Young Speranza seemed to me, (he wrote) in my one short interview with him, to be a fine young fellow.Madeline, poor girl, is almost frantic.She will recover by and by, recovery is easier at her age, but it will be very, very hard for you and Mrs.Snow.You and I little thought when we discussed the problem of our young people that it would be solved in this way.To you and your wife my sincerest sympathy.When you hear particulars concerning your grandson's death, please write me.Madeline is anxious to know and keeps asking for them.Mrs.Fosdick is too much concerned with her daughter's health to write just now, but she joins me in sympathetic regards.
Captain Zelotes took Mrs.Fosdick's sympathy with a grain of salt.
When he showed this letter to his wife he, for the first time, told her of the engagement, explaining that his previous silence had been due to Albert's request that the affair be kept a secret for the present.Olive, even in the depth of her sorrow, was greatly impressed by the grandeur of the alliance.
"Just think, Zelotes," she exclaimed, "the Fosdick girl--and our Albert engaged to marry her! Why, the Fosdicks are awful rich, everybody says so.Mrs.Fosdick is head of I don't know how many societies and clubs and things in New York; her name is in the paper almost every day, so another New York woman told me at Red Cross meetin' last summer.And Mr.Fosdick has been in politics, way up in politics.""Um-hm.Well, he's reformed lately, I understand, so we mustn't hold that against him.""Why, Zelotes, what DO you mean? How can you talk so? Just think what it would have meant to have our Albert marry a girl like Madeline Fosdick."The captain put his arm about her and gently patted her shoulder.
"There, there, Mother," he said, gently, "don't let that part of it fret you.""But, Zelotes," tearfully, "I don't understand.It would have been such a great thing for Albert.""Would it? Well, maybe.Anyhow, there's no use worryin' about it now.It's done with--ended and done with...same as a good many other plans that's been made in the world.""Zelotes, don't speak like that, dear, so discouraged.It makes me feel worse than ever to hear you.And--and he wouldn't want you to, I'm sure.""Wouldn't he? No, I cal'late you're right, Mother.We'll try not to."Other letters came, including one from Helen.It was not long.
Mrs.Snow was a little inclined to feel hurt at its brevity.Her husband, however, did not share this feeling.
"Have you read it carefully, Mother?" he asked.
"Of course I have, Zelotes.What do you mean?""I mean--well, I tell you, Mother, I've read it three time.The first time I was like you; seemed to me as good a friend of Al and of us as Helen Kendall ought to have written more than that.The second time I read it I begun to wonder if--if--""If what, Zelotes?"
"Oh, nothin', Mother, nothin'.She says she's comin' to see us just as soon as she can get away for a day or two.She'll come, and when she does I cal'late both you and I are goin' to be satisfied.""But why didn't she WRITE more, Zelotes? That's what I can't understand."Captain Zelotes tugged at his beard reflectively."When I wrote Fosdick the other day," he said, "I couldn't write more than a couple of pages.I was too upset to do it.I couldn't, that's all.""Yes, but you are Albert's grandfather."
"I know.And Helen's always...But there, Mother, don't you worry about Helen Kendall.I've known her since she was born, pretty nigh, and _I_ tell you she's all RIGHT."Fosdick, in his letter, had asked for particulars concerning Albert's death.Those particulars were slow in coming.Captain Zelotes wrote at once to the War Department, but received little satisfaction.The Department would inform him as soon as it obtained the information.The name of Sergeant Albert Speranza had been cabled as one of a list of fatalities, that was all.
"And to think," as Rachel Ellis put it, "that we never knew that he'd been made a sergeant until after he was gone.He never had time to write it, I expect likely, poor boy."The first bit of additional information was furnished by the press.
A correspondent of one of the Boston dailies sent a brief dispatch to his paper describing the fighting at a certain point on the Allied front.A small detachment of American troops had taken part, with the French, in an attack on a village held by the enemy.
The enthusiastic reporter declared it to be one of the smartest little actions in which our soldiers had so far taken part and was eloquent concerning the bravery and dash of his fellow countrymen.
"They proved themselves," he went on, "and French officers with whom I have talked are enthusiastic.Our losses, considering the number engaged, are said to be heavy.Among those reported as killed is Sergeant Albert Speranza, a Massachusetts boy whom American readers will remember as a writer of poetry and magazine fiction.Sergeant Speranza is said to have led his company in the capture of the village and to have acted with distinguished bravery." The editor of the Boston paper who first read this dispatch turned to his associate at the next desk.
"Speranza?...Speranza?" he said aloud."Say, Jim, wasn't it Albert Speranza who wrote that corking poem we published after the Lusitania was sunk?"Jim looked up."Yes," he said."He has written a lot of pretty good stuff since, too.Why?""He's just been killed in action over there, so Conway says in this dispatch.""So?...Humph!...Any particulars?""Not yet.'Distinguished bravery,' according to Conway.Couldn't we have something done in the way of a Sunday special? He was a Massachusetts fellow.""We might.We haven't a photograph, have we? If we haven't, perhaps we can get one."The photograph was obtained--bribery and corruption of the Orham photographer--and, accompanied by a reprint of the Lusitania poem, appeared in the "Magazine Section" of the Sunday newspaper.With these also appeared a short notice of the young poet's death in the service of his country.
