Ramsey Milholland Part 10

Next day, news of what the "frat" had done made a great stir in the university; other "frats" sent telegrams, so did the "Barbarians,"

haters of the "frats" but joining them in this; while a small band of "German-American" students found it their duty to go before the faculty and report these "breaches of neutrality." They protested heavily, demanding the expulsion of the "breachers" as disloyal citizens, therefore unfit students, but suffered a disappointment; for the faculty itself had been sending telegrams of similar spirit, addressing not only the senators and congressmen of the state but the President of the United States. Flabbergasted, the "German-Americans" retired; they were confused and disgusted by this higher-up outbreak of unneutrality--it overwhelmed them that citizens of the United States should not remain neutral in the dispute between the United States and Germany. All day the campus was in ferment.

At twilight, Ramsey was walking meditatively on his way to dinner at the "frat house," across the campus from his apartment at Mrs. Meig's.

Everybody was quiet now, both town and gown; the students were at their dinners and so were the burghers. Ramsey was late but did not quicken his thoughtful steps, which were those of one lost in reverie. He had forgotten that spring-time was all about him, and, with his head down, walked unregardful of the new gayeties flung forth upon the air by great cl.u.s.ters of flowering shrubs, just come into white blossom and lavender.

He was unconscious that somebody behind him, going the same way, came hastening to overtake him and called his name, "Ramsey! Ramsey Milholland!" Not until he had been called three times did he realize that he was being hailed--and in a girl's voice! By that time, the girl herself was beside him, and Ramsey halted, quite taken aback. The girl was Dora Yoc.u.m.

She was pale, a little breathless, and her eyes were bright and severe.

"I want to speak to you," she said, quickly. "I want to ask you about something. Mr. Colburn and Fred Mitch.e.l.l are the only people I know in your 'frat' except you, and I haven't seen either of them to-day, or I'd have asked one of them."

Most uncomfortably astonished, Ramsey took his hands out of his pockets, picked a leaf from a lilac bush beside the path, and put the stem of the leaf seriously into a corner of his mouth, before finding anything to say. "Well--well, all right," he finally responded. "I'll tell you--if it's anything I know about."

"You know about it," said Dora. "That is, you certainly do if you were at your 'frat' meeting last night. Were you?"

"Yes, I was there," Ramsey answered, wondering what in the world she wanted to know, though he supposed vaguely that it must be something about Colburn, whom he had several times seen walking with her. "Of course I couldn't tell you much," he added, with an afterthought. "You see, a good deal that goes on at a 'frat' meeting isn't supposed to be talked about."

"Yes," she said, smiling faintly, though with a satire that missed him.

"I've been a member of a sorority since September, and I think I have an idea of what could be told or not told. Suppose we walk on, if you don't mind. My question needn't embarra.s.s you."

Nevertheless, as they slowly went on together, Ramsey was embarra.s.sed.

He felt "queer." They had known each other so long; in a way had shared so much, sitting daily for years near each other and undergoing the same outward experiences; they had almost "grown up together," yet this was the first time they had ever talked together or walked together.

"Well--" he said. "If you want to ask anything it's all right for me to tell you--well, I just as soon, I guess."

"It has nothing to do with the secret proceedings of your 'frat'," said Dora, primly. "What I want to ask about has been talked of all over the place to-day. Everyone has been saying it was _your_ 'frat' that sent the first telegram to members of the Government offering support in case of war with Germany. They say you didn't even wait until to-day, but sent off a message last night. What I wanted to ask you was whether this story is true or not?"

"Why, yes," said Ramsey, mildly. "That's what we did."

She uttered an exclamation, a sound of grief and of suspicion confirmed.

"Ah! I was afraid so!"

"'Afraid so'? What's the matter?" he asked, and because she seemed excited and troubled, he found himself not quite so embarra.s.sed as he had been at first; for some reason her agitation made him feel easier.

"What was wrong about that?"

"Oh, it's all so shocking and wicked and mistaken!" she cried. "Even the faculty has been doing it, and half the other 'frats' and sororities!

And it was yours that started it."

"Yes, we did," he said, throughly puzzled. "We're the oldest 'frat'

here, and of course"--he chuckled modestly--"of course we think we're the best. Do you mean you believe we ought to've sat back and let somebody else start it?"

"Oh, _no_!" she answered, vehemently. "n.o.body ought to have started it!

That's the trouble; don't you see? If n.o.body had started it none of it might have happened. The rest mightn't have caught it. It mightn't have got into their heads. A war thought is the most contagious thought in the world; but if it can be kept from starting, it can be kept from being contagious. It's just when people have got into an emotional state, or a state of smouldering rage, that everybody ought to be so terribly careful not to think war thoughts or make war speeches--or send war telegrams! I thought--oh, I was so sure I'd convinced Mr. Colburn of all this, the last time we talked of it! He seemed to understand, and I was sure he agreed with me." She bit her lip. "He was only pretending--I see that now!"

"I guess he must 'a' been," said Ramsey, with admirable simplicity. "He didn't talk about anything like that last night. He was as much for it as anybody."

"I've no doubt!"

Ramsey made bold to look at her out of the side of his eye, and as she was gazing tensely forward he continued his observation for some time.

She was obviously controlling agitation, almost controlling tears, which seemed to threaten her very wide-open eyes; for those now fully grown and noticeable eyewinkers of hers were subject to fluctuations indicating such a threat. She looked "hurt," and Ramsey was touched; there was something human about her, then, after all. And if he had put his feeling into words at the moment, he would have said that he guessed maybe he could stand this ole girl, for a few minutes sometimes, better than he'd always thought he could.

"Well," he said, "Colburn prob'ly wouldn't want to hurt your feelings or anything. Colburn--"

"He? He didn't! I haven't the faintest personal interest in what he did."

"Oh!" said Ramsey. "Well, excuse me; I thought prob'ly you were sore because he'd jollied you about this pacifist stuff, and then--"

"No!" she said, sharply. "I'm not thinking of his having agreed with _me_ and fooling _me_ about it. He just wanted to make a pleasant impression on a girl, and said anything he thought would please her. I don't care whether he does things like that or not. What I care about is that the _principle_ didn't reach him and that he mocked it! I don't care about a petty treachery to me, personally, but I--"

Fraternal loyalty could not quite brook this. "Brother Colburn is a perfectly honor'ble man," said Ramsey, solemnly. "He is one of the most honor'ble men in this--"

"Of course!" she cried. "Oh, can't I make you understand that I'm not condemning him for a little flattery to me? I don't care two straws for his showing that _I_ didn't influence him. He doesn't interest me, please understand."

Ramsey was altogether perplexed. "Well, I don't see what makes you go for him so hard, then."

"I don't."

"But you said he was treach--"

"I don't _condemn_ him for it," she insisted, despairingly. "Don't you see the difference? I'm not condemning anybody; I'm only lamenting.

"What about?

"About all of you that want _war_!"

"My golly!" Ramsey exclaimed. "You don't think those Dutchmen were right to drown babies and--"

"No! I think they were ghastly murderers! I think they were detestable and fiendish and monstrous and--"

"Well, then, my goodness! What do you want?"

"I don't want war!"

"You don't?"

"I want Christianity!" she cried. "I can't think of the Germans without hating them, and so to-day, when all the world is hating them, I keep myself from thinking of them as much as I can. Already half the world is full of war; you want to go to war to make things right, but it won't; it will only make more war!"

"Well, I--"

"Don't you see what you've done, you boys?" she said. "Don't you see what you've done with your absurd telegram? That started the rest; they thought they _all_ had to send telegrams like that."

"Well, the faculty--"

"Even they mightn't have thought of it if it hadn't been for the first one. Vengeance is the most terrible thought; once you put it into people's minds that they ought to have it, it runs away with them."

"Well, it isn't mostly vengeance we're after, at all. There's a lot more to it than just getting even with--"

She did not heed him. "You're all blind! You don't see what you're doing; you don't even see what you've done to this peaceful place here.

You've filled it full of thoughts of fury and killing and ma.s.sacre--"