The Beauty and the Bolshevist

								


The Beauty and the Bolshevist
By ALICE DUER MILLER

Author of “The Charm School” “Ladies must Live” “Come out of the
Kitchen” etc.

Illustrated

Harper & Brothers Publishers
New York and London

Printed in the United States of America
Published October, 1920

ILLUSTRATIONS
“I beg your pardon. Is this a private raft?”
“Mr. Moreton, the Newport boat leaves at five-thirty”
“I’ll be there in five minutes, in a little blue car”
“Suppose you find you do hate being poor?”

CONTENTS


Chapter I
Chapter II
Chapter III

Chapter I

The editor of that much-abused New York daily, Liberty, pushed back
his editorial typewriter and opened one letter in the pile which the
office-boy—no respecter of persons—had just laid upon the desk while
whistling a piercing tune between his teeth.
The letter said:

DEAR BEN,—I hate to think what your feelings will be on learning that I
am engaged to be married to a daughter of the capitalistic class. Try
to overcome your prejudices, however, and judge Eugenia as an
individual and not as a member of a class. She has very liberal ideas,
reads your paper, and is content to go with me to Monroe College and
lead the life of an instructor’s wife. You will be glad to know that
Mr. Cord disapproves as much as you do, and will not give his daughter
a cent, so that our life will be as hard on the physical side as you in
your most affectionate moments could desire. Mr. Cord is under the
impression that lack of an income will cool my ardor. You see he could
not think worse of me if he were my own brother.
Yours,
DAVID.

The fine face of the editor darkened. It was the face of an
idealist—the deep-set, slowly changing eyes, the high cheek bones, but
the mouth closed firmly, almost obstinately, and contradicted the rest
of the face with a touch of aggressiveness, just as in Lincoln’s face
the dreamer was contradicted by the shrewd, practical mouth. He crossed
his arms above the elbow so that one long hand dangled on one side of
his knees and one on the other—a favorite pose of his—and sat thinking.
The editor was often called a Bolshevist—as who is not in these days?
For language is given us not only to conceal thought, but often to
prevent it, and every now and then when the problems of the world
become too complex and too vital, some one stops all thought on a
subject by inventing a tag, like “witch” in the seventeenth century, or
“Bolshevist” in the twentieth.
Ben Moreton was not a Bolshevist; indeed, he had written several
editorials to show that, in his opinion, their doctrines were not
sound, but of course the people who denounced him never thought of
reading his paper. He was a socialist, a believer in government
ownership, and, however equably he attempted to examine any dispute