



Produced by David Widger






A THOUGHTLESS YES

By Helen H. Gardener

Author Of

"Men, Women, and Gods;" "Sex in Brain;" "Pulpit, Pew, and Cradle;" "Is
this Your Son, my Lord?" "Pushed by Unseen Hands," "Pray you, Sir, whose
Daughter?" "An Unofficial Patriot," and "Facts and Fictions of Life."

Tenth Edition.

Copyright, 1890,




Dedication.

To the many strangers who, after reading such of these stories as have
before been printed, have written me letters that were thoughtful or gay
or sad, I dedicate this volume.

These letters have come from far and near; from rich and from poor; from
Christian and from unbeliever; from a bishop's palace and from behind
prison walls.

If this collection of stories shall give to my friends, known and
unknown, as much pleasure and mental stimulus as their letters gave to
me, I shall be content.

HELEN H. GARDENER.


CONTENTS

A Splendid Judge of a Woman

The Lady of the Club

Under Protest

For the Prosecution

A Rusty Link in the Chain

The Boler House Mystery

The Time-lock of Our Ancestors

Florence Campbell's Fate

My Patient's Story




PREFACE TO THE EIGHTH EDITION.

In issuing a new edition of this book, it has been thought wise to state
that an unauthorized edition is now on the market, and it is desirable
that the public shall know that all copies of this book not bearing the
imprint of the Commonwealth Company are sold against the will and in
violation of the rights of the author.

Since some persons have been puzzled to make the connection between
the title of the book and the stories themselves, and to apply Colonel
Ingersoll's exquisite autograph sentiment more clearly, a part of "An
Open Letter," which was written in reply to an editorial review of the
book when it first appeared, is here reprinted, in the hope that it may
remove the difficulty for all.




AN OPEN LETTER.

I have, this morning, read your review of "A Thoughtless Yes." I wish
to thank you for the pleasant things said and also to make the
connection--which I am surprised to see did not present itself to your
mind--between the title and the burden of the stories or sketches.

It is not so easy as you may suppose to get a title which shall be
exactly and fully descriptive of a collection of tales or sketches,
each one of which was written to suggest thoughts and questions on some
particular topic or topics to which people usually pay the tribute of a
thoughtless yes. With one--possibly two--exceptions each sketch means to
suggest to the reader that there may be a very large question mark put
after many of the social, religious, economic, medical, journalistic, or
legal fiats of the present civilization.

You say that "in 'The Lady of the Club' she [meaning me] does not show
how poverty results from a thoughtless yes. Perhaps she does not see
that it does." I had in my mind exactly that point when I wrote the
story and when I decided upon the title for the book. No, I do not
attempt in such sketches to show _how_, but to show _that_, such and
such conditions exist and that it is wrong. I want to suggest a question
of the justice and the right of several things; but I want to leave each
person free to think out, not my conclusion or remedy, but a conclusion
and a remedy, and at all events to make him refuse, henceforth, the
thoughtless yes of timid acquiescence to things as they are simply
because they are. In the "Lady of the Club" I meant to attack the
impudent authority that makes such a condition of poverty possible,
by calling sympathetic attention to its workings. There are one or two
other ideas sustained by authority, to which, to the readers of that
tale, I wished to make a thoughtless yes henceforth impossible. At least
I hoped to arouse a question. One is taxation of church property. I
wished to point out that by shirking their honest debts churches heap
still farther poverty and burden upon the poor. I hoped, too, to
suggest that the idea of "charity," to which most people give a warmly
thoughtless yes, must be an indignity or impossibility where, even they
would say, it was most needed. I wanted to call attention to the fact
that a physician and a man of tender heart and lofty soul were compelled
to make themselves criminals, before the law, to even be kind to the
dead. That conditions are so savage under the present system that such a
case is absolutely hopeless while the victims live and outrageous after
they are dead. To all of these dictates of impudent authority, to which
most story readers pay the tribute of a thoughtless yes, I wanted to
call attention in such a way that henceforth a question must arise in
their minds. I hoped to show, too, that even so lofty a character
as Roland Barker was tied hand and foot--until it made him almost a
madman--by a system of economics and religion and law which so interlace
as to sustain each other and combine to not only crush the poor but to
prevent the rich from helping along even where they desire to do so.

These were the main points upon which that particular tale was intended
to arouse a mental attitude of thoughtful protest There are other, minor
ones, which I need not trouble you to recall. If you will notice, nearly
all of the tales end (or stop without an end) with an open question for
the reader to settle--to settle his way, not mine. Indeed, I am not yet
convinced that my own ideas of the changes needed and the way to bring
them about are infallible. I am still open to conviction. I have tried
to grasp the Socialist, Communist, Anarchist, Single-tax, Free-land, and
other ideas and to comprehend just what each could be fairly expected
to accomplish if established--to see the _pros_ and _cons_ of these
and other schemes for social improvement. These, and the varying cults
ranged between, each seems to me to have certain strong points and
certain weak ones. Each seems to me to overlook some essential feature;
and yet I have no system to offer that I think would be better or would
work better than some of these. Indeed, I do most earnestly believe that
_the_ inspired way is yet to be struck out, and I do not believe that
I am the one to do it Meanwhile I can do some things. I can suggest
questions, and, sometimes, answers. But I am not a god, and I do not
want all people to answer my way. I do want to help prevent, now and
henceforth, the tribute of a thoughtless yes from being given to a good
many established wrongs.

Since such able thinkers as you are have--in the main--already refused
such tribute, I am perfectly satisfied to let each of these answer the
questions I have suggested or may suggest in my fiction in the way that
seems most hopeful to him.

Meantime, the vast majority of story readers have not yet had their
emotions touched by the dramatic presentation of "the other side."
Fiction has--in the main--worked to make them accept without question
all things as authority has presented them. Who knows but that a lofty
discontent may be stirred in some soul who can solve the awful problems
and at the same time reconcile the various cults of warring philosophers
so that they may combine for humanity and cease to divide for
revenue--or personal pique? I do not believe that the province of a
story is to assume to give the solution of philosophical questions that
have puzzled and proved too much for the best and ablest brains. I have
no doubt that fiction may stir and arouse to thought many who cannot
understand and will not heed essays or argument or preaching, while
it may also present the same thoughts in a new light to those who do.
Personally I do not believe in tacking on to fiction a "moral" or an
"in conclusion" which shall switch all such aroused thoughts into one
channel. Clear thinking and right feeling may lead some one, who is new
to such protest, to solutions that I have not reached. So let us each
question "impudent authority," whether it be in its stupid blindness to
heredity or to environment; and I shall be content that you solve the
new order by an appeal to Anarchism _via_ free land; or that Matilda
Joslyn Gage solve it by the ballot for women and hereditary freedom from
slavish instincts stamped upon a race bom of superstitious and subject
mothers.

Personally I do not believe that all the free land, free money or
freedom in the world, which shall leave the mothers of the race (whether
in or out of marriage) a subject class or in a position to transmit to
their children the vices or weaknesses of a dominated dependent, will
ever succeed in populating the world with self-reliant, self-respecting,
honorable and capable people.

On the other hand, I do not see how the ballot in the hands of woman
will do for her all that many believe it will. That it is her right
and would go far is clear; but after that, your question of economics
touches her in a way that it does not and cannot touch men, and I am
free to confess that as yet I have heard of no economic or social plan
that would not of necessity, in my opinion, bear heaviest upon those who
are mothers. So you will see that when I suggested the desirability in
"For the Prosecution" of having mothers on the bench and as jurors where
a case touched points no man living does or can understand in all its
phases, I do not think that would right all the wrong nor solve all the
questions suggested by such a trial; but I thought it would help push
the car of right and justice in the direction of light which we all hope
is ahead.

You believe more in environment than in heredity; I believe in both, and
that both are sadly and awfully awry, largely because too many people
in too many ways pay to impudent authority the tribute of a thoughtless
yes.

It is one of the saddest things in this world to see the brave and
earnest men who fight so nobly for better and fairer economic conditions
for "Labor," pay, much too often, the tribute of a thoughtless yes to
the absolute pauper status of all womanhood They resent with spirit
the idea that men should labor for a mere subsistence and always be
dependent upon and at the financial mercy of the rich. They do not
appear to see that to one-half of the race even that much economic
independence would be a tremendous improvement upon her present status.
How would Singletax or Free-land help this? You may reply that Anarchism
would solve that problem. Would it? With maternity and physical
disabilities in the scale? To my mind, all the various economic schemes
yet put forward lack an essential feature. They provide for a free
and better manhood, but they pay the tribute of a thoughtless yes to
impudent authority in the case of womanhood, in many things. And so long
as motherhood is serfhood, just so long will this world be populated
with a race easy to subjugate, weak to resist oppression, criminal
in its instincts of cruelty toward those in its power, and humble and
subservient toward authority and domination. Character rises but little
above its source. The mother molds the man. If she have the status, the
instincts, and the spirit of a subordinate, she will transmit these,
and the more enlightened she is the surer is this, because of her
consciousness of her own degradation.

Look at the Kemmler horror. People all marvel at his "brutish nature
and his desire to kill." No one says anything about the fact, which was
merely mentioned at his trial, that his "father was a butcher and his
mother helped in the business." Did you know that this is also true of
Jesse Pomeroy; the boy who "from infancy tortured animals and killed
whatever he could?"

Would all this sort of thing mean absolutely nothing to women of the
same social and scientific status enjoyed by the men who assisted at the
trials of these two and at the legal murder of one? In ordinary women,
of course, it would not stir very deep thought But these were not
ordinary men. They were far more than that, Almost all the women who
have spoken or written to me of the Kemmler horror have touched that
thought Have you heard a man discuss it? Is there a reason for this? Do
we pay the tribute of a thoughtless yes to all that clusters about the
present ideas on such subjects and about their criminal medicolegal
aspects? But this letter grows too long.

With great respect and hearty good wishes,

I am sincerely,

Helen H. Gardener.




A SPLENDID JUDGE OF A WOMAN.

_"We look at the one little woman's face we lovey as we look at the
face of our mother earth, and see all sorts of answers to our own
yearnings."_--George Eliot.


"But after all it is not fair to blame her as you do, Cuthbert. She is
what she must be. It is not at all strange. Midge--"

"I am quite out of patience with you, Nora;" exclaimed Cuthbert Wagner,
vehemently. "How can you excuse her? Midge, as you call her, has been no
friend to you. She was deceitful and designing all along. She even tried
in every way she could think of to undermine you in _my_ affections!" He
tossed his head contemptuously and strode to the window where he stood
glaring out into the moonlight in fierce and indignant protest. His wife
had so often spoken well of Margaret Mintem. She did not appear to hold
the least resentment toward the school-friend of her past years, while
Cuthbert could see nothing whatever that was good or deserving of
praise in the character of the young lady in question. He was bitterly
resentful because Margaret Mintem had spoken ill of his wife while she
was only his betrothed, and Cuthbert Wagner did not forgive easily.

Nora crossed the room with her swift, graceful tread, and the sweep of
her lace gown over the thick rug had not reached her husband's ear as he
stood thumping on the window pane. He started a little, therefore, when
a soft hand was laid upon his arm and a softer face pressed itself close
to his shoulder.

"It is very sweet of you, dear," she said in her low, gentle voice,
"It is very sweet of you to feel so keenly any thrust made at me; but
darling, you are unfair to Midge, poor girl! My heart used often to
bleed for her. It must be terribly hard for her to fight her own nature,
as she does,--as she _must_,--and lose the battle so often after all."

"Fight fiddle-sticks!" said Cuthbert, and then went on grumbling in
inarticulate sounds, at which his wife laughed out merrily.

"Oh, boo, boo, boo," she said, pretending to imitate his unuttered
words.

"I don't believe a word of it. _I know Margaret Mintern_. Did I not
room with her for three long years? And do I not know that she is a good
girl, and a very noble one, too, in spite of her little weakness of envy
or jealousy?

"She can't help that. I am sure she must be terribly humiliated by it.
Indeed, indeed, dear, I know that she is; but she cannot master it. It
is a part of her. I do not know whether she was bom with it or not; but
I do know that all of her life since she was a very little girl she has
been so situated that just that particular defect in her character is
the inevitable result. Don't you believe, Cuthbert, that all such things
are natural productions? Why, dearie, it seems to me that you might as
reasonably feel angry with me because my hair is brown as toward Midge
because her envy sometimes overbears her better qualities. The real
fault lies--"

"O Nora, suppose you take the stump! Lecture on 'Whatever is is right,'
and have done with it."

"Aha, my dear," laughed his wife, "I have caught you napping again. I do
not say that it is right; but I do say that it is natural for Margaret
to be just what she is. That is just the point people always overlook,
it seems to me. Nature is wrong about half of the time--even inanimate
nature. Just look over there! See those splendid mountains and the
lovely little valley all touched with moonlight; but, oh, how the
eye longs for water! A lake, a splendid river, the ocean in the
distance--something that is water--_anything_ that is water! But no, it
is valley and mountain and mountain and valley, until the most beautiful
spot in the world, when first you see it, grows hateful and tiresome and
lacking in the most important feature."

Cuthbert laughed. "A lake would look well just over there by McGuire's
barn, now, wouldn't it? And, come to think of it, how a few mountains
would improve things over at Newport or Long Beach." He stopped to thump
a bug from his wife's shoulder.

"How pretty you look in that black lace, little woman. I don't believe
nature needed any improver once in her life anyhow--when she made you."

Nora smiled. A pleased, gratified little dimple made itself visible at
one corner of her mouth. Her husband stooped over and kissed it lightly,
just as the portiere was drawn aside and a guest announced by James, the
immaculate butler.

"We've just been having a quarrel, Bailey," said Mr. Wagner, as he
advanced to greet the visitor, "and now I mean to leave it to you if--"

"Yes," drawled Mr. Bailey, "I noticed that as I came in. You were just
punctuating your quarrel as James drew back the portiere. That is the
reason I coughed so violently as I stepped inside. Don't be alarmed
about my health. It isn't consumption. It is only assumption, I do
assure you. I assumed that you assumed that you were alone--that there
wasn't an interested spectator; but, great Scott! Bert, I don't blame
you, so don't apologize;" and with a low bow of admiration to his
friend's wife, he joined in the laugh.

"But what was the row? I'm consumed to hear it," he added, as they were
seated. "I should be charmed to umpire the matter--so long as it ended
that way. Now, go on; but I want to give you fair warning, old man, that
I am on Mrs. Wagner's side to start with, so you fire off your biggest
guns and don't attempt to roll any twisted balls."

"_Curved_ balls," laughed Nora, "not twisted; and it seems to me you
mixed your games just a wee bit. There isn't any game with guns and
balls both, is there?"

"Oh, yes, yes indeed," replied Mr. Bailey, promptly. "The old, old game
in which there is brought to bear a battery of eyes."

"Oh, don't," said Cuthbert. "I am not equal to it! But after all, I
can't see that you are well out of this, Ned. Where do the balls come
in?"

"What have you against eyeballs that roll in a fine frenzy when a
battery of handsome eyes is trained upon a bashful fellow like me?" he
asked quite gravely, and then all three laughed and Cuthbert pretended
to faint.

"I shall really have to protest, myself, if you go any farther, Mr.
Bailey," said Nora.

"You are getting into deep water, and if you are to be on my side in the
coming contest, I want you to have a cool head and--"

"A clean heart;" put in Cuthbert.

"Mrs. Wagner never asks for impossibilities, I am sure," said Mr.
Bailey, dryly.

"But she does. That is just it. She wants to make me believe that a girl
who traduced her and acted like a little fiend generally, is an adorable
creature--a natural production which couldn't help itself--had to behave
that way. We--"

"I believe I started in by saying that I should be on your side, Mrs.
Wagner," said their guest, assuming a judicial attitude and bracing
himself behind an imaginary pile of accumulated evidence, "but I'm
beginning to wobble already. If Bert makes another home run like that, I
warn you, madam, that while I shall endeavor to be a fair and impartial
judge, I shall decide against you."

Nora's eyes had a twinkle in their depths for an instant, but her face
had grown grave.

"Wait. Let me tell you." she said. "Even Cuthbert does not know just
how it was--what went to make my old school-friend