March, 1911 Her stumbling had become fairly painful. She stopped as i f i n a desperate appeal for social easement. P a t t y - M a u d presented to her a face in which polite attention struggled with sneering insolence. After an instant, Miss Johnson went on. B ' i t that pause in which she failed to get help, seemed to have strengthened her. H e r manner gained in repose. She began to speak with confidence. "I won't keep you long i f you will be so good as to listen. I want to thank you particularly because this visit of my grandfather's was such an important thing—to me, I mean. I've been looking forward to it for three years. It came unexpectedly like that because someone offered to pay the expenses of the trip. It would have been a great disappointment to me i f he hadn't seen all the things he was looking forward to seeing. H e ' s the only relative I have in the world and, somehow, I guess you feel different about an old grandfather."
THE
MASSES
Patty-Maud had a swift vision of her own adored grandfather—the fine, old Confederate general, gray, gallant, distinguished, whose pres ence at the Spring Open Idler had turned that haphazard social event into an impromptu re ception to himself. But she said nothing. Mabel Johnson did not seem to expect an an swer now. Again her manner was a little grop ing, but obviously it was not from social em barrassment. She was evidently picking in the depths of her vocabulary for the phrases that would express exactly what she meant. "But I want to thank you—very much more— for something else. Don't let me offend you by the way I put it—it's the awkwardness of my words—not the feeling that's in my heart. I do thank you—oh so much—for not letting him realize certain things. He's very old—he belongs in every way to the period before the war. H e believes that the Emancipation Proclamation changed everything—I mean for—for us. He's
15 lived for years all alone up there in the country with nothing but his books. There's nobody there to correct his ideas. A n d I—I never could bring myself to undeceive him. It seems to me just as well that he should die thinking the Millenium had come. Not that I myself am deceived—that I misunderstand—" Something physical pulled her up here. It was a quick hissing intake of the breath. "Please don't think for a moment that I be lieve things have changed for—for us—except in certain small ways—or that I think they ever will change. I don't know that I want them to. I have my own friends and my own work. A n d I'm favored above many. It's only occasionally that it's brought home to me that I'm an alien. I'm very happy most of the time." Her manner had gained gradually in decision, her voice in calm. She had ceased to pick at the vine-leaves. (Continued on page 18)
Irrelevancies and Irreverencies By T H O M A S L . M A S S O N the end would have its own reward, a strange thing happened. O N C E upon a time there was a good The good trust announced that it didn't feel trust that never did any harm to any right about accepting all that Uncle Samuel left, body. It used to pay splendid salaries and that it was going to divide with the bad trust. to everyone that worked for it, and it The good trust said that they belonged to the even gave them an interest in it. It only asked for a fair profit, and i f anyone had same family anyway, and consequently there suggested a rebate, the good trust would have should not have been any such discrimination, been very angry indeed. Every Lord's day it although of course Uncle Samuel meant well went to Sunday school, and when it had any enough about it. So the division was made, and everybody was spare time, it used to read aloud from it's own good works to interested little boys and girls happy; who craved mental nourishment. MORALS T A K E YOUR CHOICE. Now there was a bad trust that lived in the next street that was quite the opposite from all Don't be a good trust, because you will have to this. The bad trust used to sit up nights think get someone to help you, and then divide up with ing up ways to do people. It used to jump out at all the widows and orphans who passed, and him. Don't be a bad trust, because you will always say " B o o ! " to them and scare them almost to death. A n d it used to steal everything that it be suspected of associating with a good trust. could lay its hands to, until the people were ter Don't be an Uncle Sam, because you lose ribly afraid of it. either way. N o w both of these trusts—for they belonged to the same family—had an uncle, named Uncle Sam, who visited them occasionally, just to see how they were getting along, and to pat them on the head, and give them little presents. H e was a very impartial man, was Uncle Sam uel, and treated them both alike, in spite of their difference, for he used to say that God made us all, and we shouldn't be too particular in our judgments. One night, however, Uncle Samuel was sud denly attacked as he was walking along a back street—Tariff Lane, I believe the name was— and so severely injured that the moment the doctors looked at him, they knew he was doomed. The assailants got away—no one knew who did the evil deed. B u t that of course is purely incidental. The main thing is that Uncle Samuel was down and out for all time. W e l l , of course, he had to draw up a will. There wasn't much time, as he was sinking very fast, but i n emergencies like these, lawyers can always contrive to move quickly. A n d so they gathered around, and drew up the papers, and the whole thing was arranged i n a perfectly satisfactory manner. Naturally the good trust was left everything. Drawn by Art. Young A n d the bad trust got left. But while everyone was talking about it, and What's the difference? saying that it only went to prove that virtue in
The Good Trust.
A Proposed Tax. T
H
E
necessity for raising a sufficient sum of money for the maintenance of the government is apparent to everybody. Our brigadier generals need it. O u r pensioners need it. O u r Agricultural Department needs it, for otherwise every sub urbanite would soon run out of seeds. O u r rivers and harbors are crying for it, our office holders demand it, fashion decrees it, and W a l l street, the Infant Industries, the Standard O i l Company and the Baptist Church cry for it. Hitherto we have been dependent on what few odd dollars our custom house officers could pick up, armed with only a sand bag and a club. There has been some talk of an income tax, but as no. respectable person has an income of over ten thousand dollars, it would hardly do to make all the others give up what it has taken so much time and energy to rob everyone else of—this being against the spirit of our institutions. Nothing remains, therefore, but to place a tax on ladies' hats. This can be done i n two ways : by weight and by area. A n ad valorem tax would be useless, as no hat, considered on the basis of the materials that are in it, is of any value. The only trouble with this method is that we should have so much money we wouldn't know what to do with it. W e might under those cir cumstances have to give it away to the poor.
Anniversaries. N A T I O N A L holidays, in commemora tion of great men, are growing upon us. It is only within the last decade that Lincoln's birthday has been offi cially recognized ; now it is one of the most important anniversaries. Holidays take up time, and as we are all so busy making money, we may well pause and ask whether it is fair for men to become too great, owing to the risk the future will run i n having to celebrate them yearly. Think, along about 1950 of having a Carnegie day, a Rockefeller day, a J . P . Morgan day and an Ε. H . H a r r i m a n day! This is the chief danger that these gentlemen are laying us open to in the future. Cannot they tone down a little the quality of their services, in order not to have so many more anniversaries than we are staggering under at present?
