"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 embarrass you."
Nevertheless, as they slowly went on together, Ramsey was embarrassed.
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 embarrassed 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. "Nobody ought to have started it! That's the trouble; don't you see? If nobody 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--"
