Eve to the Rescue Part 2

In the open discussion that followed after the last address, Eveley suddenly, quite to her own surprise, found that she had something to say.

"But--isn't it mostly talk?" she asked, half shyly, anxious not to offend, but unable to repress the doubt in her mind. "It does not seem practical. You say we must a.s.similate the foreign element. But can one a.s.similate a foreign element? Doesn't the fact that it is foreign--make it impossible of a.s.similation? Oh, I know we have to do something, but as long as we are foreigners, we to them, and they to us,--what can we do?"

The deadly silence that greeted her words frightened her, yet somehow gave her courage to go on. She must be saying something rather sensible, or they would not pay attention.

"We can not a.s.similate food elements that are foreign to the digestive organs," she said. "Labor and capital have warred for years, and neither can a.s.similate the other. Look at domestic conditions here,--in the home, you know. People get married,--men and women, of opposing types and interests and standards. And they can not a.s.similate each other, and the divorce courts are running rampant. It does no good to say a.s.similation is a duty, if it is impossible. And it seems to be."

"Your criticism is destructive, Miss Ainsworth," said a learned professor who had spoken first, and Eveley was sorry now that she had not listened to him. "Destructive criticism is never helpful. Have you anything constructive to offer?"

"Well, maybe it is theoretic, also," said Eveley smiling faintly, and although the smile was faint, it was Eveley's own, which could not be resisted. "But duty isn't big enough, nor adaptable enough, nor winning enough. There must be some stronger force to set in action. n.o.body could ever win me by doing his duty by me. It takes something very intimate, very direct, and very personal really to get me. But if one says a word, or gives me a look,--just because he understands me, and likes me,--well, I am his friend for life. It takes a personal touch, a touch that is guided not by duty but by love. So I think maybe the foreign element is the same way. We've got to sort of chum up with it, and find out the nice things in it first. They will find the nice things in us afterward."

"But as you say, Miss Ainsworth, isn't this only talk? How would you go about chumming up with the foreign element?"

"I do not know, Professor," she said brightly. "But I think it can be done. And I think it has to be done, or there can not be any Americanization."

"Well, are you willing to try your own plan? We are conducting cla.s.ses, games, studies, among the foreigners, working with them, teaching them, studying them. We call this our duty as loyal Americans. You say duty is not enough, and you want to get chummy with them. Will you try getting chummy and see where you come out?"

Eveley looked fearfully about the room, at the friendly earnest faces.

"I--I feel awfully quivery in my backbone," she faltered. "But I will try it. You get me the foreigners, and I will practise on them. And if I can't get chummy with them, and like them, why, I shall admit you are right and I will help to teach them spelling, and things."

CHAPTER IV

THE IRISH-AMERICAN LEAGUE

Several days pa.s.sed quietly. Eveley went serenely about her work, and from her merry manner one would never have suspected the fires of Americanization smoldering in her heart ready for any straying breeze of opportunity to fan them into service.

She was finding it deliciously pleasant to live in a Cloud Cote above a bride and groom. Mrs. Bride, as Eveley fondly called her, was the dainty, flowery, fluttery creature that every bride should be. And Mr. Groom was the soul of devotion and the spirit of tenderness. To the world in general, they were known as Mr. and Mrs. Andrew Severs, but to Eveley, they were Mrs. Bride and Mr. Groom. It served to keep their new and s.h.i.+ning matrimonial halo in mind.

She was newly glad every morning that the young husband had to start to his work before she left home for hers. When she heard the front door open down-stairs, she ran to her window, often with a roll or her coffee cup in her hand, to witness the departure, which to her romantic young eyes was a real event. Mrs. Bride always stood on the porch to watch him on his way to the car until he was out of sight. Sometimes she ran with him to the corner, and always before he made the turn he waved her a final good-by.

It was very peaceful and serene. It seemed hard to believe that recently there had been a tremendous war, and that even now the world was writhing in the throes of political and social upheaval and change. In every country, men and women were grappling with great industrial problems, and there were ominous rumblings and threatening murmurs from society in revolution. But in the rambling white house in the great green gardens at the top of the canyon, one only knew that it was springtime in southern California, that the world was full of gladness and peace and joy, and that love was paramount.

Several days,--and then one evening there came the call of the telephone--the reveille of Americanization in the person of Eveley Ainsworth. A cla.s.s of young foreign lads had been gathered and would meet Eveley at the Service League that evening. No instructions were given, no suggestions were forthcoming. Eveley had asked for foreigners with whom she could get chummy and call it love. Here were the foreigners. The rest of the plan was Eveley's own.

She was proud of her mature comprehension of the needs of reconstruction, and of her utter gladness to a.s.sist. She felt that it signified something rather fine and worth while in her character, and she took no little pleasure in the prospect of active service. She went about her work that day wrapped in a veil of mystery, her mind delving deep into the ideals of American life. She carefully elaborated several short and spicy stories, of strong moral and patriotic tone, emphasizing the n.o.bility of love of country. And that evening she stood before her mirror for a long time, practising pretty flowery phrases to be spoken with a most winsome smile. Remembering that her subjects were boys, and that boys are young men in the making, she donned her daintiest, s.h.i.+mmeriest gown, and carefully coaxed the enticing little curls into prominence. Then with a final patriotic smile at herself in the mirror, she carefully climbed through the window and crossed the roof garden to the rustic stairway.

As she walked briskly up Albatross to Walnut, then to Fourth where she took the car, and all the way down-town she was carefully rehearsing her stories and the most effective modes of presenting them. She knew the rooms of the Service League well, having been there on many occasions while there was still war and there were service men by the hundreds to be danced with. Half a dozen men and boys were lounging at the curbstone, and they eyed her curiously, grimly, Eveley thought. She wondered if they knew she had come there to inspire them with love of the great America which they must learn to call home. She straightened her slim shoulders at the thought, and walked into the building with quite a martial air, as became one on this high mission bent.

A keen-eyed, quick-speaking woman met her at the elevator, and led her back into what she called "your corner" of the room. Evidently the room was divided into countless corners, for several groups were cl.u.s.tered together in different sections. But Eveley gave them only a fleeting glance. Her heart and soul were centered on the group before her, eight boys, dark-eyed, dark-skinned, of fourteen years or thereabouts. They looked at Eveley appraisingly, as we always look on those who come to do us good.

Eveley looked upon them with tender solicitude, as philanthropists have looked on their subjects since the world was born.

The introductions over, the keen-eyed one hurried away and Eveley faced her sub-Americans.

Then she smiled, a winsome smile before which stronger men than they have fallen. But they were curiously unsmiling in response. Their eyes remained appraising almost to the point of open suspicion. Perhaps her very prettiness aroused the inherent opposition of the male creature to female uplift.

Eveley began, however, bravely enough, and told them her first and prettiest story of sacrifice and country love. They listened gravely, but they were not thrilled. Struggling against a growing sense of incompetence, Eveley talked on and on, one story after another, pretty word following pretty word. But each word fell alike on stony ground.

They sat like graven images, except for the bright suspicious gleam of the dark eyes.

Finally Eveley stopped, and turned to them. "What do you think about it?"

she demanded. "You want to be Americans, don't you? You want to learn what being an American means, don't you?" Her eyes were fastened appealingly on a slender Russian lad, slouching in his chair at the end of the row. "You want to be an American, I know."

Suddenly the slim lithe figure straightened, and the dark brows drew together in a frown. "What are you getting at?" came in a sharp tone.

"I'm an American, ain't I? You don't take me for no German, do you?"

"No, no, of course not," she apologized placatingly. "Oh, certainly not.

I mean, you want to learn the things of America, so you can love this country, and make it yours. Then you will forget that other land from which you came, and know this for your own, now and forever."

Eveley was arrested by the steady gleam of a pair of eyes in the middle of the row. There was open denial and disbelief written in every feature and line of his face.

"Why?" came the terse query, as Eveley paused.

Eveley gazed upon him in wonderment. "Wh-what did you say?"

"I said, why?"

"Well, why not?" she countered nervously. "This is your country now. You must love it best in all the world, and must grow to be like us,--one of us,--America for Americans only, you know."

"You tell us to forget the land we came from," he said in an even impersonal voice. "Is that patriotism,--to forget the land of your birth?

I thought patriotism was to remember your home-land,--holding it in your heart,--hoping to return to it again,--and make it better."

"But--but that is not patriotism to this country," protested Eveley, aghast. "That is--disloyalty. If you wish to be always of your own land, and to love it best, you should stay there. If you come here, to get our training, our education, our development, our riches,--then this must be your country, and no other."

"Why?" he asked again. "Why should we not come here and get all the good things you can give us, and learn what you can teach us, and take what money we can earn, and then go back with all these good things to make our own land bigger and better and richer? That is patriotism, I think."

"No, no," protested Eveley again. "That is not loyalty. If you choose this country for your home, it must be first in your heart, and last also. This is your home-land now,--the land you believe in, the land of your love, America first."

"But America was not first. The home-land was first."

"Yes, it was first," she admitted pacifically. "But America is last.

America is the final touch. And so now you will learn our language, our games, our business, our way of life. You will live here, work here, and if war comes again you will die for America."

Then she went on very quickly, fearful of interruptions that were proving so disastrous. "That is why we are organizing this little club, you boys and I. We are going to talk together. We are going to play together. We are going to study together. So you can learn American ways in all things. Now what kind of club shall we have? That is the American way of doing things. It is not my club, but yours. You are the people, and so you must decide."

A long and profound silence followed, evidently indicative of deep thought.

"A baseball club," at last suggested a small j.a.p with a bashful smile.

"That is a splendid idea," cried Eveley brightly. "Baseball is a good American sport, a clean, lively game. Now what shall we call our baseball club?"

Again deep thought, but in a moment from an earnest Jewish boy came the suggestion, "The Irish-American Baseball League."

Eveley searched his face carefully, looking for traces of irony. But the pinched thin features were earnest, the eyes alight with pleased gratification at his readiness of retort.

A hum of approval indicated that the Irish-American League had met with favor. But Eveley wavered.