by Berta Ruck
CHAPTER II
THE LAST ALLIES
"They have looked each other between the eyes, and there they have found no fault, They have taken the Oath of the Brother-in-Blood on leavened bread and salt."
Kipling.
The War-missioner on the platform paused for a moment to look at hiswatch.
Then he resumed, in the rich deep voice that spoke English not as theEnglish speak it, the voice that had done so much to bring the help ofhis great country into the War.
"But you'd rather be hearing Miss van Huysen sing; and if you wouldn't,I would. So I'll just say this one thing to you men and women at thePhoenix Hut tonight. I want you to look at this flag." He pointed tothe right-hand one of the two flags that backed him where he stood; theStars and Stripes.
"And now--I want to think of another flag. Our stars only stand forstars that are older still."
The orator's fine grey head was lifted as if he could see those starsabove the many-pointed roof of the hut; stars of the night sky.
"Those stars don't change. They're rising all the while, right round theworld. They were there, those stars, before you or I were heard of. Theywill be there when we are gone. I see them as the stars of Love andHome. And I'll tell you, friends, what I see in those stripes, too. Isee the whole world turning round to Daybreak, and those stripes are therays of the Dawn."
Measured as the roll of distant drums, as soft, as stirring, theWar-missionary's voice sounded through a silence which could be felt.
"The Dawn seems a long time in coming, but that it is coming is sure;sure as our men are on the ocean now! That's all I have to say. Itwouldn't be any truer if I said it twenty times, and it wouldn't be anyless true if I never said it at all.... So now--Mr. Reynolds?"
The orator smiled to the dark, clean-shaven official with the high khakicollar and stepped quickly down off the platform. Just as he did so helooked back at the Stars and Stripes. "Not 'Old Glory' now," he added asif the thought had just come to him. "'New Glory,' joined with the Old,"and his smile was for the Union Jack.
His talk, as homely as the gossip of a camp, yet somehow as high as thestars to which it pointed, was not of the kind that provokes violentapplause. The whole assembly in that big hall felt that it was not mereapplause that the orater and his kind were out to win. Quiet brooded fora moment over the meeting, over the mingling of Allies in khaki; andover the rows of big-framed, bold-featured Americans in uniforms ofbrown and blue, all clean-shaven as were those Normans of whom KingHarold said, "_Those priests will make good soldiers._"
Then the spell was relaxed; there was a little sputtering of matches aspipes were relighted. Men began to talk. And little Olwen Howel-Jones,who was one of the visitors occupying the two front rows of chairssettled herself for the singing.
On her lap was a great soft heap of leopard-skin furs. They belonged toMiss van Huysen (the girl who was going to sing as soon as she could befetched from saying good-bye to a party of sailors who were taking theirleave in the billiard-room). Miss van Huysen's seat, next to Olwen, hadjust been slid into by Captain Ross, who would have to leave it as soonas the singer had finished; Olwen thought he must have something to sayto her, but apparently he hadn't. On her other side sat Mrs. Cartwright,serene and smiling, with her hand lying in that of the very young manwho accompanied her. This very young man, aged fifteen, was Keith, herelder son, now in London with his mother on account of measles at hisschool. In the row behind them, his long legs rather cramped, sat JackAwdas, the flyer, with the rest of the party from The Honeycomb; Leefe,Ellerton, little Mrs. Newton, and one or two other R.F.C. officers.
Since Captain Ross did not seem to have anything to say to her, Olwenfound time to glance about this great hall which was only one room ofthe Phoenix Hut.
The keynote to the whole place--with its spaciousness of comfort, itsshields of Harvard, Yale, and the other colleges, its flags, its palms,its theatrical posters, and its three glowing fireplaces, might be foundin the great pedestalled image of the American Eagle, carved in greystone and set up in the middle of the hall. Stately he stood withoutstretched wings, poised and ready to strike; and from one of thosewings dangled the blue jacket of some American sailor, while upon thehuge bird's head there was perched an American soldier's cowboy hat.
It seemed so typical, that mixture of dignity and gaiety!
Suddenly a rustle and a buzz went round the hall, then the applausebroke out in a storm as of summer rain.
Miss Golden van Huysen, the singer, had come quickly through the doorsthat led from the billiard-room smiling an apology for her absence.Olwen's glance flew back to the platform as her friend stepped forwardup to it.
There she stood facing all eyes, a vision of white and gold. There sheshone, in front of all the illuminating lights. Into that place, alreadybright, she brought an added radiance as of the June sun on a field ofbuttercups. Golden was her name; golden her hair, golden the girdle thatclipped her, its long ends falling to the hem of her skirt. Olwen lookedat the glorious young form, symbolical as that of a goddess on a goldencoin.
"Isn't she beautiful tonight!" she breathed.
Every man in the hall must have agreed with her, and the blue eyes of atleast one Englishman there said as much.
They were the eyes of Jack Awdas.
