the conflict-第8章

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that　so　intensely　interested　her。　　She　felt　that　she　was　for　the　first　time　slackening　rein　upon　those　unconventional　instincts；　of　unknown　strength　and　purpose；　which　had　been　making　her　restless　with　their　vague　stirrings。

‘‘How　silly　of　me！''　she　thought。　　‘‘I'm　doing　a　commonplace；　rather　common　thingand　I'm　trying　to　make　it　seem　a　daring；　romantic　adventure。　　I　MUST　be　hard　up　for　excitement！''

Toward　the　middle　of　the　afternoon　she　dropped　from　her　horse　before　the　office　of　the　New　Day　and　gave　a　boy　the　bridle。　　‘‘I'll　be　back　in　a　minute；''　she　explained。　　It　was　a　two…story　frame　building；　dingy　and　in　disrepair。　　On　the　street　floor　was　a　grocery。　　Access　to　the　New　Day　was　by　a　rickety　stairway。　　As　she　ascended　this；　making　a　great　noise　on　its　unsteady　boards　with　her　boots；　she　began　to　feel　cheap　and　foolish。　　She　recalled　what　Hull　had　said　in　the　carriage。　　‘‘No　doubt；''　replied　she；　‘‘I'd　feel　much　the　same　way　if　I　were　going　to　see　Jesus　Christa　carpenter's　son；　sitting　in　some　hovel；　talking　with　his　friends　the　fishermen　and　camel　driversnot　to　speak　of　the　women。''

The　New　Day　occupied　two　small　roomsan　editorial　work　room；　and　a　printing　work　room　behind　it。　　Jane　Hastings；　in　the　doorway　at　the　head　of　the　stairs；　was　seeing　all　there　was　to　see。　　In　the　editorial　room　were　two　tableskitchen　tables；　littered　with　papers　and　journals；　as　was　the　floor；　also。　　At　the　table　directly　opposite　the　door　no　one　was　sitting　‘‘Victor　Dorn's　desk；''　Jane　decided。　　At　the　table　by　the　open　window　sat　a　girl；　bent　over　her　writing。　　Jane　saw　that　the　figure　was　below；　probably　much　below；　the　medium　height　for　woman；　that　it　was　slight　and　strong；　that　it　was　clad　in　a　simple；　clean　gray　linen　dress。　　The　girl's　black　hair；　drawn　into　a　plain　but　distinctly　graceful　knot；　was　of　that　dense　and　wavy　thickness　which　is　a　characteristic　and　a　beauty　of　the　Hebrew　race。　　The　skin　at　the　nape　of　her　neck；　on　her　hands；　on　her　arms　bare　to　the　elbows　was　of　a　beautiful　dead…whitethe　skin　that　so　admirably　compliments　dead…black　hair。

Before　disturbing　this　busy　writer　Jane　glanced　round。　　There　was　nothing　to　detain　her　in　the　view　of　the　busy　printing　plant　in　the　room　beyond。　　But　on　the　walls　of　the　room　before　her　were　four　pictures　lithographs；　cheap；　not　framed；　held　in　place　by　a　tack　at　each　corner。　　There　was　Washingtonthen　Lincolnthen　a　copy　of　Leonardo's　Jesus　in　the　Last　Supper　frescoand　a　fourth　face；　bearded；　powerful；　imperious；　yet　wonderfully　kind　and　good　humored　a　face　she　did　not　know。　　Pointing　her　riding　stick　at　it　she　said：

‘‘And　who　is　that？''

With　a　quick　but　not　in　the　least　a　startled　movement　the　girl　at　the　table　straightened　her　form；　turned　in　her　chair；　saying；　as　she　did　so；　without　having　seen　the　pointing　stick：

‘‘That　is　MarxKarl　Marx。''

Jane　was　so　astonished　by　the　face　she　was　now　seeingthe　face　of　the　girlthat　she　did　not　hear　the　reply。　　The　girl's　hair　and　skin　had　reminded　her　of　what　Martha　had　told　her　about　the　Jewish；　or　half…Jewish；　origin　of　Selma　Gordon。　　Thus；　she　assumed　that　she　would　see　a　frankly　Jewish　face。　　Instead；　the　face　looking　at　her　from　beneath　the　wealth　of　thick　black　hair；　carelessly　parted　near　the　centre；　was　Russianwas　Cossackstrange　and　primeval；　intense；　dark；　as　superbly　alive　as　one　of　those　exuberant　tropical　flowers　that　seem　to　cry　out　the　mad　joy　of　life。　　Only；　those　flowers　suggest　the　evanescent；　the　flame　burning　so　fiercely　that　it　must　soon　burn　out；　while　this　Russian　girl　declared　that　life　was　eternal。　　You　could　not　think　of　her　as　sick；　as　old；　as　anything　but　young　and　vigorous　and　vivid；　as　full　of　energy　as　a　healthy　baby　that　kicks　its　dresses　into　rags　and　wears　out　the　strength　of　its　strapping　nurse。　　Her　nose　was　as　straight　as　Jane's　own　particularly　fine　example　of　nose。　　Her　dark　gray　eyes；　beneath　long；　slender；　coal　black　lines　of　brow；　were　brimming　with　life　and　with　fun。　　She　had　a　wide；　frank；　scarlet　mouth；　her　teeth　were　small　and　sharp　and　regular；　and　of　the　strong　and　healthy　shade　of　white。　　She　had　a　very　small；　but　a　very　resolute　chin。　　With　another　quick；　free　movement　she　stood　up。　　She　was　indeed　small；　but　formed　in　proportion。　　She　seemed　out　of　harmony　with　her　linen　dress。　　She　looked　as　if　she　ought　to　be　careening　on　the　steppes　in　some　romantic；　half…savage　costume。　　Jane's　first　and　instant　thought　was；　‘‘There's　not　another　like　her　in　the　whole　world。　　She's　the　only　living　specimen　of　her　kind。''

‘‘Gracious！''　exclaimed　Jane。　　‘‘But　you　ARE　healthy。''

The　smile　took　full　advantage　of　the　opportunity　to　broaden　into　a　laugh。　　A　most　flattering　expression　of　frank；　childlike　admiration　came　into　the　dark　gray　eyes。　　‘‘You're　not　sickly；　yourself；''　replied　Selma。　　Jane　was　disappointed　that　the　voice　was　not　untamed　Cossack；　but　was　musically　civilized。

‘‘Yes；　but　I　don't　flaunt　it　as　you　do；''　rejoined　Jane。　　‘‘You'd　make　anyone　who　was　the　least　bit　off；　furious。''

Selma；　still　with　the　child…like　expression；　but　now　one　of　curiosity；　was　examining　Jane's　masculine　riding　dress。　　‘‘What　a　sensible　suit！''　she　cried；　delightedly。　　‘‘I'd　wear　something　like　that　all　the　time；　if　I　dared。''

‘‘Dared？''　said　Jane。　　‘‘You　don't　look　like　the　frightened　sort。''

‘‘Not　on　account　of　myself；''　explained　Selma。　　‘‘On　account　of　the　cause。　　You　see；　we　are　fighting　for　a　new　idea。　　So；　we　have　to　be　careful　not　to　offend　people's　prejudices　about　ideas　not　so　important。　　If　we　went　in　for　everything　that's　sensible；　we'd　be　regarded　as　cranks。　　One　thing　at　a　time。''

Jane's　glance　shifted　to　the　fourth　picture。　　‘‘Didn't　you　say　that　wasKarl　Marx？''

‘‘Yes。''

‘‘He　wrote　a　book　on　political　economy。　　I　tried　to　read　it　at　college。　　But　I　couldn't。　　It　was　too　heavy　for　me。　　He　was　a　Socialistwasn't　he？the　founder　of　Socialism？''

‘‘A　great　deal　more　than　that；''　replied　Selma。　　‘‘He　was　the　most　important　man　for　human　liberty　that　ever　livedexcept　perhaps　one。''　　And　she　looked　at　Leonardo's　‘‘man　of　sorrows　and　acquainted　with　grief。''

‘‘Marx　was　aa　Hebrewwasn't　he？''

Selma's　eyes　danced；　and　Jane　felt　that　she　was　laughing　at　her　hesitation　and　choice　of　the　softer　word。　　Selma　said：

‘‘Yeshe　was　a　Jew。　　Both　were　Jews。''

‘‘Both？''　inquired　Jane；　puzzled。

‘‘Marx　and　Jesus；''　explained　Selma。

Jane　was　startled。　　‘‘So　HE　was　a　Jewwasn't　He？''

‘‘And　they　were　both　labor　leaderslabor　agitators。　　The　first　one　proclaimed　the　brotherhood　of　man。　　But　he　regarded　this　world　as　hopeless　and　called　on　the　weary　and　heavy　laden　masses　to　look　to　the　next　world　for　the　righting　of　their　wrongs。　　Theneighteen　centuries　aftercame　that　second　Jew''Selma　looked　passionate；　reverent　admiration　at　the　powerful；　bearded　face；　so　masterful；　yet　so　kind‘‘and　he　said：　　‘No！　not　in　the　hereafter；　but　in　the　here。　　Here　and　now；　my　brothers。　　Let　us　make　this　world　a　heaven。　　Let　us　redeem　ourselves　and　destroy　the　devil　of　ignorance　who　is　holding　us　in　this　hell。'　　It　was　three　hundred　years　before　that　first　Jew　began　to　triumph。　　It　won't　be　so　long　before　there　are　monuments　to　Marx　in　clean　and　beautiful　and　free　cities　all　over　the　earth。''

Jane　listened　intensely。　　There　was　admiring　envy　in　her　eyes　as　she　cried：　　‘‘How　splendid！to　believe　in　somethingand　work　for　it　and　live　for　itas　you　do！''

Selma　laughed；　with　a　charming　little　gesture　of　the　shoulders　and　the　hands　that　reminded　Jane　of　her　foreign　parentage。　　‘‘Nothing　else　seems　worth　while；''　said　she。　　‘‘Nothing　else　is　worth　while。　　There　are　only　two　entirely　great　careersto　be　a　teacher　of　the　right　kind　and　work　to　ease　men's　mindsas　those　four　didor　to　be　a　doctor　of　the　right　kind　and　work　to　make　mankind　healthy。　　All　the　suffering；　all　the　crime；　all　the　wickedness；　comes　from　ignorance　or　bad　healthor　both。　　Usually　it's　simply　bad　health。''

Jane　felt　as　if　she　were　devoured　of　thirst　and　drinking　at　a　fresh；　sparkling　spring。　　‘‘I　never　thought　of　that　before；''　said　she。

‘‘If　you　find　out　all　about　any　criminal；　big　or　little；　you'll　discover　that　he　had　bad　healthpoisons　in　his　blood　that　goaded　him　on。''

Jane　nodded。　　‘‘Whenever　I'm　difficult　to　get　on　with；　I'm　always　not　quite　well。''

‘‘I　can　see　that　your　disposition　is　perfect；　when　you　are　well；''　said　Selma。

‘‘And　yours；''　said　Jane。

‘‘Oh；　I'm　never　out　of　humor；''　said　Selma。　　‘‘You　see；　I'm　never　sicknot　the　least　bit。''

‘‘You　are　Miss　Gordon；　aren't　you？''

‘‘YesI'm　Selma　Gordon。''

‘‘My　name　is　Jane　Hastings。''　　Then　as　this　seemed　to　convey　nothing　to　Selma；　Jane　added：　　‘‘I'm　not　like　you。　　I　haven't　an　individuality　of　my　ownthat　anybody　knows　about。　　So；　I'll　have　to　identify　myself　by　saying　that　I'm　Martin　Hastings'　daughter。''

Jane　confidently　expected　that　this　announcement　would　cause　some　sort　of　emotionperhaps　of　awe；　perhaps　of　horror；　certainly　of　interest。　　She　was　disappointed。　　If　Selma　felt　anything　she　did　not　show　itand　Jane　was　of　the　opinion　that　it　would　be　well　nigh　impossible　for　so　direct　and　natural　a　person　to　conceal。　　Jane　went　on：

‘‘I　read　in　your　paper　about　your　fund　for　sick　children。　　I　was　riding　past　your　officesaw　the　sign　and　I've　come　in　to　give　what　I　happen　to　have　about　me。''　　She　drew　out　the　small　roll　of　bills　and　handed　it　to　Selma。

The　Russian　girlif　it　is　fair　thus　to　characterize　one　so　intensely　American　in　manner；　in　accent　and　in　speechtook　the　money　and　said：

‘‘We'll　acknowledge　it　in　the　paper　next　week。''

Jane　flushed　and　a　thrill　of　alarm　ran　through　her。　　‘‘Ohpleaseno；''　she　urged。　　‘‘I'd　not　like　to　have　my　name　mentioned。　　That　would　look　as　if　I　had　done　it　to　seem　charitable。　　Besides；　it's　such　a　trifle。''

Selma　was　calm　and　apparently　unsuspicious。　　‘‘Very　well；''　said　she。　　‘‘We'll　write；　telling　what　we　did　with　the　money；　so　that　you　can　investigate。''

‘‘But　I　trust　you　entirely；''　cried　Jane。

Selma　shook　her　head。　　‘‘But　we　don't　wish　to　be　trusted；''　said　she。　　‘‘Only　dishonest　people　wish　to　be　trusted　when　it's　possible　to　avoid　trusting。　　And　we　all　need　watching。　　It　helps　us　to　keep　straight。''

‘‘Oh；　I　don't　agree　with　you；''　protested　Miss　Hastings。　　‘‘Lots　of　the　time　I'd　hate　to　be　watched。　　I　don't　want　everybody　to　know　all　I　do。''

Selma's　eyes　opened。　　‘‘Why　not？''　she　said。

Jane　cast　about　for　a　way　to　explain　what　seemed　to　her　a　self…evident　truth。　　‘‘I　meanprivacy；''　she　said。　　‘‘For　instance；　if　you　were　in　love；　you'd　not　want　everybody　to　know　about　it？''

‘‘Yes；　indeed；''　declared　Selma。　　‘‘I'd　be　tremendously　proud　of　it。　　It　must　be　wonderful　to　be　in　love。''

In　one　of　those　curious　twists　of　feminine　nature；　Miss　Hastings　suddenly　felt　the　glow　of　a　strong；　unreserved　liking　for　this　strange；　candid　girl。

Selma　went　on：　　‘‘But　I'm　afraid　I　never　shall　be。　　I　get　no　time　to　think　about　myself。　　From　rising　till　bed　time　my　work　pushes　at　me。''　　She　glanced　uneasily　at　her　desk；　apologetically　at　Miss　Hastings。　　‘‘I　ought　to　be　writing　this　minute。　　The　strike　is　occupying　Victor；　and　I'm　helping　out　with　his　work。''

‘‘I'm　interrupting；''　said　Jane。　　‘‘I'll　go。''　　She　put　out　her　hand　with　her　best；　her　sweetest　smile。　　‘‘We're　going　to　be　friendsaren't　we？''

Selma　c