big meeting where the women
asked them to make it a plank in their platform. She says some of
the old hide-bound politicians gagged a little, but they swallowed
it--they had to." "I wish you could hear Pearl talk, doctor. She
seemed disappointed when I told her you weren't going to run."
"You haven't thought of any one else, Bob?" the doctor asked, after a
pause. "You wouldn't consider it yourself?"
"Any one else but you will surely lose his deposit. The bridge at
Purple Springs will hold them over there, and they have taken off a
slice on the east of the riding and put it in Victoria--where it is
sure to go against the Government anyway. No, this will go to Steadman
by acclamation, unless you let us nominate you."
"Well, I'll reconsider," said the doctor, "and phone you inside of
twenty-four hours."
When Mr. Gilchrist had gone, the doctor sat with his hands behind his
head. His eyes were very bright, and a flush mantled his cheek. His
heart thumped so hard, he could hear it.
"Keep away from excitement, Clay," he could hear the old doctor
saying, "excitement eats up your energy and does not give the builders
a chance. With care, and patience, you may win--but if you will not
save yourself, and nurse yourself, and go slow--you are a dead man!"
He pressed his hands tightly to his head.
"Pearl had been disappointed," Bob had said. It would be a disgrace to
let this riding go by default. There was the liquor question which had
hung fire for fourteen years, while the Government had simply played
with it, and laughed at the temperance people. If women had the vote,
what a power Pearl would be!
Still, one vote in Parliament was nothing--one man could do but
little--and besides, the old doctor had found him improved--he might
be able to beat out the disease yet--by being careful. A campaign
would mean late hours, long drives, meeting people--making
speeches--which he hated--the worst kind of excitement--to move a vote
of thanks tired him more than a week's work.
Still, Pearl would be pleased--he hadn't done much for Pearl. He had
won her love--and then had to turn it away--and had seen those eyes of
her's cloud in disappointment. It had been a raw deal.
Looking through the window, he saw Bertie, with his team, waiting
outside the door. He was letting Bertie take full care of his horses
now, and saving himself in that way.
The sorrel horse on the side next him tossed his head, and chewed the
bit, with a defiant air that set waves of memory in motion. He had
bought this fine four-year-old, because he had reminded him of old
Prince--the same color--the same markings, and the same hard mouth and
defiant red eye.
Usually, he did not keep Bertie waiting--but this morning it did not
matter--there were other things to be decided. The sorrel horse seemed
to be looking at him through the office window.
"There was another sorrel horse to take your place, Prince," said the
doctor, looking at the big sorrel, but thinking of his predecessor;
"although that did not influence you in any way--you left that to me
to find out--you considered that my business. I believe I will be safe
in leaving it to some one higher up to get another doctor to take my
place--doctors--and sorrel horses--there are plenty of them. You had
the right philosophy, Prince. No one else could have saved the woman's
life--so you did that--and let me rustle for another horse. I'll do
the same--after all--it is not individuals who count--it is the race.
We do our bit--and pass on. Straight ahead of me seems to be a piece
of work I can do--and if I have to pay for the privilege of doing
it--I'll pay--without regrets."
He reached for the telephone, and called Mr. Gilchrist.
"Hello Bob," he said steadily, "I've reached a decision. No, it didn't
take me long. Yes, I will. I'll accept the nomination. All right
Bob--I hope so. Thank you for your good opinion--All right."
CHAPTER XVII
PETER'S REPORT
When Peter J. Neelands returned to the city, he sought an interview
with his Chief. It was a bold stroke, Mr. Neelands knew, but the
circumstances warranted it. He must lay the matter before his superior
officer; as a loyal member of the party, he must bring in a warning.
He must make the Government understand.
The old leader was one of the most approachable of men, genial,
kindly, friendly. The interview was arranged without difficulty, and
Peter, with his heart beating uncomfortably, was shown by the old
retainer who kept guard in the outside office through the blue velvet
hangings into the Chief's private office.
At a long oaken table, on which were scattered a few trade journals
and newspapers, he found the great man. An unlighted cigar was in his
mouth, and he sat leaning back in a revolving chair.
"Well, Peter, my son--how are you?" he said gaily, extending his hand.
"And so you feel you must see the old man on business of importance,
vital importance to our country's welfare. That's good; glad to see
you, take a chair beside me and tell uncle who hit you."
The Chief was a man of perhaps sixty years of age, of florid
countenance, red mustache, turning gray, splendidly developed
forehead, dark gray eyes with wire-like wrinkles radiating from them,
which seemed to have been caused more by laughter than worry; a big,
friendly voice of great carrying power, and a certain bluff, good
fellowship about him which marked him as a man who was born to rule
his fellowmen, but to do it very pleasantly.
Peter was complimented to be received so cordially. He was sure he
could make this genial, courteous, kindly old gentleman see certain
questions from a new view-point. He must see it.
"Perhaps you have heard of a girl at Millford who is making somewhat
of a stir along the lines of the Woman Suffrage question," Peter
began.
The great man nodded, and having begun to nod, absent-mindedly
continued, much to Peter's discomfiture. Peter hastily reviewed the
case, though he could see his listener was bored exceedingly.
"Now, what I want you to do, sir," he said earnestly, "is this. Let
this girl come and address the members of the Government and the
Legislature--I mean our members--privately, of course. Let her show
you the woman's side of the question. I know, sir, you turned them
down when the delegation came, but a man can always change his mind.
The thing is inevitable; the vote is coming. If this Government does
not give it--the Government will go down to defeat."
The Chief stopped nodding, and the amiability of his face began to
cloud over. He sat up very suddenly and spread his plump hands on the
table.
"The Opposition have endorsed Woman Suffrage, sir," said Peter
earnestly. "They are making it a plank in their platform."
"Sure they have," cried the Premier, with a laugh, "sure they have.
They are big enough fools to endorse anything! What do we care what
they endorse?"
"But I want to get this over to you, Mr. Graham, that we are losing
our opportunity to do a big thing, something that will live in
history, if we fail to give women the vote. Women are human, they have
a right to a voice in their own government, and if you would just let
this girl come out and talk to you--and the members."
"Look here, Peter," said the great man tolerantly, "I like
enthusiasm--the world is built on it. But I'm an old man now, and have
been a long time dealing with the public and with politics. Politics
is a dirty mess--it's no place for women, and I certainly do not
need to be instructed by any eighteen-year-old girl, pleasant as the
process might be. I believe all you say about her--and her charm. You
had better go and marry her--if you want to."
Peter's face colored. "I would be very happy to do so, but she turned
me down, sir."
"Don't be discouraged, lad; a woman's 'no' generally means 'yes',"
said his Chief. "Now, even if she could talk like the Angel Gabriel, I
won't let her at the members of this Government--I'll tell you why.
I have these fellows trotting easy. They're good boys--they do as
they're told. Now what's the use of getting them excited and confused.
Peter, you know how it is with the Indians--in their wild state,
eating rabbits and digging roots--they're happy, aren't they? Sure
they are. If you bring them into town, show them street-cars and shop
windows and take them to theatres, you excite them and upset them,
that's all. O no, Peter, I'll take no chances on spoiling my
simple-hearted country members by turning loose this orb-eyed young
charmer who has thrown you clean off your trolley."
"But, sir, consider the case yourself; won't you admit, sir, that the
laws are fearfully unjust to women?" Peter began to explain, but the
Premier interrupted:
"Peter, the world is very old; certain things are established by
usage, and the very fact that this is so argues that it should be so.
Women are weaker than men--I did not make them so--God made them so.
He intended them to be subject to men. Don't get excited over it. It
sounds well to talk about equality--but there's no such thing. It did
not exist in God's mind, so why should we try to bring it about? No,
no, Peter, women are subject to men, and always will be. It would
not do to make them independent in the eyes of the law, independent
economically. If they were they would not marry. Look at the women
in the States--where in some places they vote--look at the type that
develops. What does it bring?--race-suicide, divorce--free love. I'm
an old-fashioned man, Peter, I believe in the home."
"So do I," said Peter, "with all my heart."
The great man began to show signs of impatience.
"Before I go," said Peter earnestly, "let me make one more appeal to
you. This is a live issue. It cannot be dismissed by a wave of the
hand. Will you listen to a debate on it--will you let it be discussed
in your hearing?"
The old man considered a moment--then he said:
"This will wear off you, Peter. I, too, have been young. I understand.
Forget it, boy, and get back to normal. No, I will not hear it
discussed. I know all about it--all I want to know. I don't know why
I am wasting so much time on you and your particular type of
foolishness, Peter. I have people like you seeing me every day.
Usually they are dealt with by Mr. Price, in the outer office. He has
orders to put the can on them and open the door. O no, Peter, there
will be no radical measures while I sit at the helm--I am too old to
change my mind."
Peter began to put on his gloves. The older man held out his hand.
"Well, good-bye, Peter," he said kindly, "come again--come any
time--always glad to see you."
"I will not be back," said Peter quietly, "this is good-bye. If I
cannot show you that you are wrong, I will go out and help the women
to show the people that you are wrong. Pearl says if the Premier is
too old to change his mind we will do the next best thing."
"And what is that?"
"Change the Premier," Peter replied, steadily.
The old man laughed, with uproarious mirth.
"Peter, you're funny, all right; you're rich; I always did enjoy the
prattle of children, but I can't fool away any more time on you--so
run along and sell your papers."
Peter went through the blue velvet hangings, past the worthy henchman,
who sat dozing in his chair, and made his way to the front door. The
mural decorations in the corridor caught his eye--the covered wagon,
drawn by oxen plodding patiently into the sunset--the incoming
settlers of the pioneer days.
"I wonder if the women did not do their full share of that," he
thought. "They worked, suffered, hoped, endured--and made the country
what it is. I wonder how any man has the nerve to deny them a voice in
their own affairs."
While Peter was taking his departure, and before he had reached the
front gate, one of the many bells which flanked the Premier's table
was wildly rung.
"Send Banks to me," he said crisply, to the lackey who appeared.
The genial mood had gone; his brows were clamped low over his eyes. He
had chewed the end off his cigar.
"Every time the women raise ructions it sets me thinking of her. I
wonder what became of her," he murmured. "The ground seems to have
swallowed her. She might have known I did not mean it; but women don't
reason--they just feel."
The news of P.J. Neelands' resignation from the Young Men's Political
Club made a ripple of excitement in Government circles, and brought
forth diverse comments.
"There's a girl in it, I hear," said one of the loungers at the Maple
Leaf Club; "some pretty little suffragette has won over our Peter."
"He does not deny it," said another, "he'll tell you the whole
story--and believe me, Peter is an enthusiastic supporter of the
women's cause now. I see in this morning's paper he made a speech for
them last night called 'The Chivalry of the Law.' Peter has the blood
of the martyrs in him for sure--for he was in a straight line for the
nomination here in 'Centre.'"
"Peter Neelands makes me tired," said a third gloomily. "Why does he
need to get all fussed up over the laws relating to women--they have
too much liberty now--they can swear away a man's character--that's
one thing I'd like to see changed. It's dangerous, I tell you."
The first man finished the discussion:
"I always liked Peter, and am sorry he's quit us. He'll have a
following, too, just because he does believe in himself."
Though the loungers at the Maple Leaf Club took the news of Peter
Neeland's secession with composure, mingled with amusement, the chief
organizer, Mr. Banks, viewed it with alarm, and voiced his fears to
the head of his department, who sat in his accustomed chair, with a
bottle of the best beside him. The Honorable member listened, but
refused to be alarmed. It was past the third hour of the afternoon,
and the rainbow haze was over everything.
"I tell you," said Mr. Banks, "something is going to break if we
can't get this thing stopped. The women are gaining every day. Their
meetings are getting bigger, and now look at Peter Neelands. This
Watson girl has got to be canned--got rid of--if we have to send her
to do immigration work in London, England."
The honorable member did his best to hold his head steady.
"Do what you like, Banks," he said thickly, "only save the country.
My country if she's right; my country if she's wrong; but always my
country! 'Lives there a man with soul so dead,' eh, Banks? That's the
dope--what? Damn the women--but save the home--we gotta' save the
home."
Oliver Banks looked at him in deep contempt, and shook his head.
"These birds make things hard for us," he murmured. "He looks like a
Minister of the Crown now, doesn't he? Lord! wouldn't he make a sight
for the women! I'd like to hear their description of him just as he
sits now."
The minister sat with his pudgy hands spread out on the arms of his
chair. His head rolled uncertainly, like a wilting sunflower on a
broken stalk. His under lip was too full to fit his face. If he had
been a teething infant one would have been justified in saying he was
drooling.
The organizer called a waiter and instructed him to phone to the
gentleman's house and speak to his chauffeur.
"Tell him to take the old man home," he said briefly, "he seems to
be--overtaken."
"Very good, sir," said the waiter, without a flicker of an eyelash.
Then the organizer went to a telephone booth and called George
Steadman, of Millford, requesting him to come at once to the city on
important business.
CHAPTER XVIII
THE WOMAN OF PURPLE SPRINGS
None of us has lived long without discovering that everything he
has he pays for; that every gain has a corresponding loss; that a
development even of one of our own faculties, is at the expense of
the others. The wild wheat is small and dwarfed in size in its native
state, but very hardy. Under persistent cultivation it grows bigger
and more productive, but, unfortunately, susceptible to the frost. The
wild rabbit when domesticated grows bigger and more beautiful, but
loses his speed and cleverness. So it is all through life--it all
comes in the bill--we cannot escape the day of reckoning.
If Pearl Watson had not had a taste for political speeches and
debates; if she had read the crochet patterns in the paper instead of
the editorials, and had spent her leisure moments making butterfly
medallions for her camisoles, or in some other ladylike pursuit,
instead of leaning over the well-worn railing around the gallery of
the Legislative Assembly, in between classes at the Normal, she would
have missed much; but she would have gained something too.
For one thing, she would have had an easier time getting a
boarding-house in the Purple Springs District, and would not be
standing looking disconsolately out at the Spring sunshine, one day at
the end of April, wondering, with a very sore heart, why nobody wanted
to give her board and shelter. It was a new and painful sensation for
Pearl, and it cut deeply.
Mrs. Zinc could not keep her beyond May the first, for relatives were
coming from the East. Mrs. Cowan could not take her, for she had too
much to do as it was--and could not get help that wasn't more trouble
than it was worth. They would waste more than their wages, and what
they did not waste they would steal. Mrs. Cowan's tongue was unloosed
by the memory of her wrongs, and it was half an hour before Pearl
could get away. Mrs. Cowan had surely suffered many things at the
hands of help of all nationalities. She had got them from employment
bureaus, government and private; from the Salvation Army and from
private friends in the old country. Her help had come from everywhere
except from the Lord! No indeed, she couldn't take any one to board.
A careful canvass of the neighborhood had resulted in disappointment;
not one home was available. Embarrassment had sat on the faces of many
of the women when they talked with her about it, and Pearl was quick
to see that there was something back of it all, and the antagonism of
the unknown lay heavily on her heart.
The yellow Spring sun, like liquid honey, fell in benediction on the
leafless trees, big with buds, and on the tawny mat of grass through
which the blue noses of anemones were sticking. Cattle eagerly cropped
the dead grass and found it good, and men were at work in the fields.
They all had homes and beds, Pearl thought, with a fresh burst of
homelessness.
She had prepared her blackboards for the next day, and made her desk
tidy, and was just about to leave for the day and walk the mile to
Mrs. Howser's to see if she could make it her abiding place, when
Bessie Cowan came running with a letter.
"Please, teacher," said Bessie, out of breath from running, "Ma
thought this might be an important letter, and you should have it
right away. It came in our mail."
Pearl took it, wonderingly. It bore the official seal of the
Department of Education. Only once had she received such a letter, and
that was when she received permission to attend the Normal. When she
opened it, she read:
"Dear Madam:--You have been recommended to us by the Principal of the
Normal School for special work required by this Department, and we
will be pleased to have you come to our office inside of the next week
for instructions. We will pay you a salary of one hundred dollars a
month, and travelling expenses, and we believe you will find the work
congenial. Kindly reply as soon as possible."
Pearl's heart was throbbing with excitement. Here was a way of escape
from surroundings which, for some unknown reason, were uncomfortable
and unfriendly.
Bessie Cowan watched her closely, but said not a word. Bessie was a
fair-skinned little girl, with eyes far apart, and a development of
forehead which made her profile resemble a rabbit's.
"Thank you, Bessie" said Pearl, "I am glad to have this." She sat
at her desk and began to write. Bessie ran home eagerly to tell her
mother how the letter had been received.
Pearl decided to write an acceptance, and to 'phone home to her mother
before sending it.
When the letter was written she sat in a pleasant dream, thinking of
the new world that had opened before her. "Travelling expenses," had a
sweet sound in her young ears--she would go from place to place,
meet new people, and all the time be learning something--learning
something--and forgetting.
Pearl winced a little when she recalled Mrs. Crock's words when she
came through Millford on her way to Purple Springs:
"The doctor should be the candidate, but I guess Miss Keith won't let
him. They say he's holdin' off to run for the Dominion House next
Fall. You maybe could coax him to run, Pearl. Have you seen him
lately? Miss Keith was down twice last week, and he went up for
Sunday. It looks as if they were keepin' close company--oh well, he's
old enough to know his own mind, and it will be nice to have the
Senator's daughter livin' here. It would give a little style to the
place, and that's what we're short of. But it's nothing to me--I don't
care who he marries!"
Pearl had hurried away without answering. Mrs. Crocks' words seemed
to darken the sun, and put the bite of sharp ice in the gentle spring
breeze. Instead of forgetting him, every day of silence seemed to lie
heavier on her heart; but one thing Pearl had promised herself--she
would not mope--she would never cry over it!
She read the letter over and tried to picture what it would mean. A
glow of gratitude warmed her heart when she thought of the Normal
School Principal and his kindness in recommending her. She would
fulfil his hopes of her, too. She would do her work well. She would
lose herself in her work, and forget all that had made her lonely and
miserable. It was a way of escape--the Lord was going to let her down
over the wall in a basket.
There was a very small noise behind her, a faint movement as if a
mouse had crossed the threshold.
She turned quickly, and gave a cry of surprise and delight.
At the door, shyly looking in at her, was a little boy of perhaps ten
years of age, with starry eyes of such brilliance and beauty she could
see no other feature. He looked like a little furry squirrel, who
would be frightened by the slightest sound.
For a moment they looked at each other; then from the boy, in a
trembling voice, clear and high pitched, came the words:
"Please, teacher!"
The tremble in his voice went straight to Pearl's heart.