The Wrong Twin

by Harry Leon Wilson

  CHAPTER XVIII

  A week later one of the New York evening papers printed an inspiringview of Merle Dalton Whipple in what was said to be the rough garb ofthe workingman. He stanchly fronted the world in a corduroy suit andhigh-laced boots, a handkerchief knotted at his throat above a flannelshirt, and a somewhat proletarian cap set upon his well-posed head. Thecaption ran: "Young Millionaire Socialist Leaves Life of Luxury to beSimple Toiler."

  A copy of this enterprising sheet, addressed in an unknown hand, arrivedat the Whipple New Place, to further distress the bereft family. OnlySharon Whipple was not distressed. He remarked that the toiler was notso simple as some people might think, and he urged that an inquiry beset on foot to discover the precise nature of the toil now being engagedin by this recruit to the ranks of labour. He added that he himselfwould be glad to pay ninety dollars a month and board to any toilerworth his salt, because Juliana was now his only reliable helper, and itdid seem as if she would never learn to run a tractor, she having nogift for machinery. If Merle Whipple was bent on toil, why should he notcome to the Home Farm, where plenty of it could be had for the asking?

  Both Harvey D. and Gideon rebuked him for this levity, reminding himthat he did not take into account the extreme sensitiveness of Merle.

  Sharon merely said: "Mebbe so, mebbe not."

  There came another issue of the _New Dawn_. It was a live issue, andcontained a piece by the associate editor entitled, This Unpopular War,in which it was clearly shown that this war was unpopular. It wasunpopular with every one the writer had questioned; no one wanted it,every one condemned it, even those actually engaged in it at Washington.The marvel was that an army could continue to go forward with existingpublic sentiment as the _New Dawn_ revealed it. But a better day wassaid to be dawning. The time was at hand when an end would be put toorganized exploitation and murder, which was all that the world had thusfar been able to evolve in the way of a government.

  In a foreword to the readers of the _New Dawn_, however, a faintlyominous note was sounded. It appeared that the interests had heinouslyconspired to suppress the magazine because of its loyalty to the idealsof free thought and free speech. In short, its life was menaced. Supportwas withdrawn by those who had suddenly perceived that the _New Dawn_meant the death of privilege; that "this flowering of mature andseasoned personalities" threatened the supremacy of the old order ofindustrial slavery. The mature and seasoned personalities had soundedthe prelude to the revolution which "here bloodily, there peaceably, andbeginning with Russia, would sweep the earth." Capital, affrighted, haddrawn back. It was therefore now necessary that the readers of the _NewDawn_ bear their own burden. If they would send in money in such sums asthey could spare--and it was felt that these would flow in abundantlyupon a hint--the magazine would continue and the revolution be a matterof days. It was better, after all, that the cause should no longer lookto capital for favours. Contributors were to sign on the dotted line.

  There were no more _New Dawns_. The forces of privilege had momentarilyprevailed, or the proletariat had been insufficiently roused to itsplight. The _New Dawn_ stopped, and in consequence the war went on. Fora time, at least, America must continue in that spiritual darkness whichthe _New Dawn_ had sought to illumine.

  Later it became known in Newbern that the staff of the _New Dawn_ wouldnow deliver its message by word of mouth. Specifically, Merle Whipplewas said to be addressing throngs of despairing toilers not only in NewYork, but in places as remote as Chicago. Sharon Whipple now called hima crimson rambler.

  * * * * *

  Meanwhile, news of the other Cowan twin trickled into Newbern throughletters from Winona Penniman, a nurse with the forces overseas. Duringher months of training in New York the epistolary style of Winona hadmaintained its old leisurely elegance, but early in the year of 1918 itsuffered severely under the strain of active service and became blunt tothe point of crudeness. The morale of her nice phrases had beenshattered seemingly beyond restoration.

  "D--n this war!" began one letter to her mother. "We had influenzaaboard coming over and three nurses died and were buried at sea. Also,one of our convoy foundered in a storm; I saw men clinging to the wreckas she went down.

  "Can it be that I once lived in that funny little town where they make afuss about dead people--flowers and a casket and a clergyman and carefulburial? With us it's something to get out of the way at once. And lifehas always been this, and I never knew it, even if we did take thepapers at home. Ha, ha! Yes, I can laugh, even in the face of it. 'Lifeis real, life is earnest'--how that line comes back to me with newforce!"

  A succeeding letter from a base hospital somewhere in France spelled infull certain words that had never before polluted Winona's pen. Brazenlyshe abandoned the seemly reticence of dashes.

  "Damn all the war!" she wrote; and again: "War is surely more hellishthan hell could be!"

  "Mercy! Can the child be using such words in actual talk?", demandedMrs. Penniman of the judge, to whom she read the letter.

  "More'n likely," declared the judge. "War makes 'em forget their hometraining. Wouldn't surprise me if she went from bad to worse. It's justa life of profligacy she's leadin'--you can't tell me."

  "Nonsense!" snapped the mother.

  "'And whom do you think I had a nice little visit with two days ago? Hewas on his way up to the front again, and it was our Wilbur. He's beenin hot fighting three times already, but so far unscathed. But oh, howold he looks, and so severe and grim and muddy! He says he is theworst-scared man in the whole Army, bar none. He thought at first hewould get over his fright, but each time he goes in he hates worse andworse to be shot at, and will positively never come to like it. He saysthe only way he can get over being frightened is to go on until hebecomes very, very angry, and then he can forget it for a time. You cantell by his face that it would be easy to anger him.

  "'But do not think he is cowardly, even if habitually frightened,because I also talked with his captain, who is an outspoken man, and hetells me that Wilbur is a regular fighting so-and-so. These were hisvery words. They are army slang, and mean that he is a brave soldier. Ayoung man, a Mr. Edward Brennon from Newbern, a sort of athlete, cameover with him, and they have been constantly together. I did not seethis Mr. Brennon, but I hear that he, too, is gallantly great, and alsoa regular fighting so-and-so, as these rough men put it in their slang.

  "'Wilbur spoke of Merle's writing about the war, and about America'sbeing rotten to the core because of capital that people want to keepfrom the workingman, and he says he now sees that Merle must have beenmisled; as he puts it in his crude, forceful way, this man's country hascome to stay. He says that is what he always says to himself when he hasto go over the top, while he is still scared and before he growsangry--"This man's country has come to stay." He says this big AmericanArmy would laugh at many of Merle's speeches about America and the war.He says the country is greater than any magazine, even the best. Now myrest hour is over, and I must go in where they are doing terrible thingsto these poor men. For a week I have been on my feet eighteen hours outof each twenty-four. I have just time for another tiny cigarette beforegoing into that awful smell.'

  "Mercy!" cried the amazed mother.

  "There you are!" retorted the judge. "Let her go into the Army and shetakes up smoking. War leads to dissipation--ask any one."

  "I must send her some," declared Mrs. Penniman; "or I wonder if sherolls her own?"

  "Yes, and pretty soon we'll have the whole house stenched up worse'nwhat Dave Cowan's pipe does it," grumbled the judge. "The idee of a girlof her years taking up cigarettes! A good thing the country's going dry.Them that smoke usually drink."

  "High time the girl had some fun," returned his wife, placidly.

  "Needn't be shameless about it," grumbled the judge. "A good woman hasto draw the line somewhere."

  The unbending moralist later protested that Winona's letters should notbe read to her friends. But Mrs. Penniman proved stubborn.
She softenedno word of Winona's strong language, and she betrayed something like aguilty pride in revealing that her child was now a hopeless tobaccoaddict.

  A month later Winona further harassed the judge.

  "'I think only about life and death,'" read Mrs. Penniman, "'and I'mthinking now that the real plan of things is something greater thaneither of them. It is not rounded out by our dying in the right faith.Somehow it must go on and on, always in struggle and defeat. I used tothink, of course, that our religious faith was the only true one, butnow I must tell you I don't know what I am.'"

  "My Lord!" groaned the horrified judge. "The girl's an atheist! That'swhat people are when they don't know what they are. First swearing, thensmoking cigarettes, now forsaking her religion. Mark my words, she'scoming home an abandoned woman!"

  "Stuff!" said Mrs. Penniman, crisply. "She's having a great experience.Listen! 'You should see them die here, in all faiths--Jews, Catholics,Protestants, and very, very many who have never enjoyed the consolationof any religious teachings whatsoever. But they all die alike, and youmay think me dreadful for saying it, but I know their reward will beequal. I don't know if I will come out of it myself, but I don't thinkabout that, because it seems unimportant. The scheme--you remember DaveCowan always talking about the scheme--the scheme is so big, that dyingdoesn't matter one bit if you die trying for something. I couldn't argueabout this, but I know it and these wonderful boys must know it whenthey go smiling straight into death. They know it without any one everhaving told them. Sometimes I get to thinking of my own little setbeliefs about a hereafter--those I used to hold--and they seem funny tome!'"

  "There!" The judge waved triumphantly. "Now she's makin' fun of thechurch! That's what comes of gittin' in with that fast Army set."

  Mrs. Penniman ignored this.

  "'Patricia Whipple feels the same way I do about these matters; moreintensely if that were possible. I had a long talk with her yesterday.She has been doing a wonderful work in our section. She is one of usthat can stand anything, any sort of horrible operation, and neverfaint, as some of the nurses have done. She is apparently at such timesa thing of steel, a machine, but she feels intensely when it is over andshe lets down.

  "'You wouldn't know her. Thin and drawn, but can work twenty hours at astretch and be ready for twenty more next day. She is on her way up to afirst-aid station, which I myself would not be equal to. It is terribleenough at this base hospital. For one who has been brought up as shehas, gently nurtured, looked after every moment, she is amazing. And, asI say, she feels as I do about life and death and the absurd littlecompartments into which we used to pack religion. She says she expectsnever to get back home, because the world is coming to an end. Youwould not be surprised at her thinking this if you could see what shehas to face. She is a different girl. We are both different. We won'tever be the same again.'"

  "Wha'd I tell you?" demanded the judge.

  "'The war increases in violence--dreadful sights, dreadful smells. I amso glad Merle's eyes kept him out of it. He would have been ill fittedfor this turmoil. Wilbur was the one for it. I saw him a few minutes theother day, on his way to some place I mustn't write down. He said: "Doyou know what I wish?" I said: "No; what do you wish?" He said: "I wishI was back in the front yard, squirting water on the lawn and flowerbeds, where no one would be shooting at me, and it was six o'clock andthere was going to be fried chicken for supper and one of thosedeep-dish apple pies without any bottom to it, that you turn upside downand pour maple sirup on. That's what I wish."'"

  "Always thinking of his stomach!" muttered the judge.

  "'But he has gone on, and I can't feel distressed, even though I know itis probable he will never come back. I know it won't make any differencein the real plan, and that it is only important that he keep on being afighting so-and-so, as they say in the Army. It is not that I amcallous, but I have come to get a larger view of death--mere death. Isaid good-bye to him for probably the last time with as little feelingas I would have said good-bye to Father on departing for a three-days'trip to the city.'"

  "Naturally she'd forget her parents," said the judge. "That's what itleads to."

  * * * * *

  Late in June of that year the shattered remains of a small townsomewhere in France, long peaceful with the peace of death, became noisywith a strange new life. Two opposing and frenzied lines of trafficclashed along the road that led through it and became a noisy jumble inthe little square at its centre, a disordered mass of camions,artillery, heavy supply wagons, field kitchens, ambulances, withmotorcycles at its edges like excited terriers, lending a staccatovivacity to its uproar.

  Artillery and soldiers went forward; supply wagons, empty, andambulances, not empty, poured back in unending succession; and only themarching men, gaunt shapes in the dust, were silent. They came from aroad to the south, an undulating double line of silent men indust-grayed khaki, bent under a burden of field equipment, steppingswiftly along the narrow, stone-paved street, heads down, unheeding thejagged ruin of small shops and dwellings that flanked the way. Reachingthe square, they turned to cross a makeshift bridge--beside one of stonethat had spanned the little river but now lay broken in its shallow bed.Beyond this stream they followed a white road that wound gently up asere hill between rows of blasted poplars. At the top of the rise twoshining lines of helmets undulated rhythmically below the view.

  At moments the undulations would cease and the lines dissolve. Theopposing streams of traffic would merge in a tangle beyond extricationuntil a halt enabled each to go its way. A sun-shot mist of fine dustsoftened all lines until from a little distance the figures of men andhorses and vehicles were but twisting, yellowish phantoms, strangelytroubled, strangely roaring.

  At these times the lines of marching men, halted by some clumsy clashingof war machines, instantly became mere huddles of fatigue by thewayside, falling to earth like rows of standing blocks sent over by achild's touch.

  Facing the square was a small stone church that had been mistreated. Itsfront was barred by tumbled masonry, but a well-placed shell had widelybreached its side wall. Through this timbered opening could be seen rowsof cots hovered over by nurses or white-clad surgeons. Their formsflashed with a subdued radiance far back in the shaded interior. Litterbearers came and went.

  From the opening now issued a red-faced private, bulky with fat. One ofhis eyes was hidden from the public by a bandage, but the othersurveyed the milling traffic with a humorous tolerance. Thoughpropelling himself with crutches, he had contrived to issue from theplace with an air of careless sauntering. Tenderly he eased his bulk toa flat stone, aforetime set in the church's facade, and dropped a crutchat either side. He now readjusted his hat, for the bandage going up overhis shock of reddish hair had affected its fit. Next he placed aninquiring but entirely respectful palm over the bandaged eye.

  "Never was such a hell of a good eye, anyhow," he observed, and winkedthe unhidden eye in testimony of his wit. Then he plucked from back ofan ear a half-smoked cigarette, relighted this, and leered humorously atthe spreading tangle before him.

  "Naughty, naughtykins!" he called to a driver of four mules who hadrisen finely to an emergency demanding sheer language. "First chance Ihad to get a good look at the war, what with one thing and another," heamiably explained to a sergeant of infantry who was passing.

  Neither of his sallies evoked a response, but he was not rebuffed. Hewished to engage in badinage, but he was one who could entertain himselfif need be. He looked about for other diversion.

  To the opening in the church wall came a nurse. She walked with short,uncertain steps and leaned against the ragged edge of the wall, with onearm along its stone for support. Her face was white and drawn, and for amoment she closed her eyes and breathed deeply of the dust-laden air.The fat private on the stone, a score of feet away, studied herapprovingly. She was slight of form and her hair beneath the cap was ofgold, a little tarnished. He waited for her eyes to open, then hailedher geniall
y as he waved at a tangle of camions and ambulances nowblocking the bridge.

  "Worse'n fair week back home on Main Street, hey, sister?"

  But she did not hear him, for a battered young second lieutenant withone arm in a sling had joined her from the dusk of the church.

  "Done up, nurse?" he demanded.

  "Only for a second. We just finished something pretty fierce."

  She pointed back of her, but without looking.

  "Why not sit down on that stone?"

  He indicated a fallen slab at her feet. She looked at it with franklonging, but smiled a refusal.

  "Dassent," she said. "I'd be asleep in no time."

  "Cheer up! We'll soon finish this man's job."

  The girl looked at him with eyes already freshened.

  "No, it won't ever be finished. It's going on forever. Nothing but warand that inside."

  Again she pointed back without turning her head.

  "Another jam!"

  The second lieutenant waved toward the makeshift bridge. The girlwatched the muddle of wheeled things and stiffened with indignation.

  "That's why it'll last so long," she said. "Because these officers ofours can't learn anything. Look at that muddle--while men are dying onbeyond. You'd think they were a lot of schoolboys. Haven't they beentold to keep one road for their up traffic and another road for theirdown traffic? But they wouldn't do it, because it was the British whotold 'em. But the British had found out, hadn't they? Catch them havinga senseless mix-up like that! But our men won't listen. They won't evenlisten to me. I've told one general and six or seven colonels only thismorning. Told the general to keep certain roads for troops and wagonsgoing to the front, and other roads of traffic coming back to camps anddepots, and all he could say was that he hoped to God there wouldn't beanother war until the women could staff it."

  "Hooray, hooray!" squeaked the listening private in a subdued falsettonot meant to be overheard.

  Then he turned to stare up the street of broken shop fronts. One ofthese diverted his attention from the nurse. Above its door protruded abush, its leaves long since withered. He knew this for the sign of awine shop, and with much effort regained his feet to hobble toward it.He went far enough to note that the bush broke its promise ofrefreshment, for back of it was but dry desolation.

  "_Napoo_!" he murmured in his best French, and turned to measure thedistance back to his stone seat. To this he again sauntered carelessly,as a gentleman walking abroad over his estate.

  The second lieutenant was leaving the nurse by the extemporized portalof the church, though she seemed not to have done with exposing theincompetence of certain staff officers. She still leaned wearily againstthe wall, vocal with irritation.

  "Bawl 'em out, sister! I think anything you think," called the private.

  Then from his stone seat he turned to survey the double line of marchingmen that issued from the street into the square. They came now to ashuffling halt at a word of command relayed from some place beyond thebridge, where a new jumble of traffic could be dimly discerned. Thelines fell apart and the men sank to earth in the shade of the brokenbuildings across the square. The private waved them a careless hand,with the mild interest of one who has been permanently dissevered fromtheir activities.

  One of them slouched over, gave the private a new cigarette, andslouched back to his resting mates. In the act of lighting the cigarettethe fat private noted that another of these reclining figures had risenand was staring fixedly either at him or at something beyond him. Heturned and perceived that the nurse and not himself must be the objectof this regard.

  The risen private came on a dozen paces, halted hesitatingly, and staredonce more. The nurse, who had drooped again after the departure of thesecond lieutenant, now drew a long breath, threw up her shoulders, andhalf turned as if to reenter the church. The hesitating private,beholding the new angle of her face thus revealed to him, darted swiftlyforward with a cry that was formless but eloquent. The nurse stayedmotionless, but with eyes widened upon the approaching figure. Theadvancing private had risen wearily, and his first steps toward thechurch had been tired, dragging steps, but for the later distance hebecame agile and swift, running as one refreshed. The fat private on thestone observed the little play.

  The couple stood at last, tensely, face to face. The watcher beheld thegirl's eyes rest with wild wonder upon the newcomer, eyes that weresteady, questioning green flames. He saw her form stiffen, her shouldersgo back, her arms rise, her clenched hands spread apart in a gesturethat was something of fear but all of allure. The newcomer's own handswidened to meet hers, the girl's wrists writhed into his tightenedgrasp, her own hands clasped his arms and crept slowly, tightly alongthe dusty sleeves of his blouse. Still her eyes were eyes of wildwonder, searching his face. They had not spoken, but now the hands ofeach clutched the shoulders of the other for the briefest of seconds.Then came a swift enveloping manoeuvre, and the girl was held in a closeembrace.

  The watching private studied the mechanics of this engagement with anexpert eye. He saw the girl's arms run to tighten about the soldier'sneck. He saw her face lift. The soldier's helmet obscured much of whatensued, and the watcher called softly. "Hats off in front!" Thenfastidiously dusting the back of one hand, he kissed it audibly. Behindhim, across the square, a score of recumbent privates were roused toemulation. Dusting the backs of their hands they kissed them bothtenderly and audibly.

  The two by the church were oblivious of this applause. Their arms stillheld each other. Neither had spoken. The girl's face was set in wonder,in shining unbelief, yet a little persuaded. They were apart the reachof their arms.

  "As you were!" ordered the fat private in low tones, and with a littlerush they became as they were. Again the girl's arms ran to tightenabout the soldier's neck. The watcher noticed their earnestconstrictions.

  "I bet that lad never reads his dice wrong," he murmured, admiringly."Oh, lady, lady! Will you watch him June her!"

  He here became annoyed to observe that his cigarette had been burningwastefully. He snapped off its long ash and drew tremendously upon it.The two were still close, but now they talked. He heard sounds ofamazement, of dismay, from the girl.

  "Put a comether on her before she knew it," explained the private tohimself.

  There followed swift, broken murmurs, incoherent, annoyingly, to thelistener, but the soldier's arms had not relaxed and the arms of thegirl were visibly compressed about his neck. Then they fell half apartonce more. The watcher saw that the girl was weeping, convulsed withlong, dry, shuddering sobs.

  "As you were!" he again commanded, and the order was almost instantlyobeyed.

  Presently they talked again, quick, short speech, provokingly blurred tothe private's ears.

  "Louder!" he commanded. "We can't hear at the back of the hall."

  The muffled talk went on, one hand of the girl ceaselessly patting theshoulder where it had rested.

  Now a real command came. The line of men rose, its head by the bridgecoming up first. The pair by the church drew apart, blended againmomentarily. The soldier sped back to his place, leaving the girl erect,head up, her shining eyes upon him. He did not look back. The line wasmarking time.

  The fat private saw his moment. He reached for his crutches andlaboriously came to his feet. Hands belled before his mouth, hetrumpeted ringingly abroad: "Let the war go on!"

  An officer, approaching from the bridge, seemed suddenly to be strickenwith blindness, deafness, and a curious facial paralysis.

  Once more the column undulated over the tawny crest of the hill. Thenurse stood watching, long after her soldier had becomeindistinguishable in the swinging, grayish-brown mass.

  "Hey, nurse!" the fat private, again seated, called to her.

  To his dismay she came to stand beside him, refreshed, radiant.

  "What you think of the war?" he asked.

  He was embarrassed by her nearness. He had proposed badinage at asuitable distance.

  "This war is nothi
ng," said the girl.

  "No?" The private was entertained.

  "Nothing! A bore, of course, but it will end in a minute."

  "Sure it will!" agreed the private. "Don't let no one tell youdifferent."

  "I should think not! This man's war won't bother me any more."

  "Not any more?" demanded the private with insinuating emphasis.

  "Not any more."

  The private felt emboldened.

  "Say, sister"--he grinned up at her--"that boy changed your view a lot,didn't he?"

  "You mean to say you were here?" She flashed him a look of annoyance.

  "Was I here? Sister, we was all here! The whole works was here!"

  She reflected, the upper lip drawn down.

  "Who cares?" she retorted. She turned away, then paused, debating withherself. "You--you needn't let it go any farther, but I've got to tellsomeone. It was a surprise. I was never so bumped in my whole life."

  The private grinned again.

  "Lady, that lad just naturally put a comether on you."

  She considered this, then shook her head.

  "No, it was more like--we must have put one on each other. It--it wasfierce!"

  "Happy days!" cheered the private. She lighted him with the effulgenceof a knowing smile.

  "Thanks a lot," she said.

  The war went on.

  * * * * *

  In her next letter Winona Penniman wrote: "We moved up to a stationnearer the front last Tuesday. I spent a night with Patricia Whipple.The child has come through it all wonderfully so far. A month ago shewas down and out; now she can't get enough work to do. Says the warbores her stiff. She means to stick it through, but all her talk is ofgoing home. By the way, she told me she had a little visit with WilburCowan the other day. She says she never saw him looking better."