Silas Timberman Read Online Free Page A

profundity, coming as it did from a man for whose intellectual achievements he had so little respect.
    â€œI hope I haven’t hurt your feelings,” Lundfest said.
    â€œNo—not at all.”
    â€œNo morning for an argument, is it, Silas?”
    â€œNo—”
    â€œThen I have stepped on your toes. Well, suppose we bite into that another time. We’ll talk it out and get at the root of it. As a matter of fact, there was something else entirely that I wanted to mention to you. You have until nine-thirty, haven’t you?”
    They were at Whittier Hall now. Silas nodded. The man was his superior, officer, boss, employer—what you will. When you broke with the head of your department, you found another university; so you composed yourself and swallowed your anger, and you nodded amiably; and Silas was an amiable and good-natured man. It might also be observed that English teachers were not exactly rare, even talented ones, and Silas did not know whether he was talented with anything more than persistence and a retentive memory. Certainly, he did not think so at this moment.
    â€œSuppose we chat a few minutes. I want to speak to you about the convocation this afternoon.”
    Again Silas nodded, still unable to trust himself to speak in a tone sufficiently warm and pleasing to convince Lundfest that their relationship remained congenial; but he made no real connection with Lundfest’s remark, nor did he relate the mention of the convocation to Ike Amsterdam’s argument.
    â€œI’ve been discussing it with Dr. Cabot,” Lundfest went on, “and he’s desirous that it should be a complete success. I may tell you, Silas, that this thing has ramifications not entirely local—”
    It soothed Silas to note the subtle misuse of words, and his flush of anger died as he began to listen.
    â€œâ€”not local by any means, but rather pertaining to the state picture and the national picture as well. I might say that Clemington finds itself in a position of unique importance. You know as well as I do, Silas, that there is a most peculiar apathy toward civil defense all over the country ever since the war began in Korea.”
    â€œI imagine most people don’t like the war particularly.”
    â€œWell, of course, Silas. War isn’t something one likes, any more than one likes communists or Nazis. But war exists, and frequently it’s necessary. Here, we were faced with an act of cynical aggression, a bare-handed advance by the red tide. You might say that we faced our Rubicon and crossed it in Korea, and I would question whether there ever was a purer struggle, a nobler action than our country took in this war. And mind you, I say this as a Republican—but this transcends politics. Don’t you agree with me?”
    â€œI haven’t thought of it in just that way,” Silas said.
    â€œDamn it all, there’s our trouble! We don’t think of things! Our attitude is—leave me alone to mind my own business, to live my own life. Well, that might have been an acceptable attitude in 1890—but it’s a most provoking and unpatriotic attitude in 1950!”
    Silas was trying to think and listen, to remember and relate, to explore his own mind and his own feelings, and to decide exactly how much of his own thinking it would be wise to express here and now. The fact of the matter was that he was not called upon for expression of opinion. What Lundfest thought was Lundfest’s affair. A man had the right to think as he pleased. For himself, he had thought very little concerning this war, and now he realized that this very lack of thought and judgment was in itself a conscious act. He did not want to think about the war. In that, Lundfest was absolutely right. He wanted to be left alone—with his work, his wife, and his three children. He had done his years of service; he had seen one war through, and now he was past forty and beyond any