Burned Bridges - Bertrand W. Sinclair (best ereader for academics txt) 📗

Of His Mind--Except

For Occasional Day-Dreamings Upon It In Idle Moments--And Gave Himself

Whole-Heartedly To Serving The House Of Henderson.

 

Time Passed Uneventfully Enough. June Went Its Way With Its Brides And

Flowers. July Drove Folk Upon Vacations To The Seaside Resorts.

 

And In August There Burst Upon An Incredulous World The Jagged

Lightnings And Cannon-Thunder Of War.

 

It Would Be Waste Words To Describe Here The Varying Fortunes Of The

Grappling Armies During The Next Few Months. The Newspapers And Current

Periodicals And Countless Self-Appointed Historians Have Attended To

That. It Is All Recorded,  So That One Must Run To Read It All. It Is As

Terribly Vivid To Us Now As It Was Distant And Shadowy Then--A Madness

Of Slaughter And Destruction That Raged On The Other Side Of The Earth,

A Terror From Which We Stood Comfortably Aloof.

 

There Was Something In The War Unseen By Thompson And The Hendersons And

A Countless Host Of Intelligent,  Well-Dressed,  Comfortable People Who

Bought Extras Wet From The Press To Read Of That Merciless Thrust

Through Belgium,  The Shock And Recoil And Counter-Shock Of Armies,  Of

Death Dealt Wholesale With Scientific Precision,  Of 42-Centimeter Guns

And Poison Gas And All The Rest Of That Bloody Nightmare--They Did Not

See The Dread Shadow That Hung Over Europe Lengthening And Spreading

Until Its Murky Pall Should Span The Atlantic.

 

Thompson Was A Canadian. He Knew By The Papers That Canada Was At War,  A

Voluntary Participant. But It Did Not Strike Him That He Was At War. He

Felt No Call To Arms. In San Francisco There Was No Common Ferment In

The Public Mind,  No Marching Troops,  No Military Bands Making A Man's

Feet Tingle To Follow As They Passed By. Men Discussed The War In Much

The Same Tone As They Discussed The Stock Market. If There Was Any

Definite Feeling In The Matter It Was That The European Outbreak Was

Strictly A European Affair. When The German Spearhead Blunted Its Point

Against The Franco-British Legions And The Gray Hosts Recoiled Upon The

Marne,  The Amateur Board Of Strategy Said It Would Be Over In Six

Months.

 

In Any Case,  American Tradition Explicitly Postulated That What

Occurred In Europe Was Not,  Could Not,  Be Vital To Americans. But In The

Last Test Blood Proves Thicker Than Water. Sentimentally,  The Men

Thompson Knew Were Pro-Ally. Only,  In Practice There Was No Apparent

Reason Why They Should Do Otherwise Than As They Had Been Doing. And In

Effect San Francisco Only Emulated Her Sister Cities When She Proceeded

About "Business As Usual"--Just As In Those Early Days,  Before The War

Had Bitten Deep Into Their Flesh And Blood,  British Merchants Flung That

Chapter 15 (The Shadow) Pg 114

Slogan In The Face Of The Enemy.

 

So That To Wes Thompson,  Concentrated Upon His Personal Affairs,  The War

Never Became More Than Something Akin To A Bad Dream Recalled At Midday,

An Unreal Sort Of Thing. Something That Indubitably Existed Without

Making Half The Impression Upon Him That Seeing A Pedestrian Mangled

Under A Street Car Made Upon Him During That Summer. The War Aroused His

Interest,  But Left His Emotions Unstirred. There Was Nothing Martial

About Him. He Dreamed No Dreams Of Glory On The Battlefield. He Had

Never Thought Of The British Empire As Something To Die For. The Issue

Was Not Clear To Him,  Just As It Failed To Clarify Itself To A Great

Many People In Those Days. The Maiden Aunts And All His Early

Environment Had Shut Off The Bigger Vision That Was Sending A Steady

Stream Of Canadian Battalions Overseas.

 

When The Battle Of The Marne Was Past History And The Opposing Armies

Had Dug Themselves In And The Ghastly Business Of The Trenches Had

Begun,  Thompson Was More Than Ever Immersed In Pursuit Of The Main

Chance,  For He Was Then Engaged In Organizing Summit Motors In

Vancouver. There Had Been A Period When His Optimism About His Prospects

Had Suffered A Relapse. He Had Half-Expected That Canada's Participation

In That Devil's Dance Across The Sea Would Spoil Things Commercially.

There Had Been A Sort Of Temporary Demoralization On Both Sides Of The

Line,  At First. But That Was Presently Adjusted. Through Tommy Ashe And

Other Sources He Learned That Business In Vancouver Was Actually Looking

Up Because Of The War.

 

He Was A Little Surprised That Tommy Was Not Off To The War. Tommy Loved

His England. He Was Forever Singing England's Praises. England Was

"Home" To Tommy Ashe Always. It Was Only A Name To Thompson. And He

Thought,  When He Thought About It At All,  That If England's Need Was Not

Great Enough To Call Her Native-Born,  That The Allies Must Have The

Situation Well In Hand; As The Papers Had A Way Of Stating.

 

He Had Other Fish To Fry,  Himself,  Without Rushing Off To The Front. As

A Matter Of Fact He Never Consciously Considered The Question Of Going

To The Front. That Never Occurred To Him. When He Did Think Of The War

He Thought Of It Impersonally,  As A Busy Man Invariably Does Think Of

Matters Which Do Not Directly Concern Him.

 

What Did Concern Him Most Vitally Was The Project He Had In Hand. And

Next To Those Ambitions,  Material Considerations,  His Fancy Touched

Shyly Now And Then Upon Sophie Carr.

 

 

 

 

Chapter 16 ( The Renewed Triangle) Pg 115

Even After Thompson Reached Vancouver And The Visible Signs Of A Nation

At War Confronted Him He Experienced No Patriotic Thrill. After All,

There Was No Great Difference,  On The Surface,  Between San Francisco And

Vancouver,  Save That Vancouver Accepted As A Matter Of Course The

Principle That When The Mother Country Was At War Canada Was Also A

Belligerent And Committed To Support. Barring The Recruiting Offices

Draped In The Allied Colors,  Squads Of Men Drilling On Certain Public

Squares,  Successive Tag Days For The Red Cross,  The Patriotic Fund And

Such Organizations,  The War Did Not Flaunt Itself In Men's Faces. The

First Hot Wave Of Feeling Had Passed. The Thing Had Become A Grim

Business To Be Gone About In Grim Determination. And Side By Side With

Those Unostensible Preparations That Kept A Stream Of Armed Men Passing

Quietly Overseas,  The Normal Business Of A City Waxed And Throve In The

Old Accustomed Way. Thompson's Most Vivid Impression Was Of Accelerating

Business Activity,  And That Was His Chief Concern. The Other Thing,

Which Convulsed A Far-Off Continent,  Was Too Distant To Be A

Reality--Like An Earthquake In Japan,  A Reported Famine In India.

 

He Went About His Business Circumspectly,  Without Loss Of Time. He

Leased A Good Location,  Wired The Factory To Ship At Once,  Began A

Modest Advertising Campaign In The Local Papers,  And As A Business Coup

Collared--At A Fat Salary And Liberal Commission--The Best Salesman On

The Staff Of The Concern Doing The Biggest Motor-Car Business In Town.

Thompson Had Learned Certain Business Lessons Well. He Had Perceived

Long Since That It Was A Cutthroat Game When Competition Grew Keen. And

This Matter Of The Salesman Was His First Blood In That Line. The Man

Brought With Him A List Of Prospects As Long As His Arm,  And A Wide

Acquaintance In The Town,  Both Assets Of Exceeding Value. Altogether

Thompson Got Off To A Flying Start. The Arrangement Whereby Henderson

Consigned Cars To Him Enabled Him To Concentrate All His Small Capital

On A Sales Campaign. He Paid Freight And Duty. His Cars He Paid For When

They Were Sold--And The Discount Was His Profit.

 

When His Salesroom Was Formally Opened To The Public,  With Five Summits

On The Floor And Twice As Many En Route,  When His Undertaking And His

Car Models Had Received The Unqualified Approval Of A Surprising Number

Of Callers,  Thompson Left The Place To His Salesman And Went To See

Sophie Carr.

 

That Was A Visit Born Of Sudden Impulse,  A Desire To Talk About

Something Besides Automobiles And Making Money. But Sophie Was Out. Her

Father,  However,  Made Him Welcome,  Supplementing His Welcome With Red

Wine That Carried A Kick. Thompson Sat Down Before A Fireplace,  Glass In

Hand,  Stretched His Feet To The Fire,  And Listened To His Host Talk.

 

"Considering Your Early Handicaps You Have Certainly Shown Some Speed

In Adapting Yourself To Conditions," Carr Observed Facetiously. "There

Was A Time When I Didn't Believe You Could. Which Shows That Even Wise

Men Err. Material Factors Loom Bigger And Bigger On Your Horizon,  Don't

They? Don't Let 'Em Obscure Everything Though,  Thompson. That's A

Blunder Plenty Of Smart Men Make. Well,  We've Progressed Since Lone

Moose Days,  Haven't We--The Four Of Us That Foregathered There That Last

Summer?"

 

Thompson Smiled. He Liked To Hear Carr In A Philosophic Vein. And Their

Talk Ran Thence For An Hour. At The End Of Which Time Sophie Came Home.

 

Chapter 16 ( The Renewed Triangle) Pg 116

She Walked Into The Room,  Shook Hands With Thompson,  Flung Her Coat,

Hat,  And Furs Across A Chair,  And Drew Another Up To The Crackling Fire.

Outside,  The Long Northern Twilight Was Deepening. Carr Rose And

Switched On A Cluster Of Lights In Frosted Globes. In The Mellow Glow He

Resumed His Seat,  And His Glance Came To Rest Upon His Daughter With A

Curious Fixity,  As If He Subtly Divined Something That Troubled Her.

 

"What Is It?" He Asked,  After A Minute Of Unbroken Silence. "You Look--"

 

"Out Of Sorts?" She Interrupted. "Showing Up Poorly As A Hostess?"

 

Her Look Included Thompson With A Faint,  Impersonal Smile,  And Her Gaze

Went Back To The Fire. Sam Carr Held His Peace,  Toying With The

Long-Stemmed Glass In His Hand.

 

"I Went To A Belgian Relief Fund Lecture In The Granada Ballroom This

Afternoon," She Said At Last. "A Belgian Woman--A Refugee--Spoke In

Broken English. The Things She Told. It Was Horrible. I Wonder If They

Could Be True?"

 

"Atrocities?" Carr Questioned.

 

Sophie Nodded.

 

"That's Propaganda," Her Father Declared Judicially. "We're Being

Systematically Stimulated To Ardent Support Of The War In Men And Money

Through The Press And Public Speaking,  Through Every Available Avenue

That Clever Minds Can Devise. We Are Not A Martial Nation,  So We Have To

Be Spurred,  Our Emotions Aroused. Of Course There Are Atrocities. Is

There An Instance In History Where An Invading Army Did Not Commit All

Sorts Of Excesses On Enemy Soil?"

 

"I Know," Sophie Said Absently. "But This Woman's Story--She Wasn't One

Of Your Glib Platform Spouters,  Flag-Waving And Calling The Germans

Names. She Just Talked,  Groping Now And Then For The Right Word. And If

A Tithe Of What She Told Is True--Well,  She Made Me Wish