Evening Republican, Volume 18, Number 292, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 11 December 1914 — The Patriotism Of a Child [ARTICLE]

The Patriotism Of a Child

Rufus Waldron sat, one plump hand resting' on his gray-tweed knee the other on the rosewood windowsill of his compartment, while the train sped on, at the rate of fifty mile* ah hoar, from Liverpool to London. Op* posite him, In uncomfortable solemnity, sat Rufus Waldron, Jr, a 18-year-old lad, whose freckled American face contrasted strangely with his tight Eton suit and the little high silk hat perched on the seat beside him. The only other ooeo* pant of the compartment wan Henry Mordant-Mordant, late of Stokesfiald-in-the-Hills, Essex, bat now fellow of King’s College, Cambridge. Thus do I introduce the three characters of my story. Rufus Waldron, Anglomaniac millionaire expatriated American, retained only one trait of the country he and his little boy had left forever when the wife and mother died. Ho persisted against the best British traditions in being cordial to strangers —an affliction under which Mr. Mordant-Mordant was suffering even now. “Pleasant weather, 1 "„sald Mr. Waldron. His neighbor gased stonily over the head of his oaae and said nothing. "Very pleasant,” repeated Mr. Waldron to himself, nothing abashed. , Long experience with Englishman had taught him take what Was given him and say nothing. “Do yon smoke, sir? Would yon like a cigarette?” Mr. Mordant-Mordant never refused anything that was offered him. Ho took the cigarette, and uttered a perfunctory “Thank you.” At last the two men found a topic of mutual Interest “Coming from a democratic country as you do—” began Mr. MordantMordant loftily, In answer to some chance remark of Waldron’s. Waldron flushed angrily at the discovery his aecent had betrayed him Into. "I hate democracy,” he snapped; out The other brightened Immediately. “Ah,” he said, ‘1 see that yon, like myself, are a disciple of Nletssche!” ‘1 don’t know who he is,” replied the American (the moment was an unguarded one). "But I do know that this talk about patriotism and the common people and the right to live and all that Is pore rot What has my country ever done for me, that I should do anything for It?” “Just so,” assented the Englishman, warmly. “That la exactly what I often say of England. I hate the* Insularity of this country. Patriot-' ism! That is a brute instinct which any horse or dog can feel for its mother. I owe my country nothing.; It ought rather to he grateful to me for the measure of learning and! scholarship I have Involuntarily bestowed upon it" “Just the way I feel about my money. Now look at that country of mine. My father died for it—yes, sir, actually died for tt. Yon wouldn’t find me doing any fool tricks like that. What did America ever do for him to repay him for what he had lost? Nothing! A miserable pension, perhays, to my mother—not half of what he would have earned for her had he Jived. In other words,, my father performed work he wasn't paid for, and J am too good a bust*; ness man ever to do the same. What Is It, Rufus?" The boy had touched his father as. if about to speak. But now he satj in silence, staring out of the window* his little face, If anything, more, unhappy than ever. “Look at today,” went on Waldron, Sr. “It’s the Fourth of July, isn’t ltf That’s Independence Day over there —some sort of celebration because; the Americans were foolish enough to break away from the properly re-, straining influence of the British empire.” “Patriotism! Bosh! What were the Continentals? A set of ragged country louts, who—” But the limit of young Rates’ endurance had been reached. Trembling he rose to his feet, a ridiculous little figure in his tight jacket, his long trousers, his broad collar, hia high hat “Father!” he shrilled in the wouldbe thundering tones of the precocious boy . “Father! I forbid you to talk in that maimer of my country! You, forget that you.are In the presence of an American!” Waldren laughed feebly; Mordantturned a dull red. The boy stood, deathly white and shaking, bat looking his father fall and defiantly In the eyes. At last the Englishman spoke. “By Jove!”,he Bald. “The little beggar's right! There most be people who feel that way about their country! I don’t think I ever realised it bofore. My good sir, I think we've both been wrong. I’ve got'a brother in India, fighting the hill tribes now for the sake of old England. I don’t suppose he thinks much about what sort of bargain he’s made with her.” “Don’t!” said Waldron, in a choky voice. ‘1 feel as If I'd insulted my father’s memory. I remember, when I was a boy, how I used to thrill at seeing old glory. I guess It's money that’s knocked it out of me since.” Plans are on v foot to construct a mo .or car highway along the gulf coast of Texas. The distance to ho covered is about 100 mike. V; w* ■