Full Download Introduction to Transients in Electrical Circuits: Analytical and Digital Solution Using an EMTP-based Software (Power Systems) José Carlos Goulart De Siqueira PDF DOCX
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Power Systems
Introduction
to Transients
in Electrical
Circuits
Analytical and Digital Solution Using an
EMTP-based Software
Power Systems
Electrical power has been the technological foundation of industrial societies for
many years. Although the systems designed to provide and apply electrical energy
have reached a high degree of maturity, unforeseen problems are constantly
encountered, necessitating the design of more efficient and reliable systems based
on novel technologies. The book series Power Systems is aimed at providing
detailed, accurate and sound technical information about these new developments in
electrical power engineering. It includes topics on power generation, storage and
transmission as well as electrical machines. The monographs and advanced
textbooks in this series address researchers, lecturers, industrial engineers and
senior students in electrical engineering.
**Power Systems is indexed in Scopus**
Introduction to Transients
in Electrical Circuits
Analytical and Digital Solution Using
an EMTP-based Software
123
José Carlos Goulart de Siqueira Benedito Donizeti Bonatto
Institute of Electrical Systems and Energy Institute of Electrical Systems and Energy
Federal University of Itajubá Federal University of Itajubá
Itajubá, Brazil Itajubá, Brazil
This Springer imprint is published by the registered company Springer Nature Switzerland AG
The registered company address is: Gewerbestrasse 11, 6330 Cham, Switzerland
Preface
v
vi Preface
The teacher and the apprentice are encouraged to use modern computational
tools used in the electrical power industry for the calculation of electromagnetic
transients, but are warned about their limitations and modelling constraints. This
integrates the “know-how” and “know why” necessary for the safe analysis of
simulated results. The teacher can direct students in solving specific problems in the
textbook or even propose that students present real day-to-day problems for solu-
tion, as the introductory methodology for modelling and calculation of digital and
analytical solution of circuit transients in electrical systems are fully presented in
the textbook. Technical–scientific articles should be consulted, as well as textbooks
for more advanced studies on transients in electrical power systems can be con-
sulted, depending on the interest and need of the problem to be solved.
It is important to clarify that the motivation and intent primacy of the main
author, Prof. José Carlos Goulart de Siqueira, are to leave a legacy to the teachers
and students of UNIFEI, where he magistrate with excellence for decades, having
been the first rector of UNIFEI-Federal University of Itajubá, which has been
completed, on November 23rd 2020, 107 years of history of contributions to higher
education in Brazil.
We think that the book is intended for engineering students who already have
been successfully approved in introductory circuit analysis, calculus and ordinary
differential equations courses. Our experience as educators is that, when it comes to
truly understand and apply the mathematical knowledge in electrical circuits tran-
sients, the majority of students have much more difficulties. Therefore, this book
supplies, in an integrated way, all the necessary knowledge and practice through
extensive examples.
This book is organized as follows: Chap. 1 presents an introduction to transients in
electrical circuits with a discussion about fundamentals of circuit analysis, physical
phenomena and the need for mathematical modelling and simulation. The student is
encouraged from the beginning to become familiar with Appendix A—processing at
the ATP. Chapter 2 presents singular functions for the analytical solution, and
Appendix B shows the main relations involving singular functions. Chapter 3 pre-
sents the solution of differential equations. It emphasizes the solution using the
classical method in the time domain. For the operational method in the complex
frequency domain using the Laplace transform, Appendix C—Laplace transform
properties, Appendix D—Laplace transform pairs and Appendix E—Heaviside
expansion theorem can be helpful.
Chapter 4 presents the digital solution of transients in basic electrical circuits.
The fundamental algorithm of EMTP-based program is introduced, and the problem
of numerical oscillations due to the trapezoidal method is briefly discussed. Chapter
5 presents transients in first-order circuits. Extensive number of examples are
provided with their analytical and digital solution using the ATPDraw. Chapter 6
Preface vii
presents transients in circuits of any order, exploring the solution methods con-
solidated so far. Finally, Chap. 7 introduces switching transients using the injection
of sources method. All chapters provide useful references to enhance the learning
process, as well as to instigate further investigation about advanced topics. Enjoy it!
Acknowledgments We would like to express our gratitude to many people who have helped to
bring this book project to its conclusion. We deeply thank all members of our families, friends
(Antonio Eduardo Hermeto…), colleagues who by listening and encouraging have provided the
fundamental support and personal care. We give a special thanks to Alexa Bonelli Bonatto and
Aline Bonelli Bonatto for their work in the initial translation and editing. Professional editing was
provided by Springer’s team to whom we are deeply gratefull. Finally, we thank many students
who were challenged in their studies during their courses at UNIFEI by the many proposed
problems.
Contents
ix
x Contents
xiii
xiv List of Figures
T HE Journal was making money. It was February and the hopes based on
the election had already been fulfilled. Circulation had increased and
with it had come modest advertisers. Two extra rooms across the hall,
one boldly labelled Circulation Department and one Advertising, were in
charge of efficient looking young men, and the original editorial rooms
were crowded by desks for two new reporters. Bob Brotherton talked
boastingly of soon doing their own printing, and though The Journal was
still an undersized little sheet, comparing queerly in size with the other
dailies, its editorials were more often quoted in other cities than were those
of other local papers.
Langley was trying his skill as a writer to its utmost in those editorials.
There were no serious political issues in the city and he turned his comment
with a great pleasure to national affairs and the larger political and
industrial situation. What he said, being actuated by no partisanship, was
really the product of deep thought and experience and keen and true. Men
began to read his comments and finding good thinking and conclusive
evidence kept on reading them. At first they did it warily, expecting at any
moment to be plunged into Bolshevism, but though Langley refused to fear
that current bogie he recognized it in such a way that the potency and sting
went out of it. He began to reassure his public by the method of assuring
them that issues were not too terrible to be faced. There was a new note in
his writing which took him out of the rank of merely caviling radical and
put him with the constructionists.
Horatia thrilled at the new vigor in the paper. They regarded her as a
mascot in the office. With her luck had come, as Bob said, and the old
reporters and the new competed for chances to help her and to do things for
her. Unless Langley was with her, when they withdrew before her
absorption in him.
They had not announced an engagement, although the office force saw
that the chief was as devoted to Horatia as they were, and perhaps drew its
own conclusions. But Jim and Horatia gave them nothing definite to go
upon. That decision had been reached after Maud and Langley had met and
Maud with instinctive wisdom had pressed home to him Horatia’s youth
and inexperience and impetuosity.
“I’m sure that you might be very happy,” said Maud, trying to be tactful.
“But surely she can wait a little. Till she knows her own mind. It’s for life.”
Maud looked sweetly sentimental. “You tell her how unwise it is to rush
into such serious matters, Mr. Langley.”
Poor Langley saw through Maud perfectly, in spite of all her sweetness.
But he had to admit that Maud had a case. He smoked a perfunctory cigar
with Harvey and went home. Maud became much more sympathetic with
Horatia after that visit. Her own antagonism to Langley personally had
vanished or been metamorphosed into excitement at her daring in braving
such a very irregular, fine-looking and interesting person as Jim. She had
lost all animosity at the end of his call and Horatia, who had consented to
bring Langley there only after much begging from Maud, had great fun in
seeing her sister thaw and finally in watching Langley try to avoid Maud’s
persistent invitations. But she had even more amusement when her sister
heard that Mrs. Hubbell had reappeared in the city. She broke the news to
Horatia with a great air of imparting necessary scandal and was completely
filled with horror when Horatia confessed not only to previous knowledge
of Maud’s information but also to an acquaintanceship with Mrs. Hubbell.
She offered to take Maud to call but Maud was at the point where she
could bear no more shocking.
“It’s dreadful and dangerous,” she told Horatia. “I’m sure I don’t know
what you’re getting into. What does the creature look like?”
Horatia told her with some enthusiasm. She had somehow come to see a
good deal of Rose Hubbell. It was not that she particularly wanted to and
Langley had once or twice rather gravely protested. But there was a
timeliness, a psychological correctness about Mrs. Hubbell’s invitations that
made them very hard to refuse. She destroyed your alibis, too, before she
asked you to do something. And then it was good fun for Horatia and really
did provide varied amusement for her. Mrs. Hubbell’s settled occupation
was having a good time and being modern. Like so many other women she
had preëmpted the right to call her kind of living perfectly modern. Grace
did the same thing—Horatia did the same thing. And each of them was
using the phrase modernism to express satisfaction with the plan of her own
existence. Mrs. Hubbell so justified her deviations from the paths orderly
people travel, Grace for the same reason as well as to excuse her fashion of
intellectualizing all enthusiasms and apparently all emotions out of her life,
and Horatia to define the spirit of adventure and desire to explore the depths
of life which animated her. Each of them had a different mold which she
called modernism and each of them poured her actions into her own mold,
delighted to see that they hardened into the shape of the vessel.
Horatia was less conscious than the other two. She was trying their
ways, learning their precepts of life and ways of living. She liked things
about each of them—Grace’s absorption in her work and Mrs. Hubbell’s
more decorative social skill. Mrs. Hubbell knew how to arrange, start off
and keep up a dinner party, and she danced with amazing grace and beauty.
Horatia danced too, of course, vigorously, healthily, accurately—but the
dancing of Rose Hubbell was a gift. “She is not a partner but an
inspiration,” said one of the enthusiasts, and Horatia agreed. She guided a
bad partner and brought out the best in a mediocre one, but with Jim
Langley she moved as if they were strung to one rhythm. There were many
opportunities for Horatia to see them together. Mrs. Hubbell arranged
parties at country inns and hotels, at all kinds of public places which
Horatia had never dreamed of attending, and which she had always
regarded as somewhat dubious. But she found them, on the surface at least,
innocuous enough places where people spent an enormous amount for
eating and drinking, and committed many sins of gluttony and bad taste, but
no other serious ones. They danced unpleasantly sometimes and they might
be noisy, but on the whole they were passable people, as full of the lesser
virtues as were Maud’s friends. They had a fascination about them, too.
They were an unanchored lot, with no regularity even in their social
intercourse. Extremely well-dressed, often beautiful, the women gave no
impression of having antecedents or backgrounds. They emerged from
obscurity into the dazzling glare of a hotel ballroom. They were seemingly
respectable, extravagant, careless, picking at the surface of life and to some
extent they typified a phase of the era—its brilliant, shop-window phase.
Maud’s friends were residents and taxpayers. They had a proper scorn of
the transient and held aloof. Yet, to a certain extent, they dovetailed with the
other group. The men of Maud’s group were to be seen in hotels as well as
at private dinner parties, mostly without their wives in the hotels, if they
were married. And once Horatia saw Anthony Wentworth at the Orient.
He was with a party of men and girls at the next table. The party had
come in late and Horatia had not seen Anthony until she was conscious of
his bow. Then she remembered who he was and as she smiled at him she
had a feeling of meeting someone of her own kind;—a sudden thought and
one she indignantly refused to harbor, as, blaming him as if he had
suggested it, she turned from her smile to him to plunge into conversation
with a thin little man who was at her right—a thin, awkward, rich little man.
The little man danced badly. It irritated Horatia to feel ashamed of him in
front of Wentworth, but she hoped that Anthony knew enough about
dancing to realize that it was not her fault that she looked absurd. Why did
the little man jump about so? She pressed her hand on his shoulder to
steady him and then jumped away in disgust as she felt her hand squeezed
in misunderstanding. They bumped into another couple and stopped. It was
Anthony. He smiled and stopped too.
The girl with whom he was dancing was of Horatia’s kind too.
“So you do play sometimes, Miss Grant?” asked Wentworth.
“Of course.”
His partner put her hand on Anthony’s arm, acknowledging a hurried
introduction to Horatia.
“Weird place, isn’t it?” she said. “Here, Anthony, we’re holding up
traffic. We’d all better be moving.”
He put a deft arm about the girl’s shoulders, glancing back at Horatia.
“May I have the next fox-trot?”
Horatia nodded and steered her little man away in a series of contortions
to that oasis of safety—their table.
“Tired—already?” he inquired fatuously.
She sat surveying the members of her group as they came back to the
table and was struck by the fact that the women looked very stupid. And the
men. The men were “out for a good time,” and that meant an individual
reason in each case.
Langley was drawing out Rose Hubbell’s chair. She was wearing a black
dinner-dress that fitted her suppleness like a glove and her long black
earrings set off that perfect paleness and blondness. Horatia felt that she
was the redeeming feature of the party. But she didn’t like Jim’s closeness
to Rose. She didn’t like the way he was arranging the scarf about her
shoulders. She reminded herself that Jim had begged her not to come
tonight but to spend the evening alone with him and that she herself had
insisted that they had no right to spoil Mrs. Hubbell’s party after they half
agreed to come. Perhaps, after all, this had allured her—this glare and noise
and excitement.
“You’re so solemn, Horatia dear.”
Mrs. Hubbell had slipped into the use of her Christian name, a slip that
once made it was impossible to correct.
“Am I?”
“You looked like a fifteenth century saint—a Renaissance saint frowning
on worldliness, but secretly indulging in it.”
Jim’s glance was on Horatia too. She turned the conversation a little
impatiently and Anthony Wentworth came to claim his dance and be
extravagantly greeted by those at the table who knew him, except Langley.
They swept into the dance and silences. It was not until the encore that
they spoke. He danced simply and easily and Horatia followed him well,
although it was her first dance with him.
“So this is what you do for amusement.”
“Sometimes,” she answered, “and sometimes it really is amusing. Not
tonight. Tonight the enchantment has vanished. I see only an overlighted
room with horrible garish decorations and a lot of noisy women, too many
of whom are fat.”
He chuckled.
“I did want to see you again. And I did my best to work it. But short of
making myself a public nuisance I couldn’t get a glimpse.”
“I didn’t know you were staying in the city.”
“I’m spending the winter with my sister. The family is gone—by family,
I mean mother and father—gone South—and I live partly at home in the
empty house and partly at my sister’s, playing with her children.”
The music stopped definitely, deaf to the entreaties of clapping hands.
“Can I take you for a ride one of these days? I suggest that because you
said you’d like it.”
“I can’t tell when I can get off.”
“Let me telephone and re-telephone—this proves that you get off
sometimes.”
She liked his half-laughing persistence.
“I’d like to ride with you in that car of yours,” she told him.
He smiled down at her in healthy young friendliness and suddenly the
people to whom she was returning seemed very unreal and pretentious. He
did not ask any of the others for dances but went back to his table.
“You made a very handsome couple,” said Rose Hubbell, sweetly.
“Didn’t they, Jim?”
Langley looked tired. He said merely that it was Horatia’s dance with
him. As before, they danced without a word.
“You were a handsome couple,” he said at last.
“Please don’t be silly, Jim.”
“I’m such an old man and such an ass, my dear. He is a nice boy and you
must play with him a lot.”
“I’d sooner work with you.”
“Let’s not go back to the table. Let’s collect our coats and get out.”
He waltzed her to the door and they went home. Such petty informalities
“went” with the Hubbell crowd. It was considered bad form in that milieu to
be too conventional. Modern people went and came as they pleased. That
was the idea. But Horatia had a vague feeling that, none the less, Mrs.
Hubbell might not approve of their going.
M AUD heard about that ride with much satisfaction. Her respect for her
sister was going up by leaps and bounds. To be clever enough to land
a man with a past that was frightening as well as a young and wealthy
hero was a genuine achievement worthy of record. Secretly Maud dreamed
of a life to be a continual flirtation, and to hint at these romantic things
deftly as part of Horatia’s doings made a very interesting topic. She sighed
and said:
“It’s all very easy to decide what you ought to do in abstract cases, but
when one’s own young sister is involved!”
How Horatia would have writhed if she had heard those conversations!
If she had guessed how Maud made her a girl whose allure was irresistible
—whose danger to men was terrific, and yet who was so innocent and
unsophisticated herself that the very streetcars held danger. But she did not
guess. Nor did she dream that it was Maud who took pains to inform
Anthony Wentworth about Langley. Maud wanted to be connected with the
Wentworths and she did not intend to have the Langley affair scare Anthony
off. So, meeting him at a dance, she rallied him gaily.
“What did you do to my young sister?”
Anthony asked her for a dance, paying off his dinner debt and also
thinking he would like to know the reason for her remark. They sat it out.
“What did I do to your sister? You tell me. I didn’t think she knew I was
alive.”
“Oh, yes, she very much knows it. She doesn’t say much—Horatia never
does—but she certainly did enjoy that ride with you.” Horatia had not
mentioned it to Maud, but Maud was sinning for the greater cause.
“And I’m glad she has a wholesome man friend. I don’t know if you
know——”
Anthony expressed total ignorance.
“Well—you know Jim Langley.”
“Oh, yes.”
“He’s a fascinating sort of person, you know. And Horatia has seen far
too much of him. She went to work on that paper just out of devilment.”
That didn’t tally with what Horatia had told Anthony about her work.
“Well—she thinks she’s in love with him and he—is certainly in love
with her. Of course, she’s young and beautiful—any man would. But Jim
Langley isn’t the sort of person one would pick out for a husband for one’s
sister, of course. There are things we’ve all heard——”
“I like Jim very much, myself,” said Anthony, surprisingly.
Maud drew in her horns.
“Why, we all do—he’s wonderfully fascinating. But he’s so much older
than Horatia, and then I myself never would be sure of the stability of such
a man’s affection. And Horatia is so wonderful. I’m sure I don’t know why
I’ve told you all this.” Which both of them knew was another falsehood.
Anthony went away leaving Maud with a feeling that he understood her
better than was comfortable to know. She might have guessed that he had
not been a sought-after young man for years without growing pretty astute.
At his club he met an old acquaintance and after a few moments’
conversation asked him,
“What about Jim Langley? How’s he coming on?”
“Oh, he’s a queer fish. Doing rather better lately. They tied the can to
him socially when he got involved in that Hubbell scandal.
“Mrs. Hubbell’s back, isn’t she?”
The man nodded. “And charming as ever in her mourning clothes. She
says, I believe, that her great sorrow is not that her husband died but that he
died insane—because otherwise she can not explain his suing for divorce
and his suicide. She says, ‘Poor Jack. He must have been quite insane!’
very touchingly. She gets away with it.
“Langley still in her train?”
“Trust her. I suppose so. But Langley’s all right. He’s been doing
damned good writing lately. Now if he could get a job on a newspaper
somewhere else, I believe he’d go far. Here, of course, he got off with the
wrong foot.”
“Must be thirty-five or six—1904, wasn’t he at the University?”
“Yes—about that. Well, that’s not too late for a man to begin to make
real headway. If he married the right woman. It’s marriage these queer
ducks need, you know.”
Wentworth agreed.
“Still, he’s hardly the right man for a young girl and——”
“No—not a match for youth and innocence—not Jim Langley. However,
that’s the kind they usually pick.”
Wentworth snapped the conversation off there. Perhaps he had heard
enough. He went home—not to his sister’s house but to the half-closed
house of his father, and sat in his own room before his fire, musing. The fire
made his fine profile unusually handsome. He looked about the room
appreciatively. These were the deep chairs that had welcomed him on
vacations and furloughs—the Remington that his father had given him—his
few books, his pipes and the big windows that almost made up one wall.
“Why should I leave it?” he murmured, and fell to smoking luxuriously.
And so the winter slipped into spring, with Horatia revelling in the work
of the office and in the thrills which shot through her at the mere presence
of Langley; enjoying, too, the friendliness of Anthony Wentworth and the
pleasant things he devised for them to do; enjoying everything all the more
because of the flashes of wonder and fear and depression with which she
was touched sometimes; with Langley working and watching Horatia; with
Maud making plans and buying spring clothes with morbid carefulness;
with Mrs. Hubbell buying clothes too and planning little entertainments and
pressing people to attend them; with the chains which bound them all
together being drawn tighter and tighter, and the web of their drama being
spun on the vast frame of life. Each of them undoubtedly dreamed that the
pattern was different from what it was and each of them must have had a
pattern clearly in mind; while Nature, the scene-painter, began to change
her set and shaking the white burdens from the trees, helped them to bud
again.
With the spring, too, Aunt Caroline and Uncle George came back from
the South, Aunt Caroline laden with little bronze alligators and pictures of
herself picking oranges and Uncle George frankly rejoicing in getting back
and with a tendency to disparage everything Southern. They took Langley
and the news of the engagement, which Horatia felt they should know,
rather more quietly than either of the nieces had expected, but as they
thought about it they realized that these two West Parkians were, after all,
too far out of the world to understand all its ways and meanings. Perhaps if
Aunt Caroline had discussed it at the Ladies’ Guild she might have heard
disturbing things, but since it was a secret and couldn’t be discussed she
formed her opinions on the impression Langley made on her, which was
pleasant enough. He knew how to listen interminably and defer properly
and that was enough for Aunt Caroline. For those hours of listening to her
over a heavy Sunday dinner, Langley was paid by Sunday afternoons with
Horatia, long walks out by the lake through the mists or the winds when
everything evil and unhappy seemed to drop away from him and the world
was all life and energy and Horatia. The tediums of Aunt Caroline were a
very little thing to bear.
Horatia kept her apartment in the city, pleading an unbreakable lease to
her aunt, but she liked to get back to West Park once in a while, just for the
“clean, fresh dullness” of it, she said. She had not yet learned what she was
to learn, that dullness is one of the most beautiful things in the world for an
harassed spirit to come back to, and that dullness is not always stupidity, but
sometimes safety. So she patronized West Park mentally and laughed at
herself for looking forward to Sundays there. It was natural enough that she
should look forward to them as a respite from the existence about her. She
was seeing a great deal of very concentrated life. When a woman shoots a
man, a newspaper office has the real facts of the case very quickly. When a
man suddenly retires from politics and his wife leaves town for a few
months and a fatherless child is reported in the “Birth” columns, the public
may not connect the three events. But often enough the newspaper knows
that there is a link. It knows, too, how so many fortunes are made and it
connects them with queer obscurities. They did not reveal ugliness to
Horatia willingly in that little office, but she saw and heard it because she
was there and could not always be well shielded. Some of the worst of it
never reached her but she saw enough. She began to know that the things
that happened in the world were not based on justice and she saw that pain
can not always be healed and that the wages of sin were sometimes
opulence and public respect. She, who had crusaded out into the world,
loving its beauty and its freshness and yearning for all it had to offer, began
to see that it offered a selection of things which had to be looked over very
carefully.
None of this saddened her, because it had not touched her yet, but it
aroused her pity and her wonder and her scorn. With the assurance of her
age, it never frightened her to see and hear of trouble. These tragedies might
happen to others, but not to her—not to her who had work and love. If she
ever thought of her future she admitted that she would have “her share of
trouble,” but that trouble was so delightfully in the distance as to be merely
a romantic ingredient of life—a spice—and not a thing to be afraid of. But
there began to be a complexity of thoughts back of her clear eyes, where
once there had been only curiosity and eagerness. Day by day it deepened
and day by day she loved her work more. It brought many a chance to do
interesting things—to render little services to all kinds of people. There was
beginning to be an increasing number of women in politics and many of
these came to make use of the “woman on The Journal.” If they came
merely to make use of her they usually departed without accomplishing
anything. Horatia understood them very easily and disconcertingly. It was
very obvious to her who had no axe of her own to grind, that some of these
women had. If they came to ask her advocacy of something decent and
necessary, it was easy to explain and easy to get support. But if they came
to barter or exchange favors, as so many of them did, they went away
empty-handed, simply because they had nothing to give Horatia and
because she desired no favors—or offices—or social advancement.
She made enemies. When Mrs. Perry Hill, president of the City
Symphony Society, came down to The Journal office one day, she came
with an air of concession and as one descended from a pedestal. She
explained her purpose lengthily to Horatia. The City Symphony wanted to
raise a hundred thousand dollars to put up a musical studio building as a
memorial for soldiers and sailors who had been killed during the war. She
told enthusiastically of the struggle of the Symphony to raise itself from a
little club into a great organization which brought the artists of America to
the city to play and to sing. She outlined the tremendous need for a studio
building and told of the music-students and teachers who would bless the
city and the City Symphony for a place to study and teach. She touched
upon the needs of a commercial age and the general low level of musical
appreciation. And she ended by telling of the other great lack—the lack of a
suitable Soldiers’ and Sailors’ Memorial. “Nothing could be a more fitting
tribute to those noble lads.”
Horatia frowned. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
She stopped Mrs. Hill, who was just about to repeat her entire speech. “I
understand, of course, that the Symphony is a worthy organization—of
course—and it has given its members much pleasure—but why should a
studio building be a tribute to soldiers and sailors? What good will it do
them, living or dead?”
“Only by upholding the highest ideals can we be worthy of those noble
boys,” answered Mrs. Hill sententiously.
Horatia persevered.
“But how would it touch them?”
“In the proposed auditorium we would have many fine concerts for
everyone.”
“Free?”
“My dear young lady, it costs a thousand dollars to bring great artists
here.”
“I see.” Horatia’s tone was not encouraging. “Have you seen many
soldiers and sailors, Mrs. Hill?”
“My own son was an aviator.”
“I mean common soldiers. The kind that like ‘Ja-da’ and ‘Come On,
Papa’ and would go to sleep at a concert, most of them. They need—oh,
tremendously, to be educated in just the things you speak of. But you can’t
do it by building recherché auditoriums. They need lots of things more than
that—and lots of things before that. Mrs. Hill, I haven’t an objection in the
world to a studio building for the Symphony—I’d be glad to contribute if
you’ll bring Galli-Curci and Kreisler—but to go about asking funds from
people on the plea that you are doing something in the name of those
unfortunate boys who were killed or of those commoners who once were
soldiers is to me an absurdity.”
It was not the sort of reception to which Mrs. Hill was accustomed when
she went to society editors.
“May I see Mr. Langley?”
Horatia opened the door to his office and ushered in Mrs. Hill, who went
into some detail as to her worthy project and Horatia’s inadequate
appreciation. Horatia chuckled at her desk outside, wondering how Langley
would deal with her, and was fully satisfied when Mrs. Hill swept out with
a last overheard comment—“Of course, there are many reasons why you
are taking this attitude, sir, and none of them does you credit.”
She was ruined, however. Horatia ran a column on the new auditorium
studio building and memorial, touching gently on the fact that the question
of its erection was in dispute, and then she telephoned some of her friends
and some of the real women thinkers of the city for opinions. Also she
telephoned some architects. The article was not condemnatory. It was gently
questioning, but many a business man read it and agreed heartily with the
questions in it, having them ready as an excuse for not contributing. The
project failed and Mrs. Hill knew why it had failed. She took to saying
“there was opposition from the sort of places from which you might expect
it,” which was cryptic, hinted at scandal and saved her face. But even with
her face saved she detested Horatia.
It was only an incident, but there were other incidents which, added
together, made the “woman on The Journal” a subject of much speculation.
There was the woman who wanted to be made city commissioner in order
to enhance her husband’s chances of getting city contracts and who failed to
get Journal support. There was the case of the teacher who resigned from
the schools in order to run for the School Board and work for raises in
teachers’ salaries. She and Horatia had many a consultation in The Journal
office and many a plan hatched there finally put across the woman’s
successful election. It was undoubtedly true that Horatia had a straight eye,
Bob Brotherton said—and not only did she have a straight eye but she used
it. She came to be in demand for many things—as a member of committees
projecting new schemes, as a member of boards of directors. The men liked
to have her because she had a sense of humor and of brevity in discussion
and the women liked to have her because the meetings were usually a
success when she came and because she never wanted to be chairman.
Horatia enjoyed all these things too, but most of all she liked to get back to
the office, to her own papers and her own companions and to the welcome
of its familiarity and to Langley’s smile, which had all the love of the world
in it. The love of the work and the love of Langley ran so intermingled in
her that they sometimes blended. They seemed already married in the things
they were doing. The other marriage could only complete this one. So she
told herself, but the “other marriage” sounded in her soul sometimes with a
solemn note which frightened her a little. Her inexperience frightened her.
Women on the street, with shapeless figures and worn faces, commanded
respect from her for these women had been married. They knew what living
with a man meant. Perhaps they had not played the game very well, but
they had played it and they knew the rules.
CHAPTER IX
“I F you look at me like that,” said Anthony, “I will kiss you and ask you
to marry me. I don’t know which I’ll do first, but I’ve put both things
off long enough.”
This on the springiest of spring days with Horatia clambering back into
the car which Anthony had stopped by the roadside until she found some
cowslips; she was smiling her perfect happiness at Anthony. Her smile
disappeared.
“Don’t do that——”
“Which?”
“Either. I should have told you long ago, Anthony. But it assumed that
you cared if I told you this—and I couldn’t assume such awful conceit. You
don’t. It’s just the day and the fun we’ve been having.”
“But you were going to tell me——”
“That I love Jim Langley and I’m going to marry him.” She held her
head high and her blush was triumphant.
“When?” asked Anthony.
“I don’t know—not for a year, perhaps, but sooner or later I’m—we’re—
going to.”
Anthony twisted the wheel idly without starting his motor.
“Well—there’s nothing I can do about it except to wish you joy.
Langley’s all right—and if you are sure you love him, it’s all right. But
don’t let the work deceive you. That’ll stop after you are married and the
glamour——”
“No, indeed, I shall work right along—right along—that’s our whole
idea.”
Anthony did not look impressed. He started the car and drove on silently.
Then——
“Look here, Horatia, I know you’ll damn me for a reactionary, but I want
to say a few things. I ought to go away and leave you alone but I don’t want
to. I can’t exactly admit Langley as a rival on the strength of what you say.
You see what I want to give you is something very different. I want you to