Labor!

ACCIDENT -- Arnold Bennett -- Doubleday, Doran ($2.50).

The Story. Tie and socks meticulously matched, shirt and kerchief lovingly harmonized, Frith-Walter basked in his own well-grooming, beamed upon Miss Office smartly busy over his smart luggage. For she was the ultimate in secretaries; as was Elaine in charming wives, Jack in creditable sons, Pearl in chic, sophisticated daughters-in-law. Business was good, a holiday was in order, the most luxurious of trains snorted impatiently to carry Frith-Walter to the Riviera. He was healthy, he was wealthy, he was witty and wise; all was well with his world. "The earth lies all before me"--he had liked that line of Wordsworth, so he boarded the train with The Prelude in his pocket, and anticipated mellow pleasure in the reading.

But there were distractions: some young moderns noisily ordering drinks; an old "hag-beauty" was noisily bullying her husband; and between them ran the rumor of a typical French railway accident up the line. Alan Frith-Walter's benignity was therefore disturbed--only to be completely upheaved at the sight of Pearl. Why was she on the Rome express, why had he not known of her trip, why was his son not with her? Conjugal difficulties? Scandal in the Frith-Walter family?

With perfect imperturbability Pearl assured him of the worst. Jack, scion of the aristocratic family Frith-Walter, was standing for Parliament--as Labor candidate. Alan was quite as shocked as Pearl. But she wasn't leaving Jack? Certainly. Divorce? Certainly. Vanished Alan's benignity, Wordsworth's philosophy.

At Aix the benighted Jack boarded the train, having flown in hot pursuit of his runaway wife. Hugely flattered, she remembered to be cross with him; pitched promptly into the political battle, and continued hostilities through and in spite of another of those French railway accidents. Her father-in-law, emerging from a long faint, marveled that she should so tenderly minister to his wounds, the while brutally warring with his son. This modern generation--impossible that they should one moment barely escape death, and the next moment resume their petty quarrel. Had they no nerves, no emotions?

Evidently they had. The next morning Jack from one Genoa hotel to Pearl in another Genoa hotel despatched a note. Therein he renounced his political ambitions. Instantly Pearl from one Genoa hotel rushed to Jack in another Genoa hotel. Frith-Walter congratulated her on influencing her husband to renounce Labor, secretly regretted that his son should abandon political ideals--indecent though they were&#!51;out of mere passion for a woman. But Pearl cast herself upon Jack, swore it should never be said he had given up his political career for a woman, announced that they were immediately returning to England to stand for Parliament--Labor.

The Significance. Quite as shrewd as this authentic bit of feminine psychology is Author Bennett's choice of scene--a train, exclusive microcosm. Cut off from the rest of their world, Pearl and her father-in-law are so engrossed in their small tragedy that the cumulative suspense culminates in considerable climax at the Genoa hotel--considerable for so slight a situation. A far cry from his greater novels (The Old Wives' Tale, Clayhanger), Mr. Bennett's Accident reads with the mellow pleasantness his Frith-Walter anticipated. And as always, his minor characters are unforgettable--the "hag-beauty"; Miss Office; the night porter in chocolate brown.

The Author. Enoch Arnold Bennett had no adolescent longings to "write," but blundered upon his talent in a twenty guinea prize competition. At 31 he published a first novel, which profited him, over and above cost of typing, enough to buy a new hat. At nearly twice 31 his various novels and essays profit him many a silk hat, immaculate white tie, and bulbous white vest. He lives sumptuously in London, patronizes young authors, delights more than a few with his cherished approval. One of them (William Gerhardi) recently essayed to immortalize Bennett's and Beaverbrook's twin cigars, glowing as Castor and Pollux from the heavens. He and the late Bonar Law were the only two men Beaverbrook has known who would not tell a lie.