Red Fleece | Page 6

of a line by making a hole in one
part--and all that archaic rot. As I say, the game is extinct, so far as our
modern complicated intelligences go, and the men whose names are
biggest in the papers from now on are the same old beefy type of
rudiments whom a man wouldn't associate with in times of national
quiet.... I will end this by saying that the big story is the man-- the
peasant, the trooper, the one blinded little dupe, who dies, or plunges,
or loses his legs in the name of the Fatherland--"
"I see that," said Peter; "but what really is interesting to me is this
peasant's blindness and the monkey other men make of him--"
"I'm glad you spoke of that, for it is a thing to avoid. Interesting, I grant,
but not popular with our kind of press. We are not servants of the
minority or the elect. You'll find Boylan exploiting the army he's

with--just as another might have done under Napoleon. By the way,
where are you going to-night?"
"I'm going to sit at the feet of the most genial anarchist at large. His
name is Fallows, an American, who has been ten years in Russia
among the peasants."
"Duke Fallows--I know of him. When did he come to town?"
"Two days ago."
"Peter, how did you get next?" Lonegan looked a bit in awe at the
other.
"I was asked to one of his private audiences last night."
Peter knew that Lonegan had many things to ask by the quick tone in
which he spoke the first question.
"You know what Fallows will do to you?"
"Yes, if one lets go. He has learned how to use his power. He has
brought forth his young upon the bare rocks, as somebody said."
"He'd turn an angel into an anarchist."
"A man ought not to be afraid to listen if there's a chance for him to be
proved wrong--"
"Correct, absolutely. I am merely thinking about our job."
"A man gets in the habit of thinking about his job--doesn't he?"
"Did he tell you about the plowman of Liaoyang?"
"No, but my companion did. Fallows must have seen that episode
rather clearly."
"Let's not get off the job business, Peter. As I was saying, the truth isn't

popular--"
"That doesn't sound like Lonegan."
"No, and I don't like the feel of saying it, but it's very much to the
point--"
"Possibly."
"Mowbray, we are taking our bread, and its cake, too, from a paper that
expects us to exploit the orthodox heroics. The pity and atrocious sham
of it all has its side. But the fact still remains its side does not furnish
the stuff that American newspapers pay men and cable tolls to furnish."
"Won't you come to-night?" Peter asked laughing. "Perhaps we can
both reach the high point some day when we have earned the right to be
poor."
"That's a higher point than I dream of, Peter. I can't help but think what
a nest you've got into. Of course, I mean with Fallows and his kind--"
"An eagle's nest."
"But the eaglets are starving."
"Heretofore the job has been served. Come along with me and meet
Duke Fallows again--"
"No. I must go back to the wire for the present. Boylan would be
shocked, too. By the way, I've got a bid in for you with General
Kohlvihr. Boylan is to help me put it through, of course. The more
decorated they are the more they fall for Boylan. There's a chance that
you'll start south with a column within two days. So you'd better get at
that encyclopedia stuff--"
"Yes, I'll attend to that."
Peter left him smiling, and turned his steps across the Square, into a
narrow street of the poor quarter, and on toward a little room and a low

lamp, where a woman's hands sewed magically as she waited.
Chapter 5
Fallows met them in his small bleak room, turned the lamp low, and
opened the door of the diminutive wood-stove to let the firelight in the
room. The three sat around it.... Peter Mowbray felt strange and young
beside them. The woman seemed to belong to this world, and it was a
world at war with every existing power. All Peter's training resisted
stubbornly. Still, right or wrong, there was a nobility about their stand.
He did not need to be sure their vision was absolutely true, yet the
suspicion developed that they saw more clearly than he, and acted more
purely. Mowbray did not lack anything of valor, but he lacked the fire
somehow. He loved Berthe Solwicz, could have made every sacrifice
for her, but that was a concrete thing.
Fallow's bony knees were close to the fire. He seemed both light and