Part 5 (1/2)
”I suppose the Kaiser is paying him,” said the girl, bitterly.
”We've no grounds for that belief.”
”He is helping the Kaiser; he is pro-German!”
”He is helping the Kaiser, but is not necessarily pro-German. We know he is against the government, but on the other hand he may detest the Germans. That his propaganda directly aids our enemies there is no doubt, yet his enmity may have been aroused by personal prejudice or intense opposition to the administration or to other similar cause.
Such a person is an out-and-out traitor when his sentiments lead to actions which obstruct his country's interests. The traitors are not all pro-German. Let us say they are anti-American.”
Mary Louise was sorely disappointed.
”I think I know who this traitor is, in spite of what you say,” she remarked, ”and I think you ought to watch him, Mr. Farnum, and try to prevent his doing more harm.”
The Chief studied her face. He seemed to have a theory that one may glean as much from facial expression as from words.
”One ought to be absolutely certain,” said he, ”before accusing anyone of disloyalty. A false accusation is unwarranted. It is a crime, in fact. You have no idea, Miss Burrows, how many people come to us to slyly accuse a neighbor, whom they hate, of disloyalty. In not a single instance have they furnished proof, and we do not encourage mere telltales. I don't want you to tell me whom you suspect, but when you can lay before me a positive accusation, backed by facts that can be proven, I'll take up the case and see that the lawbreaker is vigorously prosecuted.”
The girl went away greatly annoyed by the Chief's reluctance to act in the matter, but when she had related the interview to Gran'pa, the old colonel said:
”I like Farnum's att.i.tude, which I believe to be as just as it is conservative. Suspicion, based on personal dislike, should not be tolerated. Why, Mary Louise, anyone might accuse you, or me, of disloyalty and cause us untold misery and humiliation in defending ourselves and proving our innocence--and even then the stigma on our good name would be difficult to remove entirely. Thousands of people have lost their lives in the countries of Europe through false accusations. But America is an enlightened nation, and let us hope no personal animosities will influence us or no pa.s.sionate adherence to our country's cause deprive us of our sense of justice.”
”Our sense of justice,” a.s.serted Mary Louise, ”should lead us to unmask traitors, and I know very well that somewhere in Dorfield lurks an enemy to my country.”
”We will admit that, my dear. But your country is watching out for those 'enemies within,' who are more to be feared than those without; and, if I were you, Mary Louise, I'd allow the proper officials to unmask the traitor, as they are sure to do in time. This war has placed other opportunities in your path to prove your usefulness to your country, as you have already demonstrated. Is it not so?”
Mary Louise sighed.
”You are always right, Gran'pa Jim,” she said, kissing him fondly.
”Drat that traitor, though! How I hate a snake in the gra.s.s.”
CHAPTER VI.
TO HELP WIN THE WAR
The activities of the Liberty Girls of Dorfield did not cease with their successful Liberty Bond ”drive.” Indeed, this success and the approbation of their fellow townspeople spurred the young girls on to further patriotic endeavor, in which they felt sure of enthusiastic encouragement.
”As long as Uncle Sam needs his soldiers,” said Peter Conant, the lawyer, ”he'll need his Liberty Girls, for they can help win the war.”
When Mary Louise first conceived the idea of banding her closest companions to support the government in all possible ways, she was a bit doubtful if their efforts would prove of substantial value, although she realized that all her friends were earnestly determined to ”do their bit,” whatever the bit might chance to be. The local Red Cross chapter had already usurped many fields of feminine usefulness and with a thorough organization, which included many of the older women, was accomplis.h.i.+ng a 'vast deal of good. Of course the Liberty Girls could not hope to rival the Red Cross.
Mary Louise was only seventeen and the ages of the other Liberty Girls ranged from fourteen to eighteen, so they had been somewhat ignored by those who were older and more competent, through experience, to undertake important measures of war relief. The sensational bond sale, however, had made the youngsters heroines--for the moment, at least-- and greatly stimulated their confidence in themselves and their ambition to accomplish more.
Mary Louise Burrows was an orphan; her only relative, indeed, was Colonel James Hathaway, her mother's father, whose love for his granddaughter was thoroughly returned by the young girl. They were good comrades, these two, and held many interests in common despite the discrepancy in their ages. The old colonel was ”well-to-do,” and although he could scarcely be called wealthy in these days of huge fortunes, his resources were ample beyond their needs. The Hathaway home was one of the most attractive in Dorfield, and Mary Louise and her grandfather were popular and highly respected. Their servants consisted of an aged pair of negroes named ”Aunt Sally” and ”Uncle Eben,” who considered themselves family possessions and were devoted to ”de ole mar'se an' young missy.”
Alora Jones, who lived in the handsomest and most imposing house in the little city, was an heiress and considered the richest girl in Dorfield, having been left several millions by her mother. Her father, Jason Jones, although he handled Alora's fortune and surrounded his motherless daughter with every luxury, was by profession an artist--a kindly man who encouraged the girl to be generous and charitable to a degree. They did not advertise their good deeds and only the poor knew how much they owed to the practical sympathy of Alora Jones and her father. Alora, however, was rather reserved and inclined to make few friends, her worst fault being a suspicion of all strangers, due to some unfortunate experiences she had formerly encountered. The little band of Liberty Girls included all of Alora's accepted chums, for they were the chums of Mary Louise, whom Alora adored. Their companions.h.i.+p had done much to soften the girl's distrustful nature.
The other Liberty Girls were Laura Hilton, pet.i.te and pretty and bubbling with energy, whose father was a prominent real estate broker; Lucile Neal, whose father and three brothers owned and operated the Neal Automobile Factory, and whose intelligent zeal and knowledge of war conditions had been of great service to Mary Louise; Edna Barlow, a widowed dressmaker's only child, whose sweet disposition had made her a favorite with her girl friends, and Jane Donovan, the daughter of the Mayor of Dorfield and the youngest of the group here described.
These were the six girls who had entered the bond campaign and a.s.sisted to complete Dorfield's quota of subscriptions, but there was one other Liberty Girl who had been unable to join them in this active work. This was Irene Macfarlane, the niece of Peter Conant. She had been a cripple since childhood and was confined to the limits of a wheeled chair. Far from being gloomy or depressed, however, Irene had the sunniest nature imaginable, and was always more bright and cheerful than the average girl of her age. ”From my knees down,” she would say confidentially, ”I'm no good; but from my knees up I'm as good as anybody.” She was an excellent musician and sang very sweetly; she was especially deft with her needle; she managed her chair so admirably that little a.s.sistance was ever required. Mrs. Conant called her ”the light of the house,” and to hear her merry laughter and sparkling conversation, you would speedily be tempted to forget that fate had been unkind to her and decreed that for life she must be wedded to a wheeled chair.
If Irene resented this decree, she never allowed anyone to suspect it, and her glad disposition warded off the words of sympathy that might have pained her.