CHAPTER II
Miss Parkerdecided soon that if Chicago were a prison, it was a very nice kind of prison to visit. Mrs. Wilbur’s friends did all manner of pleasant things to entertain her. Each one seemed to feel responsible for the good name of Chicago hospitality, and if the people were a little eager to hear nice things about their home, Miss Parker was amply able to satisfy them.
On the appointed Monday afternoon the two friends sallied forth for the meeting of the Monday Club. Molly Parker watched with amusement the flutter of excitement with which Mrs. Wilbur clutched her little package of manuscript, when, on entering the room, they met the subdued hum of feminine voices on earnest purposes bent. The first paper was on Flaubert, by an important “social light” (as Mrs. Wilbur whispered to her companion), and a great worker for the cause of woman as distinguished from women. Molly Parker knew nothing about Flaubert beyond the fact that he had written at least one naughty book. The paper was not written to inform, but to entertain and impress. There were mysterious sentences about psychology and social movements. Suddenly it was all over. Much talking among the rows of women ensued; the president—a little delicate-faced lady—called for criticism and remarks from the floor. A few ladies berated poor Flaubert roundlyand took exception to some of the opinions in the paper, as “being dangerously subversive of the home.” There seemed to be a general delicacy about speaking improprieties even about an improper book. So the president called for Mrs. Wilbur’s paper—On Some Tendencies among the Impressionists.
Mrs. Wilbur’s paper was earnest, enthusiastic, a trifle schoolgirly in its sounding periods. It caused much more discussion than poor Flaubert. Many of the women had seen the impressionists in Europe, and some owned Pissarros and Monets, and had “views.” Molly Parker found herself in a stirring atmosphere of art criticism. Then tea followed; women came up to congratulate Mrs. Wilbur and to meet her friend. Molly was charmed by their cordiality, their unpretentious good sense and power.
“Why, it’s great!” she exclaimed later, as they drove back, “to find all these fashionable women in such stunning clothes taking up these serious interests.”
“They have a lot more,—music, charities, civic advancement; and they are really better in practical affairs. It’s not much good discussing Flaubert or the impressionists without a background, as Mr. Erard would say, and though these bright women read whatever they are told the world is taking seriously, and have seen pictures and often buy them, it is reallyfunnyto hear the talk. That’s not their proper atmosphere: you can’t supply background, cultivation, and insight, by any ready-made process of education, evening lectures, and so on.”
Molly Parker was eager to combat this ever presentnote of depreciation and dissatisfaction. “You expect wonders. They know a deal more than I with all the ministers and lawyers in my family. The proper values—the expression—will come fast enough to the next generation.”
“It’s always that,” Mrs. Wilbur replied scornfully. “That blessed next generation! May I live to see it! But it requires a pretty lively imagination to be always living in the next generation!”
“I like this one.” Molly settled herself comfortably in the carriage.
She found, however, that Mrs. Wilbur in spite of her lugubrious reflections, was a fairly contented person and ever active. The days sped by in engagements. Mrs. Wilbur organized with the organizers; met with committees of the Civic Association and the Art Association,—dined and entertained and gossiped, as if no world existed beyond the misty miles of Lake Michigan. She took Miss Parker to luncheons, literary, social, and feminine,—and skilfully engineered her into the interest of influential people.
Wilbur had come back from the Dakotas and was off again, first to New York, then to Springfield, and again to New York. Miss Parker found him better looking than in the Paris days. He was cordial to her, but the chief impression he gave was one of great preoccupation. Mrs. Wilbur explained this by remarking that the times were difficult.
During one of these absences, Mrs. Wilbur and her friend attended an open meeting of a literary club. Ittook place in the ballroom of a large house and was attended by a great many society people. The paper of the evening on Walt Whitman was given by an elderly gentleman, a retired “capitalist,” who cultivated letters. He didn’t like Walt Whitman, and he made a number of jokes which seemed to touch responsive chords in the audience. The occasion was less serious than the Monday day Club, but “more brilliant,” and enlivened by the presence of men. After the paper—which was discreetly short—the two friends found themselves among strangers in one corner of the large room. Presently a young man passed by, and catching sight of Mrs. Wilbur came up to them. Mrs. Wilbur’s face lit with unusual animation as she turned to Molly Parker.
“Thisis Mr. Jennings. He can tell you all about the Civic Association—he’s one of the secretaries—and about the municipal scandals.”
Miss Parker glanced up at the young man’s face. He seemed to stand unusually erect, with a kind of military uprightness, rarely met with in our civilian society. His high forehead was rendered more conspicuous by the receding line of hair. His green eyes were moist and large and played a part in the mobility of his face. Molly Parker smiled back in response to his smile. Something sympathetic seemed to pass quickly between them as they stood looking at one another.
“He’s trying to make the city over,” Mrs. Wilbur continued.
“No,” the young fellow interjected, “only working my own broom as vigorously as I can. And I wanted tosee you particularly, Mrs. Wilbur, about this franchise business. You must get Mr. Wilbur to join us in fighting it. For a wonder the papers are dead with us, and if we can only get the decent men interested, we can prevent this rascally steal.”
Mrs. Wilbur’s face grew solemn, as if she were remembering something unpleasant. Jennings went on explanatorily to Miss Parker. “You’ve seen it in the papers? The railroad companies have made a raid on the legislature, to get a lot of privileges for nothing. Wrightington—he’s the scamp that owns the mayor and the city council—thinks the legislature cheaper on the whole than the council, and that makes the affair much more serious for all of us.” He talked on easily of the situation which was then uppermost in public gossip. It was a gigantic steal, a fraud on the public to be perpetuated for half a century. The newspapers had been violent over it: unfortunately the opposition had centred chiefly about a demagogic young city politician, who was using the uproar against Wrightington for personal capital.
“Mr. Wilbur says the newspapers have overdone it, that the measure isn’t really so bad for the city, and only fair to the railroad corporations,” Mrs. Wilbur suggested. Jennings looked at her sharply for a moment, and then answered swiftly,—
“But Wrightington’s methods? If it were a bill to found hospitals, his means of getting it through are enough to blacken it.”
“Well, youhaveto do that, they say, to buy your way here,” Mrs. Wilbur added sadly, a flush mounting over her face.
“That is the devil’s argument that we are always meeting,” Jennings replied earnestly, looking at Mrs. Wilbur intently. Then people came up, and the conversation ended. Miss Parker found herself talking to a handsome young man with a keen face. When he had gone Mrs. Wilbur said lightly, “You wouldn’t catchhimtalking as Jennings did. He used to be a secretary in the Civic Association until he got all the notoriety out of it he could. He is a type out here. Some years ago he was a clerk behind the counter in Arnold’s; now you find him everywhere. And they say he will marry the rich Miss McGregor. He is the ‘bound to rise’ kind, and he never does anything that will hurt his chances. Watch him!”
There were many others—middle-aged and young men, “each with a story,” Mrs. Wilbur declared, “if you only knew it.”
“But your Thornton Jennings is the best,” Molly Parker concluded, as they talked the people over after their return, “and I hope you will get John to be on his side.”
Mrs. Wilbur’s face darkened. “That question is so complicated, and like so many things here, opinion seems to come down to two views—that of those ‘who are in it,’ and that of those who aren’t. But Jennings is a fine fellow. I met him on the steamer coming home. He turned up here that winter as a young lawyer. John calls him ‘my stripling.’”
“Well, I like your stripling, and I think he will be somebody.”
“Or leave us.”