Chapter XIV: The-Fourth-Of-July

A WEEK of lovely weather made us forget time. We spent our days
in the open air, and Minerva spent her days practising for the
concert. It was wonderful with what expedition she cooked our
meals and cleaned up afterward. The meals were, if anything,
more delicious than formerly. She was happy, and she could not
help communicating some of her happiness to her cooking. It was
not so much the thing she cooked, as the happy way she cooked
it.

James was a sort of Luther Burbank in his power over plants. One
afternoon I said to Ethel in his hearing that I thought it was a
pity that the Wheelocks had not planted a vine in front of the
house, as it would have added greatly to its picturesqueness.

He was oiling his lawn mower at the time, and I noticed that he
stood up and looked at the house front and nodded his head and
smiled, but I would not have thought of it again had it not been
for the fact that two days after, on returning from a drive with
Ethel, we both burst out into ejaculations of surprise and
delight.

The front of the house, up to the second-story window, was
adorned by a most beautiful crimson rambler.

I felt like rubbing my eyes. We must have lost our way. It could
not be our house.

But just then Minerva and James came around the corner of the
house, hand in hand. As soon as they saw us they let go of
hands, and she went back to the kitchen with a guffaw that
merely indicated light heartedness.

James looked up at the vine and said,

“Looks pretty nice, don’t it?”

We overwhelmed him with compliments, and found out that he had
bought a large potted plant in full bloom and had sunk pot and
all in the earth. I had never heard of such a thing being done
before, and I looked to see the roses all wither, but they did
nothing of the kind. Our place looked a hundred per cent. better
than it had done before, and when, a day or so later, I received
a bill from a florist at Egerton, I paid it without a murmur.
There is nothing like initiative, and it is worth paying for.

As I say, the days went by unheeded. We were too far from any
church to attend one, but we tried to be as good on Sunday as we
were on week days.

And this, by the way, is a most excellent rule for anyone to
follow.

One morning I heard what sounded like pistol shots in the
distance, many times repeated, and while we were at breakfast
one or two teams passed us headed for Egerton.

“I wonder if haying is over as soon as this?” said Ethel. “I
thought that horses were all at work in the fields.”

“Not this morning, evidently,” said I as another team, a
two-horse one this time, went by, loaded with children.

“Oh, it’s a picnic,” said I, and then we heard a loud explosion
in the opposite quarter from that of the last pistol shot.

I looked at Ethel, and we burst out laughing together.

“Fourth-of-July!”

“Of course! What geese we are. Oh, let’s go down town and see
what they are doing!”

“Why, we can hear it up here. That’s all they are doing,” said
I.

“No, I’ve always read about Fourth-of-July in the country. Don’t
you remember Tom Bailey, in the ‘Story of a Bad Boy’? Let’s go
down and join in the fun.”

“Probably Bert’s gone with his family. We’d have to walk.”

“Hello! here’s someone driving up to the post. Why, it’s James
with a two-seated wagon!”

Just then Minerva came into the room, dressed up in her Sunday
best and with an assortment of colored ribbons that made her
look like a fair.

“Will there be anything to do to-day, ma’am? I’ve made lunch.”

“Where do you want to go, Minerva?” said Ethel.

“Why, James is just crazy to take me down to town to see the
parade.”

“Who else is going?”

“No one on’y him an’ me. He brought his father’s wagon.”

“I guess there’ll be no objection, Minerva,” said Ethel. “When
will you be back?”

“Oh, time for dinner.”

“Yes, you may go Minerva,” said Ethel, and Minerva clapped her
hands. “Country ain’t so bad when you know it,” said she.

She went out into the kitchen, and I said,

“I have a kind of notion that James is going to invite us to go
down with them. Now that would be extremely simple and would
probably strike Mrs. Guernsea as being very original, but I
think it will be better if I hire his rig and get him to drive
us down and we’ll stay there all day and take dinner at the
hotel, and come back by moonlight.”

Ethel took a turn at hand clapping.

“You’re a great deal better than when we came up, aren’t you?”
said I.

“Oh, I’m all well now, and perfectly happy.”

I went out and said to James,

“James, can I hire your father’s team for to-day? and then I’d
like you to drive us to town and bring us back to-night. We’ll
dine at the hotel and you and Minerva can dine where you like.”

Whatever James’ idea may have been, he was not above earning an
honest dollar, and I offered him two for the use of his team,
and a half hour later we started for town.

His father had raised the horses himself (well-matched and
handsome sorrels), and under James’ guidance they made nothing
of the three-mile drive.

It was exhilarating to go through the air at such a pace, and we
were both glad we had come, although we were both ashamed that
we had forgotten what day it was.

Arrived in town, James put the horses up at a stable, and we
broke up into groups of two.

I had never seen Minerva in such spirits, and it seemed to me
that she clung to James’ arm in a way that signified something
approaching an understanding between them. What if he married
her? How could we find work for him in New York?

She almost danced along, and his own stride was to a certain
extent cake-walkey. We saw them enter an ice cream saloon
immediately, and we knew they would be happy all day long.

There was joy in the air and we were happy. There is no question
about it; as a people we are beginning to take our holidays less
sadly. Everywhere laughing groups were forming on the sidewalks
of Main street to wait for the parade, which was to be made up
not only of G. A. R. men, but also of representatives from
nearly every fire company in the county. Engines and hooks and
ladders had been coming in on the railroad all the morning, and,
as I said to Ethel, I trembled when I thought of what might
happen in their absence. She characteristically advised me not
to tremble too much.

Blue coated, peak hatted men jostled slouch hatted veterans of
the Civil War and younger men in khaki hurried to headquarters
to make part of the parade.

Small boys were firing off lock-jaw pistols and smaller boys
were exploding firecrackers and already that morning there had
been a delightful fire in a fireworks store. Thanks to the
visiting firemen it had been put out before the store was
entirely consumed. Every one had been intensely gratified at the
excitement excepting the owner who had reckoned on having his
fireworks set off in other places than his own store. There was
no chance for his rockets to show to advantage. However, he was
fully insured and he showed his American spirit by hiring an
empty store and doing a good business for the rest of the day in
selling wet fireworks at a discount. Small boys found that fifty
per cent of the crackers in a package would go off in spite of
their exposure to water and as two cents a package was his
prevailing price they were willing to buy to the extent of their
Fourth-of-July fortunes.

To our city eyes the parade was not very imposing but then again
viewed as a spectacle of American manhood it was not without its
interest and the company of smoothshaven, tanned cheeked
veterans of the Philippine War marching sturdily along provoked
tremendous cheers from many who in the nature of things must
have been “antis.”

All men are or ought to be expansionists on the Fourth-of-July.
It is a day for fine feeling and for feeling fine. Ethel
responded to its spirit nobly and she had not looked so well in
years.

Once we heard loud laughter from the crowd and I instinctively
said “Minerva,” and sure enough they were laughing at our maid.
She or James had bought an American flag and she had wrapped it
around her shoulders and was rising and falling on the balls of
her feet in response to some internal rhythm. All at once she
broke out into the singing of Dixie in which she was joined
first by James and then by the entire crowd. Those who could not
sing cheered and if there were any Southerners present it must
have warmed the cockles of their hearts.

There is no doubt that the most popular song in the United
States to-day (outside of “America” which is popular by
tradition) is Dixie which was composed and written by a
Northerner, fused into life by Southerners and now serves to
show that we are Americans all.

After the parade those of us who could made our way to the Town
Hall where the Declaration of Independence was to be read and
where speeches were to be made quite in the old fashioned way.

Ethel had never heard the Declaration of Independence read.
Fancy! Neither had I.

It seemed rather long but we liked the sentiments in it and it
was read by a man who knew his business; the rector of the
Episcopal Church.

Those who had a special pull were admitted to the platform. I
worked no wires. In fact Ethel wanted to sit where she could
leave the house easily if she felt faint so we were in the rear.

James evidently had a pull for he and Minerva sat on the
platform. I was glad to see it because surely the Fourth-of-July
is—well it is not necessary to say more.

Most of the speeches were very long and the place was very hot
but there was one speech that was full of flowery eloquence that
I had supposed had faded from the earth.

I am indebted to the courtesy of the editor of the _Egerton
Ensign_ for its text and I give it herewith so that future ages
may see that, as late as the year 1903, Demosthenian eloquence
had not passed away.

The speaker was a member of the State Legislature and he still
clung to Burnside whiskers—or to be more accurate they still
clung to him. He had a high forehead that continued unabashed
over to his collar.

He rose amid considerable handclapping and advancing to the
front of the platform he bowed solemnly to the multitude and
then in a voice that was rich and sonorous and musical he said:

“One hundred and twenty-seven years ago to-day a nation was born
upon earth.

“Ladies and gentlemen, need I tell you what the name of that
Nation was? Need I say to any boy or to any girl or to any man
or to any woman in this vast assemblage what the name of that
nation was?

“No, ev-er-y boy and ev-er-y girl and ev-er-y man and ev-er-y
woman knows that I refer to these free and independent United
States of America. (Cheers).

“Born amid the thunder of warring guns (sic) and nursed upon
bullets she grew to lusty childhood, advanced to sweet womanhood
and in her turn, upon that other day to be held in
remembrance—upon Dewey day—she became the mother of a child—a
child that it is our duty to cherish and to educate and to
uplift and to protect until she is as American as her mother.

“Need I say that I refer to the Philippines?” (Cheers mingled
with a few hisses). He had now warmed to his work and his
studied eloquence gave way to something more sincere.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, we warred with England in the days of old
and I remember the time when it was thought to be unpatriotic
for an American to like an Englishman but I say let us be
magnanimous. Let us not any longer taunt England with her
defeat. Those soldiers that she sent to harry and to bully and
to cripple us are dead long ago. They did what they had sworn to
do when they took oath under that despicable despot George the
Third. When they fought us they were doing their duty as they
saw it and their dust has mingled with the free soil of this
great country these many years.

“Let us be magnanimous. Why even in those dark days we were not
without friends on the other side. The name of William Pitt
should ever be spoken with respect by true Americans.

“Let us be magnanimous. Are we likely to go to war with England?
(thunders of Nos from all parts of the house).

“No, gentlemen, we are not likely to go to war with that
country. Right or wrong she was our mother and we are the
greatest credit to her that ever a daughter was to a mother.
From the sea-kissed shores of the coast of Maine to the ocean
lapped coast of California; from the storm swept areas of the
great lakes to the humid waters of the Gulf of Mexico we are the
greatest daughter that a mother ever had.

“Was Greece great? We shall be greater.

“Was Rome powerful? We shall be more powerful.

“Were the Middle Ages renowned for their arts? We shall be more
renowned.

“Was England strong upon sea or land? We shall be more strong.

“Has England stood for internal fair play? We shall stand for
external fair play.

“This country that was mocked and taunted within the memory of
men yet living shall become one, who with power to mock does not
mock. She shall spread abroad her hand and wars shall cease. The
oppressed in all climes shall look to her for protection and she
will protect.

“I hear voices borne on the summer wind of this day and they
bring good tidings to me. They tell me that the right to work
for a fair wage shall belong to each man and each woman who
chooses to exercise it. They tell me—these voices—that the right
to stop others from working shall be taken from those who think
they hold it (Hear, hear) and that the right of the rich to
eternally grab is no right.

“These voices tell me that the arts have found in these United
States a soil in which they may flourish undisturbed. The blood
of the Italians who have come to this country, mixed with the
blood of the Poles and cooled by the blood of those of the North
lands, tempered still more by the sturdy common sense of the
Britons, made buoyant by the wit of the French and made strong
and powerful by the blood of the three century old Americans
will result in a type of man that shall cause our houses to
become beautiful; that shall save our forests from destruction,
that shall decorate and color and cause to blossom and run to
ripe fruitage all that makes life cultivated, pure, serene and
lovable.

“Ladies and gentlemen, let us thank God that we are Americans;
that we have been allowed to live to see this day. There are
strifes and rumours of strifes in our land but everything tends
to betterment, and I firmly believe that at the last we shall be
found to be the chosen people of the Lord of All Things by whom
all things were made.”

(Cheers, and thunders of applause, in which I am free to say
that Ethel and myself joined heartily.)

In fact, although the speech was over flowery, it had in it a
good deal that any fair-minded man could say amen to and
delivered under the influence of the deep baritone of a natural
orator it was stimulating.

And then some one, with no sense of the fitness of things, rose
and called on all to sing “Nearer, My God, to Thee.”

The millennium is not as close as all that. We still have the
question of the rights of labour and the wrongs of capital with
us, and a better hymn might have been selected.

“Onward, Christian Soldiers,” would have been more in the spirit
of the time.

We made our way out, and as I was leaving the hall I looked back
and saw the orator of the day shaking hands with James. It gave
me a choky feeling, so that perhaps I was still under the
influence of his speech.

I will acknowledge that I set down the speech in this place in
order to make fun of it, but after all it was sincere, and
sincerity makes a poor butt for the shafts of ridicule.

During the afternoon we took a drive in James’s wagon, and saw
something of the beauty of the surrounding country, going quite
a distance on the road to Springfield. We returned to Egerton by
the upper road, and I had all I could do to keep the horses
under control, as that end of the town was given up to the small
boy, and pistols, crackers and bombs were being exploded on
every hand.

One of those hideous things that knock the romance out of any
spot in which they are placed, a merry-go-round, was revolving
to the sound of wheezy organ music, and the horses were of one
mind with us as to its being a blot on civilization, and they
proceeded to show their distaste for it to such an extent that I
stopped them short and let Ethel get out. Then I forced them to
stand still and watch the moving picture. They obeyed me for a
few seconds and then they tore down the street. I controlled
them very soon, however, and when I had stopped them I hitched
them to a post on a quiet square and went back to get Ethel.

I found her by a tree, looking with amusement at the carrousel.
My eyes followed hers, and the picture presented to them was
eminently characteristic.

James was riding on the merry-go-round. He was astride of a
small wooden pony that gave his legs a chance to look unduly
long, while perched alongside of him sat Minerva astride of a
giraffe. She was clinging to the neck of the beast, and for the
time being she was in New York (for Coney Island is to all
intents and purposes New York and your merry-go-round is the
strawberry mark that identifies Coney Island).

Round and round she whirled, her eyes shining ecstatically, and
from time to time she reached out her right hand and met James’s
left.

“We will have to keep a butler next winter,” said Ethel.

Suddenly Minerva saw us and she waved her hand to us and yelled
something that we could not distinguish, but I knew it was an
invitation to mount some strange animal and be happy.

We shook our heads. Happiness would not come to us in those
questionable shapes. When I want to be sea-sick give me the
ocean and a European port as the reward, not merely sickness for
sickness’ sake. And Ethel is of the same mind only more so. She
goes so far as to say, give her some American port and leave the
sea and its sickness out altogether.

The music dwindled, the merry-go-round became less merry, and at
last ceased to go round, and then Minerva, settling her ample
skirts so as to cover the flanks of the giraffe, said,

“Oh, Mis. Vernon, I ain’t had so much fun this summer. Better
come up. It’s jus’ as easy.”

“I’m glad you like it, Minerva,” said Ethel, “but it would make
me dizzy. Have you had lunch?”

“Deed we have. Want some peanuts?”

The offer was made with such generosity of spirit that Ethel
accepted. It was the Fourth-of-July, and we all ate peanuts
together. I don’t think that James liked it. He felt that
Minerva had not been well brought up. I am sure that he would
not have asked us to eat peanuts, but I don’t see that any harm
was done. There was no cloth spread and I have never yet come
across a rule that says a lady of color on a giraffe should not
offer peanuts to her mistress on the sidewalk of a New England
town.

Anyway the peanuts were good and we enjoyed them.

We told James and Minerva to have a good time and to be ready to
start for home at half past nine. There was to be a display of
fireworks at eight, and I knew they would want to see that. It
was somewhere in the neighbourhood of five o’clock when we left
them and drove back to the stable.

The fireworks display was beautiful, although not lavish. I
listened for Minerva’s rapturous Ah’s, but did not hear them,
and as the circle in which we sat was not more than an eighth of
a mile in diameter, I judged that for some unaccountable reason
she was not there.

After the exhibition, which ended with a flight of a hundred
rockets, one of which stove in a plate-glass window and so
provided extra amusement for the crowd, we made our way to the
stable, expecting to find James there, but he was not.

We found our wagon under a shed and we climbed in and waited, as
Ethel was tired of being on her feet.

We waited until ten o’clock and James and Minerva did not come,
so I asked a hostler to harness up, and telling him to keep
James and Minerva if they came, we went forth to look for them.

I had a theory as to where they were, and I drove to Doncaster
street, whereon the merry-go-round stands.

My instinct as to the whereabouts of the couple proved correct.
There, under the flare of gasoline torches, whirled the
merry-go-round, and now James was astride of an ostrich and
Minerva, like Una, was riding a lion by his side and their hands
were clasped in a firm, firm clasp.

I caught the eye of James and signalled, and when the music came
to an end and the machine stopped, he and his lady love
dismounted.

When we were all in the carriage Ethel said to Minerva,

“How did you enjoy the fireworks?”

She threw herself back in the seat with a gasp.

“Lawdy, forgot all ’bout the fireworks.”

“You don’t mean to say, Minerva, that you have been riding ever
since we saw you this afternoon.”

“’Deed we have. Rode every beas’ an’ bird there was.”

“And what did you have for supper?”

“Peanuts,” said James, rather shamefacedly.

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