A. Actually get together instead of leaving things be. An a.s.sociation is, as I understand it, intended for purposes of a.s.sociation. And why not simply a.s.sociate each a.s.sociation with every other, canning all small private schemes and party interests on the one grand common interest of Bolsheviking the Bolsheviks? I'm sure that if all parties concerned will forget they are Democrats or Republicans or Methodists or Suffragists--even whether they are ladies or gentlemen, and remember they are Americans, nothing can ever rough-house this country like Europe has been in several places, for in Union is Strength, in G.o.d we Trust, but He helps those who helps themselves, and if we'll only drop our self-interests and make the union our first idea, G.o.d help the foreigners which tries to help themselves to our dear country!"

By this time the girls was giving me a hand the like of which I never had before on stage or screen, because their hearts were in them. Do you get me? You do! And it was quite a spell before Ruby could get order, although she kept pounding with the silver cat's-paw of her office.

Finally, when she could make herself heard, she says very sarcastic,

"And how does Miss La Tour suggest we commence?" she says.

"By unanimously voting ourselfs 'The White Kittens Patriotic a.s.sociation of America,'" I says at once. "Call a extra meeting to change the const.i.tution temporarily from annual b.a.l.l.s and festivals for the benefit of indignant members, to a a.s.sociation for a.s.sociating with other a.s.sociations as before suggested. Use part of the money from the ball just arranged for, to advertise our idea in newspapers and billboards, and believe you me, by the time we ladies get that far, some gentleman's a.s.sociation will be on the job to show us a practical way to use ourselves!"

Well, the Kittens seemed to think this all right, too, and in spite of Ruby, the next meeting was called and we broke up in high excitement, and I was surrounded by admiring friends all anxious to tell me they felt the same as me, and so forth and etc. And finally, after I had been treated to lunch by several of them, not including Ruby, I collapsed into my limousine, and said home James, and set my face flat-ward with a brave heart which knew no fear on account of having accomplished something worth while. Even the sight of the obtrusively un.o.btrusive bull still waiting like the wolf at the door, didn't dampen my spirit.

And it was not until I got upstairs that I commenced realizing that my own home would be the first place to set in order, and how could I be a great American female leader with a Bolshevist mother and a German cook, and how could I preach a thing with one hand and not practice it with the other? Of course, I could fire the cook, but how about Ma? It was she herself settled that part of it the moment I stepped into the parlor, for there she was all alone except for the two dogs, and what was more, all of a heap, beside.

"Well, thank goodness, you decided to come home, Mary Gilligan!" she says. "Something awful has happened!"

"Not Jim?" I gasps, my heart nearly stopping, for he is always the first thing I think of.

"Jim, nothing!" says Ma. "It's poor Kiskoff!"

"Oh, him!" I says, relieved. "What of it?"

"They arrested him this morning!" says Ma, all broken up, the poor fish!

"Arrested him just before the meeting!"

"Good!" I says. "I knew they would. The hound, he couldn't go around forever talking Bolshevism!"

"It wasn't for that," says Ma.

"Then for what?" I says, blankly.

"For back alimony!" says Ma, almost in tears. "It seems he married a girl out in Kansas several years ago, and they parted when the circus left, and it wasn't Russian he was talking, but Yiddish! He speaks English as well as me."

"And I suppose you'll tell me next that he wasn't talking Bolshevism,"

says I.

"He wasn't--he was only asking them to join the circus-workers' union Local 21--" says Ma. "He explained it all to the cops!"

"Ma!" I demanded solemnly, a light coming over me. "Ma, have you honestly got any idea what this Bolshevism _is?_ Come on, own up!"

"Certainly!" she says. "It's something like Spiritualism or devil-worship, ain't it? A sort of fancy religion!"

"Nothing so respectable!" I says very sharp, yet awful relieved that I had guessed the truth. "No such thing. Bolshevism is Russian for sore-head. Religion my eye! It's about as much a religion as small-pox is!"

Oh! the handicap of having no education! I certainly felt sorry for Ma.

But I needn't of because she give me one of them looks of hers which always turns my dress to plaid calico and pulls my hair down my back again.

"Well, daughter, why didn't you say so in the first place?" she says, just as if she'd caught _me_ in a lie. But I let it pa.s.s and apologized, I was so glad to find she was a fake. And Ma promised to leave them low circus people alone for a spell and come back to the White Kittens again. I then announced I was going out and fire Anna. At that a look of terror came over Ma's face, and she restrained me by the sleeve.

"Be careful how you go near that kitchen!" she says warningly.

"For heaven's sakes, Ma!" I says. "What's wronger than usual out there?"

"I dunno, but I think something is!" she says. "I believe it's a bomb!"

"A bomb!" I says. "Whatter you mean?"

"Anna is out to market," says Ma, "and the one with the black beard like poor Kiskoff's brought it. 'For Anna,' says he, and shoved it at me, and snook off down the stairs like a murderer."

"Brought _what?"_ I says.

"The bomb, of course!" says Ma, impatient herself.

"How do you know it's one?" I says, a little uneasy and wishing I had fired Anna before she got this swell chance of firing us.

"Well, it looks just like the one in the picture where them three Germans blew theirselves up in the newspaper!" says she. "And it ticks."

"My Gawd!" I says. "Where is the thing?"

"On the kitchen-table," says Ma.

"Well," I says, bravely. "I think I aught to take a look at it anyways."

"I wished you wouldn't," says she. But she came down the hall after me like the loyal mother she is, and the two of us stopped at the threshhold as the poet says.

And there, sure enough, in the middle of the spotless oilcloth on the kitchen table lay a mighty funny looking package, about the size of a dish-pan and done up in that black oil-cloth them foreigners seem so fond of. And between yells from that radical parrot, who commenced his "I love Anarchy!" the moment he set eyes on us, we could hear that evil-looking package tick as plain as day.

Well, what with a mother and a father both practically born on the centre trapese and used myself to taking chances since early childhood, I don't believe I'm more of a coward than most. But I will admit my heart commenced going too quick at that sight and the radical bird was as usual loose in the place, and didn't make my nerves any easier. But a st.i.tch in time often saves a whole pair of silk ones, and remembering this, I took some quick action. I turned up my georgette crepe sleeves, and the front of my skirt so's not to splash it, and made straight for the sink, keeping my eye on the centre-table all the while.

"Look out!" screams Ma. "What are you going to do?"

"Throw cold water on it!" I says. And filling the dish-pan I took a long sling with it, and pretty near drowned the kitchen table, to say nothing of the scare I threw into Frits. As soon as he quit, we listened again, but my efforts had been in vain, for the thing was still ticking--slow, loud ticks, and very alarming.

"No good!" I says, sadly. "We'll have to take severer measures!"

"Well, what'll they be?" says Ma.

"There's a plain-clothes cop outside looking for trouble," says I grimly, "and here is where I hand him a little," says I.

And then, without waiting even to roll down the georgettes, I hurried to the window and looked out. Like most cops, he couldn't be seen at first when wanted, but finally he came into view and I tried to catch his attention, but was unable to at first. But finally he heard me and looked up, and I beckoned.

"Bomb!" I says. "Hurry up!"

And did he hurry? He did! I would not of believed a man his size could do it, but he must of beat the elevator, for it never brought me up that fast. When I let him in, his lack of surprise was the most alarming thing which had yet been pulled. He evidently _expected_ a bomb to be here.

"By golly, we'll get them now!" he says triumphantly. "We been watching this place for two months on account of having it straight that there is a bunch of Bolshevist bomb makers in this building or the next one, and this is the first time anything has stirred! Where is your bomb? Lead me to it!"

IV

WELL, I didn't lead him exactly. Since he was so set up about it, I let him go ahead, but Ma and me followed close behind and told him the way and everything. When he came to the kitchen door Frits let out a yell "Anarchy! I love Anarchy!" and you aught to of seen the cop stagger in his tracks for a minute. But he came to immediate, and we all stood at attention while he give that bundle the once-over. It was ticking away as strong as ever.