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Page 57
The Senator laughed.
"The great war, in which all of us here had the honor to bear arms--that
death grapple of tyranny against freedom--it did not hold back the cause
of humanity, of democracy, that war. Else thousands upon thousands of
good lives were given in vain."
There was a hushed moment. Each of the men, men now from fifty to sixty
years old, had been a young soldier in that Homeric struggle. Each was
caught back at the words of the Russian to a vision of terrible places,
of thundering of great guns, of young, generous blood flowing like
water. The deep, assured tones of the Russian spoke into the solemn
pause.
"There is an episode of the war which I remember. It goes to show, so
far as one incident may, where every hour was crowded with drama, how
forces worked together for democracy. It is the story of a common man of
my country who was a private in the army of your country, and who was
lifted by an American gentleman to hope and opportunity, and, as God
willed it, to honor. My old friend the Judge can tell that episode
better than I. My active part in it was small. If you like"--the dark
foreign eyes flashed about the group--"if you like I should much enjoy
hearing my old friend review that little story of democracy."
There was a murmur of approval. One man spoke, a fighting parson he had
been. "It argues democracy in itself, General, that a Russian
aristocrat, the brother of a Duke, should remember so well the
adventures of a common soldier."
The smouldering eyes of the Slav turned to the speaker and regarded him
gravely. "I remember those adventures well," he answered.
The Judge, flung back in a corner of the davenport, his knees crossed
and rings from his cigar ascending, stared at the ceiling, "Come along,
Peter. You're due to entertain us," the Senator adjured him, and the
Judge, staring upwards, began.
"This is the year 1947. It was in 1917 that the United States went into
war--thirty years ago. The fifth of June, 1917, was set, as you
remember, for the registration of all men in the country over
twenty-one and under thirty-one for the draft. I was twenty-three,
living in this house with my father and mother, both dead before the war
ended. Being outside of the city, the polling place where I was due to
register was three miles off, at Hiawatha. I registered in the morning;
the polls were open from seven A.M. to nine P.M. My mother drove me
over, and the road was being mended, and, as happened in those days in
the country, half a mile of it was almost impassable. There were no
adjustable lift-roads invented then. We got through the ruts and
stonework, but it was hard going, and we came home by a detour through
the city rather than pass again that beastly half mile. That night was
dark and stormy, with rain at intervals, and as we sat in this room,
reading, the three of us--" The Judge paused and gazed a moment at the
faces in the lamplight, at the chairs where his guests sat. It was as if
he called back to their old environment for a moment the two familiar
figures which had belonged here, which had gone out of his life. "We sat
in this room, the three of us," he repeated, "and the butler came in.
"'If you please, sir, there's a young man here who wants to register,'
he said.
"'Wants to register!' my father threw at him. 'What do you mean?'
"We all went outside, and there we found not one, but five boys,
Russians. There was a munitions plant a mile back of us and the lads
worked there, and had wakened to the necessity of registering at the
last moment, being new in the country and with little English. They had
directions to go to the same polling place as mint, Hiawatha, but had
gotten lost, and, seeing our lights, brought up here. Hiawatha, as I
said, is three miles away. It was eight-thirty and the polls closed at
nine. We brought the youngsters inside, and I dashed to the garage for
the car and piled the delighted lads into it and drove them across.
"At least I tried to. But when we came to the bad half mile the car
rebelled at going the bit twice in a day, and the motor stalled. There
we were--eight-forty-five P.M.--polls due to close at nine--a year's
imprisonment for five well-meaning boys for neglecting to register. I
was in despair. Then suddenly one of the boys saw a small red light
ahead, the tail light of an automobile. We ran along and found a big car
standing in front of a house. As we got there, out from the car stepped
a woman with a lantern, and as the light swung upward I saw that she was
tall and fair and young and very lovely. She stopped as the six of us
loomed out of the darkness. I knew that a professor from the University
in town had taken this house for the summer, but I don't know the people
or their name. It was no time to be shy. I gave my name and stated the
case.
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