Mr. Ralph Grimsley, editor and owner of the Andersburg Clarion, greeted Charles with immense cheeriness. He was a slight, spry little man, very bald, very dark, and very shrewd and quizzical. “Well, well, if it isn’t old Charlie, himself!” he exclaimed, shaking hands. “Sit down. Hell of a hot day, isn’t it? Well, well. Glad you came; suppose it’s about the Wittmann Civic Park. Big thing, Charlie. One of the biggest things ever happened in these parts. First time any company ever did anything for the town. Now, just sit and tell me about it.”
Charles patiently supplied details as they occurred to him. Ralph Grimsley was one of his best friends, a man for a story in high hot letters, but a man of integrity, also. Charles was very cautious when it came to the matter of the Connington Steel Company. The Connington, he said, understood at once when Charles had told Mr. Elson Waite his decision about the Park. “Mr. Waite,” said Charles, “thought it extremely good. That’s for publication, Ralph. Extremely good. Approved of it, highly.”
Mr. Grimsley grinned. “I bet he did. Looking for orders or good-will or something, Charlie?”
Charles assumed an expression of great propriety. “Well, you know how to quote me.” He laughed. “You can also add that Mr. Waite agreed to the Burnsley land in order that the river property might be preserved for the people—also the people who’ll be working for the Connington here.”
“I’ll send him a copy of this interview,” said Mr. Grimsley. “Bet he’ll have it reprinted in Pittsburgh and all over, too, to show that the Connington is really just a lover of the toiler and knows its social responsibilities.”
After a while Charles showed him The Menace and the pamphlets. Mr. Grimsley’s face wrinkled with disgust. He pushed the papers aside. He looked at Charles. “Well?” he asked.
“That paper has a big circulation in Andersburg, Ralph?”
“Yes. Bigger than the Clarion.” Mr. Grimsley spat into his spittoon. “People would rather read dirty stuff even than stuff about their own town and their neighbors.”
Mr. Grimsley stared at Charles with more intentness. “You’ve got an idea, haven’t you, Charlie?”
“I have. I’ve been to see our minister. He is going to talk about it, Sunday. Have a reporter at the service, Ralph.”
“You mean Mr. Haas—our nice, genial, society minister—is actually going to talk about this paper? I don’t believe it! He’s too genteel. Or maybe he’d be afraid he’d get someone mad at him.”
“He’s going to speak, nevertheless,” said Charles. “I have his promise. You see, I have convinced him that something is behind it, something of terrible importance.” Charles talked quietly for several minutes, while Mr. Grimsley listened, perched on his chair like a black-eyed, quick-witted spider. And then, after Charles had spoken, he sat there, his chin on his collar.
“Maybe I’m wrong,” said Charles. “But I can’t make myself believe that, in spite of all my efforts.”
Mr. Grimsley filled his pipe carefully, lit it, took a few deep puffs. His eyes wandered restlessly about the room. Charles waited. He waited a considerable time.
“No,” said Mr. Grimsley, meditatively, at last. “I don’t think you have been imagining all these things.”
“No?” said Charles, somberly. “I wish you’d said I was.”
Mr. Grimsley got to his feet and scuttled to a battered cabinet at the far end of his office. He brought out a large book. He opened it. On its broad pages he had pasted a number of long and short reports of international news.
“All of these’ve appeared in the Andersburg Clarion, and in the Philadelphia and New York newspapers. Read ’em, Charlie. You get these papers. And after you’ve read ’em, you tell me if you ever stopped to think about them—even if you consciously saw ’em.”
Charles began to skim over the items:
One of them was dated June 15th, 1913: “Since June 8th, the Emperor William II of Germany has been joyously celebrating the twenty-fifth anniversary of his accession to the throne—The Emperor repeatedly asserted that throughout his reign he has advocated peace in spite of the fact that at any time he had been powerful enough to precipitate a war—”
One was dated in July: “King Victor Emmanuel of Italy has been in close conference with the German Emperor at Kiel, on confidential matters—”
“Chancellor von Bethmann-Hollweg denounced those who have been calling the attention of the German people to the immense profits made on Government contracts by the Kronk works. He declared that it was ‘absolutely essential’ to the safety of the German Empire that certain large armaments orders be given to Kronk, even though no war is contemplated now or in the near future which would involve Germany. ‘However,’ said the Chancellor, ‘if such an unforeseen event did transpire, the Fatherland would necessarily, though with sorrow, be embroiled. It would concern the honor of the German people.’
“The Chancellor further stated: ‘The important point is that into the place of European Turkey, whose state life has become inactive, there have entered certain States which exhibit a disturbing active vitality. There is one thing without doubt: If it should ever come to a European conflagration which sets Slaventum against Germanentum, it would be for us a disadvantage that the position in the balance of forces, which was occupied heretofore by European Turkey, is now filled in part by Slav states.’”
Charles looked up swiftly. The editor nodded. “Go on, Charlie. Read what you should have read, or remembered, quite some time ago.”
“The new German army bills increase the military force by 4,000 officers, 15,000 non-commissioned officers, 11,700 men, and 27,000 horses.”
“Certain incidents are occurring in Zabern, Alsace. The Emperor has expressed his concern—”
“London, June—: Lord Bedford-Marshall gave it as his considered opinion that a great danger to British trade lies in the last report that German manufacturers have invaded traditional British markets abroad, and are consistently underselling British products in many countries. ‘Though,’ said Lord Bedford-Marshall, ‘these products are quite inferior to British exports. Nevertheless, the invasion continues, and no Briton who is seriously concerned with the future of British export trade can afford to overlook this threat.’”
“Stockholm, August—: The Swedish people are determined that in the event of any conffict between major nations of Europe they will remain strictly neutral.”
Mr. Grimsley put his ink-stained index finger on the report from London. “There,” he said, softly, “you have it. That’s what it always comes to.”
Charles closed the book, slowly. Mr. Grimsley leaned back in his creaking swivel chair, hooked his little thumbs in his suspender-straps. His eyes followed the movements of a fly that buzzed at a window. “Two-thirds of the world half-starving, waiting for goods. But they don’t have the cash. Only the ‘traditional’ markets have it. No one tries to think up a way so two-thirds of the world can have the goods and the food, and pay for ’em in some manner. No, the other third just talks in Parliament, or at Kiel, and ‘expresses concern.’ Or appropriates money for armaments and larger armies and talks of ‘honor’ or whispers plots to kill off competitors. And in all corners, everywhere, there are men busy inventing slogans—”
Charles said: “But not in America. Surely not in America!”
Mr. Grimsley pulled at his wrinkled lip. “Don’t be too sure, Charlie. There’s only one thing you can be sure of in this world, and that is that man is a devil. And remember, there’s always a lot of money to be made when there’s trouble, and who can resist money?”
He swung towards Charles, and stabbed him in the chest with his finger. “There’s something else, Charlie. Has it ever occurred to you that maybe there’s some people in some of all these countries who hate freedom, and are afraid of it, and want to see it destroyed? How long has freedom, as we know it in America, really been flourishing? Not very long, Charlie. Behind this century or two of liberty lie two thousand centuries of active slavery of the whole world, a slavery perpetuated by a few powerful men. Do you think, as a lot of fools think, that ‘democracy marches on,’ and that soon the whole world will be free—free as we know freedom?” Mr. Grimsley shook his head violently. “Know what I think? I think that some few men, in every nation, everywhere, have their private plots to destroy freedom, not only where it exists in Europe, but where it exists in America. And while they’re doing the destroying, they think, they’ll make a heap of money.
“And how can they start? By making wars. Getting the people to hate each other, feeding them lies, inciting them. Playing up to the people’s love for war and murder. Giving them wars, and while they’re killing, taking their freedom away from them.”
Charles thought of Colonel Grayson. It seemed to him that this untidy editorial office had become very hot.
“If they can’t stir up a war, Charlie,” said Mr. Grimsley morosely, “they’ll be lost. Their dream of destroying the growing threat of liberty everywhere will die. They’ll do all they can to prevent that.”
He tapped The Menace and the pamphlets which lay on his desk. “Charlie, there’s the decoy, while the dirty work goes on behind the scenes. I don’t know, but I’d bet anything that other religions, or maybe races, are being attacked in other countries, just like this.”
Charles shook his head, over and over, as if he could not stop. Mr. Grimsley watched him, and he did not smile.
“There’s nothing, I suppose,” said Charles, in an empty voice, “that men like myself can do.”
“I don’t know, Charlie. Honest to God, I don’t know. Maybe it’s too late for anybody to do anything, especially only a few men. But you can remember something if you want to. Tom Paine said: ‘An army of principles will penetrate where any army of soldiers cannot; neither the ocean, the Channel, nor the Rhine can arrest its progress; it will march on the horizon of the world, and it will conquer.’”
“But that won’t stop murder—now,” muttered Charles.
“Maybe not.” Mr. Grimsley looked at Charles soberly. “You’re thinking of your boy, Jimmy, aren’t you?”