V. V.s Eyes | Page 5

was forced upon Sam, as it
were. He demanded authority for calling these people corrupting;
desired to know if V.V. knew any of 'em personally. And presently he
was reading aloud from the letter in the "Post," reading retributively;
one swingeing phrase after another.
"And here--here! Listen to this, will you?--'Why should we stand by
and permit these shameless egoists of industry to bleed the strength
from the community's sinew and grow rich by homicide at the cost of
the race?'..."
Severe, indeed, the Arraignment seemed when read aloud to you in that
tone. Gusto ebbed a little, mayhap. But it was clear that the medical
author did not propose to retract; quite the contrary, in short.
"Permit! Ought to have asked why we applaud them, court them, envy
them--"
"'Shameless homicides'!--and he calls it mild! Now, here, honor
bright--"

"It's what they are--and more! You ask me if I know these people
personally? I reply that in the truest sense I do know 'em, very well, for
I've made a study of the type, d'you see?..."
Then the office door from the hall opened about a foot, a fat head in a
gaunt bonnet protruded through the crevice, having rather a decapitated
look, and a deep inflectionless voice said:
"Excuse me introodin', Doctor, I'm sure, but your sick here raskin' me
kin they see you soon."
"In five minutes precisely ..."
Morning sunshine streamed through the unwashen windows. V. Vivian
had risen in the ardor of his argument. Quite a different-looking man
from the Commissioner he was observed to be, tall where the
Commissioner was thick, eager where the Commissioner was
easy-going. Rather a long face he had, sensitive about the mouth, lucid
about the gaze, and hair of a tan shade which waved a little, no matter
how crisply cut. The faded gray suit he wore contrasted unfavorably
with his friend's new brown; on the other hand, his movements were
not devoid of a certain lank grace such as the gods have denied to
rotundity.
Yet when he stepped out from his quaint desk, it was suddenly to be
seen that the young man limped, on his left foot: that this limp was not
accidental or temporary.... A lame doctor: so it was with him. And yet
the fire with which he spoke was surely not born of the
pharmacopoeia....
"Take it in the large--that's all I ask! Look at your job from a social
standpoint. I tell you, it's just these Huns, these yellow-rich Heths and
Magees and Old Dominion Pickle people who're rotting the heart out of
this fine old town. And the root of the whole trouble's in their debased
personal ideals, don't you see? 'Get on' at all costs, that's the motto:
slapping their money in their neighbors' faces and shouting, 'Here's
what counts!'--spreading their degraded standards by example through
the community--yellow materialism gone mad.... Oh, I know!--I know
it isn't your slave-driving captains only. It's mainly the women pushing
from behind--fat horse-leeches' daughters always screaming 'more,
more'--when there's--"
"Leeches! Peaches, you mean! You ought to see--"
"When there's no way to get any more but to bleed it out of--Corinne

Garland here!--which is duly done. Brutal egoism, that's the
philosophy--"
"Police!" cried O'Neill, puffing good-humoredly. "Why, V.V.!--They're
personally some of the best people in town! If you knew 'em you'd be
the first to say so. Take the Heths now, just to show you--"
"Huns all! I do know them, I say, through to their little prehensile souls!
You don't seem to get me.... Why, I feel sorry for them, Sam! I
wouldn't mind much what they did if they were only happy with it! But,
good heavens!... D'you know what this age needs, my boy? A voice
crying in the wilderness...."
"H'm! Don't know about that. You'll find, where it's a matter touching
their pockets, people don't listen to voices much, either in--"
"They listened to John the Baptist!"
"What?" said Sam, rather disliking these constant references to the
ancient days.
"I say they listened to John the Baptist!" cried tall Dr. Vivian, slapping
one impetuous hand into the other. "Yes, and came running and
sweating to the desert, just to get a tongue-lashing from him--the very
same old scribes and Pharisees that drive motor-cars down Washington
Street to-day! And they'd run to him to-day, never fear! I tell you,
there's a voice the heart is never deaf to! And that's what this age needs,
Sam,--since you ask me,--a big, fierce prophet on the outskirts of the
city; a great, grim, uncompromising hater, with a tongue that bites like
a blacksnake whip. By George, they'd listen to him! He couldn't hide
where your yellow Huns wouldn't come to him on their knees!"
"Let him do it, then,--go's far as he likes. Only don't ask