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diff --git a/old/5776-h.htm.2021-01-27 b/old/5776-h.htm.2021-01-27 new file mode 100644 index 0000000..47f35e4 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/5776-h.htm.2021-01-27 @@ -0,0 +1,12228 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html +PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> +<head> +<title> +100%: the Story of a Patriot, by Upton Sinclair +</title> +<style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + +body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} +P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } +H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } +hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} +.foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } +blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} +.mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} +.toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} +.toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} +div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } +div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } +.figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} +.figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} +.pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; +margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; +text-align: right;} +pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> +</head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +Project Gutenberg's 100%: The Story of a Patriot, by Upton Sinclair + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: 100%: The Story of a Patriot + +Author: Upton Sinclair + + +Release Date: May, 2004 [EBook #5776] +This file was first posted on September 1, 2002 +Last Updated: October 13, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 100%: THE STORY OF A PATRIOT *** + + + + +Text file produced by Charles Aldarondo + +HTML file produced by David Widger + + + +</pre> + +<div style="height: 8em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h1> +100%: THE STORY OF A PATRIOT +</h1> +<h2> +By Upton Sinclair +</h2> +<h4> +Published By The Author <br /> <br /> Pasadena, California <br /> <br /> 1920 +</h4> +<p> +<b>TO MY WIFE</b> +</p> +<p> +Who is the creator of the most charming character in this story, “Mrs. +Godd,” and who positively refuses to permit the book to go to press until +it has been explained that the character is a Grecian Godd and not a +Hebrew Godd, so that no one may accuse the creator of sacrilege. +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<p> +<b>CONTENTS</b> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0001"> Section 1 </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0002"> Section 2 </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0003"> Section 3 </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0004"> Section 4 </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0005"> Section 5 </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0006"> Section 6 </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0007"> Section 7 </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0008"> Section 8 </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0009"> Section 9 </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0010"> Section 10 </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0011"> Section 11 </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0012"> Section 12 </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0013"> Section 13 </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0014"> Section 14 </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0015"> Section 15 </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0016"> Section 16 </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0017"> Section 17 </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0018"> Section 18 </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0019"> Section 19 </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0020"> Section 20 </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0021"> Section 21 </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0022"> Section 22 </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0023"> Section 23 </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0024"> Section 24 </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0025"> Section 25 </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0026"> Section 26 </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0027"> Section 27 </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0028"> Section 28 </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0029"> Section 29 </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0030"> Section 30 </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0031"> Section 31 </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0032"> Section 32 </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0033"> Section 33 </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0034"> Section 34 </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0035"> Section 35 </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0036"> Section 36 </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0037"> Section 37 </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0038"> Section 38 </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0039"> Section 39 </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0040"> Section 40 </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0041"> Section 41 </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0042"> Section 42 </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0043"> Section 43 </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0044"> Section 44 </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0045"> Section 45 </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0046"> Section 46 </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0047"> Section 47 </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0048"> Section 48 </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0049"> Section 49 </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0050"> Section 50 </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0051"> Section 51 </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0052"> Section 52 </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0053"> Section 53 </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0054"> Section 54 </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0055"> Section 55 </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0056"> Section 56 </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0057"> Section 57 </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0058"> Section 58 </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0059"> Section 59 </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0060"> Section 60 </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0061"> Section 61 </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0062"> Section 62 </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0063"> Section 63 </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0064"> Section 64 </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0065"> Section 65 </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0066"> Section 66 </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0067"> Section 67 </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0068"> Section 68 </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0069"> Section 69 </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0070"> Section 70 </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0071"> Section 71 </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0072"> Section 72 </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0073"> Section 73 </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0074"> Section 74 </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0075"> Section 75 </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0076"> Section 76 </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0077"> Section 77 </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0078"> Section 78 </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0079"> Section 79 </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0080"> Section 80 </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0081"> Section 81 </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0082"> Section 82 </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0083"> Section 83 </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0084"> Section 84 </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0085"> Section 85 </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0086"> Section 86 </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_APPE"> APPENDIX </a> +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +Section 1 +</h2> +<p> +Now and then it occurs to one to reflect upon what slender threads of +accident depend the most important circumstances of his life; to look back +and shudder, realizing how close to the edge of nothingness his being has +come. A young man is walking down the street, quite casually, with an +empty mind and no set purpose; he comes to a crossing, and for no reason +that he could tell he takes the right hand turn instead of the left; and +so it happens that he encounters a blue-eyed girl, who sets his heart to +beating. He meets the girl, marries her—and she became your mother. +But now, suppose the young man had taken the left hand turn instead of the +right, and had never met the blue-eyed girl; where would you be now, and +what would have become of those qualities of mind which you consider of +importance to the world, and those grave affairs of business to which your +time is devoted? +</p> +<p> +Something like that it was which befell Peter Gudge; just such an +accident, changing the whole current of his life, and making the series of +events with which this story deals. Peter was walking down the street one +afternoon, when a woman approached and held out to him a printed leaflet. +“Read this, please,” she said. +</p> +<p> +And Peter, who was hungry, and at odds with the world, answered gruffly: +“I got no money.” He thought it was an advertising dodger, and he said: “I +can’t buy nothin’.” + </p> +<p> +“It isn’t anything for sale,” answered the woman. “It’s a message.” + </p> +<p> +“Religion?” said Peter. “I just got kicked out of a church.” + </p> +<p> +“No, not a church,” said the woman. “It’s something different; put it in +your pocket.” She was an elderly woman with gray hair, and she followed +along, smiling pleasantly at this frail, poor-looking stranger, but +nagging at him. “Read it some time when you’ve nothing else to do.” And so +Peter, just to get rid of her, took the leaflet and thrust it into his +pocket, and went on, and in a minute or two had forgotten all about it. +</p> +<p> +Peter was thinking—or rather Peter’s stomach was thinking for him; +for when you have had nothing to eat all day, and nothing on the day +before but a cup of coffee and one sandwich, your thought-centers are +transferred from the top to the middle of you. Peter was thinking that +this was a hell of a life. Who could have foreseen that just because he +had stolen one miserable fried doughnut, he would lose his easy job and +his chance of rising in the world? Peter’s whole being was concentrated on +the effort to rise in the world; to get success, which means money, which +means ease and pleasure—the magic names which lure all human +creatures. +</p> +<p> +But who could have foreseen that Mrs. Smithers would have kept count of +those fried doughnuts every time anybody passed thru her pantry? And it +was only that one ridiculous circumstance which had brought Peter to his +present misery. But for that he might have had his lunch of bread and +dried herring and weak tea in the home of the shoe-maker’s wife, and might +have still been busy with his job of stirring up dissension in the First +Apostolic Church, otherwise known as the Holy Rollers, and of getting the +Rev. Gamaliel Lunk turned out, and Shoemaker Smithers established at the +job of pastor, with Peter Gudge as his right hand man. +</p> +<p> +Always it had been like that, thru Peter’s twenty years of life. Time +after time he would get his feeble clutch fixed upon the ladder of +prosperity, and then something would happen—some wretched thing like +the stealing of a fried doughnut—to pry him loose and tumble him +down again into the pit of misery. +</p> +<p> +So Peter walked along, with his belt drawn tight, and his restless blue +eyes wandering here and there, looking for a place to get a meal. There +were jobs to be had, but they were hard jobs, and Peter wanted an easy +one. There are people in this world who live by their muscles, and others +who live by their wits; Peter belonged to the latter class; and had missed +many a meal rather than descend in the social scale. +</p> +<p> +Peter looked into the faces of everyone he passed, searching for a +possible opening. Some returned his glance, but never for more than a +second, for they saw an insignificant looking man, undersized, +undernourished, and with one shoulder higher than the other, a weak chin +and mouth, crooked teeth, and a brown moustache too feeble to hold itself +up at the corners. Peters’ straw hat had many straws missing, his +second-hand brown suit was become third-hand, and his shoes were turning +over at the sides. In a city where everybody was “hustling,” everybody, as +they phrased it, “on the make,” why should anyone take a second glance at +Peter Gudge? Why should anyone care about the restless soul hidden inside +him, or dream that Peter was, in his own obscure way, a sort of genius? No +one did care; no one did dream. +</p> +<p> +It was about two o’clock of an afternoon in July, and the sun beat down +upon the streets of American City. There were crowds upon the streets, and +Peter noticed that everywhere were flags and bunting. Once or twice he +heard the strains of distant music, and wondered what was “up.” Peter had +not been reading the newspapers; all his attention had been taken up by +the quarrels of the Smithers faction and the Lunk faction in the First +Apostolic Church, otherwise known as the Holy Rollers, and great events +that had been happening in the world outside were of no concern to him. +Peter knew vaguely that on the other side of the world half a dozen mighty +nations were locked together in a grip of death; the whole earth was +shaken with their struggles, and Peter had felt a bit of the trembling now +and then. But Peter did not know that his own country had anything to do +with this European quarrel, and did not know that certain great interests +thruout the country had set themselves to rouse the public to action. +</p> +<p> +This movement had reached American City, and the streets had broken out in +a blaze of patriotic display. In all the windows of the stores there were +signs: “Wake up, America!” Across the broad Main Street there were +banners: “America Prepare!” Down in the square at one end of the street a +small army was gathering—old veterans of the Civil War, and +middle-aged veterans of the Spanish War, and regiments of the state +militia, and brigades of marines and sailors from the ships in the harbor, +and members of fraternal lodges with their Lord High Chief Grand Marshals +on horseback with gold sashes and waving white plumes, and all the +notables of the city in carriages, and a score of bands to stir their feet +and ten thousand flags waving above their heads. “Wake up America!” And +here was Peter Gudge, with an empty stomach, coming suddenly upon the +swarming crowds in Main Street, and having no remotest idea what it was +all about. +</p> +<p> +A crowd suggested one thing to Peter. For seven years of his young life he +had been assistant to Pericles Priam, and had traveled over America +selling Priam’s Peerless Pain Paralyzer; they had ridden in an automobile, +and wherever there was a fair or a convention or an excursion or a picnic, +they were on hand, and Pericles Priam would stop at a place where the +crowds were thickest, and ring a dinner bell, and deliver his +super-eloquent message to humanity—the elixir of life revealed, +suffering banished from the earth, and all inconveniences of this mortal +state brought to an end for one dollar per bottle of fifteen per cent +opium. It had been Peter’s job to handle the bottles and take in the coin; +and so now, when he saw the crowd, he looked about him eagerly. Perhaps +there might be here some vender of corn-plasters or ink-stain removers, or +some three card monte man to whom Peter could attach himself for the price +of a sandwich. +</p> +<p> +Peter wormed his way thru the crowd for two or three blocks, but saw +nothing more promising than venders of American flags on little sticks, +and of patriotic buttons with “Wake up America!” But then, on the other +side of the street at one of the crossings Peter saw a man standing on a +truck making a speech, and he dug his way thru the crowd, elbowing, +sliding this way and that, begging everybody’s pardon—until at last +he was out of the crowd, and standing in the open way which had been +cleared for the procession, a seemingly endless road lined with solid +walls of human beings, with blue-uniformed policemen holding them back. +Peter started to run across—and at that same instant came the end of +the world. +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +Section 2 +</h2> +<p> +One who seeks to tell about events in words comes occasionally upon a +fundamental difficulty. An event of colossal and overwhelming significance +may happen all at once, but the words which describe it have to come one +by one in a long chain. The event may reveal itself without a moment’s +warning; but if one is to give a sense of it in words, one must prepare +for it, build up to it, awaken anticipation, establish a climax. If the +description of this event which fate sprung upon Peter Gudge as he was +crossing the street were limited to the one word “BANG” in letters a +couple of inches high across the page, the impression would hardly be +adequate. +</p> +<p> +The end of the world, it seemed to Peter, when he was able to collect +enough of his terrified wits to think about it. But at first there was no +thinking; there was only sensation—a terrific roar, as if the whole +universe had suddenly turned to sound; a blinding white glare, as of all +the lightnings of the heavens; a blow that picked him up as if he had been +a piece of thistledown, and flung him across the street and against the +side of a building. Peter fell upon the sidewalk in a heap, deafened, +blinded, stunned; and there he lay—he had no idea how long-until +gradually his senses began to return to him, and from the confusion +certain factors began to stand out: a faint gray smoke that seemed to lie +upon the ground, a bitter odor that stung the nostrils and tongue, and +screams of people, moaning and sobbing and general uproar. Something lay +across Peter’s chest, and he felt that he was suffocating, and struggled +convulsively to push it away; the hands with which he pushed felt +something hot and wet and slimy, and the horrified Peter realized that it +was half the body of a mangled human being. +</p> +<p> +Yes, it was the end of the world. Only a couple of days previously Peter +Gudge had been a devout member of the First Apostolic Church, otherwise +known as the Holy Rollers, and had listened at prayer-meetings to +soul-shaking imaginings out of the Book of Revelations. So Peter knew that +this was it; and having many sins upon his conscience, and being in no way +eager to confront his God, he looked out over the bodies of the dead and +the writhing wounded, and saw a row of boxes standing against the +building, having been placed there by people who wished to see over the +heads of the crowd. Peter started to crawl, and found that he was able to +do so, and wormed his way behind one of these packing-boxes, and got +inside and lay hidden from his God. +</p> +<p> +There was blood on him, and he did not know whether it was his own or +other peoples’. He was trembling with fright, his crooked teeth were +hammering together like those of an angry woodchuck. But the effects of +the shock continued to pass away, and his wits to come back to him, and at +last Peter realized that he never had taken seriously the ideas of the +First Apostolic Church of American City. He listened to the moans of the +wounded, and to the shouts and uproar of the crowd, and began seriously +figuring out what could have happened. There had once been an earthquake +in American City; could this be another one? Or had a volcano opened up in +the midst of Main Street? Or could it have been a gas-main? And was this +the end, or would it explode some more? Would the volcano go on erupting, +and blow Peter and his frail packing-box thru the walls of Guggenheim’s +Department-store? +</p> +<p> +So Peter waited, and listened to the horrible sounds of people in agony, +and pleading with others to put them out of it. Peter heard voices of men +giving orders, and realized that these must be policemen, and that no +doubt there would be ambulances coming. Maybe there was something the +matter with him, and he ought to crawl out and get himself taken care of. +All of a sudden Peter remembered his stomach; and his wits, which had been +sharpened by twenty years’ struggle against a hostile world, realized in a +flash the opportunity which fate had brought to him. He must pretend to be +wounded, badly wounded; he must be unconscious, suffering from shock and +shattered nerves; then they would take him to the hospital and put him in +a soft bed and give him things to eat—maybe he might stay there for +weeks, and they might give him money when he came out. +</p> +<p> +Or perhaps he might get a job in the hospital, something that was easy, +and required only alert intelligence. Perhaps the head doctor in the +hospital might want somebody to watch the other doctors, to see if they +were neglecting the patients, or perhaps flirting with some of the nurses—there +was sure to be something like that going on. It had been that way in the +orphans’ home where Peter had spent a part of his childhood till he ran +away. It had been that way again in the great Temple of Jimjambo, +conducted by Pashtian el Kalandra, Chief Magistrian of Eleutherinian +Exoticism. Peter had worked as scullion in the kitchen in that mystic +institution, and had worked his way upward until he possessed the +confidence of Tushbar Akrogas, major-domo and right hand man of the +Prophet himself. +</p> +<p> +Wherever there was a group of people, and a treasure to be administered, +there Peter knew was backbiting and scandal and intriguing and spying, and +a chance for somebody whose brains were “all there.” It might seem strange +that Peter should think about such things, just then when the earth had +opened up in front of him and the air had turned to roaring noise and +blinding white flame, and had hurled him against the side of a building +and dropped the bleeding half of a woman’s body across his chest; but +Peter had lived from earliest childhood by his wits and by nothing else, +and such a fellow has to learn to use his wits under any and all +circumstances, no matter how bewildering. Peter’s training covered almost +every emergency one could think of; he had even at times occupied himself +by imagining what he would do if the Holy Rollers should turn out to be +right, and if suddenly Gabriel’s trumpet were to blow, and he were to find +himself confronting Jesus in a long white night-gown. +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +Section 3 +</h2> +<p> +Peter’s imaginings were brought to an end by the packing-box being pulled +out from the wall. “Hello!” said a voice. +</p> +<p> +Peter groaned, but did not look up. The box was pulled out further, and a +face peered in. “What you hidin’ in there for?” + </p> +<p> +Peter stammered feebly: “Wh-wh-what?” + </p> +<p> +“You hurt?” demanded the voice. +</p> +<p> +“I dunno,” moaned Peter. +</p> +<p> +The box was pulled out further, and its occupant slid out. Peter looked +up, and saw three or four policemen bending over him; he moaned again. +</p> +<p> +“How did you get in there?” asked one. +</p> +<p> +“I crawled in.” + </p> +<p> +“What for?” + </p> +<p> +“To g-g-get away from the—what was it?” + </p> +<p> +“Bomb,” said one of the policemen; and Peter was astounded that for a +moment he forgot to be a nervous wreck. +</p> +<p> +“Bomb!” he cried; and at the same moment one of the policemen lifted him +to his feet. +</p> +<p> +“Can you stand up?” he demanded; and Peter tried, and found that he could, +and forgot that he couldn’t. He was covered with blood and dirt, and was +an unpresentable object, but he was really relieved to discover that his +limbs were intact. +</p> +<p> +“What’s your name?” demanded one of the policemen, and when Peter +answered, he asked, “Where do you work?” + </p> +<p> +“I got no job,” replied Peter. +</p> +<p> +“Where’d you work last?” And then another broke in, “What did you crawl in +there for?” + </p> +<p> +“My God!” cried Peter. “I wanted to get away!” + </p> +<p> +The policemen seemed to find it suspicious that he had stayed hidden so +long. They were in a state of excitement themselves, it appeared; a +terrible crime had been committed, and they were hunting for any trace of +the criminal. Another man came up, not dressed in uniform, but evidently +having authority, and he fell onto Peter, demanding to know who he was, +and where he had come from, and what he had been doing in that crowd. And +of course Peter had no very satisfactory answers to give to any of these +questions. His occupations had been unusual, and not entirely credible, +and his purposes were hard to explain to a suspicious questioner. The man +was big and burly, at least a foot taller than Peter, and as he talked he +stooped down and stared into Peter’s eyes as if he were looking for dark +secrets hidden back in the depths of Peter’s skull. Peter remembered that +he was supposed to be sick, and his eyelids drooped and he reeled +slightly, so that the policemen had to hold him up. +</p> +<p> +“I want to talk to that fellow,” said the questioner. “Take him inside.” + One of the officers took Peter under one arm, and the other under the +other arm, and they half walked and half carried him across the street and +into a building. +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +Section 4 +</h2> +<p> +It was a big store which the police had opened up. Inside there were +wounded people lying on the floor, with doctors and others attending them. +Peter was marched down the corridor, and into a room where sat or stood +several other men, more or less in a state of collapse like himself; +people who had failed to satisfy the police, and were being held under +guard. +</p> +<p> +Peter’s two policemen backed him against the wall and proceeded to go thru +his pockets, producing the shameful contents—a soiled rag, and two +cigarette butts picked up on the street, and a broken pipe, and a watch +which had once cost a dollar, but was now out of order, and too badly +damaged to be pawned. That was all they had any right to find, so far as +Peter knew. But there came forth one thing more—the printed circular +which Peter had thrust into his pocket. The policeman who pulled it out +took a glance at it, and then cried, “Good God!” He stared at Peter, then +he stared at the other policeman and handed him the paper. +</p> +<p> +At that moment the man not in uniform entered the room. “Mr. Guffey!” + cried the policeman. “See this!” The man took the paper, and glanced at +it, and Peter, watching with bewildered and fascinated eyes, saw a most +terrifying sight. It was as if the man went suddenly out of his mind. He +glared at Peter, and under his black eyebrows the big staring eyes seemed +ready to jump out of his head. +</p> +<p> +“Aha!” he exclaimed; and then, “So I’ve got you!” The hand that held the +paper was trembling, and the other hand reached out like a great claw, and +fastened itself in the neck of Peter’s coat, and drew it together until +Peter was squeezed tight. “You threw that bomb!” hissed the man. +</p> +<p> +“Wh-what?” gasped Peter, his voice almost fainting. “B-b-bomb?” + </p> +<p> +“Out with it!” cried the man, and his face came close to Peter’s, his +teeth gleaming as if he were going to bite off Peter’s nose. “Out with it! +Quick! Who helped you?” + </p> +<p> +“My G-God!” said Peter. “I d-dunno what you mean.” + </p> +<p> +“You dare lie to me?” roared the man; and he shook Peter as if he meant to +jar his teeth out. “No nonsense now! Who helped you make that bomb?” + </p> +<p> +Peter’s voice rose to a scream of terror: “I never saw no bomb! I dunno +what you’re talkin’ about!” + </p> +<p> +“You, come this way,” said the man, and started suddenly toward the door. +It might have been more convenient if he had turned Peter around, and got +him by the back of his coat-collar; but he evidently held Peter’s physical +being as a thing too slight for consideration—he just kept his grip +in the bosom of Peter’s jacket, and half lifted him and half shoved him +back out of the room, and down a long passage to the back part of the +building. And all the time he was hissing into Peter’s face: “I’ll have it +out of you! Don’t think you can lie to me! Make up your mind to it, you’re +going to come thru!” + </p> +<p> +The man opened a door. It was some kind of storeroom, and he walked Peter +inside and slammed the door behind him. “Now, out with it!” he said. The +man thrust into his pocket the printed circular, or whatever it was—Peter +never saw it again, and never found out what was printed on it. With his +free hand the man grabbed one of Peter’s hands, or rather one finger of +Peter’s hand, and bent it suddenly backward with terrible violence. “Oh!” + screamed Peter. “Stop!” And then, with a wild shriek, “You’ll break it.” + </p> +<p> +“I mean to break it! mean to break every bone in your body! I’ll tear your +finger-nails out; I’ll tear the eyes out of your head, if I have to! You +tell me who helped you make that bomb!” + </p> +<p> +Peter broke out in a storm of agonized protest; he had never heard of any +bomb, he didn’t know what the man was talking about; he writhed and +twisted and doubled himself over backward, trying to evade the frightful +pain of that pressure on his finger. +</p> +<p> +“You’re lying!” insisted Guffey. “I know you’re lying. You’re one of that +crowd.” + </p> +<p> +“What crowd? Ouch! I dunno what you mean!” + </p> +<p> +“You’re one of them Reds, aint you?” + </p> +<p> +“Reds? What are Reds?” + </p> +<p> +“You want to tell me you don’t know what a Red is? Aint you been giving +out them circulars on the street?” + </p> +<p> +“I never seen the circular!” repeated Peter. “I never seen a word in it; I +dunno what it is.” + </p> +<p> +“You try to stuff me with that?” + </p> +<p> +“Some woman gimme that circular on the street! Ouch! Stop! Jesus! I tell +you I never looked at the circular!” + </p> +<p> +“You dare go on lying?” shouted the man, with fresh access of rage. “And +when I seen you with them Reds? I know about your plots, I’m going to get +it out of you.” He grabbed Peter’s wrist and began to twist it, and Peter +half turned over in the effort to save himself, and shrieked again, in +more piercing tones, “I dunno! I dunno!” + </p> +<p> +“What’s them fellows done for you that you protect them?” demanded the +other. “What good’ll it do you if we hang you and let them escape?” + </p> +<p> +But Peter only screamed and wept the louder. +</p> +<p> +“They’ll have time to get out of town,” persisted the other. “If you speak +quick we can nab them all, and then I’ll let you go. You understand, we +won’t do a thing to you, if you’ll come thru and tell us who put you up to +this. We know it wasn’t you that planned it; it’s the big fellows we +want.” + </p> +<p> +He began to wheedle and coax Peter; but then, when Peter answered again +with his provoking “I dunno,” he would give another twist to Peter’s +wrist, and Peter would yell, almost incoherent with terror and pain—but +still declaring that he could tell nothing, he knew nothing about any +bomb. +</p> +<p> +So at last Guffey wearied of this futile inquisition; or perhaps it +occurred to him that this was too public a place for the prosecution of a +“third degree”—there might be some one listening outside the door. +He stopped twisting Peter’s wrist, and tilted back Peter’s head so that +Peter’s frightened eyes were staring into his. +</p> +<p> +“Now, young fellow,” he said, “look here. I got no time for you just now, +but you’re going to jail, you’re my prisoner, and make up your mind to it, +sooner or later I’m going to get it out of you. It may take a day, or it +may take a month, but you’re going to tell me about this bomb plot, and +who printed this here circular opposed to Preparedness, and all about +these Reds you work with. I’m telling you now—so you think it over; +and meantime, you hold your mouth, don’t say a word to a living soul, or +if you do I’ll tear your tongue out of your throat.” + </p> +<p> +Then, paying no attention to Peter’s wailings, he took him by the back of +the collar and marched him down the hall again, and turned him over to one +of the policemen. “Take this man to the city jail,” he said, “and put him +in the hole, and keep him there until I come, and don’t let him speak a +word to anybody. If he tries it, mash his mouth for him.” So the policeman +took poor sobbing Peter by the arm and marched him out of the building. +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +Section 5 +</h2> +<p> +The police had got the crowds driven back by now, and had ropes across the +street to hold them, and inside the roped space were several ambulances +and a couple of patrol-wagons. Peter was shoved into one of these latter, +and a policeman sat by his side, and the bell clanged, and the +patrol-wagon forced its way slowly thru the struggling crowd. Half an hour +later they arrived at the huge stone jail, and Peter was marched inside. +There were no formalities, they did not enter Peter on the books, or take +his name or his finger prints; some higher power had spoken, and Peter’s +fate was already determined. He was taken into an elevator, and down into +a basement, and then down a flight of stone steps into a deeper basement, +and there was an iron door with a tiny slit an inch wide and six inches +long near the top. This was the “hole,” and the door was opened and Peter +shoved inside into utter darkness. The door banged, and the bolts rattled; +and then silence. Peter sank upon a cold stone floor, a bundle of abject +and hideous misery. +</p> +<p> +These events had happened with such terrifying rapidity that Peter Gudge +had hardly time to keep track of them. But now he had plenty of time, he +had nothing but time. He could think the whole thing out, and realize the +ghastly trick which fate had played upon him. He lay there, and time +passed; he had no way of measuring it, no idea whether it was hours or +days. It was cold and clammy in the stone cell; they called it the +“cooler,” and used it to reduce the temperature of the violent and +intractable. It was a trouble-saving device; they just left the man there +and forgot him, and his own tormented mind did the rest. +</p> +<p> +And surely no more tormented mind than the mind of Peter Gudge had ever +been put in that black hole. It was the more terrible, because so utterly +undeserved, so preposterous. For such a thing to happen to him, Peter +Gudge, of all people—who took such pains to avoid discomfort in +life, who was always ready to oblige anybody, to do anything he was told +to do, so as to have’an easy time, a sufficiency of food, and a warm +corner to crawl into! What could have persuaded fate to pick him for the +victim of this cruel prank; to put him into this position, where he could +not avoid suffering, no matter what he did? They wanted him to tell +something, and Peter would have been perfectly willing to tell anything—but +how could he tell it when he did not know it? +</p> +<p> +The more Peter thought about it, the more outraged he became. It was +monstrous! He sat up and glared into the black darkness. He talked to +himself, he talked to the world outside, to the universe which had +forgotten his existence. He stormed, he wept. He got on his feet and flung +himself about the cell, which was six feet square, and barely tall enough +for him to stand erect. He pounded on the door with his one hand which +Guffey had not lamed, he kicked, and he shouted. But there was no answer, +and so far as he could tell, there was no one to hear. +</p> +<p> +When he had exhausted himself, he sank down, and fell into a haunted +sleep; and then he wakened again, to a reality worse than any nightmare. +That awful man was coming after him again! He was going to torture him, to +make him tell what he did not know! All the ogres and all the demons that +had ever been invented to frighten the imagination of children were as +nothing compared to the image of the man called Guffey, as Peter thought +of him. +</p> +<p> +Several ages after Peter had been locked up, he heard sounds outside, and +the door was opened. Peter was cowering in the corner, thinking that +Guffey had come. There was a scraping on the floor, and then the door was +banged again, and silence fell. Peter investigated and discovered that +they had put in a chunk of bread and a pan of water. +</p> +<p> +Then more ages passed, and Peter’s impotent ragings were repeated; then +once more they brought bread and water, and Peter wondered, was it twice a +day they brought it, or was this a new day? And how long did they mean to +keep him here? Did they mean to drive him mad? He asked these questions of +the man who brought the bread and water, but the man made no answer, he +never at any time spoke a word. Peter had no company in that “hole” but +his God; and Peter was not well acquainted with his God, and did not enjoy +a tete-a-tete with Him. +</p> +<p> +What troubled Peter most was the cold; it got into his bones, and his +teeth were chattering all the time. Despite all his moving about, he could +not keep warm. When the man opened the door, he cried out to him, begging +for a blanket; each time the man came, Peter begged more frantically than +ever. He was ill, he had been injured in the explosion, he needed a +doctor, he was going to die! But there was never any answer. Peter would +lie there and shiver and weep, and writhe, and babble, and lose +consciousness for a while, and not know whether he was awake or asleep, +whether he was living or dead. He was becoming delirious, and the things +that were happening to him, the people who were tormenting him, became +monsters and fiends who carried him away upon far journeys, and plunged +him thru abysses of terror and torment. +</p> +<p> +And yet, many and strange as were the phantoms which Peter’s sick +imagination conjured up, there was no one of them as terrible as the +reality which prevailed just then in the life of American City, and was +determining the destiny of a poor little man by the name of Peter Gudge. +There lived in American City a group of men who had taken possession of +its industries and dominated the lives of its population. This group, +intrenched in power in the city’s business and also in its government, +were facing the opposition of a new and rapidly rising power, that of +organized labor, determined to break the oligarchy of business and take +over its powers. The struggle of these two groups was coming to its +culmination. They were like two mighty wrestlers, locked in a grip of +death; two giants in combat, who tear up trees by the roots and break off +fragments of cliffs from the mountains to smash in each other’s skulls. +And poor Peter—what was he? An ant which happened to come blundering +across the ground where these combatants met. The earth was shaken with +their trampling, the dirt was kicked this way and that, and the unhappy +ant was knocked about, tumbled head over heels, buried in the debris; and +suddenly—Smash!—a giant foot came down upon the place where he +was struggling and gasping! +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +Section 6 +</h2> +<p> +Peter had been in the “hole” perhaps three days, perhaps a week—he +did not know, and no one ever told him. The door was opened again, and for +the first time he heard a voice, “Come out here.” + </p> +<p> +Peter had been longing to hear a voice; but now he shrunk terrified into a +corner. The voice was the voice of Guffey, and Peter knew what it meant. +His teeth began to rattle again, and he wailed, “I dunno anything! I can’t +tell anything!” + </p> +<p> +A hand reached in and took him by the collar, and he found himself walking +down the corridor in front of Guffey. “Shut up!” said the man, in answer +to all his wailings, and took him into a room and threw him into a chair +as if he had been a bundle of bedding, and pulled up another chair and sat +down in front of Peter. +</p> +<p> +“Now look here,” he said. “I want to have an understanding with you. Do +you want to go back into that hole again?” + </p> +<p> +“N-n-no,” moaned Peter. +</p> +<p> +“Well, I want you to know that you’ll spend the rest of your life in that +hole, except when you’re talking to me. And when you’re talking to me +you’ll be having your arms twisted off you, and splinters driven into your +finger nails, and your skin burned with matches—until you tell me +what I want to know. Nobody’s going to help you, nobody’s going to know +about it. You’re going to stay here with me until you come across.” + </p> +<p> +Peter could only sob and moan. +</p> +<p> +“Now,” continued Guffey, “I been finding out all about you, I got your +life story from the day you were born, and there’s no use your trying to +hide anything. I know your part in this here bomb plot, and I can send you +to the gallows without any trouble whatever. But there’s some things I +can’t prove on the other fellows. They’re the big ones, the real devils, +and they’re the ones I want, so you’ve got a chance to save yourself, and +you better be thankful for it.” + </p> +<p> +Peter went on moaning and sobbing. +</p> +<p> +“Shut up!” cried the man. And then, fixing Peter’s frightened gaze with +his own, he continued, “Understand, you got a chance to save yourself. All +you got to do is to tell what you know. Then you can come out and you +won’t have any more trouble. We’ll take good care of you; everything’ll be +easy for you.” + </p> +<p> +Peter continued to gaze like a fascinated rabbit. And such a longing as +surged up in his soul—to be free, and out of trouble, and taken care +of! If only he had known anything to tell; if only there was some way he +could find out something to tell! +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +Section 7 +</h2> +<p> +Suddenly the man reached out and grasped one of Peter’s hands. He twisted +the wrist again, the sore wrist which still ached from the torture. “Will +you tell?” + </p> +<p> +“I’d tell if I could!” screamed Peter. “My God, how can I?” + </p> +<p> +“Don’t lie to me,” hissed the man. “I know about it now, you can’t fool +me. You know Jim Goober.” + </p> +<p> +“I never heard of him!” wailed Peter. +</p> +<p> +“You lie!” declared the other, and he gave Peter’s wrist a twist. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, yes, I know him!” shrieked Peter. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, that’s more like it!” said the other. “Of course you know him. What +sort of a looking man is he?” + </p> +<p> +“I—I dunno. He’s a big man.” + </p> +<p> +“You lie! You know he’s a medium-sized man!” + </p> +<p> +“He’s a medium-sized man.” + </p> +<p> +“A dark man?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, a dark man.” + </p> +<p> +“And you know Mrs. Goober, the music teacher?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, I know her.” + </p> +<p> +“And you’ve been to her house?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, I’ve been to her house.” + </p> +<p> +“Where is their house?” + </p> +<p> +“I dunno—that is—” + </p> +<p> +“It’s on Fourth Street?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, it’s on Fourth Street.” + </p> +<p> +“And he hired you to carry that suit-case with the bombs in it, didn’t +he?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, he hired me.” + </p> +<p> +“And he told you what was in it, didn’t he?” + </p> +<p> +“He—he—that is—I dunno.” + </p> +<p> +“You don’t know whether he told you?” + </p> +<p> +“Y-y-yes, he told me.” + </p> +<p> +“You knew all about the plot, didn’t you?” + </p> +<p> +“Y-y-yes, I knew.” + </p> +<p> +“And you know Isaacs, the Jew?” + </p> +<p> +“Y-y-yes, I know him.” + </p> +<p> +“He was the fellow that drove the jitney, wasn’t he?” + </p> +<p> +“Y-y-yes, he drove the jitney.” + </p> +<p> +“Where did he drive it?” + </p> +<p> +“H-h-he drove it everywhere.” + </p> +<p> +“He drove it over here with the suit-case, didn’t he?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, he did.” + </p> +<p> +“And you know Biddle, and you know what he did, don’t you?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, I know.” + </p> +<p> +“And you’re willing to tell all you know about it, are you?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, I’ll tell it all. I’ll tell whatever you—” + </p> +<p> +“You’ll tell whatever you know, will you?” + </p> +<p> +“Y-y-yes, sir.” + </p> +<p> +“And you’ll stand by it? You’ll not try to back out? You don’t want to go +back into the hole?” + </p> +<p> +“No, sir.” + </p> +<p> +And suddenly Guffey pulled from his pocket a paper folded up. It was +several typewritten sheets. “Peter Gudge,” he said, “I been looking up +your record, and I’ve found out what you did in this case. You’ll see when +you read how perfectly I’ve got it. You won’t find a single mistake in +it.” Guffey meant this for wit, but poor Peter was too far gone with +terror to have any idea that there was such a thing as a smile in the +world. +</p> +<p> +“This is your story, d’you see?” continued Guffey. “Now take it and read +it.” + </p> +<p> +So Peter took the paper in his trembling hand, the one which had not been +twisted lame. He tried to read it, but his hand shook so that he had to +put it on his knee, and then he discovered that his eyes had not yet got +used to the light. He could not see the print. “I c-c-can’t,” he wailed. +</p> +<p> +And the other man took the paper from him. “I’ll read it to you,” he said. +“Now you listen, and put your mind on it, and make sure I’ve got it all +right.” + </p> +<p> +And so Guffey started to read an elaborate legal document: “I, Peter +Gudge, being duly sworn do depose and declare—” and so on. It was an +elaborate and detailed story about a man named Jim Goober, and his wife +and three other men, and how they had employed Peter to buy for them +certain materials to make bombs, and how Peter had helped them to make the +bombs in a certain room at a certain given address, and how they had put +the bombs in a suit-case, with a time clock to set them off, and how +Isaacs, the jitney driver, had driven them to a certain corner on Main +Street, and how they had left the suit-case with the bombs on the street +in front of the Preparedness Day parade. +</p> +<p> +It was very simple and clear, and Peter, as he listened, was almost ready +to cry with delight, realizing that this was all he had to do to escape +from his horrible predicament. He knew now what he was supposed to know; +and he knew it. Why had not Guffey told him long ago, so that he might +have known it without having his fingers bent out of place and his wrist +twisted off? +</p> +<p> +“Now then,” said Guffey, “that’s your confession, is it?” + </p> +<p> +“Y-y-yes,” said Peter. +</p> +<p> +“And you’ll stand by it to the end?” + </p> +<p> +“Y-y-yes, sir.” + </p> +<p> +“We can count on you now? No more nonsense?” + </p> +<p> +“Y-y-yes, sir.” + </p> +<p> +“You swear it’s all true?” + </p> +<p> +“I do.” + </p> +<p> +“And you won’t let anybody persuade you to go back on it—no matter +what they say to you?” + </p> +<p> +“N-n-no, sir,” said Peter. +</p> +<p> +“All right,” said Guffey; and his voice showed the relief of a business +man who has closed an important deal. He became almost human as lie went +on. “Now, Peter,” he said, “you’re our man, and we’re going to count on +you. You understand, of course, that we have to hold you as a witness, but +you’re not to be a prisoner, and we’re going to treat you well. We’ll put +you in the hospital part of the jail, and you’ll have good grub and +nothing to do. In a week or so, we’ll want you to appear before the grand +jury. Meantime, you understand—not a word to a soul! People may try +to worm something out of you, but don’t you open your mouth about this +case except to me. I’m your boss, and I’ll tell you what to do, and I’ll +take care of you all the way. You got that all straight?” + </p> +<p> +“Y-y-yes, sir,” said Peter. +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +Section 8 +</h2> +<p> +There was once, so legend declares, a darky who said that he liked to stub +his toe because it felt so good when it stopped hurting. On this same +principle Peter had a happy time in the hospital of the American City +jail. He had a comfortable bed, and plenty to eat, and absolutely nothing +to do. His sore joints became gradually healed, and he gained half a pound +a day in weight, and his busy mind set to work to study the circumstances +about him, to find out how he could perpetuate these comfortable +conditions, and add to them the little luxuries which make life really +worth living. +</p> +<p> +In charge of this hospital was an old man by the name of Doobman. He had +been appointed because he was the uncle of an alderman, and he had held +the job for the last six years, and during that time had gained weight +almost as rapidly as Peter was gaining. He had now come to a condition +where he did not like to get out of his armchair if it could be avoided. +Peter discovered this, and so found it possible to make himself useful in +small ways. Also Mr. Doobman had a secret vice; he took snuff, and for the +sake of discipline he did not want this dreadful fact to become known. +Therefore he would wait until everybody’s back was turned before he took a +pinch of snuff; and Peter learned this, and would tactfully turn his back. +</p> +<p> +Everybody in this hospital had some secret vice, and it was Mr. Doobman’s +duty to repress the vices of the others. The inmates of the hospital +included many of the prisoners who had money, and could pay to make +themselves comfortable. They wanted tobacco, whiskey, cocaine and other +drugs, and some of them wanted a chance to practice unnamable horrors. All +the money they could smuggle in they were ready to spend for license to +indulge themselves. As for the attendants in the hospital, they were all +political appointees, derelicts who had been unable to hold a job in the +commercial world, and had sought an easy berth, like Peter himself. They +took bribes, and were prepared to bribe Peter to outwit Mr. Doobman; Mr. +Doobman, on the other hand, was prepared to reward Peter with many favors, +if Peter would consent to bring him secret information. In such a +situation it was possible for a man with his wits about him to accumulate +quite a little capital. +</p> +<p> +For the most part Peter stuck by Doobman; having learned by bitter +experience that in the long run it pays to be honest. Doobman was referred +to by the other attendants as the “Old Man”; and always in Peter’s life, +from the very dawn of childhood, there had been some such “Old Man,” the +fountain-head of authority, the dispenser of creature comforts. First had +been “Old Man” Drubb, who from early morning until late at night wore +green spectacles, and a sign across his chest, “I am blind,” and made a +weary little child lead him thru the streets by the hand. At night, when +they got home to their garret-room, “Old Man” Drubb would take off his +green goggles, and was perfectly able to see Peter, and if Peter had made +the slightest mistake during the day he would beat him. +</p> +<p> +When Drubb was arrested, Peter was taken to the orphan asylum, and there +was another “Old Man,” and the same harsh lesson of subservience to be +learned. Peter had run away from the asylum; and then had come Pericles +Priam with his Pain Paralyzer, and Peter had studied his whims and served +his interests. When Pericles had married a rich widow and she had kicked +Peter out, there had come the Temple of Jimjambo, where the “Old Man” had +been Tushbar Akrogas, the major-domo—terrible when he was thwarted, +but a generous dispenser of favors when once you had learned to flatter +him, to play upon his weaknesses, to smooth the path of his pleasures. All +these years Peter had been forced to “crook the pregnant hinges of the +knee”; it had become an instinct with him—an instinct that went back +far behind the twenty years of his conscious life, that went back twenty +thousand years, perhaps ten times twenty thousand years, to a time when +Peter had chipped flint spear-heads at the mouth of some cave, and broiled +marrow-bones for some “Old Man” of the borde, and seen rebellious young +fellows cast out to fall prey to the sabre-tooth tiger. +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +Section 9 +</h2> +<p> +Peter found that he was something of a personality in this hospital. He +was the “star” witness in the sensational Goober case, about which the +whole city, and in fact the whole country was talking. It was known that +he had “turned State’s”; but just what he knew and what he had told was a +mighty secret, and Peter “held his mouth” and looked portentous, and +enjoyed thrills of self-importance. +</p> +<p> +But meantime there was no reason why he should not listen to others talk; +no reason why he should not inform himself fully about this case, so that +in future he might be able to take care of himself. He listened to what +“Old Man” Doobman had to say, and to what Jan Christian, his Swedish +assistant had to say, and to what Gerald Leslie, the “coke” fiend, had to +say. All these, and others, had friends on the outside, people who were +“in the know.” Some told one thing, and others told exactly the opposite; +but Peter put this and that together, and used his own intrigue-sharpened +wits upon it, and before long he was satisfied that he had got the facts. +</p> +<p> +Jim Goober was a prominent labor leader. He had organized the employees of +the Traction Trust, and had called and led a tremendous strike. Also he +had called building strikes, and some people said he had used dynamite +upon uncompleted buildings, and made a joke of it. Anyhow, the business +men of the city wanted to put him where he could no longer trouble them; +and when some maniac unknown had flung a dynamite bomb into the path of +the Preparedness parade, the big fellows of the city had decided that now +was the opportunity they were seeking. Guffey, the man who had taken +charge of Peter, was head of the secret service of the Traction Trust, and +the big fellows had put him in complete charge. They wanted action, and +would take no chances with the graft-ridden and incompetent police of the +city. They had Goober in jail, with his wife and three of his gang, and +thru the newspapers of the city they were carrying on a propaganda to +prepare the public for the hanging of all five. +</p> +<p> +And that was all right, of course; Jim Goober was only a name to Peter, +and of less importance than a single one of Peter’s meals. Peter +understood what Guffey had done, and his only grudge was because Guffey +had not had the sense to tell him his story at the beginning, instead of +first nearly twisting his arm off. However, Peter reflected, no doubt +Guffey had meant to teach him a lesson, to make sure of him. Peter had +learned the lesson, and his purpose now was to make this clear to Guffey +and to Doobman. +</p> +<p> +“Hold your mouth,” Guffey had said, and Peter never once said a word about +the Goober case. But, of course, he talked about other matters. A fellow +could not go around like a mummy all day long, and it was Peter’s weakness +that he liked to tell about his exploits, the clever devices by which he +had outwitted his last “Old Man.” So to Gerald Leslie, the “coke” fiend, +he told the story of Pericles Priam, and how many thousands of dollars he +had helped to wheedle out of the public, and how twice he and Pericles had +been arrested for swindling. Also he told about the Temple of Jimjambo, +and all the strange and incredible things that had gone on there. Pashtian +el Kalandra, who called himself the Chief Magistrian of Eleutherinian +Exoticism, gave himself out to his followers to be eighty years of age, +but as a matter of fact he was less than forty. He was supposed to be a +Persian prince, but had been born in a small town in Indiana, and had +begun life as a grocer-boy. He was supposed to live upon a handful of +fruit, but every day it had been Peter’s job to assist in the preparation +of a large beef-steak or a roast chicken. These were “for sacrificial +purposes,” so the prophet explained to his attendants; and Peter would get +the remains of the sacrificial beef-steaks and chickens, and would +sacrificially devour them behind the pantry door. That had been one of his +private grafts, which he got in return for keeping secret from the prophet +some of the stealings of Tushbar Akrogas, the major-domo. +</p> +<p> +A wonderful place had been this Temple of Jimjambo. There were mystic +altars with seven veils before them, and thru these the Chief Magistrian +would appear, clad in a long cream-colored robe with gold and purple +borders, and with pink embroidered slippers and symbolic head-dress. His +lectures and religious rites had been attended by hundreds—many of +them rich society women, who came rolling up to the temple in their +limousines. Also there had been a school, where children had been +initiated into the mystic rites of the cult. The prophet would take these +children into his private apartments, and there were awful rumors—which +had ended in the raiding of the temple by the police, and the flight of +the prophet, and likewise of the majordomo, and of Peter Gudge, his +scullion and confederate. +</p> +<p> +Also, Peter thought it was fun to tell Gerald Leslie about his adventures +with the Holy Rollers, into whose church he had drifted during his search +for a job. Peter had taken up with this sect, and learned the art of +“talking in tongues,” and how to fall over the back of your chair in +convulsions of celestial glory. Peter had gained the confidence of the +Rev. Gamaliel Lunk, and had been secretly employed by him to carry on a +propaganda among the congregation to obtain a raise in salary for the +underpaid convulsionist. But certain things which Peter had learned had +caused him to go over to the faction of Shoemaker Smithers, who was trying +to persuade the congregation that he could roll harder and faster than the +Rev. Gamaliel. Peter had only held this latter job a few days before he +had been fired for stealing the fried doughnut. +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +Section 10 +</h2> +<p> +All these things and more Peter told; thinking that he was safe now, under +the protection of authority. But after he had spent about two months in +the hospital, he was summoned one day into the office, and there stood +Guffey, glowering at him in a black fury. “You damned fool!” were Guffey’s +first words. +</p> +<p> +Peter’s knees went weak and his teeth began to chatter again. +“Wh-wh-what?” he cried. +</p> +<p> +“Didn’t I tell you to hold your mouth?” And Guffey looked as if he were +going to twist Peter’s wrist again. +</p> +<p> +“Mr. Guffey, I ain’t told a soul! I ain’t said one word about the Goober +case, not one word!” + </p> +<p> +Peter rushed on, pouring out protests. But Guffey cut him short. “Shut up, +you nut! Maybe you didn’t talk about the Goober case, but you talked about +yourself. Didn’t you tell somebody you’d worked with that fellow +Kalandra?” + </p> +<p> +“Y-y-yes, sir.” + </p> +<p> +“And you knew the police were after him, and after you, too?” + </p> +<p> +“Y-y-yes, sir.” + </p> +<p> +“And you said you’d been arrested selling fake patent medicines?” + </p> +<p> +“Y-y-yes, sir.” + </p> +<p> +“Christ almighty!” cried Guffey. “And what kind of a witness do you think +you’ll make?” + </p> +<p> +“But,” cried Peter in despair, “I didn’t tell anybody that would matter. I +only—” + </p> +<p> +“What do you know what would matter?” roared the detective, adding a +stream of furious oaths. “The Goober people have got spies on us; they’ve +got somebody right here in this jail. Anyhow, they’ve found out about you +and your record. You’ve gone and ruined us with your blabbing mouth!” + </p> +<p> +“My Lord!” whispered Peter, his voice dying away. +</p> +<p> +“Look at yourself on a witness-stand! Look at what they’ll do to you +before a jury! Traveling over the country, swindling people with patent +medicines—and getting in jail for it! Working for that hell-blasted +scoundrel Kalandra—” and Guffey added some dreadful words, +descriptive of the loathsome vices of which the Chief Magistrian had been +accused. “And you mixed up in that kind of thing!” + </p> +<p> +“I never done anything like that!” cried Peter wildly. “I didn’t even know +for sure.” + </p> +<p> +“Tell that to the jury!” sneered Guffey. “Why, they’ve even been to that +Shoemaker Smithers, and they’ll put his wife on the stand to prove you a +sneak thief, and tell how she kicked you out. And all because you couldn’t +hold your mouth as I told you to!” + </p> +<p> +Peter burst into tears. He fell down on his knees, pleading that he hadn’t +meant any harm; he hadn’t had any idea that he was not supposed to talk +about his past life; he hadn’t realized what a witness was, or what he was +supposed to do. All he had been told was to keep quiet about the Goober +case, and he had kept quiet. So Peter sobbed and pleaded—but in +vain. Guffey ordered him back to the hole, declaring his intention to +prove that Peter was the one who had thrown the bomb, and that Peter, +instead of Jim Goober, had been the head and front of the conspiracy. +Hadn’t Peter signed a confession that he had helped to make the bomb? +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +Section 11 +</h2> +<p> +Again Peter did not know how long he lay shivering in the black dungeon. +He only knew that they brought him bread and water three times, before +Guffey came again and summoned him forth. Peter now sat huddled into a +chair, twisting his trembling hands together, while the chief detective of +the Traction Trust explained to him his new program. Peter was permanently +ruined as a witness in the case. The labor conspirators had raised huge +sums for their defense; they had all the labor unions of the city, and in +fact of the entire country behind them, and they were hiring spies and +informers, and trying to find out all they could about the prosecution, +the evidence it had collected and the moves it was preparing. Guffey did +not say that he had been afraid to kick Peter out because of the +possibility that Peter might go over to the Goober side and tell all he +knew; but Peter guessed this while he sat listening to Guffey’s +explanation, and realized with a thrill of excitement that at last he had +really got a hold upon the ladder of prosperity. Not in vain had his +finger been almost broken and his wrist almost dislocated! +</p> +<p> +“Now,” said Guffey, “here’s my idea: As a witness you’re on the bum, but +as a spy, you’re it. They know that you blabbed, and that I know it; they +know I’ve had you in the hole. So now what I want to do is to make a +martyr of you. D’you see?” + </p> +<p> +Peter nodded; yes, he saw. It was his specialty, seeing things like that. +</p> +<p> +“You’re an honest witness, you understand? I tried to get you to lie, and +you wouldn’t, so now you go over to the other side, and they take you in, +and you find out all you can, and from time to time you meet somebody as +I’ll arrange it, and send me word what you’ve learned. You get me?” + </p> +<p> +“I get you,” said Peter, eagerly. No words could portray his relief. He +had a real job now! He was going to be a sleuth, like Guffey himself. +</p> +<p> +“Now,” said Guffey, “the first thing I want to know is, who’s blabbing in +this jail; we can’t do anything but they get tipped off. I’ve got +witnesses that I want kept hidden, and I don’t dare put them here for fear +of the Goober crowd. I want to know who are the traitors. I want to know a +lot of things that I’ll tell you from time to time. I want you to get next +to these Reds, and learn about their ideas, so you can talk their lingo. +</p> +<p> +“Sure,” said Peter. He could not help smiling a little. He was supposed to +be a “Red” already, to have been one of their leading conspirators. But +Guffey had abandoned that pretence—or perhaps had forgotten about +it! +</p> +<p> +It was really an easy job that Peter had set before him. He did not have +to pretend to be anything different from what he was. He would call +himself a victim of circumstances, and would be honestly indignant against +those who had sought to use him in a frame-up against Jim Goober. The rest +would follow naturally. He would get the confidence of the labor people, +and Guffey would tell him what to do next. +</p> +<p> +“We’ll put you in one of the cells of this jail,” said the chief +detective, “and we’ll pretend to give you a ‘third degree.’ You’ll holler +and make a fuss, and say you won’t tell, and finally we’ll give up and +kick you out. And then all you have to do is just hang around. They’ll +come after you, or I miss my guess.” + </p> +<p> +So the little comedy was arranged and played thru. Guffey took Peter by +the collar and led him out into the main part of the jail, and locked him +in one of a row of open cells. He grabbed Peter by the wrist and pretended +to twist it, and Peter pretended to protest. He did not have to draw on +his imagination; he knew how it felt, and how he was supposed to act, and +he acted. He sobbed and screamed, and again and again he vowed that he had +told the truth, that he knew nothing else than what he had told, and that +nothing could make him tell any more. Guffey left him there until late the +next afternoon, and then came again, and took him by the collar, and led +him out to the steps of the jail, and gave him a parting kick. +</p> +<p> +Peter was free! What a wonderful sensation—freedom! God! Had there +ever been anything like it? He wanted to shout and howl with joy. But +instead he staggered along the street, and sank down upon a stone coping, +sobbing, with his head clasped in his hands, waiting for something to +happen. And sure enough, it happened. Perhaps an hour passed, when he was +touched lightly on the shoulder. “Comrade,” said a soft voice, and Peter, +looking between his fingers, saw the skirts of a girl. A folded slip of +paper was pressed into his hand and the soft voice said: “Come to this +address.” The girl walked on, and Peter’s heart leaped with excitement. +Peter was a sleuth at last! +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +Section 12 +</h2> +<p> +Peter waited until after dark, in order to indulge his sense of the +romantic; also he flattered his self-importance by looking carefully about +him as he walked down the street. He did not know just who would be +shadowing him, but Peter wanted to be sleuthy. +</p> +<p> +Also he had a bit of genuine anxiety. He had told the truth when he said +to Guffey that he didn’t know what a “Red” was; but since then he had been +making in quiries, and now he knew. A “Red” was a fellow who sympathized +with labor unions and with strikes; who wanted to murder the rich and +divide their property, and believed that the quickest way to do the +dividing was by means of dynamite. All “Reds” made bombs, and carried +concealed weapons, and perhaps secret poisons—who could tell? And +now Peter was going among them, he was going to become one of them! It was +almost too interesting, for a fellow who aimed above everything to be +comfortable. Something in him whispered, “Why not skip; get out of town +and be done with it?” But then he thought of the rewards and honors that +Guffey had promised him. Also there was the spirit of curiosity; he might +skip at any time, but first he would like to know a bit more about being a +“dick.” + </p> +<p> +He came to the number which had been given him, a tiny bungalow in a poor +neighborhood, and rang the doorbell. It was answered by a girl, and at a +glance Peter saw that it was the girl who had spoken to him. She did not +wait for him to announce himself, but cried impulsively, “Mr. Gudge! Oh, +I’m so glad you’ve come!” She added, “Comrade!”—just as if Peter +were a well-known friend. And then, “But <i>are</i> you a comrade?” + </p> +<p> +“How do you mean?” asked Peter. +</p> +<p> +“You’re not a Socialist? Well, we’ll make one of you.” She brought him in +and showed him to a chair, saying, “I know what they did to you; and you +stood out against them! Oh, you were wonderful! Wonderful!” + </p> +<p> +Peter was at a loss what to say. There was in this girl’s voice a note of +affection, as well as of admiration; and Peter in his hard life had had +little experience with emotions of this sort. Peter had watched the +gushings and excitements of girls who were seeking flirtations; but this +girl’s attitude he felt at once was not flirtatious. Her voice tho soft, +was just a trifle too solemn for a young girl; her deep-set, wistful grey +eyes rested on Peter with the solicitude of a mother whose child has just +escaped a danger. +</p> +<p> +She called: “Sadie, here’s Mr. Gudge.” And there entered another girl, +older, taller, but thin and pale like her sister. Jennie and Sadie Todd +were their names, Peter learned; the older was a stenographer, and +supported the family. The two girls were in a state of intense concern. +They started to question Peter about his experiences, but he had only +talked for a minute or two before the elder went to the telephone. There +were various people who must see Peter at once, important people who were +to be notified as soon as he turned up. She spent some time at the phone, +and the people she talked with must have phoned to others, because for the +next hour or two there was a constant stream of visitors coming in, and +Peter had to tell his story over and over again. +</p> +<p> +The first to come was a giant of a man with tight-set mouth and so +powerful a voice that it frightened Peter. He was not surprised to learn +that this man was the leader of one of the most radical of the city’s big +labor unions, the seamen’s. Yes, he was a “Red,” all right; he +corresponded to Peter’s imaginings—a grim, dangerous man, to be +pictured like Samson, seizing the pillars of society and pulling them down +upon his head. “They’ve got you scared, my boy,” he said, noting Peter’s +hesitating answers to his questions. “Well, they’ve had me scared for +forty-five years, but I’ve never let them know it yet.” Then, in order to +cheer Peter up and strengthen his nerves, he told how he, a runaway +seaman, had been hunted thru the Everglades of Florida with bloodhounds, +and tied to a tree and beaten into insensibility. +</p> +<p> +Then came David Andrews, whom Peter had heard of as one of the lawyers in +the Goober case, a tall, distinguished-looking man with keen, alert +features. What was such a man doing among these outcasts? Peter decided +that he must be one of the shrewd ones who made money out of inciting the +discontented. Then came a young girl, frail and sensitive, slightly +crippled. As she crossed the room to shake his hand tears rolled down her +cheeks, and Peter stood embarrassed, wondering if she had just lost a near +relative, and what was he to say about it. From her first words he +gathered, to his great consternation, that she had been moved to tears by +the story of what he himself had endured. +</p> +<p> +Ada Ruth was a poet, and this was a new type for Peter; after much groping +in his mind he set her down for one of the dupes of the movement—a +poor little sentimental child, with no idea of the wickedness by which she +was surrounded. With her came a Quaker boy with pale, ascetic face and +black locks which he had to shake back from his eyes every now and then; +he wore a Windsor tie, and a black felt hat, and other marks of +eccentricity and from his speeches Peter gathered that he was ready to +blow up all the governments of the world in the interests of Pacificism. +The same was true of McCormick, an I. W. W. leader who had just served +sixty days in jail, a silent young Irishman with drawn lips and restless +black eyes, who made Peter uneasy by watching him closely and saying +scarcely a word. +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0013" id="link2H_4_0013"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +Section 13 +</h2> +<p> +They continued to come, one at a time or in groups; old women and young +women, old men and young men, fanatics and dreamers, agitators who could +hardly open their mouths without some white-hot words escaping, revealing +a blaze of passion smouldering in the deeps of them. Peter became more and +more uneasy, realizing that he was actually in the midst of all the most +dangerous “Reds” of American City. They it was whom our law-abiding +citizens dreaded, who were the objects of more concern to the police than +all the plain, everyday burglars and bandits. Peter now could see the +reason—he had not dreamed that such angry and hate-tormented people +existed in the world. Such people would be capable of anything! He sat, +with his restless eyes wandering from one face to another. Which one of +this crowd had helped to set off the bomb? And would they boast about it +to him this evening? +</p> +<p> +Peter half expected this; but then again, he wondered. They were such +strange criminals! They called him “Comrade”; and they spoke with that +same affection that had so bewildered him in little Jennie. Was this just +a ruse to get his confidence, or did these people really think that they +loved him—Peter Gudge, a stranger and a secret enemy? Peter had been +at great pains to fool them; but they seemed to him so easy to fool that +his pains were wasted. He despised them for this, and all the while he +listened to them he was saying to himself, “The poor nuts!” + </p> +<p> +They had come to hear his story, and they plied him with questions, and +made him tell over and over again every detail. Peter, of course, had been +carefully instructed; he was not to mention the elaborate confession he +had been made to sign; that would be giving too dangerous a weapon to +these enemies of law and order. He must tell as brief a story as possible; +how he had happened to be near the scene of the explosion, and how the +police had tried to force him to admit that he knew something about the +case. Peter told this, according to orders; but he had not been prepared +for the minute questioning to which he was subjected by Andrews, the +lawyer, aided by old John Durand, the leader of the seamen. They wanted to +know everything that had been done to him, and who had done it, and how +and when and where and why. Peter had a sense of the dramatic, and enjoyed +being the center of attention and admiration, even tho it was from a +roomful of criminal “Reds.” So he told all the picturesque details of how +Guffey had twisted his wrist and shut him in a dungeon; the memory of the +pain was still poignant, and came out of him now, with a realism that +would have moved a colder group. +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +So pretty soon here were all these women sobbing and raging. Little +Ada Ruth became inspired, and began reciting a poem—or was she +composing it right here, before his eyes? She seemed entranced with +indignation. It was something about the workers arising—the outcry +of a mob— + +“No further patience with a heedless foe— +Get off our backs, or else to hell you go!” + </pre> +<p> +Peter listened, and thought to himself, “The poor nut!” And then Donald +Gordon, the Quaker boy, took the floor, and began shaking his long black +locks, and composing a speech, it seemed. And Peter listened, and thought +again, “The poor nut!” Then another man, the editor of a labor journal, +revealed the fact that he was composing an editorial; he knew Guffey, and +was going to publish Guffey’s picture, and brand him as an +“Inquisitionist.” He asked for Peter’s picture, and Peter agreed to have +one taken, and to be headlined as “The Inquisitionist’s Victim.” Peter had +no idea what the long word meant; but he assented, and thought again, “The +poor nut!” All of them were “nuts”—taking other people’s troubles +with such excitement! +</p> +<p> +But Peter was frightened, too; he couldn’t altogether enjoy being a hero, +in this vivid and startling fashion; having his name and fame spread from +one end of the country to the other, so that organized labor might know +the methods which the great traction interests of American City were +employing to send a well-known labor leader to the gallows! The thing +seemed to grow and grow before Peter’s frightened eyes. Peter, the ant, +felt the earth shaking, and got a sudden sense of the mountain size of the +mighty giants who were stamping in combat over his head. Peter wondered, +had Guffey realized what a stir his story would make, what a powerful +weapon he was giving to his enemies? What could Guffey expect to get from +Peter, to compensate for this damage to his own case? Peter, as he +listened to the stormy oratory in the crowded little room, found himself +thinking again and again of running away. He had never seen anything like +the rage into which these people worked themselves, the terrible things +they said, the denunciations, not merely of the police of American City, +but of the courts and the newspapers, the churches and the colleges, +everything that seemed respectable and sacred to law-abiding citizens like +Peter Gudge. +</p> +<p> +Peter’s fright became apparent. But why shouldn’t he be frightened? +Andrews, the lawyer, offered to take him away and hide him, lest the +opposition should try to make way with him. Peter would be a most +important witness for the Goober defense, and they must take good care of +him. But Peter recovered his self-possession, and took up his noble role. +No, he would take his chances with the rest of them, he was not too much +afraid. +</p> +<p> +Sadie Todd, the stenographer, rewarded him for his heroism. They had a +spare bedroom in their little home, and if Peter cared to stay with them +for a while, they would try to make him comfortable. Peter accepted this +invitation, and at a late hour in the evening the gathering broke up. The +various groups of “Reds” went their way, their hands clenched and their +faces portraying a grim resolve to make out of Peter’s story a means of +lashing discontented labor to new frenzies of excitement. The men clasped +Peter’s hand cordially; the ladies gazed at him with soulful eyes, and +whispered their admiration for his brave course, their hope, indeed their +conviction, that he would stand by the truth to the end, and would study +their ideas and join their “movement.” All the while Peter watched them, +and continued saying to himself: “The poor nuts!” + </p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0014" id="link2H_4_0014"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +Section 14 +</h2> +<p> +The respectable newspapers of American City of course did not waste their +space upon fantastic accusations brought by radicals, charging the police +authorities with using torture upon witnesses. But there was a Socialist +paper published every week in American City, and this paper had a long +account of Peter’s experiences on the front page, together with his +picture. Also there were three labor papers which carried the story, and +the Goober Defense Committee prepared a circular about it and mailed out +thousands of copies all over the country. This circular was written by +Donald Gordon, the Quaker boy. He brought Peter a proof of it, to make +sure that he had got all the details right, and Peter read it, and really +could not help being thrilled to discover what a hero he was. Peter had +not said anything about his early career, and whoever among the Goober +Defense Committee had learned those details chose to be diplomatically +silent. Peter smiled to himself as he thought about that. They were foxy, +these people! They were playing their hand for all it was worth—and +Peter admired them for that. In Donald Gordon’s narrative Peter appeared +as a poor workingman; and Peter grinned. He was used to the word +“working,” but when he talked about “working people,” he meant something +different from what these Socialists meant. +</p> +<p> +The story went out, and of course all sorts of people wanted to meet +Peter, and came to the home of the Todd girls. So Peter settled down to +his job of finding out all he could about these visitors, their names and +occupations, their relations to the radical movement. Guffey had advised +him not to make notes, for fear of detection, but Peter could not carry +all this in his head, so he would retire to his room and make minute notes +on slips of paper, and carefully sew these up in the lining of his coat, +with a thrill of mystery. +</p> +<p> +Except for this note-taking, however, Peter’s sleuthing was easy work, for +these people all seemed eager to talk about what they were doing; +sometimes it frightened Peter—they were so open and defiant! Not +merely did they express their ideas to one another and to him, they were +expressing them on public platforms, and in their publications, in +pamphlets and in leaflets—what they called “literature.” Peter had +had no idea their “movement” was so widespread or so powerful. He had +expected to unearth a secret conspiracy, and perhaps a dynamite-bomb or +two; instead of which, apparently, he was unearthing a volcano! +</p> +<p> +However, Peter did the best he could. He got the names and details about +some forty or fifty people of all classes; obscure workingmen and women, +Jewish tailors, Russian and Italian cigar-workers, American-born +machinists and printers; also some “parlor Reds”—large, immaculate +and shining ladies who came rolling up to the little bungalow in large, +immaculate and shining automobiles, and left their uniformed chauffeurs +outside for hours at a time while they listened to Peter’s story of his +“third degree.” One benevolent lady with a flowing gray veil, who wafted a +sweet perfume about the room, suggested that Peter might be in need, and +pressed a twenty dollar bill into his hand. Peter, thrilled, but also +bewildered, got a new sense of the wonders of this thing called “the +movement,” and decided that when Guffey got thru with him he might turn +into a “Red” in earnest for a while. +</p> +<p> +Meantime he settled down to make himself comfortable with the Todd +sisters. Sadie went off to her work before eight o’clock every morning, +and that was before Peter got up; but Jennie stayed at home, and fixed his +breakfast, and opened the door for his visitors, and in general played the +hostess for him. She was a confirmed invalid; twice a week she went off to +a doctor to have something done to her spine, and the balance of the time +she was supposed to be resting, but Peter very seldom saw her doing this. +She was always addressing circulars, or writing letters for the “cause,” + or going off to sell literature and take up collections at meetings. When +she was not so employed, she was arguing with somebody—frequently +with Peter—trying to make him think as she did. +</p> +<p> +Poor kid, she was all wrought up over the notions she had got about the +wrongs of the working classes. She gave herself no peace about it, day or +night, and this, of course, was a bore to Peter, who wanted peace above +all things. Over in Europe millions of men were organized in armies, +engaged in slaughtering one another. That, of course, was, very terrible, +but what was the good of thinking about it? There was no way to stop it, +and it certainly wasn’t Peter’s fault. But this poor, deluded child was +acting all the time as if she were to blame for this European conflict, +and had the job of bringing it to a close. The tears would come into her +deep-set grey eyes, and her soft chin would quiver with pain whenever she +talked about it; and it seemed to Peter she was talking about it all the +time. It was her idea that the war must be stopped by uprisings on the +part of the working people in Europe. Apparently she thought this might be +hastened if the working people of American City would rise up and set an +example! +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0015" id="link2H_4_0015"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +Section 15 +</h2> +<p> +Jennie talked about this plan quite openly; she would put a red ribbon in +her hair, and pin a red badge on her bosom, and go into meeting-places and +sell little pamphlets with red covers. So, of course, it would be Peter’s +duty to report her to the head of the secret service of the Traction +Trust. Peter regretted this, and was ashamed of having to do it; she was a +nice little girl, and pretty, too, and a fellow might have had some fun +with her if she had not been in such a hysterical state. He would sit and +look at her, as she sat bent over her typewriter. She had soft, fluffy +hair, the color of twilight, and even white teeth, and a faint flush that +came and went in her cheeks—yes, she would not be bad looking at +all, if only she would straighten up, and spend a little time on her +looks, as other girls did. +</p> +<p> +But no, she was always in a tension, and the devil of it was, she was +trying to get Peter into the same state. She was absolutely determined +that Peter must get wrought up over the wrongs of the working classes. She +took it for granted that he would, when he was instructed. She would tell +him harrowing stories, and it was his duty to be duly harrowed; he must be +continually acting an emotional part. She would give him some of her +“literature” to read, and then she would pin him down and make sure that +he had read it. He knew how to read—Pericles Priam had seen to that, +because he wanted him to attend to the printing of his circulars and his +advertisements in the country newspapers where he was traveling. So now +Peter was penned in a corner and compelled to fix his attention upon “The +A. B. C. of Socialism,” or “Capital and Proletariat,” or “The Path to +Power.” + </p> +<p> +Peter told himself that it was part of his job to acquire this +information. He was going to be a “Red,” and he must learn their lingo; +but he found it awfully tiresome, full of long technical words which he +had never heard before. Why couldn’t these fellows at least talk American? +He had known that there were Socialists, and also “Arnychists,” as he +called them, and he thought they were all alike. But now he learned, not +merely about Socialists and “Arnychists,” but about State Socialists and +Communist Anarchists, and Communist Syndicalists and Syndicalist +Anarchists and Socialist Syndicalists, and Reformist Socialists and Guild +Socialists, to say nothing about Single Taxers and Liberals and +Progressives and numerous other varieties, whom he had to meet and +classify and listen to respectfully and sympathetically. Each particular +group insisted upon the distinctions which made it different, and each +insisted that it had the really, truly truth; and Peter became desperately +bored with their everlasting talk—how much more simple to lump them +all together, as did Guffey and McGivney, calling them all “Reds!” + </p> +<p> +Peter had got it clearly fixed in his mind that what these “Reds” wanted +was to divide up the property of the rich. Everyone he had questioned +about them had said this. But now he learned that this wasn’t it exactly. +What they wanted was to have the State take over the industries, or to +have the labor unions do it, or to have the working people in general do +it. They pointed to the post office and the army and the navy, as examples +of how the State could run things. Wasn’t that all right? demanded Jennie. +And Peter said Yes, that was all right; but hidden back in Peter’s soul +all the time was a whisper that it wouldn’t make a damn bit of difference. +There was a sucker born every minute, and you might be sure that no matter +how they fixed it up, there would always be some that would find it easy +to live off the rest. This poor kid, for example, who was ready to throw +herself away for any fool notion, or for anybody that came along and told +her a hard-luck story—would there ever be a state of society in +which she wouldn’t be a juicy morsel to be gobbled up by some fellow with +a normal appetite? +</p> +<p> +She was alone in the house all day with Peter, and she got to seem more +and more pretty as he got to know her better. Also it was evident that she +liked Peter more and more as Peter played his game. Peter revealed himself +as deeply sympathetic, and a quick convert to the cause; he saw everything +that Jennie explained to him, he was horrified at the horrible stories, he +was ready to help her end the European war by starting a revolution among +the working people of American City. Also, he told her about himself, and +awakened her sympathy for his harsh life, his twenty years of privation +and servitude; and when she wept over this, Peter liked it. It was fine, +somehow, to have her so sorry for him; it helped to compensate him for the +boredom of hearing her be sorry for the whole working class. +</p> +<p> +Peter didn’t know whether Jennie had learned about his bad record, but he +took no chances—he told her everything, and thus took the sting out +of it. Yes, he had been trapped into evil ways, but it wasn’t his fault, +he hadn’t known any better, he had been a pitiful victim of circumstances. +He told how he had been starved and driven about and beaten by “Old Man” + Drubb, and the tears glistened in Jennie’s grey eyes and stole down her +cheeks. He told about loneliness and heartsickness and misery in the +orphan asylum. And how could he, poor lad, realize that it was wrong to +help Pericles Priam sell his Peerless Pain Paralyzer? How could he know +whether the medicine was any good or not—he didn’t even know now, as +a matter of fact. As for the Temple of Jimjambo, all that Peter had done +was to wash dishes and work as a kitchen slave, as in any hotel or +restaurant. +</p> +<p> +It was a story easy to fix up, and especially easy because the first +article in the creed of Socialist Jennie was that economic circumstances +were to blame for human frailties. That opened the door for all varieties +of grafters, and made the child such an easy mark that Peter would have +been ashamed to make a victim of her, had it not been that she happened to +stand in the path of his higher purposes—and also that she happened +to be young, only seventeen, with tender grey eyes, and tempting, sweet +lips, alone there in the house all day. +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0016" id="link2H_4_0016"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +Section 16 +</h2> +<p> +Peter’s adventures in love had so far been pretty much of a piece with the +rest of his life experiences; there had been hopes, and wonderful dreams, +but very few realizations. Peter knew a lot about such matters; in the +orphan asylum there were few vicious practices which he did not witness, +few obscene imaginings with which he was not made familiar. Also, Pericles +Priam had been a man like the traditional sailor, with a girl in every +port; and generally in these towns and villages there had been no place +for Peter to go save where Pericles went, so Peter had been the witness of +many of his master’s amours and the recipient of his confidences. But none +of these girls and women had paid any attention to Peter. Peter was only a +“kid”; and when he grew up and was no longer a kid, but a youth tormented +with sharp desires, they still paid no attention to him—why should +they? Peter was nothing; he had no position, no money, no charms; he was +frail and undersized, his teeth were crooked, and one shoulder higher than +the other. What could he expect from women and girls but laughter and +rebuffs? +</p> +<p> +Then Peter moved on to the Temple of Jimjambo, and there a devastating +experience befell him—he tumbled head over heels and agonizingly in +love. There was a chambermaid in the institution, a radiant creature from +the Emerald Isles with hair like sunrise and cheeks like apples, and a +laugh that shook the dish-pans on the kitchen walls. She laughed at Peter, +she laughed at the major-domo, she laughed at all the men in the place who +tried to catch her round the waist. Once or twice a month perhaps she +would let them succeed, just to keep them interested, and to keep herself +in practice. +</p> +<p> +The only one she really favored was the laundry deliveryman, and Peter +soon realized why. This laundry fellow had the use of an automobile on +Sundays, and Nell would dress herself up to kill, and roll away in state +with him. He would spend all his week’s earnings entertaining her at the +beach; Peter knew, because she would tell the whole establishment on +Monday morning. “Gee, but I had a swell time!” she would say; and would +count the ice-creams and the merry-go-rounds and the whirly-gigs and all +the whang-doodle things. She would tell about the tattooed men and the +five-legged calf and the woman who was half man, and all the while she +would make the dishpans rattle. +</p> +<p> +Yes, she was a marvelous creature, and Peter suddenly realized that his +ultimate desire in life was to possess a “swell lady-friend” like Nell. He +realized that there was one essential prerequisite, and that was money. +None of them would look at you without money. Nell had gone out with him +only once, and that was upon the savings of six months, and Peter had not +been able to conceal the effort it cost him to spend it all. So he had +been set down as a “tight-wad,” and had made no headway. +</p> +<p> +Nell had disappeared, along with everybody else when the police raided the +Temple. Peter never knew what had become of her, but the old longings +still haunted him, and he would find himself imagining—suppose the +police had got her; suppose she were in jail, and he with his new “pull” + were able to get her out, and carry her away and keep her hid from the +laundry man! +</p> +<p> +These were dreams; but meantime here was reality, here was a new world. +Peter had settled down in the home of the Todd sisters; and what was their +attitude toward these awful mysteries of love? +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0017" id="link2H_4_0017"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +Section 17 +</h2> +<p> +It had been arranged with Guffey that at the end of a week Peter was to +have a secret meeting with one of the chief detective’s men. So Peter told +the girls that he was tired of being a prisoner in the house and must get +some fresh air. +</p> +<p> +“Oh please, Mr. Gudge, don’t take such a chance!” cried Sadie, her thin, +anxious face suddenly growing more anxious and thin. “Don’t you know this +house is being watched? They are just hoping to catch you out alone. It +would be the last of you.” + </p> +<p> +“I’m not so important as that,” said Peter; but she insisted that he was, +and Peter was pleased, in spite of his boredom, he liked to hear her +insist upon his importance. +</p> +<p> +“Oh!” she cried. “Don’t you know yet how much depends on you as a witness +for the Goober defense? This case is of concern to millions of people all +over the world! It is a test case, Mr. Gudge—are they to be allowed +to murder the leaders of the working class without a struggle? No, we must +show them that there is a great movement, a world-wide awakening of the +workers, a struggle for freedom for the wage slaves—” + </p> +<p> +But Peter could stand no more of this. “All right,” he said, suddenly +interrupting Sadie’s eloquence. “I suppose it’s my duty to stay, even if I +die of consumption, being shut up without any fresh air.” He would play +the martyr; which was not so hard, for he was one, and looked like one, +with his thin, one-sided little figure, and his shabby clothes. Both Sadie +and Jennie gazed at him with admiration, and sighed with relief. +</p> +<p> +But later on, Peter thought of an idea. He could go out at night, he told +Sadie, and slip out the back way, so that no one would see him; he would +not go into crowds or brightly lighted streets, so there would be no +chance of his being recognized. There was a fellow he absolutely had to +see, who owed him some money; it was way over on the other side of the +city—that was why he rejected Jennie’s offer to accompany him. +</p> +<p> +So that evening Peter climbed a back fence and stole thru a neighbor’s +chicken-yard and got away. He had a fine time ducking and dodging in the +crowds, making sure that no one was trailing him to his secret rendezvous—no +“Red” who might chance to be suspicious of his “comradeship.” It was in +the “American House,” an obscure hotel, and Peter was to take the elevator +to the fourth floor, without speaking to any one, and to tap three times +on the door of Room 427. Peter did so, and the door opened, and he slipped +in, and there he met Jerry McGivney, with the face of a rat. +</p> +<p> +“Well, what have you got?” demanded McGivney; and Peter sat down and +started to tell. With eager fingers he undid the amateur sewing in the +lining of his coat, and pulled out his notes with the names and +descriptions of people who had come to see him. +</p> +<p> +McGivney glanced over them quickly. “Jesus!” he said, “What’s the good of +all this?” + </p> +<p> +“Well, but they’re Reds!” exclaimed Peter. +</p> +<p> +“I know,” said the other, “but what of that? We can go hear them spout at +meetings any night. We got membership lists of these different +organizations. But what about the Goober case?” + </p> +<p> +“Well,” said Peter, “they’re agitating about it all the time; they’ve been +printing stuff about me.” + </p> +<p> +“Sure, we know that,” said McGivney. “And the hell of a fine story you +gave them; you must have enjoyed hearing yourself talk. But what good does +that do us?” + </p> +<p> +“But what do you want to know?” cried Peter, in dismay. +</p> +<p> +“We want to know their secret plans,” said the other. “We want to know +what they’re doing to get our witnesses; we want to know who it is that is +selling us out, who’s the spy in the jail. Didn’t you find that out?” + </p> +<p> +“N-no,” said Peter. “Nobody said anything about it.” + </p> +<p> +“Good God!” said the detective. “D’you expect them to bring you things on +a silver tray?” He began turning over Peter’s notes again, and finally +threw them on the bed in disgust. He began questioning Peter, and Peter’s +dismay turned to despair. He had not got a single thing that McGivney +wanted. His whole week of “sleuthing” had been wasted! +</p> +<p> +The detective did not mince words. “It’s plain that you’re a boob,” he +said. “But such as you are, we’ve got to do the best we can with you. Now, +put your mind on it and get it straight: we know who these Reds are, and +we know what they’re teaching; we can’t send ‘em to jail for that. What we +want you to find out is the name of their spy, and who are their witnesses +in the Goober case, and what they’re going to say.” + </p> +<p> +“But how can I find out things like that?” cried Peter. +</p> +<p> +“You’ve got to use your wits,” said McGivney. “But I’ll give you one tip; +get yourself a girl.” + </p> +<p> +“A girl?” cried Peter, in wonder. +</p> +<p> +“Sure thing,” said the other. “That’s the way we always work. Guffey says +there’s just three times when people tell their secrets: The first is when +they’re drunk, and the second is when they’re in love—” + </p> +<p> +Then McGivney stopped. Peter, who wanted to complete his education, +inquired, “And the third?” + </p> +<p> +“The third is when they’re both drunk and in love,” was the reply. And +Peter was silent, smitten with admiration. This business of sleuthing was +revealing itself as more complicated and more fascinating all the time. +</p> +<p> +“Ain’t you seen any girl you fancy in that crowd?” demanded the other. +</p> +<p> +“Well—it might be—” said Peter, shyly. +</p> +<p> +“It ought to be easy,” continued the detective. “Them Reds are all free +lovers, you know.” + </p> +<p> +“Free lovers!” exclaimed Peter. “How do you mean?” + </p> +<p> +“Didn’t you know about that?” laughed the other. +</p> +<p> +Peter sat staring at him. All the women that Peter had ever known or heard +of took money for their love. They either took it directly, or they took +it in the form of automobile rides and flowers and candy and tickets to +the whang-doodle things. Could it be that there were women who did not +take money in either form, but whose love was entirely free? +</p> +<p> +The detective assured him that such was the case. “They boast about it,” + said he. “They think it’s right.” And to Peter that seemed the most +shocking thing he had yet heard about the Reds. +</p> +<p> +To be sure, when he thought it over, he could see that it had some +redeeming points; it was decidedly convenient from the point of view of +the man; it was so much money in his pocket. If women chose to be that +silly—and Peter found himself suddenly thinking about little Jennie +Todd. Yes, she would be that silly, it was plain to see. She gave away +everything she had; so of course she would be a “free lover!” + </p> +<p> +Peter went away from his rendezvous with McGivney, thrilling with a new +and wonderful idea. You couldn’t have got him to give up his job now. This +sleuthing business was the real thing! +</p> +<p> +It was late when Peter got home, but the two girls were sitting up for +him, and their relief at his safe return was evident. He noticed that +Jennie’s face expressed deeper concern than her sister’s, and this gave +him a sudden new emotion. Jennie’s breath came and went more swiftly +because he had entered the room; and this affected his own breath in the +same way. He had a swift impulse towards her, an entirely unselfish desire +to reassure her and relieve her anxiety; but with an instinctive +understanding of the sex game which he had not before known he possessed, +he checked this impulse and turned instead to the older sister, assuring +her that nobody had followed him. He told an elaborate story, prepared on +the way; he had worked for ten days for a fellow at sawing wood—hard +work, you bet, and then the fellow had tried to get out of paying him! +Peter had caught him at his home that evening, and had succeeded in +getting five dollars out of him, and a promise of a few dollars more every +week. That was to cover future visits to McGivney. +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0018" id="link2H_4_0018"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +Section 18 +</h2> +<p> +Peter lay awake a good part of the night, thinking over this new job—that +of getting himself a girl. He realized that for some time he had been +falling in love with little Jennie; but he wanted to be sane and +practical, he wanted to use his mind in choosing a girl. He was after +information, first of all. And who had the most to give him? He thought of +Miss Nebbins, who was secretary to Andrews, the lawyer; she would surely +know more secrets than anyone else; but then, Miss Nebbins was an old +maid, who wore spectacles and broad-toed shoes, and was evidently out of +the question for love-making. Then he thought of Miss Standish, a tall, +blond beauty who worked in an insurance office and belonged to the +Socialist Party. She was a “swell dresser,” and Peter would have been glad +to have something like that to show off to McGivney and the rest of +Guffey’s men; but with the best efforts of his self-esteem, Peter could +not imagine himself persuading Miss Standish to look at him. There was a +Miss Yankovich, one of the real Reds, who trained with the I. W. W.; but +she was a Jewess, with sharp, black eyes that clearly indicated a temper, +and frightened Peter. Also, he had a suspicion that she was interested in +McCormick—tho of course with these “free lovers” you could never +tell. +</p> +<p> +But one girl Peter was quite sure about, and that was little Jennie; he +didn’t know if Jennie knew many secrets, but surely she could find some +out for him. Once he got her for his own, he could use her to question +others. And so Peter began to picture what love with Jennie would be like. +She wasn’t exactly what you would call “swell,” but there was something +about her that made him sure he needn’t be ashamed of her. With some new +clothes she would be pretty, and she had grand manners—she had not +shown the least fear of the rich ladies who came to the house in their +automobiles; also she knew an awful lot for a girl—even if most of +what she knew wasn’t so! +</p> +<p> +Peter lost no time in setting to work at his new job. In the papers next +morning appeared the usual details from Flanders; thousands of men being +shot to pieces almost every hour of the day and night, a million men on +each side locked in a ferocious combat that had lasted for weeks, that +might last for months. And sentimental little Jennie sat there with +brimming eyes, talking about it while Peter ate his oatmeal and thin milk. +And Peter talked about it too; how wicked it was, and how they must stop +it, he and Jennie together. He agreed with her now; he was a Socialist, he +called her “Comrade,” and told her she had converted him. Her eyes lighted +up with joy, as if she had really done something to end the war. +</p> +<p> +They were sitting on the sofa, looking at the paper, and they were alone +in the house. Peter suddenly looked up from the reading and said, very +much embarrassed, “But Comrade Jennie—” + </p> +<p> +“Yes,” she said, and looked at him with her frank grey eyes. Peter was +shy, truly a little frightened, this kind of detective business being new +to him. +</p> +<p> +“Comrade Jennie,” he said, “I—I—don’t know just how to say it, +but I’m afraid I’m falling a little in love.” + </p> +<p> +Jennie drew back her hands, and Peter heard her breath come quickly. “Oh, +Mr. Gudge!” she exclaimed. +</p> +<p> +“I—I don’t know—” stammered Peter. “I hope you won’t mind.” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, don’t let’s do that!” she cried. +</p> +<p> +“Why not, Comrade Jennie?” And he added, “I don’t know as I can help it.” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, we were having such a happy time, Mr. Gudge! I thought we were going +to work for the cause!” + </p> +<p> +“Well, but it won’t interfere—” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, but it does, it does; it makes people unhappy!” + </p> +<p> +“Then—” and Peter’s voice trembled—“then you don’t care the +least bit for me, Comrade Jennie?” + </p> +<p> +She hesitated a moment. “I don’t know,” she said. “I hadn’t thought—” + </p> +<p> +And Peter’s heart gave a leap inside him. It was the first time that any +girl had ever had to hesitate in answering that question for Peter. +Something prompted him—just as if he had been doing this kind of +“sleuthing” all his life. He reached over, and very gently took her hand. +“You do care just a little for me?” he whispered. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, Comrade Gudge,” she answered, and Peter said, “Call me ‘Peter.’ +Please, please do.” + </p> +<p> +“Comrade Peter,” she said, and there was a little catch in her throat, and +Peter, looking at her, saw that her eyes were cast down. +</p> +<p> +“I know I’m not very much to love,” he pleaded. “I’m poor and obscure—I’m +not good looking—” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, it isn’t that!” she cried, “Oh, no, no! Why should I think about such +things? You are a comrade!” + </p> +<p> +Peter had known, of course, just how she would take this line of talk. +“Nobody has ever loved me,” he said, sadly. “Nobody cares anything about +you, when you are poor, and have nothing to offer—” + </p> +<p> +“I tell you, that isn’t it!” she insisted. “Please don’t think that! You +are a hero. You have sacrificed for the cause, and you are going on and +become a leader.” + </p> +<p> +“I hope so,” said Peter, modestly. “But then, what is it, Comrade Jennie? +Why don’t you care for me?” + </p> +<p> +She looked up at him, and their eyes met, and with a little sob in her +voice she answered, “I’m not well, Comrade Peter. I’m of no use; it would +be wicked for me to marry.” + </p> +<p> +Somewhere back in the depths of Peter, where his inner self was crouching, +it was as if a sudden douche of ice-cold water were let down on him. +“Marry!” Who had said anything about marrying? Peter’s reaction fitted the +stock-phrase of the comic papers: “This is so sudden!” + </p> +<p> +But Peter was too clever to reveal such dismay. He humored little Jennie, +saying, “We don’t have to marry right away. I could wait, if only I knew +that you cared for me; and some day, when you get well—” + </p> +<p> +She shook her head sadly. “I’m afraid I’ll never get really well. And +besides, neither of us have any money, Comrade Peter.” + </p> +<p> +Ah, there it was! Money, always money! This “free love” was nothing but a +dream. +</p> +<p> +“I could get a job,” said Peter—just like any other tame and +conventional wooer. +</p> +<p> +“But you couldn’t earn enough for two of us,” protested the girl; and +suddenly she sprang up. “Oh, Comrade Peter, let’s not fall in love with +each other! Let’s not make ourselves unhappy, let’s work for the cause! +Promise me that you will!” + </p> +<p> +Peter promised; but of course he had no remotest intention of keeping the +promise. He was not only a detective, he was a man—and in both +capacities he wanted Comrade Jennie. He had all the rest of the day, and +over the addressing of envelopes which he undertook with her, he would now +and then steal love-glances; and Jennie knew now what these looks meant, +and the faint flush would creep over her cheeks and down into her neck and +throat. She was really very pretty when she was falling in love, and Peter +found his new job the most delightful one of his lifetime. He watched +carefully, and noted the signs, and was sure he was making no mistake; +before Sadie came back at supper-time he had his arms about Comrade +Jennie, and was pressing kisses upon the lovely white throat; and Comrade +Jennie was sobbing softly, and her pleading with him to stop had grown +faint and unconvincing. +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0019" id="link2H_4_0019"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +Section 19 +</h2> +<p> +There was the question of Sadie to be settled. There was a certain severe +look that sometimes came about Sadie’s lips, and that caused Peter to feel +absolutely certain that Comrade Sadie had no sympathy with “free love,” + and very little sympathy with any love save her own for Jennie. She had +nursed her “little sister” and tended her like a mother for many years; +she took the food out of her mouth to give to Jennie—and Jennie in +turn gave it to any wandering agitator who came along and hung around +until mealtime. Peter didn’t want Sadie to know what had been going on in +her absence, and yet he was afraid to suggest to Jennie that she should +deceive her sister. +</p> +<p> +He managed it very tactfully. Jennie began pleading again: “We ought not +to do this, Comrade Peter!” And so Peter agreed, perhaps they oughtn’t, +and they wouldn’t any more. So Jennie put her hair in order, and +straightened her blouse, and her lover could see that she wasn’t going to +tell Sadie. +</p> +<p> +And the next day they were kissing again and agreeing again that they +mustn’t do it; and so once more Jennie didn’t tell Sadie. Before long +Peter had managed to whisper the suggestion that their love was their own +affair, and they ought not to tell anybody for the present; they would +keep the delicious secret, and it would do no one any harm. Jennie had +read somewhere about a woman poet by the name of Mrs. Browning, who had +been an invalid all her life, and whose health had been completely +restored by a great and wonderful love. Such a love had now come to her; +only Sadie might not understand, Sadie might think they did not know each +other well enough, and that they ought to wait. They knew, of course, that +they really did know each other perfectly, so there was no reason for +uncertainty or fear. Peter managed deftly to put these suggestions into +Jennie’s mind as if they were her own. +</p> +<p> +And all the time he was making ardent love to her; all day long, while he +was helping her address envelopes and mail out circulars for the Goober +Defense Committee. He really did work hard; he didn’t mind working, when +he had Jennie at the table beside him, and could reach over and hold her +hand every now and then, or catch her in his arms and murmur passionate +words. Delicious thrills and raptures possessed him; his hopes would rise +like a flood-tide—but then, alas, only to ebb again! He would get so +far, and every time it would be as if he had run into a stone wall. No +farther! +</p> +<p> +Peter realized that McGivney’s “free love” talk had been a cruel mistake. +Little Jennie was like all the other women—her love wasn’t going to +be “free.” Little Jennie wanted a husband, and every time you kissed her, +she began right away to talk about marriage, and you dared not hint at +anything else because you knew it would spoil everything. So Peter was +thrown back upon devices older than the teachings of any “Reds.” He went +after little Jennie, not in the way of “free lovers,” but in the way of a +man alone in the house with a girl of seventeen, and wishing to seduce +her. He vowed that he loved her with an overwhelming and eternal love. He +vowed that he would get a job and take care of her. And then he let her +discover that he was suffering torments; he could not live without her. He +played upon her sympathy, he played upon her childish innocence, he played +upon that pitiful, weak sentimentality which caused her to believe in +pacifism and altruism and socialism and all the other “isms” that were +jumbled up in her head. +</p> +<p> +And so in a couple of weeks Peter had succeeded in his purpose of carrying +little Jennie by storm. And then, how enraptured he was! Peter, with his +first girl, decided that being a detective was the job for him! Peter knew +that he was a real detective now, using the real inside methods, and on +the trail of the real secrets of the Goober case! +</p> +<p> +And sure enough, he began at once to get them. Jennie was in love; Jennie +was, as you might say, “drunk with love,” and so she fulfilled both the +conditions which Guffey had laid down. So Jennie told the truth! Sitting +on Peter’s knee, with her arms clasped about him, and talking about her +girlhood, the happy days before her mother and father had been killed in +the factory where they worked, little Jennie mentioned the name of a young +man, Ibbetts. +</p> +<p> +“Ibbetts?” said Peter. It was a peculiar name, and sounded familiar. +</p> +<p> +“A cousin of ours,” said Jennie. +</p> +<p> +“Have I met him?” asked Peter, groping in his mind. +</p> +<p> +“No, he hasn’t been here.” + </p> +<p> +“Ibbetts?” he repeated, still groping; and suddenly he remembered. “Isn’t +his name Jack?” + </p> +<p> +Jennie did not answer for a moment. He looked at her, and their eyes met, +and he saw that she was frightened. “Oh, Peter!” she whispered. “I wasn’t +to tell! I wasn’t to tell a soul!” + </p> +<p> +Inside Peter, something was shouting with delight. To hide his emotion he +had to bury his face in the soft white throat. “Sweetheart!” he whispered. +“Darling!” + </p> +<p> +“Uh, Peter!” she cried. “You know—don’t you?” + </p> +<p> +“Of course!” he laughed. “But I won’t tell. You needn’t mind trusting me.” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, but Mr. Andrews was so insistent!” said Jennie, “He made Sadie and me +swear that we wouldn’t breathe it to a soul.” + </p> +<p> +“Well, you didn’t tell,” said Peter. “I found it out by accident. Don’t +mention it, and nobody will be any the wiser. If they should find out that +I know, they wouldn’t blame you; they’d understand that I know Jack +Ibbetts—me being in jail so long.” + </p> +<p> +So Jennie forgot all about the matter, and Peter went on with the kisses, +making her happy, as a means of concealing his own exultation. He had done +the job for which Guffey had sent him! He had solved the first great +mystery of the Goober case! The spy in the jail of American City, who was +carrying out news to the Defense Committee, was Jack Ibbetts, one of the +keepers in the jail, and a cousin of the Todd sisters! +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0020" id="link2H_4_0020"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +Section 20 +</h2> +<p> +It was fortunate that this was the day of Peter’s meeting with McGivney. +He could really not have kept this wonderful secret to himself over night. +He made excuses to the girls, and dodged thru the chicken-yard as before, +and made his way to the American House. As he walked, Peter’s mind was +working busily. He had really got his grip on the ladder of prosperity +now; he must not fail to tighten it. +</p> +<p> +McGivney saw right away from Peter’s face that something had happened. +“Well?” he inquired. +</p> +<p> +“I’ve got it!” exclaimed Peter. +</p> +<p> +“Got what?” + </p> +<p> +“The name of the spy in the jail.” + </p> +<p> +“Christ! You don’t mean it!” cried the other. +</p> +<p> +“No doubt about it,” answered Peter. +</p> +<p> +“Who is he?” + </p> +<p> +Peter clenched his hands and summoned his resolution. “First,” he said, +“you and me got to have an understanding. Mr. Guffey said I was to be +paid, but he didn’t say how much, or when.” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, hell!” said McGivney. “If you’ve got the name of that spy, you don’t +need to worry about your reward.” + </p> +<p> +“Well, that’s all right,” said Peter, “but I’d like to know what I’m to +get and how I’m to get it.” + </p> +<p> +“How much do you want?” demanded the man with the face of a rat. Rat-like, +he was retreating into a corner, his sharp black eyes watching his enemy. +“How much?” he repeated. +</p> +<p> +Peter had tried his best to rise to this occasion. Was he not working for +the greatest and richest concern in American City, the Traction Trust? +Tens and hundreds of millions of dollars they were worth—he had no +idea how much, but he knew they could afford to pay for his secret. “I +think it ought to be worth two hundred dollars,” he said. +</p> +<p> +“Sure,” said McGivney, “that’s all right. We’ll pay you that.” + </p> +<p> +And straightway Peter’s heart sank. What a fool he had been! Why hadn’t he +had more courage, and asked for five hundred dollars? He might even have +asked a thousand, and made himself independent for life! +</p> +<p> +“Well,” said McGivney, “who’s the spy?” + </p> +<p> +Peter made an agonizing, effort, and summoned yet more nerve. “First, I +got to know, when do I get that money?” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, good God!” said McGivney. “You give us the information, and you’ll +get your money all right. What kind of cheap skates do you take us for?” + </p> +<p> +“Well, that’s all right,” said Peter. “But you know, Mr. Guffey didn’t +give me any reason to think he loved me. I still can hardly use this wrist +like I used to.” + </p> +<p> +“Well, he was trying to get some information out of you,” said McGivney. +“He thought you were one of them dynamiters—how could you blame him? +You give me the name of that spy, and I’ll see you get your money.” + </p> +<p> +But still Peter wouldn’t yield. He was afraid of the rat-faced McGivney, +and his heart was thumping fast, but he stood his ground. “I think I ought +to see that money,” he said, doggedly. +</p> +<p> +“Say, what the hell do you take me for?” demanded the detective. “D’you +suppose I’m going to give you two hundred dollars and then have you give +me some fake name and skip?” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, I wouldn’t do that!” cried Peter. +</p> +<p> +“How do I know you wouldn’t?” + </p> +<p> +“Well, I want to go on working for you.” + </p> +<p> +“Sure, and we want you to go on working for us. This ain’t the last secret +we’ll get from you, and you’ll find we play straight with our people—how’d +we ever get anywheres otherwise? There’s a million dollars been put up to +hang that Goober crowd, and if you deliver the goods, you’ll get your +share, and get it right on time.” + </p> +<p> +He spoke with conviction, and Peter was partly persuaded. But most of +Peter’s lifetime had been spent in watching people bargaining with one +another—watching scoundrels trying to outwit one another—and +when it was a question of some money to be got, Peter was like a bulldog +that has got his teeth fixed tight in another dog’s nose; he doesn’t +consider the other dog’s feelings, nor does he consider whether the other +dog admires him or not. +</p> +<p> +“On time?” said Peter. “What do you mean by ‘on time’?” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, my God!” said McGivney, in disgust. +</p> +<p> +“Well, but I want to know,” said Peter. “D’you mean when I give the name, +or d’you mean after you’ve gone and found out whether he really is the spy +or not?” + </p> +<p> +So they worried back and forth, these snarling bulldogs, growing more and +more angry. But Peter was the one who had got his teeth in, and Peter hung +on. Once McGivney hinted quite plainly that the great Traction Trust had +had power enough to shut Peter in the “hole” on two occasions and keep him +there, and it might have power enough to do it a third time. Peter’s heart +failed with terror, but all the same, he hung on to McGivney’s nose. +</p> +<p> +“All right,” said the rat-faced man, at last. He said it in a tone of +wearied scorn; but that didn’t worry Peter a particle. “All right, I’ll +take a chance with you.” And he reached into his pocket and pulled out a +roll of bills—twenty dollar bills they were, and he counted out ten +of them. Peter saw that there was still a lot left to the roll, and knew +that he hadn’t asked as much money as McGivney had been prepared to have +him ask; so his heart was sick within him. At the same time his heart was +leaping with exultation—such a strange thing is the human heart! +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0021" id="link2H_4_0021"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +Section 21 +</h2> +<p> +McGivney laid the money on the bed. “There it is,” he said, “and if you +give me the name of the spy you can take it. But you’d better take my +advice and not spend it, because if it turns out that you haven’t got the +spy, by God, I believe Ed Guffey’d twist the arms out of you!” + </p> +<p> +Peter was easy about that. “I know he’s the spy all right.” + </p> +<p> +“Well, who is he?” + </p> +<p> +“He’s Jack Ibbetts.” + </p> +<p> +“The devil you say!” cried McGivney, incredulously. +</p> +<p> +“Jack Ibbetts, one of the night keepers in the jail.” + </p> +<p> +“I know him,” said the other. “But what put that notion into your head?” + </p> +<p> +“He’s a cousin of the Todd sisters.” + </p> +<p> +“Who are the Todd sisters?” + </p> +<p> +“Jennie Todd is my girl,” said Peter. +</p> +<p> +“Girl!” echoed the other; he stared at Peter, and a grin spread over his +face. “You got a girl in two weeks? I didn’t know you had it in you!” + </p> +<p> +It was a doubtful compliment, but Peter’s smile was no less expansive, and +showed all his crooked teeth. “I got her all right,” he said, “and she +blabbed it out the first thing—that Ibbetts was her cousin. And then +she was scared, because Andrews, the lawyer, had made her and her sister +swear they wouldn’t mention his name to a soul. So you see, they’re using +him for a spy—there ain’t a particle of doubt about it.” + </p> +<p> +“Good God!” said McGivney, and there was genuine dismay in his tone. +“Who’d think it possible? Why, Ibbetts is as decent a fellow as ever you +talked to—and him a Red, and a traitor at that! You know, that’s +what makes it the devil trying to handle these Reds—you never can +tell who they’ll get; you never know who to trust. How, d’you suppose they +manage it?” + </p> +<p> +“I dunno,” said Peter. “There’s a sucker born every minute, you know!” + </p> +<p> +“Well, anyhow, I see you ain’t one of ‘em,” said the rat-faced man, as he +watched Peter take the roll of bills from the bed and tuck them away in an +inside pocket. +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0022" id="link2H_4_0022"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +Section 22 +</h2> +<p> +Peter was warned by the rat-faced man that he must be careful how he spent +any of that money. Nothing would be more certain to bring suspicion on him +than to have it whispered about that he was “in funds.” He must be able to +show how he had come honestly by everything he had. And Peter agreed to +that; he would hide the money away in a safe place until he was thru with +his job. +</p> +<p> +Then he in turn proceeded to warn McGivney. If they were to fire Ibbetts +from his job, it would certainly cause talk, and might direct suspicion +against Peter. McGivney answered with a smile that he wasn’t born +yesterday. They would “promote” Jack Ibbetts, giving him some job where he +couldn’t get any news about the Goober case; then, after a bit, they would +catch him up on some mistake, or get him into some trouble, and fire him. +</p> +<p> +At this meeting, and at later meetings, Peter and the rat-faced man talked +out every aspect of the Goober case, which was becoming more and more +complicated, and bigger as a public issue. New people were continually +being involved, and new problems continually arising; it was more +fascinating than a game of chess. McGivney had spoken the literal truth +when he said that the big business interests of American City had put up a +million dollars to hang Goober and his crowd. At the very beginning there +had been offered seventeen thousand dollars in rewards for information, +and these rewards naturally had many claimants. The trouble was that +people who wanted this money generally had records that wouldn’t go well +before a jury; the women nearly always turned out to be prostitutes, and +the men to be ex-convicts, forgers, gamblers, or what not. Sometimes they +didn’t tell their past records until the other side unearthed them, and +then it was necessary to doctor court records, and pull wires all over the +country. +</p> +<p> +There were a dozen such witnesses as this in the Goober case. They had +told their stories before the grand jury, and innumerable flaws and +discrepancies had been discovered, which made more work and trouble for +Guffey and his lieutenants. Thru a miserable mischance it happened that +Jim Goober and his wife had been watching the parade from the roof of a +building a couple of miles away, at the very hour when they were accused +of having planted the suit-case with the bomb in it. Somebody had taken a +photograph of the parade from this roof, which showed both Goober and his +wife looking over, and also a big clock in front of a jewelry store, +plainly indicating the very minute. Fortunately the prosecution got hold +of this photograph first; but now the defense had learned of its +existence, and was trying to get a look at it. The prosecution didn’t dare +destroy it, because its existence could be proven; but they had +photographed the photograph, and re-photographed that, until they had the +face of the clock so dim that the time could not be seen. Now the defense +was trying to get evidence that this trick had been worked. +</p> +<p> +Then there were all the witnesses for the defense. Thru another mischance +it had happened that half a dozen different people had seen the bomb +thrown from the roof of Guggenheim’s Department Store; which entirely +contradicted the suit-case theory upon which the prosecution was based. So +now it was necessary to “reach” these various witnesses. One perhaps had a +mortgage on his home which could be bought and foreclosed; another perhaps +had a wife who wanted to divorce him, and could be persuaded to help get +him into trouble. Or perhaps he was engaged in an intrigue with some other +man’s wife; or perhaps some woman could be sent to draw him into an +intrigue. +</p> +<p> +Then again, it appeared that very soon after the explosion some of +Guffey’s men had taken a sledge hammer and smashed the sidewalk, also the +wall of the building where the explosion had taken place. This was to fit +in with the theory of the suit-case bomb, and they had taken a number of +photographs of the damage. But now it transpired that somebody had taken a +photograph of the spot before this extra damage had been done, and that +the defense was in possession of this photograph. Who had taken this +photograph, and how could he be “fixed”? If Peter could help in such +matters, he would come out of the Goober case a rich man. +</p> +<p> +Peter would go away from these meetings with McGivney with his head full +of visions, and would concentrate all his faculties upon the collecting of +information. He and Jennie and Sadie talked about the case incessantly, +and Jennie and Sadie would tell freely everything they had heard outside. +Others would come in—young McCormick, and Miriam Yankovitch, and +Miss Nebbins, the secretary to Andrews, and they would tell what they had +learned and what they suspected, and what the defense was hoping to find +out. They got hold of a cousin of the man who had taken the photograph on +the roof; they were working on him, to get him to persuade the +photographer to tell the truth. Next day Donald Gordon would come in, cast +down with despair, because it had been learned that one of the most +valuable witnesses of the defense, a groceryman, had once pleaded guilty +to selling spoilt cheese! Thus every evening, before he went to sleep, +Peter would jot down notes, and sew them up inside his jacket, and once a +week he would go to the meeting with McGivney, and the two would argue and +bargain over the value of Peter’s news. +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0023" id="link2H_4_0023"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +Section 23 +</h2> +<p> +It had become a fascinating game, and Peter would never have tired of it, +but for the fact that he had to stay all day in the house with little +Jennie. A honeymoon is all right for a few weeks, but no man can stand it +forever. Little Jennie apparently never tired of being kissed, and never +seemed satisfied that Peter thoroughly loved her. A man got thru with his +love-making after awhile, but a woman, it appeared, never knew how to drop +the subject; she was always looking before and after, and figuring +consequences and responsibilities, her duty and her reputation and all the +rest of it. Which, of course, was a bore. +</p> +<p> +Jennie was unhappy because she was deceiving Sadie; she wanted to tell +Sadie, and yet somehow it was easier to go on concealing than admit that +one had concealed. Peter didn’t see why Sadie had to be told at all; he +didn’t see why things couldn’t stay just as they were, and why he and his +sweetheart couldn’t have some fun now and then, instead of always being +sentimental, always having agonies over the class war, to say nothing of +the world war, and the prospects of America becoming involved in it. +</p> +<p> +This did not mean that Peter was hard and feelingless. No, when Peter +clasped trembling little Jennie in his arms he was very deeply moved; he +had a real sense of what a gentle and good little soul she was. He would +have been glad to help her—but what could he do about it? The +situation was such that he could not plead with her, he could not try to +change her; he had to give himself up to all her crazy whims and pretend +to agree with her. Little Jennie was by her weakness marked for +destruction, and what good would it do for him to go to destruction along +with her? +</p> +<p> +Peter understood clearly that there are two kinds of people in the world, +those who eat, and those who are eaten; and it was his intention to stay +among the former, group. Peter had come in his twenty years of life to a +definite understanding of the things called “ideas” and “causes” and +“religions.” They were bait to catch suckers; and there is a continual +competition between the suckers, who of course don’t want to be caught, +and those people of superior wits who want to catch them, and therefore +are continually inventing new and more plausible and alluring kinds of +bait. Peter had by now heard enough of the jargon of the “comrades” to +realize that theirs was an especially effective kind; and here was poor +little Jennie, stuck fast on the hook, and what could Peter do about it? +</p> +<p> +Yet, this was Peter’s first love, and when he was deeply thrilled, he +understood the truth of Guffey’s saying that a man in love wants to tell +the truth. Peter would have the impulse to say to her: “Oh, drop all that +preaching, and give yourself a rest! Let’s you and me enjoy life a bit.” + </p> +<p> +Yes, it would be all he could do to keep from saying this—despite +the fact that he knew it would ruin everything. Once little Jennie +appeared in a new silk dress, brought to her by one of the rich ladies +whose heart was touched by her dowdy appearance. It was of soft grey silk—cheap +silk, but fresh and new, and Peter had never had anything so fine in his +arms before. It matched Jennie’s grey eyes, and its freshness gave her a +pink glow; or was it that Peter admired her, and loved her more, and so +brought the blood to her cheeks? Peter had an impulse to take her out and +show her off, and he pressed his face into the soft folds of the dress and +whispered, “Say kid, some day you an me got to cut all this hard luck +business for a bit!” + </p> +<p> +He felt little Jennie stiffen, and draw away from him; so quickly he had +to set to work to patch up the damage. “I want you to get well,” he +pleaded. “You’re so good to everybody—you treat everybody well but +yourself!” + </p> +<p> +It had been something in his tone rather than his actual words that had +frightened the girl. “Oh Peter!” she cried. “What does it matter about me, +or about any other one person, when millions of young men are being shot +to fragments, and millions of women and children are starving to death!” + </p> +<p> +So there they were, fighting the war again; Peter had to take up her +burden, be a hero, and a martyr, and a “Red.” That same afternoon, as fate +willed it, three “wobblies” out of a job came to call; and oh, how tired +Peter was of these wandering agitators—insufferable “grouches!” + Peter would want to say: “Oh, cut it out! What you call your ‘cause’ is +nothing but your scheme to work with your tongues instead of with a pick +and a shovel.” And this would start an imaginary quarrel in Peter’s mind. +He would hear one of the fellows demanding, “How much pick and shovel work +you ever done?” Another saying, “Looks to me like you been finding the +easy jobs wherever you go!” The fact that this was true did not make +Peter’s irritation any less, did not make it easier for him to meet with +Comrade Smith, and Brother Jones, and Fellow-worker Brown just out of +jail, and listen to their hard-luck stories, and watch them take from the +table food that Peter wanted, and—the bitterest pill of all—let +them think that they were fooling him with their patter! +</p> +<p> +The time came when Peter wasn’t able to stand it any longer. Shut up in +the house all day, he was becoming as irritable as a chained dog. Unless +he could get out in the world again, he would surely give himself away. He +pleaded that the doctors had warned him that his health would not stand +indoor life; he must get some fresh air. So he got away by himself, and +after that he found things much easier. He could spend a little of his +money; he could find a quiet corner in a restaurant and get himself a +beefsteak, and eat all he wanted of it, without feeling the eyes of any +“comrades” resting upon him reprovingly. Peter had lived in a jail, and in +an orphan asylum, and in the home of Shoemaker Smithers, but nowhere had +he fared so meagerly as in the home of the Todd sisters, who were +contributing nearly everything they owned to the Goober defense, and to +the “Clarion,” the Socialist paper of American City. +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0024" id="link2H_4_0024"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +Section 24 +</h2> +<p> +Peter went to see Andrews, the lawyer, and asked for a job; he wanted to +be active in the case, he said, so he was set to work in the offices of +the Defense Committee, where he heard people talking about the case all +day, and he could pick up no end of valuable tips. He made himself +agreeable and gained friends; before long he was intimate with one of the +best witnesses of the defense, and discovered that this man had once been +named as co-respondent in a divorce case. Peter found out the name of the +woman, and Guffey set to work to bring her to American City. The job was +to be done cleverly, without the woman’s even knowing that she was being +used. She would have a little holiday, and the spell of old love would +reassert itself, and Guffey would have a half dozen men to spring the trap—and +there would be a star witness of the Goober defense clean down and out! +“There’s always something you can get them on!” said McGivney, and +cheerfully paid Peter Gudge five hundred dollars for the information he +had brought. +</p> +<p> +Peter would have been wildly happy, but just at this moment a dreadful +calamity befell him. Jennie had been talking about marriage more and more, +and now she revealed to him a reason which made marriage imperative. She +revealed it with downcast eyes, with blushes and trembling; and Peter was +so overcome with consternation that he could not play the part that was +expected of him. Hitherto in these love crises he had caught Jennie in his +arms and comforted her; but now for a moment he let her see his real +emotions. +</p> +<p> +Jennie promptly had a fit. What was the matter with him? Didn’t he mean to +marry her, as he had promised? Surely he must realize now that they could +no longer delay! And Peter, who was not familiar with the symptoms of +hysterics, lost his head completely and could think of nothing to do but +rush out of the house and slam the door. +</p> +<p> +The more he considered it, the more clearly he realized that he was in the +devil of a predicament. As a servant of the Traction Trust, he had taken +it for granted that he was immune to all legal penalties and obligations; +but here, he had a feeling, was a trouble from which the powerful ones of +the city would be unable to shield their agent. Were they able to arrange +it so that one could marry a girl, and then get out of it when one’s job +was done? +</p> +<p> +Peter was so uneasy that he had to call up the office of Guffey and get +hold of McGivney. This was dangerous, because the prosecution was tapping +telephone wires, and they feared the defense might be doing the same. But +Peter took a chance; he told McGivney to come and meet him at the usual +place; and there they argued the matter out, and Peter’s worst fears were +confirmed. When he put the proposition up to McGivney, the rat-faced man +guffawed in his face. He found it so funny that he did not stop laughing +until he saw that he was putting his spy into a rage. +</p> +<p> +“What’s the joke?” demanded Peter. “If I’m ruined, where’ll you get any +more information?” + </p> +<p> +“But, my God!” said McGivney. “What did you have to go and get that kind +of a girl for?” + </p> +<p> +“I had to take what I could,” answered Peter. “Besides, they’re all alike—they +get into trouble, and you can’t help it.” + </p> +<p> +“Sure, you can help it!” said McGivney. “Why didn’t you ask long ago? Now +if you’ve got yourself tied up with a marrying proposition, it’s your own +lookout; you can’t put it off on me.” + </p> +<p> +They argued back and forth. The rat-faced man was positive that there was +no way Peter could pretend to marry Jennie and not have the marriage +count. He might get himself into no end of trouble and certainly he would +be ruined as a spy. What he must do was to pay the girl some money and +send her somewhere to get fixed up. McGivney would find out the name of a +doctor to do the job. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, but what excuse can I give her?” cried Peter. “I mean, why I don’t +marry her!” + </p> +<p> +“Make something up,” said McGivney. “Why not have a wife already?” Then, +seeing Peter’s look of dismay: “Sure, you can fix that. I’ll get you one, +if you need her. But you won’t have to take that trouble—just tell +your girl a hard luck story. You’ve got a wife, you thought you could get +free from her, but now you find you can’t; your wife’s got wind of what +you’re doing here, and she’s trying to blackmail you. Fix it up so your +girl can’t do anything on account of hurting the Goober defense. If she’s +really sincere about it, she won’t disgrace you; maybe she won’t even tell +her sister.” + </p> +<p> +Peter hated to do anything like that. He had a vision of little Jennie +lying on the sofa in hysterics as he had left her, and he dreaded the long +emotional scene that would be necessary. However, it seemed that he must +go thru with it; there was no better way that he could think of. Also, he +must be quick, because in a couple of hours Sadie would be coming home +from work, and it might be too late. +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0025" id="link2H_4_0025"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +Section 25 +</h2> +<p> +Peter hurried back to the Todd home, and there was white-faced little +Jennie lying on the bed, still sobbing. One would think she might have +used up her surplus stock of emotions; but no, there is never any limit to +the emotions a woman can pour out. As soon as Peter had got fairly started +on the humiliating confession that he had a wife, little Jennie sprang up +from the bed with a terrified shriek, and confronted him with a face like +the ghost of an escaped lunatic. Peter tried to explain that it wasn’t his +fault, he had really expected to be free any day. But Jennie only clasped +her hands to her forehead and screamed: “You have deceived me! You have +betrayed me!” It was just like a scene in the movies, the bored little +devil inside Peter was whispering. +</p> +<p> +He tried to take her hand and reason with her, but she sprang away from +him, she rushed to the other side of the room and stood there, staring at +him as if she were some wild thing that he had in a corner and was +threatening to kill. She made so much noise that he was afraid that she +would bring the neighbors in; he had to point out to her that if this +matter became public he would be ruined forever as a witness, and thus she +might be the means of sending Jim Goober to the gallows. +</p> +<p> +Thereupon Jennie fell silent, and it was possible for Peter to get in a +word. He told her of the intrigues against him; the other side had sent +somebody to him and offered him ten thousand dollars if he would sell out +the Goober defense. Now, since he had refused, they were trying to +blackmail him, using his wife. They had somehow come to suspect that he +was involved in a love affair, and this was to be the means of ruining +him. +</p> +<p> +Jennie still would not let Peter touch, her, but she consented to sit down +quietly in a chair, and figure out what they were going to do. Whatever +happened, she said, they must do no harm to the Goober case. Peter had +done her a monstrous wrong in keeping the truth from her, but she would +suffer the penalty, whatever it might be; she would never involve him. +</p> +<p> +Peter started to explain; perhaps it wasn’t so serious as she feared. He +had been thinking things over; he knew where Pericles Priam, his old +employer, was living, and Pericles was rich now, and Peter felt sure that +he could borrow two hundred dollars, and there were places where little +Jennie could go—there were ways to get out of this trouble— +</p> +<p> +But little Jennie stopped him. She was only a child in some ways, but in +others she was a mature woman. She had strange fixed ideas, and when you +ran into them it was like running into a stone wall. She would not hear of +the idea Peter suggested; it would be murder. +</p> +<p> +“Nonsense,” said Peter, echoing McGivney. “It’s nothing; everybody does +it.” But Jennie was apparently not listening. She sat staring with her +wild, terrified eyes, and pulling at her dress with her fingers. Peter got +to watching these fingers, and they got on his nerves. They behaved like +insane fingers; they manifested all the emotions which the rest of little +Jennie was choking back and repressing. +</p> +<p> +“If you would only not take it so seriously!” Peter pleaded. “It’s a +miserable accident, but it’s happened, and now we’ve got to make the best +of it. Some day I’ll get free; some day I’ll marry you.” + </p> +<p> +“Stop, Peter!” the girl whispered, in her tense voice. “I don’t want to +talk to you any more, if that’s all you have to say. I don’t know that I’d +be willing to marry you—now that I know you could deceive me—that +you could go on deceiving me day after day for months.” + </p> +<p> +Peter thought she was going to break out into hysterics again, and he was +frightened. He tried to plead with her, but suddenly she sprang up. “Go +away!” she exclaimed. “Please go away and let me alone. I’ll think it over +and decide what to do myself. Whatever I do, I won’t disgrace you, so +leave me alone, go quickly!” + </p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0026" id="link2H_4_0026"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +Section 26 +</h2> +<p> +She drove him out of the house, and Peter went, though with many +misgivings. He wandered about the streets, not knowing what to do with +himself, looking back over the blunders he had made and tormenting himself +with that most tormenting of all thoughts: how different my life might +have been, if only I had had sense enough to do this, or not to do that! +Dinner time came, and Peter blew himself to a square meal, but even that +did not comfort him entirely. He pictured Sadie coming home at this hour. +Was Jennie telling her or not? +</p> +<p> +There was a big mass meeting called by the Goober Defense Committee that +evening, and Peter attended, and it proved to be the worst thing he could +have done. His mind was in no condition to encounter the fierce passions +of this crowded assemblage. Peter had the picture of himself being exposed +and denounced; he wasn’t sure yet that it mightn’t happen to him. And here +was this meeting—thousands of workingmen, horny handed blacksmiths, +longshoremen with shoulders like barns and truckmen with fists like +battering rams, long-haired radicals of a hundred dangerous varieties, +women who waved red handkerchiefs and shrieked until to Peter they seemed +like gorgons with snakes instead of hair. +</p> +<p> +Such were the mob-frenzies engendered by the Goober case; and Peter knew, +of course, that to all these people he was a traitor, a poisonous worm, a +snake in the grass. If ever they were to find out what he was doing—if +for instance, someone were to rise up and expose him to this crowd—they +would seize him and tear him to pieces. And maybe, right now, little +Jennie was telling Sadie; and Sadie would tell Andrews, and Andrews would +become suspicious, and set spies on Peter Gudge! Maybe they had spies on +him already, and knew of his meetings with McGivney! +</p> +<p> +Haunted by such terrors, Peter had to listen to the tirades of Donald +Gordon, of John Durand, and of Sorensen, the longshoremen’s leader. He had +to listen to exposure after exposure of the tricks which Guffey had +played; he had to hear the district attorney of the county denounced as a +suborner of perjury, and his agents as blackmailers and forgers. Peter +couldn’t understand why such things should be permitted—why these +speakers were not all clapped into jail. But instead, he had to sit there +and listen; he even had to applaud and pretend to approve! All the other +secret operatives of the Traction Trust and of the district attorney’s +office had to listen and pretend to approve! In the hall Peter had met +Miriam Yankovich, and was sitting next to her. “Look,” she said, “there’s +a couple of dicks over there. Look at the mugs on them!” + </p> +<p> +“Which?” said Peter. +</p> +<p> +And she answered: “That fellow that looks like a bruiser, and that one +next to him, with the face of a rat.” Peter looked, and saw that it was +McGivney; and McGivney looked at Peter, but gave no sign. +</p> +<p> +The meeting lasted until nearly midnight. It subscribed several thousand +dollars to the Goober defense fund, and adopted ferocious resolutions +which it ordered printed and sent to every local of every labor union in +the country. Peter got out before it was over, because he could no longer +stand the strain of his own fears and anxieties. He pushed his way thru +the crowd, and in the lobby he ran into Pat McCormick, the I. W. W. +leader. +</p> +<p> +There was more excitement in this boy’s grim face than Peter had ever seen +there before. Peter thought it was the meeting, but the other rushed up to +him, exclaiming: “Have you heard the news?” + </p> +<p> +“What news?” + </p> +<p> +“Little Jennie Todd has killed herself!” + </p> +<p> +“My God!” gasped Peter, starting back. +</p> +<p> +“Ada Ruth just told me. Sadie found a note when she got home. Jennie had +left—she was going to drown herself.” + </p> +<p> +“But what—why?” cried Peter, in horror. +</p> +<p> +“She was suffering so, her health was so wretched, she begs Sadie not to +look for her body, not to make a fuss—they’ll never find her.” + </p> +<p> +And horrified and stunned as Peter was, there was something inside him +that drew a deep breath of relief. Little Jennie had kept her promise! +Peter was, safe! +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0027" id="link2H_4_0027"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +Section 27 +</h2> +<p> +Yes, Peter was safe, but it had been a close call, and he still had +painful scenes to play his part in. He had to go back to the Todd home and +meet the frantic Sadie, and weep and be horrified with the rest of them. +It would have been suspicious if he had not done this; the “comrades” + would never have forgiven him. Then to his dismay, he found that Sadie had +somehow come to a positive conviction as to Jennie’s trouble. She penned +Peter up in a corner and accused him of being responsible; and there was +poor Peter, protesting vehemently that he was innocent, and wishing that +the floor would open up and swallow him. +</p> +<p> +In the midst of his protestations a clever scheme occurred to him. He +lowered his voice in shame. There was a man, a young man, who used to come +to see Jennie off and on. “Jennie asked me not to tell.” Peter hesitated a +moment, and added his master-stroke. “Jennie explained to me that she was +a free-lover; she told me all about free love. I told her I didn’t believe +in it, but you know, Sadie, when Jennie believed in anything, she would +stand by it and act on it. So I felt certain it wouldn’t do any good for +me to butt in.” + </p> +<p> +Sadie almost went out of her mind at this. She glared at Peter. +“Slanderer! Devil!” she cried. “Who was this man?” + </p> +<p> +Peter answered, “He went by the name of Ned. That’s what Jennie called +him. It wasn’t my business to pin her down about him.” + </p> +<p> +“It wasn’t your business to look out for an innocent child?” + </p> +<p> +“Jennie herself said she wasn’t an innocent child, she knew exactly what +she was doing—all Socialists did it.” And to this parting shot he +added that he hadn’t thought it was decent, when he was a guest in a home, +to spy on the morals of the people in it. When Sadie persisted in doubting +him, and even in calling him names, he took the easiest way out of the +difficulty—fell into a rage and stormed out of the house. +</p> +<p> +Peter felt pretty certain that Sadie would not spread the story very far; +it was too disgraceful to her sister and to herself; and maybe when she +had thought it over she might come to believe Peter’s story; maybe she +herself was a “free lover.” McGivney had certainly said that all +Socialists were, and he had been studying them a lot. Anyhow, Sadie would +have to think first of the Goober case, just as little Jennie had done. +Peter had them there all right, and realized that he could afford to be +forgiving, so he went to the telephone and called up Sadie and said: “I +want you to know that I’m not going to say anything about this story; it +won’t become known except thru you.” + </p> +<p> +There were half a dozen people whom Sadie must have told. Miss Nebbins was +icy-cold to Peter the next time he came in to see Mr. Andrews; also Miriam +Yankovich lost her former cordiality, and several other women treated him +with studied reserve. But the only person who spoke about the matter was +Pat McCormick, the I. W. W. boy who had given Peter the news of little +Jennie’s suicide. Perhaps Peter hadn’t been able to act satisfactorily on +that occasion; or perhaps the young fellow had observed something for +himself, some love-glances between Peter and Jennie. Peter had never felt +comfortable in the presence of this silent Irish boy, whose dark eyes +would roam from one person to another in the room, and seemed to be +probing your most secret thoughts. +</p> +<p> +Now Peter’s worst fears were justified. “Mac” got him off in a corner, and +put his fist under his nose, and told him that he was “a dirty hound,” and +if it hadn’t been for the Goober case, he, “Mac,” would kill him without a +moment’s concern. +</p> +<p> +And Peter did not dare open his mouth; the look on the Irishman’s face was +so fierce that he was really afraid for his life. God, what a hateful lot +these Reds were! And now here was Peter with the worst one of all against +him! From now on his life would be in danger from this maniac Irishman! +Peter hated him—so heartily and genuinely that it served to divert +his thoughts from little Jennie, and to make him regard himself as a +victim. +</p> +<p> +Yes, in the midnight hours when Jennie’s gentle little face haunted him +and his conscience attacked him, Peter looked back upon the tangled web of +events, and saw quite clearly how inevitable this tragedy had been, how +naturally it had grown out of circumstances beyond his control. The +fearful labor struggle in American City was surely not Peter’s fault; nor +was it his fault that he had been drawn into it, and forced to act first +as an unwilling witness, and then as a secret agent. Peter read the +American City “Times” every morning, and knew that the cause of Goober was +the cause of anarchy and riot, while the cause of the district attorney +and of Guffey’s secret service was the cause of law and order. Peter was +doing his best in this great cause, he was following the instructions of +those above him, and how could he be blamed because one poor weakling of a +girl had got in the way of the great chariot of the law? +</p> +<p> +Peter knew that it wasn’t his fault; and yet grief and terror gnawed at +him. For one thing, he missed little Jennie, he missed her by day and he +missed her by night. He missed her gentle voice, her fluffy soft hair, her +body in his empty arms. She was his first love, and she was gone, and it +is human weakness to appreciate things most when they have been lost. +</p> +<p> +Peter aspired to be a strong man, a “he-man,” according to the slang that +was coming into fashion; he now tried to live up to that role. He didn’t +want to go mooning about over this accident; yet Jennie’s face stayed with +him—sometimes wild, as he had seen it at their last meeting, +sometimes gentle and reproachful. Peter would remember how good she had +been, how tender, how never-failing in instant response to an advance of +love on his part. Where would he ever find another girl like that? +</p> +<p> +Another thing troubled him especially—a strange, inexplicable thing, +for which Peter had no words, and about which he found himself frequently +thinking. This weak, frail slip of a girl had deliberately given her life +for her convictions; she had died, in order that he might be saved as a +witness for the Goobers! Of course Peter had known all along that little +Jennie was doomed, that she was throwing herself away, that nothing could +save her. But somehow, it does frighten the strongest heart when people +are so fanatical as to throw away their very lives for a cause. Peter +found himself regarding the ideas of these Reds from a new angle; before +this they had been just a bunch of “nuts,” but now they seemed to him +creatures of monstrous deformity, products of the devil, or of a God gone +insane. +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0028" id="link2H_4_0028"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +Section 28 +</h2> +<p> +There was only one person whom Peter could take into his confidence, and +that was McGivney. Peter could not conceal from McGivney the fact that he +was troubled over his bereavement; and so McGivney took him in hand and +gave him a “jacking up.” It was dangerous work, this of holding down the +Reds; dangerous, because their doctrines were so insidious, they were so +devilishly cunning in their working upon people’s minds. McGivney had seen +more than one fellow start fooling with their ideas and turn into one +himself. Peter must guard against that danger. +</p> +<p> +“It ain’t that,” Peter explained. “It ain’t their ideas. It’s just that I +was soft on that kid.” + </p> +<p> +“Well, it comes to the same thing,” said McGivney. “You get sorry for +them, and the first thing you know, you’re listening to their arguments. +Now, Peter, you’re one of the best men I’ve got on this case—and +that’s saying a good deal, because I’ve got charge of seventeen.” The +rat-faced man was watching Peter, and saw Peter flush with pleasure. Yes, +he continued, Peter had a future before him, he would make all kinds of +money, he would be given responsibility, a permanent position. But he +might throw it all away if he got to fooling with these Red doctrines. And +also, he ought to understand, he could never fool McGivney; because +McGivney had spies on him! +</p> +<p> +So Peter clenched his hands and braced himself up. Peter was a real +“he-man,” and wasn’t going to waste himself. “It’s just that I can’t help +missing the girl!” he explained; to which the other answered: “Well, +that’s only natural. What you want to do is to get yourself another one.” + </p> +<p> +Peter went on with his work in the office of the Goober Defense Committee. +The time for the trial had come, and the struggle between the two giants +had reached its climax. The district attorney, who was prosecuting the +case, and who was expecting to become governor of the state on the +strength of it, had the backing of half a dozen of the shrewdest lawyers +in the city, their expenses being paid by the big business men. A small +army of detectives were at work, and the court where the trial took place +was swarming with spies and agents. Every one of the hundreds of +prospective jurors had been investigated and card-cataloged, his every +weakness and every prejudice recorded; not merely had his psychology been +studied, but his financial status, and that of his relatives and friends. +Peter had met half a dozen other agents beside McGivney, men who had come +to question him about this or that detail; and from the conversation of +these men he got glimpses of the endless ramifications of the case. It +seemed to him that the whole of American City had been hired to help send +Jim Goober to the gallows. +</p> +<p> +Peter was now getting fifty dollars a week and expenses, in addition to +special tips for valuable bits of news. Hardly a day passed that he didn’t +get wind of some important development, and every night he would have to +communicate with McGivney. The prosecution had a secret office, where +there was a telephone operator on duty, and couriers traveling to the +district attorney’s office and to Guffey’s office—all this to +forestall telephone tapping. Peter would go from the headquarters of the +Goober Defense Committee to a telephone-booth in some hotel, and there he +would give the secret number, and then his own number, which was six +forty-two. Everybody concerned was known by numbers, the principal people, +both of the prosecution and of the defense; the name “Goober” was never +spoken over the phone. +</p> +<p> +After the trial had got started it was hard to get anybody to work in the +office of the Defense Committee—everybody wanted to be in court! +Someone would come in every few minutes, with the latest reports of +sensational developments. The prosecution had succeeded in making away +with the police court records, proving the conviction of its star witness +of having kept a brothel for negroes. The prosecution had introduced +various articles alleged to have been found on the street by the police +after the explosion; one was a spring, supposed to have been part of a +bomb—but it turned out to be a part of a telephone! Also they had +introduced parts of a clock—but it appeared that in their super-zeal +they had introduced the parts of <i>two</i> clocks! There was some +excitement like this every day. +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0029" id="link2H_4_0029"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +Section 29 +</h2> +<p> +The time came when the prosecution closed its case, and Peter was summoned +to the office of Andrews, to be coached in his part as a witness. He would +be wanted in two or three days, the lawyers told him. +</p> +<p> +Now Peter had never intended to appear as a witness; he had been fooling +the defense all this time—“stringing them along,” as he phrased it, +so as to keep in favor with them to the end. Meantime he had been figuring +out how to justify his final refusal. Peter was eating his lunch when this +plan occurred to him, and he was so much excited that he swallowed a piece +of pie the wrong way, and had to jump up and run out of the lunch-room. It +was his first stroke of genius; hitherto it was McGivney who had thought +these things out, but now Peter was on the way to becoming his own boss! +Why should he go on taking orders, when he had such brains of his own? He +took the plan to McGivney, and McGivney called it a “peach,” and Peter was +so proud he asked for a raise, and got it. +</p> +<p> +This plan had the double advantage that not merely would it save Peter’s +prestige and reputation, among the Reds, it would ruin McCormick, who was +one of the hardest workers for the defense, and one of the most dangerous +Reds in American City, as well as being a personal enemy of Peter’s. +McGivney pulled some of his secret wires, and the American City “Times,” + in the course of its accounts of the case, mentioned a rumor that the +defense proposed to put on the stand a man who claimed to have been +tortured in the city jail, in an effort to make him give false testimony +against Goober; the prosecution had investigated this man’s record and +discovered that only recently he had seduced a young girl, and she had +killed herself because of his refusal to marry her. Peter took this copy +of the American City “Times” to the office of David Andrews, and insisted +upon seeing the lawyer before he went to court; he laid the item on the +desk, and declared that there was his finish as a witness in the Goober +case. “It’s a cowardly, dirty lie!” he declared. “And the man responsible +for circulating it is Pat McCormick.” + </p> +<p> +Such are the burdens that fall upon the shoulders of lawyers in +hard-fought criminal trials! Poor Andrews did his best to patch things up; +he pleaded with Peter—if the story was false, Peter ought to be glad +of a chance to answer his slanderers. The defense would put witnesses on +the stand to deny it. They would produce Sadie Todd to deny it. +</p> +<p> +“But Sadie told me she suspected me!” + </p> +<p> +“Yes,” said Andrews, “but she told me recently she wasn’t sure.” + </p> +<p> +“Much good that’ll do me!” retorted Peter. “They’ll ask me if anybody ever +accused me, and who, and I’ll have to say McCormick, and if they put him +on the stand, will he deny that he accused me?” + </p> +<p> +Peter flew into a rage against McCormick; a fine sort of radical he was, +pretending to be devoted to the cause, and having no better sense than to +repeat a cruel slander against a comrade! Here Peter had been working on +this case for nearly six months, working for barely enough to keep body +and soul together, and now they expected him to go on the and have a story +like that brought out in the papers, and have the prosecution hiring +witnesses to prove him a villain. “No, sir!” said Peter. “I’m thru with +this case right now. You put McCormick on the witness stand and let him +save Goober’s life. You can’t use me, I’m out!” And shutting his ears to +the lawyer’s pleading, he stormed out of the office, and over to the +office of the Goober Defense Committee, where he repeated the same scene. +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0030" id="link2H_4_0030"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +Section 30 +</h2> +<p> +Thus Peter was done with the Goober case, and mighty glad of it he was. He +was tired of the strain, he needed a rest and a little pleasure. He had +his pockets stuffed with money, and a good fat bank account, and proposed +to take things easy for the first time in his hard and lonely life. +</p> +<p> +The opportunity was at hand: for he had taken McGivney’s advise and got +himself another girl. It was a little romance, very worldly and +delightful. To understand it, you must know that in the judicial procedure +of American City they used both men and women jurors; and because busy men +of affairs did not want to waste their time in the jury-box, nor to have +the time of their clerks and workingmen wasted, there had gradually grown +up a class of men and women who made their living by working as jurors. +They hung around the courthouse and were summoned on panel after panel, +being paid six dollars a day, with numerous opportunities to make money on +the side if they were clever. +</p> +<p> +Among this group of professional jurors, there was the keenest competition +to get into the jury-box of the Goober case. It was to be a long and +hard-fought case, there would be a good deal of prestige attached to it, +and also there were numerous sums of money floating round. Anybody who got +in, and who voted right, might be sure of an income for life, to say +nothing of a life-job as a juror if he wanted it. +</p> +<p> +Peter happened to be in court while the talesmen were being questioned. A +very charming and petite brunette—what Peter described as a “swell +dresser”—was on the stand, and was cleverly trying to satisfy both +sides. She knew nothing about the case, she had never read anything about +it, she knew nothing and cared nothing about social problems; so she was +accepted by the prosecution. But then the defense took her in hand, and it +appeared that once upon a time she had been so indiscreet as to declare to +somebody her conviction that all labor leaders ought to be stood up +against the wall and filled with lead; so she was challenged by the +defense, and very much chagrined she came down from the stand, and took a +seat in the courtroom next to Peter. He saw a trace of tears in her eyes, +and realizing her disappointment, ventured a word of sympathy. The +acquaintance grew, and they went out to lunch together. +</p> +<p> +Mrs. James was her name, and she was a widow, a grass widow as she archly +mentioned. She was quick and lively, with brilliant white teeth, and +cheeks with the glow of health in them; this glow came out of a little +bottle, but Peter never guessed it. Peter had got himself a good suit of +clothes now, and made bold to spend some money on the lunch. As it +happened, both he and Mrs. James were thru with the Goober case; both were +tired and wanted a change, and Peter, blushing shyly, suggested that a +sojourn at the beach might be fun. Mrs. James agreed immediately, and the +matter was arranged. +</p> +<p> +Peter had seen enough of the detective business by this time to know what +you can safely do, and what you had better not do. He didn’t travel with +his grass widow, he didn’t pay her car-fare, nor do anything else to +constitute her a “white slave.” He simply went to the beach and engaged +himself a comfortable apartment; and next day, strolling on the board +walk, he happened to meet the widow. +</p> +<p> +So for a couple of months Peter and Mrs. James set up housekeeping +together. It was a wonderful experience for the former, because Mrs. James +was what is called a “lady,” she had rich relatives, and took pains to let +Peter know that she had lived in luxury before her husband had run away to +Paris with a tight-rope walker. She taught Peter all those worldly arts +which one misses when one is brought up in an orphan asylum, and on the +road with a patent medicine vender. Tactfully, and without hurting his +feelings, she taught him how to hold a knife and fork, and what color tie +to select. At the same time she managed to conduct a propaganda which +caused him to regard himself as the most favored of mankind; he was +overwhelmed with gratitude for every single kiss from the lips of his +grass widow. Of course he could not expect such extraordinary favors of +fortune without paying for them; he had learned by now that there was no +such thing as “free love.” So he paid, hand over fist; he not only paid +all the expenses of the unregistered honeymoon, he bought numerous +expensive presents at the lady’s tactful suggestion. She was always so +vivacious and affectionate when Peter had given her a present! Peter lived +in a kind of dream, his money seemed to go out of his pockets without his +having to touch it. +</p> +<p> +Meantime great events were rolling by, unheeded by Peter and his grass +widow who never read the newspapers. For one thing Jim Goober was +convicted and sentenced to die on the gallows, and Jim Goober’s associate, +Biddle, was found guilty, and sentenced to prison for life. Also, America +entered the war, and a wave of patriotic excitement swept like a prairie +fire over the country. Peter could not help hearing about this; his +attention was attracted to one aspect of the matter—Congress was +about to pass a conscription act. And Peter was within the age limit; +Peter would almost certainly be drafted into the army! +</p> +<p> +No terror that he had ever felt in his life was equal to this terror. He +had tried to forget the horrible pictures of battle and slaughter, of +machine-guns and hand-grenades and torpedoes and poison gas, with which +little Jennie had filled his imagination; but now these imaginings came +crowding back upon him, now for the first time they concerned him. From +that time on his honeymoon was spoiled. Peter and his grass widow were +like a party of picnickers who are far away in the wilderness, and see a +black thunder-storm come rolling up the sky! +</p> +<p> +Also, Peter’s bank account was running low. Peter had had no conception +how much money you could spend on a grass widow who is a “swell dresser” + and understands what is “proper.” He was overwhelmed with embarrassment; +he put off telling Mrs. James until the last moment—in fact, until +he wasn’t quite sure whether he had enough money in bank to meet the last +check he had given to the landlady. Then, realizing that the game was up, +he told. +</p> +<p> +He was surprised to see how charmingly a grass widow of “good breeding” + could take bad tidings. Evidently it wasn’t the first time that Mrs. James +had been to the beach. She smiled cheerfully, and said that it was the +jury-box for her once more. She gave Peter her card, and told him she +would be glad to have him call upon her again—when he had restored +his fortunes. She packed up her suit-case and her new trunk full of +Peter’s presents, and departed with the most perfect sweetness and good +taste. +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0031" id="link2H_4_0031"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +Section 31 +</h2> +<p> +So there was Peter, down and out once more. But fate was kind to him. That +very day came a letter signed “Two forty-three,” which meant McGivney. +“Two forty-three” had some important work for Peter, so would he please +call at once? Peter pawned his last bit of jewelry for his fare to +American City, and met McGivney at the usual rendezvous. +</p> +<p> +The purpose of the meeting was quickly explained. America was now at war, +and the time had come when the mouths of these Reds were to be stopped for +good. You could do things in war-time that you couldn’t do in peace-time, +and one of the things you were going to do was to put an end to the +agitation against property. Peter licked his lips, metaphorically +speaking. It was something he had many times told McGivney ought to be +done. Pat McCormick especially ought to be put away for good. These were a +dangerous bunch, these Reds, and Mac was the worst of all. It was every +man’s duty to help, and what could Peter do? +</p> +<p> +McGivney answered that the authorities were making a complete list of all +the radical organizations and their members, getting evidence preliminary +to arrests. Guffey was in charge of the job; as in the Goober case, the +big business interests of the city were going ahead while the government +was still wiping the sleep out of its eyes. Would Peter take a job spying +upon the Reds in American City? +</p> +<p> +“I can’t!” exclaimed Peter. “They’re all sore at me because I didn’t +testify in the Goober case.” + </p> +<p> +“We can easily fix that up,” answered the rat-faced man. “It may mean a +little inconvenience for you. You may have to go to jail for a few days.” + </p> +<p> +“To jail!” cried Peter, in dismay. +</p> +<p> +“Yes,” said the other, “you’ll have to get arrested, and made into a +martyr. Then, you see, they’ll all be sure you’re straight, and they’ll +take you back again and welcome you.” + </p> +<p> +Peter didn’t like the idea of going to jail; his memories of the jail in +American City were especially painful. But McGivney explained that this +was a time when men couldn’t consider their own feelings; the country was +in danger, public safety must be protected, and it was up to everybody to +make some patriotic sacrifice. The rich men were all subscribing to +liberty bonds; the poor men were going to give their lives; and what was +Peter Gudge going to give? “Maybe I’ll be drafted into the army,” Peter +remarked. +</p> +<p> +“No, you won’t—not if you take this job,” said McGivney. “We can fix +that. A man like you, who has special abilities, is too precious to be +wasted.” Peter decided forthwith that he would accept the proposition. It +was much more sensible to spend a few days in jail than to spend a few +years in the trenches, and maybe the balance of eternity under the sod of +France. +</p> +<p> +Matters were quickly arranged. Peter took off his good clothes, and +dressed himself as became a workingman, and went into the eating-room +where Donald Gordon, the Quaker boy, always got his lunch. Peter was quite +sure that Donald would be one of the leading agitators against the draft, +and in this he was not mistaken. +</p> +<p> +Donald was decidedly uncordial in his welcoming of Peter; without saying a +word the young Quaker made Peter aware that he was a renegade, a coward +who had “thrown down” the Goober defense. But Peter was patient and +tactful; he did not try to defend himself, nor did he ask any questions +about Donald and Donald’s activities. He simply announced that he had been +studying the subject of militarism, and had come to a definite point of +view. He was a Socialist and an Internationalist; he considered America’s +entry into the war a crime, and he was willing to do his part in agitating +against it. He was going to take his stand as a conscientious objector; +they might send him to jail if they pleased, or even stand him against a +wall and shoot him, but they would never get him to put on a uniform. +</p> +<p> +It was impossible for Donald Gordon to hold out against a man who talked +like that; a man who looked him in the eye and expressed his convictions +so simply and honestly. And that evening Peter went to a meeting of Local +American City of the Socialist Party, and renewed his acquaintance with +all the comrades. He didn’t make a speech or do anything conspicuous, but +simply got into the spirit of things; and next day he managed to meet some +of the members, and whenever and wherever he was asked, he expressed his +convictions as a conscientious objector. So before a week had passed Peter +found that he was being tolerated, that nobody was going to denounce him +as a traitor, or kick him out of the room. +</p> +<p> +At the next weekly meeting of Local American City, Peter ventured to say a +few words. It was a red-hot meeting, at which the war and the draft were +the sole subjects of discussion. There were some Germans in the local, +some Irishmen, and one or two Hindoos; they, naturally, were all ardent +pacifists. Also there were agitators of what was coming to be called the +“left wing”; the group within the party who considered it too +conservative, and were always clamoring for more radical declarations, for +“mass action” and general strikes and appeals to the proletariat to rise +forthwith and break their chains. These were days of great events; the +Russian revolution had electrified the world, and these comrades of the +“left wing” felt themselves lifted upon pinions of hope. +</p> +<p> +Peter spoke as one who had been out on the road, meeting the rank and +file; he could speak for the men on the job. What was the use of opposing +the draft here in a hall, where nobody but party members were present? +What was wanted was for them to lift up their voices on the street, to +awaken the people before it was too late! Was there anybody in this +gathering bold enough to organize a street meeting? +</p> +<p> +There were some who could not resist this challenge, and in a few minutes +Peter had secured the pledges of half a dozen young hot-heads, Donald +Gordon among them. Before the evening was past it had been arranged that +these would-be-martyrs should hire a truck, and make their debut on Main +Street the very next evening. Old hands in the movement warned them that +they would only get their heads cracked by the police. But the answer to +that was obvious—they might as well get their heads cracked by the +police as get them blown to pieces by German artillery. +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0032" id="link2H_4_0032"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +Section 32 +</h2> +<p> +Peter reported to McGivney what was planned, and McGivney promised that +the police would be on hand. Peter warned him to be careful and have the +police be gentle; at which McGivney grinned, and answered that he would +see to that. +</p> +<p> +It was all very simple, and took less than ten minutes of time. The truck +drew up on Main Street, and a young orator stepped forward and announced +to his fellow citizens that the time had come for the workers to make +known their true feelings about the draft. Never would free Americans +permit themselves to be herded into armies and shipped over seas and be +slaughtered for the benefit of international bankers. Thus far the orator +had got, when a policeman stepped forward and ordered him to shut up. When +he refused, the policeman tapped on the sidewalk with his stick, and a +squad of eight or ten came round the corner, and the orator was informed +that he was under arrest. Another orator stepped forward and took up the +harangue, and when he also had been put under arrest, another, and +another, until the whole six of them, including Peter, were in hand. +</p> +<p> +The crowd had had no time to work up any interest one way or the other, A +patrol-wagon was waiting, and the orators were bundled in and driven to +the station-house, and next morning they were haled before a magistrate +and sentenced each to fifteen days. As they had been expecting to get six +months, they were a happy bunch of “left wingers.” + </p> +<p> +And they were still happier when they saw how they were to be treated in +jail. Ordinarily it was the custom of the police to inflict all possible +pain and humiliation upon the Reds. They would put them in the revolving +tank, a huge steel structure of many cells which was turned round and +round by a crank. In order to get into any cell, the whole tank had to be +turned until that particular cell was opposite the entrance, which meant +that everybody in the tank got a free ride, accompanied by endless +groaning and scraping of rusty machinery; also it meant that nobody got +any consecutive sleep. The tank was dark, too dark to read, even if they +had had books or papers. There was nothing to do save to smoke cigarettes +and shoot craps, and listen to the smutty stories of the criminals, and +plot revenge against society when they got out again. But up in the new +wing of the jail were some cells which were clean and bright and airy, +being only three or four feet from a row of windows. In these cells they +generally put the higher class of criminals—women who had cut the +throats of their sweethearts, and burglars who had got I away with the +swag, and bankers who had plundered whole communities. But now, to the +great surprise of five out of the six anti-militarists, the entire party +was put in one of these big cells, and allowed the privilege of having +reading matter and of paying for their own food. Under these circumstances +martyrdom became a joke, and the little party settled down to enjoy life. +It never once occurred to them to think of Peter Gudge as the source of +this bounty. They attributed it, as the French say, “to their beautiful +eyes.” + </p> +<p> +There was Donald Gordon, who was the son of a well-to-do business man, and +had been to college, until he was expelled for taking the doctrines of +Christianity too literally and expounding them too persistently on the +college campus. There was a big, brawny lumber-jack from the North, Jim +Henderson by name, who had been driven out of the camps for the same +reason, and had appalling stories to tell of the cruelties and hardships +of the life of a logger. There was a Swedish sailor by the name of Gus, +who had visited every port in the world, and a young Jewish cigar-worker +who had never been outside of American City, but had travelled even more +widely in his mind. +</p> +<p> +The sixth man was the strangest character of all to Peter; a shy, dreamy +fellow with eyes so full of pain and a face so altogether mournful that it +hurt to look at him. Duggan was his name, and he was known in the movement +as the “hobo poet.” He wrote verses, endless verses about the lives of +society’s outcasts; he would get himself a pencil and paper and sit off in +the corner of the cell by the hour, and the rest of the fellows, +respecting his work, would talk in whispers so as not to disturb him. He +wrote all the time while the others slept, it seemed to Peter. He wrote +verses about the adventures of his fellow-prisoners, and presently he was +writing verses about the jailers, and about other prisoners in this part +of the jail. He would have moods of inspiration, and would make up topical +verses as he went along; then again he would sink back into his despair, +and say that life was hell, and making rhymes about it was childishness. +</p> +<p> +There was no part of America that Tom Duggan hadn’t visited, no tragedy of +the life of outcasts that he hadn’t seen. He was so saturated with it that +he couldn’t think of anything else. He would tell about men who had +perished of thirst in the desert, about miners sealed up for weeks in an +exploded mine, about matchmakers poisoned until their teeth fell out, and +their finger nails and even their eyes. Peter could see no excuse for such +morbidness, such endless harping upon the horrible things of life. It +spoiled all his happiness in the jail—it was worse than little +Jennie’s talking about the war! +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0033" id="link2H_4_0033"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +Section 33 +</h2> +<p> +One of Duggan’s poems had to do with a poor devil named Slim, who was a +“snow-eater,” that is to say, a cocaine victim. This Slim wandered about +the streets of New York in the winter-time without any shelter, and would +get into an office building late in the afternoon, and hide in one of the +lavatories to spend the night. If he lay down, he would be seen and thrown +out, so his only chance was to sit up; but when he fell asleep, he would +fall off the seat—therefore he carried a rope in his pocket, and +would tie himself in a sitting position. +</p> +<p> +Now what was the use of a story like that? Peter didn’t want to hear about +such people! He wanted to express his disgust; but he knew, of course, +that he must hide it. He laughed as he exclaimed, “Christ Almighty, +Duggan, can’t you give us something with a smile? You don’t think it’s the +job of Socialists to find a cure for the dope habit, do you? That’s sure +one thing that ain’t caused by the profit system.” + </p> +<p> +Duggan smiled his bitterest smile. “If there’s any misery in the world +today that ain’t kept alive by the profit system, I’d like to see it! +D’you think dope sells itself? If there wasn’t a profit in it, would it be +sold to any one but doctors? Where’d you get your Socialism, anyhow?” + </p> +<p> +So Peter beat a hasty retreat. “Oh, sure, I know all that. But here you’re +shut up in jail because you want to change things. Ain’t you got a right +to give yourself a rest while you’re in?” + </p> +<p> +The poet looked at him, as solemn as an owl. He shook his head. “No,” he +said. “Just because we’re fixed up nice and comfortable in jail, have we +got the right to forget the misery of those outside?” + </p> +<p> +The others laughed; but Duggan did not mean to be funny at all. He rose +slowly to his feet and with his arms outstretched, in the manner of one +offering himself as a sacrifice, he proclaimed: +</p> +<p> +“While there is a lower class, I am in it. +</p> +<p> +“While there is a criminal element, I am of it. +</p> +<p> +“While there is a soul in jail, I am not free.” + </p> +<p> +Then he sat down and buried his face in his hands. The group of rough +fellows sat in solemn silence. Presently Gus, the Swedish sailor, feeling +perhaps that the rebuke to Peter had been too severe, spoke timidly: +“Comrade Gudge, he ban in jail twice already.” + </p> +<p> +So the poet looked up again. He held out his hand to Peter. “Sure, I know +that!” he said, clasping Peter in the grip of comradeship. And then he +added: “I’ll tell you a story with a smile!” + </p> +<p> +Once upon a time, it appeared, Duggan had been working in a moving picture +studio, where they needed tramps and outcasts and all sorts of people for +crowds. They had been making a “Preparedness” picture, and wanted to show +the agitators and trouble-makers, mobbing the palace of a banker. They got +two hundred bums and hoboes, and took them in trucks to the palace of a +real banker, and on the front lawn the director made a speech to the +crowd, explaining his ideas. “Now,” said he, “remember, the guy that owns +this house is the guy that’s got all the wealth that you fellows have +produced. You are down and out, and you know that he’s robbed you, so you +hate him. You gather on his lawn and you’re going to mob his home; if you +can get hold of him, you’re going to tear him to bits for what he’s done +to you.” So the director went on, until finally Duggan interrupted: “Say, +boss, you don’t have to teach us. This is a real palace, and we’re real +bums!” + </p> +<p> +Apparently the others saw the “smile” in this story, for they chuckled for +some time over it. But it only added to Peter’s hatred of these Reds; it +made him realize more than ever that they were a bunch of “sore heads,” + they were green and yellow with jealousy. Everybody that had succeeded in +the world they hated—just because they had succeeded! Well, <i>they</i> +would never succeed; they could go on forever with their grouching, but +the mass of the workers in America had a normal attitude toward the big +man, who could do things. They did not want to wreck his palace; they +admired him for having it, and they followed his leadership gladly. +</p> +<p> +It seemed as if Henderson, the lumber-jack, had read Peter’s thought. “My +God!” he said. “What a job it is to make the workers class-conscious!” He +sat on the edge of his cot, with his broad shoulders bowed and his heavy +brows knit in thought over the problem of how to increase the world’s +discontent. He told of one camp where he had worked—so hard and +dangerous was the toil that seven men had given up their lives in the +course of one winter. The man who owned this tract, and was exploiting it, +had gotten the land by the rankest kind of public frauds; there were +filthy bunk-houses, vermin, rotten food, poor wages and incessant abuse. +And yet, in the spring-time, here came the young son of this owner, on a +honeymoon trip with his bride. “And Jesus,” said Henderson, “if you could +have seen those stiffs turn out and cheer to split their throats! They +really meant it, you know; they just loved that pair of idle, +good-for-nothing kids!” + </p> +<p> +Gus, the sailor, spoke up, his broad, good-natured face wearing a grin +which showed where three of his front teeth had been knocked out with a +belaying pin. It was exactly the same with the seamen, he declared. They +never saw the ship-owners, they didn’t know even the names of the people +who were getting the profit of their toil, but they had a crazy loyalty to +their ship, Some old tanker would be sent out to sea on purpose to be +sunk, so that the owners might get the insurance. But the poor A. Bs. +would love that old tub so that they would go down to the bottom with her—or +perhaps they would save her, to the owners great disgust! +</p> +<p> +Thus, for hours on end, Peter had to sit listening to this ding donging +about the wrongs of the poor and the crimes of the rich. Here he had been +sentenced for fifteen days and nights to listen to Socialist wrangles! +Every one of these fellows had a different idea of how he wanted the world +to be run, and every one had a different idea of how to bring about the +change. Life was an endless struggle between the haves and the have-nots, +and the question of how the have-nots were to turn out the haves was +called “tactics.” When you talked about “tactics” you used long technical +terms which made your conversation unintelligible to a plain, ordinary +mortal. It seemed to Peter that every time he fell asleep it was to the +music of proletariat and surplus value and unearned increment, possibilism +and impossibilism, political action, direct action, mass action, and the +perpetual circle of Syndicalist-Anarchist, Anarchist-Communist, +Communist-Socialist and Socialist-Syndicalist. +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0034" id="link2H_4_0034"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +Section 34 +</h2> +<p> +In company such as this Peter’s education for the role of detective was +completed by force, as it were. He listened to everything, and while he +did not dare make any notes, he stored away treasures in his mind, and +when he came out of the jail he was able to give McGivney a pretty +complete picture of the various radical organizations in American City, +and the attitude of each one toward the war. +</p> +<p> +Peter found that McGivney’s device had worked perfectly. Peter was now a +martyr and a hero; his position as one of the “left wingers” was +definitely established, and anyone who ventured to say a word against him +would be indignantly rebuked. As a matter of fact, no one desired to say +much. Pat McCormick, Peter’s enemy, was out on an organizing trip among +the oil workers. +</p> +<p> +Duggan had apparently taken a fancy to Peter, and took him to meet some of +his friends, who lived in an old, deserted warehouse, which happened to +have skylights in the roof; this constituted each room a “studio,” and +various radicals rented the rooms, and lived here a sort of picnic +existence which Peter learned was called “Bohemian.” They were young +people, most of them, with one or two old fellows, derelicts; they wore +flannel shirts, and soft ties, or no ties at all, and their fingers were +always smeared with paint. Their life requirements were simple; all they +wanted was an unlimited quantity of canvas and paint, some cigarettes, and +at long intervals a pickle or some sauer-kraut and a bottle of beer. They +would sit all day in front of an easel, painting the most inconceivable +pictures—pink skies and green-faced women and purple grass and +fantastic splurges of color which they would call anything from “The Woman +with a Mustard Pot” to “A Nude Coming Downstairs.” And there would be +others, like Duggan, writing verses all day; pounding away on a +typewriter, if they could manage to rent or borrow one. There were several +who sang, and one who played the flute and caused all the others to tear +their hair. There was a boy fresh from the country, who declared that he +had run away from home because the family sang hymns all day Sunday, and +never sang in tune. +</p> +<p> +From people such as these you would hear the most revolutionary +utterances; but Peter soon realized that it was mostly just talk with +them. They would work off their frenzies with a few dashes of paint or +some ferocious chords on the piano. The really dangerous ones were not +here; they were hidden away in offices or dens of their own, where they +were prompting strikes and labor agitations, and preparing incendiary +literature to be circulated among the poor. +</p> +<p> +You met such people in the Socialist local, and in the I. W. W. +headquarters, and in numerous clubs and propaganda societies which Peter +investigated, and to which he was welcomed as a member. In the Socialist +local there was a fierce struggle going on over the war. What should be +the attitude of the party? There was a group, a comparatively small group, +which believed that the interests of Socialism would best be served by +helping the Allies to the overthrow of the Kaiser. There was another +group, larger and still more determined, which believed that the war was a +conspiracy of allied capitalism to rivet its power upon the world, and +this group wanted the party to stake its existence upon a struggle against +American participation. These two groups contested for the minds of the +rank and file of the members, who seemed to be bewildered by the magnitude +of the issue and the complexity of the arguments. Peter’s orders were to +go with the extreme anti-militarists; they were the ones whose confidence +he wished to gain, also they were the trouble-makers of the movement, and +McGivney’s instructions were to make all the trouble possible. +</p> +<p> +Over at the I. W. W. headquarters was another group whose members were +debating their attitude to the war. Should they call strikes and try to +cripple the leading industries of the country? Or should they go quietly +on with their organization work, certain that in the end the workers would +sicken of the military adventure into which they were being snared? Some +of these “wobblies” were Socialist party members also, and were active in +both gatherings; two of them, Henderson, the lumber-jack, and Gus +Lindstrom, the sailor, had been in jail with Peter, and had been among his +intimates ever since. +</p> +<p> +Also Peter met the Pacifists; the “Peoples’ Council,” as they called +themselves. Many of these were religious people, two or three clergymen, +and Donald Gordon, the Quaker, and a varied assortment of women—sentimental +young girls who shrunk from the thought of bloodshed, and mothers with +tear-stained cheeks who did not want their darlings to be drafted. Peter +saw right away that these mothers had no “conscientious objections.” Each +mother was thinking about her own son and about nothing else. Peter was +irritated at this, and took it for his special job to see that those +mother’s darlings did their duty. +</p> +<p> +He attended a gathering of Pacifists in the home of a school-teacher. They +made heart-breaking speeches, and finally little Ada Ruth, the poetess, +got up and wanted to know, was it all to end in talk, or would they +organize and prepare to take some action against the draft? Would they not +at least go out on the street, get up a parade with banners of protest, +and go to jail as Comrade Peter Gudge had so nobly done? +</p> +<p> +Comrade Peter was called on for “a few words.” Comrade Peter explained +that he was no speaker; after all, actions spoke louder than words, and he +had tried to show what he believed. The others were made ashamed by this, +and decided for a bold stand at once. Ada Ruth became president and Donald +Gordon secretary of the “Anti-conscription League”—a list of whose +charter members was turned over to McGivney the same evening. +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0035" id="link2H_4_0035"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +Section 35 +</h2> +<p> +All this time the country had been going to war. The huge military machine +was getting under way, the storm of public feeling was rising. Congress +had voted a huge loan, a country-wide machine of propaganda was being +organized, and the oratory of Four Minute Men was echoing from Maine to +California. Peter read the American City “Times” every morning, and here +were speeches of statesmen and sermons of clergymen, here were cartoons +and editorials, all burning with the fervor’s of patriotism. Peter +absorbed these, and his soul became transfigured. Hitherto Peter had been +living for himself; but there comes a time in the life of every man who +can use his brain at all when he realizes that he is not the one thing of +importance in the universe, the one end to be served. Peter very often +suffered from qualms of conscience, waves of doubt as to his own +righteousness. Peter, like every other soul that ever lived, needed a +religion, an ideal. +</p> +<p> +The Reds had a religion, as you might call it; but this religion had +failed to attract Peter. In the first place it was low; its devotees were +wholly lacking in the graces of life, in prestige, and that ease which +comes with assurance of power. They were noisy in their fervors, and +repelled Peter as much as the Holy Rollers. Also, they were always harping +upon the sordid and painful facts of life; who but a pervert would listen +to “sob stories,” when he might have all the things that are glorious and +shining and splendid in the world? +</p> +<p> +But now here was the religion Peter wanted. These clergymen in their robes +of snow white linen, preaching in churches with golden altars and +stained-glass windows; these statesmen who wore the halo of fame, and went +about with the cheering of thousands in their ears; these mighty captains +of industry whose very names were magic—with power, when written on +pieces of paper, to cause cities to rise in the desert, and then to fall +again beneath a rain of shells and poison gas; these editors and +cartoonists of the American City “Times,” with all their wit and learning—these +people all combined to construct for Peter a religion and an ideal, and to +hand it out to him, ready-made and precisely fitted to his understanding. +Peter would go right on doing the things he had been doing before; but he +would no longer do them in the name of Peter Gudge, the ant, he would do +them in the name of a mighty nation of a hundred and ten million people, +with all its priceless memories of the past and its infinite hopes for the +future; he would do them in the sacred name of patriotism, and the still +more sacred name of democracy. And—most convenient of circumstances—the +big business men of American City, who had established a secret service +bureau with Guffey in charge of it, would go right on putting up their +funds, and paying Peter fifty dollars a week and expenses while he served +the holy cause! +</p> +<p> +It was the fashion these days for orators and public men to vie with one +another in expressing the extremes of patriotism, and Peter would read +these phrases, and cherish them; they came to seem a part of him, he felt +as if he had invented them. He became greedy for more and yet more of this +soul-food; and there was always more to be had—until Peter’s soul +was become swollen, puffed up as with a bellows. Peter became a patriot of +patriots, a super-patriot; Peter was a red-blooded American and no +mollycoddle; Peter was a “he-American,” a 100% American—and if there +could have been such a thing as a 101% American, Peter would have been +that. Peter was so much of an American that the very sight of a foreigner +filled him with a fighting impulse. As for the Reds—well, Peter +groped for quite a time before he finally came upon a formula which +expressed his feelings. It was a famous clergyman who achieved it for him—saying +that if he could have his way he would take all the Reds, and put them in +a ship of stone with sails of lead, and send them forth with hell for +their destination. +</p> +<p> +So Peter chafed more and more at his inability to get action. How much +more evidence did the secret service of the Traction Trust require? Peter +would ask this question of McGivney again and again, and McGivney would +answer: “Keep your shirt on. You’re getting your pay every week. What’s +the matter with you?” + </p> +<p> +“The matter is, I’m tired of listening to these fellows ranting,” Peter +would say. “I want to stop their mouths.” + </p> +<p> +Yes, Peter had come to take it as a personal affront that these radicals +should go on denouncing the cause which Peter had espoused. They all +thought of Peter as a comrade, they were most friendly to him; but Peter +had the knowledge of how they would regard him when they knew the real +truth, and this imagined contempt burned him like an acid. Sometimes there +would be talk about spies and informers, and then these people would +exhaust their vocabulary of abuse, and Peter, of course, would apply every +word of it to himself and become wild with anger. He would long to answer +back; he was waiting for the day when he might vindicate himself and his +cause by smashing these Reds in the mouth. +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0036" id="link2H_4_0036"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +Section 36 +</h2> +<p> +“Well,” said McGivney one day, “I’ve got something interesting for you +now. You’re going into high society for a while!” + </p> +<p> +And the rat-faced man explained that there was a young man in a +neighboring city, reputed to be a multi-millionaire, who had written a +book against the war, and was the financial source of much pacificism and +sedition. “These people are spending lots of money for printing,” said +McGivney, “and we hear this fellow Lackman is putting it up. We’ve learned +that he is to be in town tomorrow, and we want you to find out all about +his affairs.” + </p> +<p> +So Peter was to meet a millionaire! Peter had never known one of these +fortunate beings, but he was for them—he had always been for them. +Ever since he had learned to read, he had liked to find stories about them +in the newspapers, with pictures of them and their palaces. He had read +these stories as a child reads fairy tales. They were his creatures of +dreams, belonging to a world above reality, above pain and inconvenience. +</p> +<p> +And then in the days when Peter had been a servant in the Temple of +Jimjambo, devoted to the cult of Eleutherinian Exoticism, he had found +hanging in the main assembly room a picture labelled, “Mount Olympus,” + showing a dozen gods and goddesses reclining at ease on silken couches, +sipping nectar from golden goblets and gazing down upon the far-off +troubles of the world. Peter would peer from behind the curtains and see +the Chief Magistrian emerging from behind the seven mystic veils, lifting +his rolling voice and in a kind of chant expounding life to his flock of +adoring society ladies. He would point to the picture and explain those +golden, Olympian days when the Eleutherinian cult had originated. The +world had changed much since then, and for the worse; those who had power +must take it as their task to restore beauty and splendor to the world, +and to develop the gracious possibilities of being. +</p> +<p> +Peter, of course, hadn’t really believed in anything that went on in the +Temple of Jimjambo; and yet he had been awed by its richness, and by the +undoubtedly exclusive character of its worshippers; he had got the idea +definitely fixed in his head that there really had been a Mount Olympus, +and when he tried to imagine the millionaires and their ways, it was these +gods and goddesses, reclining on silken couches and sipping nectar, that +came to his mind! +</p> +<p> +Now since Peter had come to know the Reds, who wanted to blow up the +palaces of the millionaires, he was more than ever on the side of his gods +and goddesses. His fervors for them increased every time he heard them +assailed; he wanted to meet some of them, and passionately, yet +respectfully, pour out to them his allegiance. A glow of satisfaction came +over him as he pictured himself in some palace, lounging upon a silken +conch and explaining to a millionaire his understanding of the value of +beauty and splendor in the world. +</p> +<p> +And now he was to meet one; it was to be a part of his job to cultivate +one! True, there was something wrong with this particular millionaire—he +was one of those freaks who for some reason beyond imagining gave their +sympathy to the dynamiters and assassins. Peter had met “Parlor Reds” at +the home of the Todd sisters; the large shining ladies who came in large +shining cars to hear him tell of his jail experiences. But he hadn’t been +sure as to whether they were really millionaires or not, and Sadie, when +he had inquired particularly, had answered vaguely that every one in the +radical movement who could afford an automobile or a dress-suit was called +a millionaire by the newspapers. +</p> +<p> +But young Lackman was a real millionaire, McGivney positively assured him; +and so Peter was free to admire him in spite of all his freak ideas, which +the rat-faced man explained with intense amusement. Young Lackman +conducted a school for boys, and when one of the boys did wrong, the +teacher would punish himself instead of the boy! Peter must pretend to be +interested in this kind of “education,” said McGivney, and he must learn +at least the names of Lackman’s books. +</p> +<p> +“But will he pay any attention to me?” demanded Peter. +</p> +<p> +“Sure, he will,” said McGivney. “That’s the point—you’ve been in +jail, you’ve really done something as a pacifist. What you want to do is +to try to interest him in your Anti-conscription League. Tell him you want +to make it into a national organization, you want to get something done +besides talking.” + </p> +<p> +The address of young Lackman was the Hotel de Soto; and as he heard this, +Peter’s heart gave a leap. The Hotel de Soto was the Mount Olympus of +American City! Peter had walked by the vast white structure, and seen the +bronze doors swing outward, and the favored ones of the earth emerging to +their magic chariots; but never had it occurred to him that he might pass +thru those bronze doors, and gaze upon those hidden mysteries! +</p> +<p> +“Will they let me in?” he asked McGivney, and the other laughed. “Just +walk in as if you owned the place,” he said. “Hold up your head, and +pretend you’ve lived there all your life.” + </p> +<p> +That was easy for McGivney to say, but not so easy for Peter to imagine. +However, he would try it; McGivney must be right, for it was the same +thing Mrs. James had impressed upon him many times. You must watch what +other people did, and practice by yourself, and then go in and do it as if +you had never done anything else. All life was a gigantic bluff, and you +encouraged yourself in your bluffing by the certainty that everybody else +was bluffing just as hard. +</p> +<p> +At seven o’clock that evening Peter strolled up to the magic bronze doors, +and touched them; and sure enough, the blue-uniformed guardians drew them +back without a word, and the tiny brass-button imps never even glanced at +Peter as he strode up to the desk and asked for Mr. Lackman. +</p> +<p> +The haughty clerk passed him on to a still more haughty telephone +operator, who condescended to speak into her trumpet, and then informed +him that Mr. Lackman was out; he had left word that he would return at +eight. Peter was about to go out and wander about the streets for an hour, +when he suddenly remembered that everybody else was bluffing; so he +marched across the lobby and seated himself in one of the huge leather +arm-chairs, big enough to hold three of him. There he sat, and continued +to sit—and nobody said a word! +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0037" id="link2H_4_0037"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +Section 37 +</h2> +<p> +Yes, this was Mount Olympus, and here were the gods: the female ones in a +state of divine semi-nudity, the male ones mostly clad in black coats with +pleated shirt-fronts puffing out. Every time one of them moved up to the +desk Peter would watch and wonder, was this Mr. Lackman? He might have +been able to pick out a millionaire from an ordinary crowd; but here every +male god was got up for the precise purpose of looking like a millionaire, +so Peter’s job was an impossible one. +</p> +<p> +In front of him across the lobby floor there arose a ten-foot pillar to a +far-distant roof. This pillar was of pale, green-streaked marble, and +Peter’s eyes followed it to the top, where it exploded in a snow-white +cloud-burst, full of fascination. There were four cornucopias, one at each +corner, and out of each cornucopia came tangled ropes of roses, and out of +these roses came other ropes, with what appeared to be apples and leaves, +and still more roses, and still more emerging ropes, spreading in a tangle +over the ceiling. Here and there, in the midst of all this splendor, was +the large, placidly smiling face of a boy angel; four of these placidly +smiling boy angels gazed from the four sides of the snow-white +cloud-burst, and Peter’s eye roamed from one to another, fascinated by the +mathematics of this architectural marvel. There were fourteen columns in a +row, and four such rows in the lobby. That made fifty-six columns in all, +or two hundred and twenty-four boy angels’ heads. How many cornucopias and +how many roses and how many apples it meant, defied all calculation. The +boy angels’ heads were exactly alike, every head with the same size and +quality of smile; and Peter marvelled—how many days would it take a +sculptor to carve the details of two hundred and twenty-four boy angel +smiles? +</p> +<p> +All over the Hotel de Soto was this same kind of sumptuous magnificence; +and Peter experienced the mental effect which it was contrived to produce +upon him—a sense of bedazzlement and awe, a realization that those +who dwelt in the midst of this splendor were people to whom money was +nothing, who could pour out treasures in a never-ceasing flood. And +everything else about the place was of the same character, contrived for +the same effect—even the gods and the goddesses! One would sweep by +with a tiara of jewels in her hair; you might amuse yourself by figuring +out the number of the jewels, as you had figured out the number of the boy +angels’ heads. Or you might take her gown of black lace, embroidered with +golden butterflies, every one patiently done by hand; you might figure—so +many yards of material, and so many golden butterflies to the yard! You +might count the number of sparkling points upon her jet slippers, or trace +the intricate designs upon her almost transparent stockings—only +there was an inch or two of the stockings which you could not see. +</p> +<p> +Peter watched these gorgeous divinities emerge from the elevators, and +sweep their way into the dining-room beyond. Some people might have been +shocked by their costumes; but to Peter, who had the picture of Mount +Olympus in mind, they seemed most proper. It all depended on the point of +view: whether you thought of a goddess as fully clothed from chin to toes, +and proceeded with a pair of shears to cut away so much of her costume, or +whether you imagined the goddess in a state of nature, and proceeded to +put veils of gauze about her, and a ribbon over each shoulder to hold the +veils in place. +</p> +<p> +Twice Peter went to the desk, to inquire if Mr. Lackman had come in yet; +but still he had not come; and Peter—growing bolder, like the fox +who spoke to the lion—strolled about the lobby, gazing at the groups +of gods at ease. He had noticed a great balcony around all four sides of +this lobby, the “mezzanine floor,” as it was called; he decided he would +see what was up there, and climbed the white marble stairs, and beheld +more rows of chairs and couches, done in dark grey velvet. Here, +evidently, was where the female gods came to linger, and Peter seated +himself as unobtrusively as possible, and watched. +</p> +<p> +Directly in front of him sat a divinity, lolling on a velvet couch with +one bare white arm stretched out. It was a large stout arm, and the +possessor was large and stout, with pale golden hair and many sparkling +jewels. Her glance roamed lazily from place to place. It rested for an +instant on Peter, and then moved on, and Peter felt the comment upon his +own insignificance. +</p> +<p> +Nevertheless, he continued to steal glances now and then, and presently +saw an interesting sight. In her lap this Juno had a gold-embroidered bag, +and she opened it, disclosing a collection of mysterious apparatus of +which she proceeded to make use: first a little gold hand-mirror, in which +she studied her charms; then a little white powder-puff with which she +deftly tapped her nose and cheeks; then some kind of red pencil with which +she proceeded to rub her lips; then a golden pencil with which she lightly +touched her eyebrows. Then it seemed as if she must have discovered a +little hair which had grown since she left her dressing-room. Peter +couldn’t be sure, but she had a little pair of tweezers, and seemed to +pull something out of her chin. She went on with quite an elaborate and +complicated toilet, paying meantime not the slightest attention to the +people passing by. +</p> +<p> +Peter looked farther, and saw that just as when one person sneezes or +yawns everybody else in the room is irresistibly impelled to sneeze or +yawn, so all these Dianas and Junos and Hebes on the “mezzanine floor” had +suddenly remembered their little gold or silver hand-mirrors, their +powder-puffs and red or golden or black pencils. One after another, the +little vanity-bags came forth, and Peter, gazing in wonder, thought that +Mount Olympus had turned into a beauty parlor. +</p> +<p> +Peter rose again and strolled and watched the goddesses, big and little, +old and young, fat and thin, pretty and ugly—and it seemed to him +the fatter and older and uglier they were, the more intently they gazed +into the little hand-mirrors. He watched them with hungry eyes, for he +knew that here he was in the midst of high life, the real thing, the +utmost glory to which man could ever hope to attain, and he wanted to know +all there was to know about it. He strolled on, innocent and unsuspecting, +and the two hundred and twenty-four white boy angels in the ceiling smiled +their bland and placid smiles at him, and Peter knew no more than they +what complications fate had prepared for him on that mezzanine floor! +</p> +<p> +On one of the big lounges there sat a girl, a radiant creature from the +Emerald Isles, with hair like sunrise and cheeks like apples. Peter took +one glance at her, and his heart missed three successive beats, and then, +to make up for lost time, began leaping like a runaway race-horse. He +could hardly believe what his eyes told him; but his eyes insisted, his +eyes knew; yes, his eyes had gazed for hours and hours on end upon that +hair like sunrise and those cheeks like apples. The girl was Nell, the +chambermaid of the Temple of Jimjambo! +</p> +<p> +She had not looked Peter’s way, so there was time for him to start back +and hide himself behind a pillar; there he stood, peering out and watching +her profile, still arguing with his eyes. It couldn’t be Nell; and yet it +was! Nell transfigured, Nell translated to Olympus, turned into a goddess +with a pale grey band about her middle, and a pale grey ribbon over each +shoulder to hold it in place! Nell reclining at ease and chatting +vivaciously to a young man with the face of a bulldog and the +dinner-jacket of a magazine advertisement! +</p> +<p> +Peter gazed and waited, while his heart went on misbehaving. Peter learned +in those few fearful minutes what real love is, a most devastating force. +Little Jennie was forgotten, Mrs. James, the grass widow was forgotten, +and Peter knew that he had never really admired but one woman in the +world, and that was Nell, the Irish chambermaid of the Temple of Jimjambo. +The poets have seen fit to represent young love as a mischievous little +archer with a sharp and penetrating arrow, and now Peter understood what +they had meant; that arrow had pierced him thru, and he had to hold on to +the column to keep himself from falling. +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0038" id="link2H_4_0038"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +Section 38 +</h2> +<p> +Presently the couple rose and strolled away to the elevator, and Peter +followed. He did not dare get into the elevator with them, for he had +suddenly become accutely aware of the costume he was wearing in his role +of proletarian anti-militarist! But Peter was certain that Nell and her +escort were not going out of the building, for they had no hats or wraps; +so he went downstairs and hunted thru the lobby and the dining-room, and +then thru the basement, from which he heard strains of music. Here was +another vast room, got up in mystic oriental fashion, with electric lights +hidden in bunches of imitation flowers on each table. This room was called +the “grill,” and part of it was bare for dancing, and on a little platform +sat a band playing music. +</p> +<p> +The strangest music that ever assailed human ears! If Peter had heard it +before seeing Nell, he would not have understood it, but now its weird +rhythms fitted exactly to the moods which were tormenting him. This music +would groan, it would rattle and squeak; it would make noises like swiftly +torn canvas, or like a steam siren in a hurry. It would climb up to the +heavens and come banging down to hell. And every thing with queer, +tormenting motions, gliding and writhing, wriggling, jerking, jumping. +Peter would never have known what to make of such music, if he had not had +it here made visible before his eyes, in the behavior of the half-naked +goddesses and the black-coated gods on this dancing floor. These celestial +ones came sliding across the floor like skaters, they came writhing like +serpents, they came strutting like turkeys, jumping like rabbits, stalking +solemnly like giraffes. They came clamped in one another’s arms like bears +trying to hug each other to death; they came contorting themselves as if +they were boa-constrictors trying to swallow each other. And Peter, +watching them and listening to their music, made a curious discovery about +himself. Deeply buried in Peter’s soul were the ghosts of all sorts of +animals; Peter had once been a boa-constrictor, Peter had once been a +bear, Peter had once been a rabbit and a giraffe, a turkey and a fox; and +now under the spell of this weird music these dead creatures came to life +in his soul. So Peter discovered the meaning of “jazz,” in all its weirdly +named and incredible varieties. +</p> +<p> +Also Peter discovered that he had once been a caveman, and had hit his +rival over the head with a stone axe and carried off his girl by the hair. +All this he discovered while he stood in the doorway of the Hotel de Soto +grill, and watched Nell, the ex-chambermaid of the Temple of Jimjambo, +doing the turkey-trot and the fox-trot and the grizzly-bear and the +bunny-hug in the arms of a young man with the face of a bulldog. +</p> +<p> +Peter stood for a long while in a daze. Nell and the young man sat down at +one of the tables to have a meal, but still Peter stood watching and +trying to figure out what to do. He knew that he must not speak to her in +his present costume; there would be no way to make her understand that he +was only playing a role—that he who looked like a “dead one” was +really a prosperous man of important affairs, a 100% red-blooded patriot +disguised as a proletarian pacifist. No, he must wait, he must get into +his best before he spoke to her. But meantime, she might go away, and he +might not be able to find her again in this huge city! +</p> +<p> +After an hour or two he succeeded in figuring out a way, and hurried +upstairs to the writing-room and penned a note: +</p> +<p> +“Nell: This is your old friend Peter Gudge. I have struck it rich and have +important news for you. Be sure to send word to me. Peter.” To this he +added his address, and sealed it in an envelope to “Miss Nell Doolin.” + </p> +<p> +Then he went out into the lobby, and signalled to one of the brass-button +imps who went about the place calling names in shrill sing-song; he got +this youngster off in a corner and pressed a dollar bill into his hand. +There was a young lady in the grill who was to have this note at once. It +was very important. Would the brass-button imp do it? +</p> +<p> +The imp said sure, and Peter stood in the doorway and watched him walk +back and forth thru the aisles of the grill, calling in his shrill +sing-song, “Miss Nell Doolin! Miss Nell Doolin!” He walked right by the +table where Nell sat eating; he sang right into her face, it seemed to +Peter; but she never gave a sign. +</p> +<p> +Peter did not know what to make of it, but he was bound to get that note +to Nell. So when the imp returned, he pointed her out, and the imp went +again and handed the note to her. Peter saw her take it—then he +darted away; and remembering suddenly that he was supposed to be on duty, +be rushed back to the office and inquired for Mr. Lackman. To his horror +he learned that Mr. Lackman had returned, paid his bill, and departed with +his suitcase to a destination unknown! +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0039" id="link2H_4_0039"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +Section 39 +</h2> +<p> +Peter had a midnight appointment with McGivney, and now had to go and +admit this humiliating failure. He had done his best, he declared; he had +inquired at the desk, and waited and waited, but the hotel people had +failed to notify him of Lackman’s arrival. All this was strictly true; but +it did not pacify McGivney, who was in a black fury. “It might have been +worth thousands of dollars to you!” he declared. “He’s the biggest fish +we’ll ever get on our hook.” + </p> +<p> +“Won’t he come again?” asked grief-stricken Peter. +</p> +<p> +“No,” declared the other. “They’ll get him at his home city.” + </p> +<p> +“But won’t that do?” asked Peter, naively. +</p> +<p> +“You damned fool!” was McGivney’s response. “We wanted to get him here, +where we could pluck him ourselves.” + </p> +<p> +The rat-faced man hadn’t intended to tell Peter so much, but in his rage +he let it out. He and a couple of his friends had planned to “get +something” on this young millionaire, and scare the wits out of him, with +the idea that he would put up a good many thousand dollars to be let off. +Peter might have had his share of this—only he had been fool enough +to let the bird get out of his net! +</p> +<p> +Peter offered to follow the young man to his home city, and find some way +to lure him back into McGivney’s power. After McGivney had stormed for a +while, he decided that this might be possible. He would talk it over with +the others, and let Peter know. But alas, when Peter picked up an +afternoon newspaper next day, he read on the front page how young Lackman, +stepping off the train in his home city that morning, had been placed +under arrest; his school had been raided, and half a dozen of the teachers +were in jail, and a ton of Red literature had been confiscated, and a +swarm of dire conspiracies against the safety of the country had been laid +bare! +</p> +<p> +Peter read this news, and knew that he was in for another stormy hour with +his boss. But he hardly gave a thought to it, because of something which +had happened a few minutes before, something of so much greater +importance. A messenger had brought him a special delivery letter, and +with thumping heart he had torn it open and read: +</p> +<p> +“All right. Meet me in the waiting-room of Guggenheim’s Department Store +at two o’clock this afternoon. But for God’s sake forget Nell Doolin. +Yours, Edythe Eustace.” + </p> +<p> +So here was Peter dressed in his best clothes, as for his temporary +honeymoon with the grass widow, and on the way to the rendezvous an hour +ahead of time. And here came Nell, also dressed, every garment so +contrived that a single glance would tell the beholder that their owner +was moving in the highest circles, and regardless of expense. Nell glanced +over her shoulder now and then as she talked, and explained that Ted +Crothers, the man with the bulldog face, was a terror, and it was hard to +get away from him, because he had nothing to do all day. +</p> +<p> +The waiting-room of a big department-store was not the place Peter would +have selected for the pouring out of his heart; but he had to make the +best of it, so he told Nell that he loved her, that he would never be able +to love anybody else, and that he had made piles of money now, he was high +up on the ladder of prosperity. Nell did not laugh at him, as she had +laughed in the Temple of Jimjambo, for it was easily to be seen that Peter +Gudge was no longer a scullion, but a man of the world with a fascinating +air of mystery. Nell wanted to know forthwith what was he doing; he +answered that he could not tell, it was a secret of the most desperate +import; he was under oath. These were the days of German spies and +bomb-plots, when kings and kaisers and emperors and tsars were pouring +treasures into America for all kinds of melodramatic purposes; also the +days of government contracts and secret deals, when in the lobbies and +private meeting-places of hotels like the de Soto there were fortunes made +and unmade every hour. So it was easy for Nell to believe in a real +secret, and being a woman, she put all her faculties upon the job of +guessing it. +</p> +<p> +She did not again ask Peter to tell her; but she let him talk, and +tactfully guided the conversation, and before long she knew that Peter was +intimate with a great many of the most desperate Reds, and likewise that +he knew all about the insides of the Goober case, and about the great men +of American City who had put up a million dollars for the purpose of +hanging Goober, and about the various ways in which this money had been +spent and wires had been pulled to secure a conviction. Nell put two and +two together, and before long she figured out that the total was four; she +suddenly confronted Peter with this total, and Peter was dumb with +consternation, and broke down and confessed everything, and told Nell all +about his schemes and his achievements and his adventures—omitting +only little Jennie and the grass widow. +</p> +<p> +He told about the sums he had been making and was expecting to make; he +told about Lackman, and showed Nell the newspaper with pictures of the +young millionaire and his school. “What a handsome fellow!” said Nell. +“It’s a shame!” + </p> +<p> +“How do you mean?” asked Peter, a little puzzled. Could it be that Nell +had any sympathy for these Reds? +</p> +<p> +“I mean,” she answered, “that he’d have been worth more to you than all +the rest put together.” + </p> +<p> +Nell was a woman, and her mind ran to the practical aspect of things. +“Look here, Peter,” she said, “you’ve been letting those ‘dicks’ work you. +They’re getting the swag, and just giving you tips. What you need is +somebody to take care of you.” + </p> +<p> +Peter’s heart leaped. “Will you do it?” he cried. +</p> +<p> +“I’ve got Ted on my hands,” said the girl. “He’d cut my throat, and yours +too, if he knew I was here. But I’ll try to get myself free, and then +maybe—I won’t promise, but I’ll think over your problem, Peter, and +I’ll certainly try to help, so that McGivney and Guffey and those fellows +can’t play you for a sucker any longer.” + </p> +<p> +She must have time to think it over, she said, and to make inquiries about +the people involved—some of whom apparently she knew. She would meet +Peter again the next day, and in a more private place than here. She named +a spot in the city park which would be easy to find, and yet sufficiently +remote for a quiet conference. +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0040" id="link2H_4_0040"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +Section 40 +</h2> +<p> +Peter had been made so bold by Nell’s flattery and what she had said about +his importance, that he did not go back to McGivney to take his second +scolding about the Lackman case. He was getting tired of McGivney’s +scoldings; if McGivney didn’t like his work, let McGivney go and be a Red +for a while himself. Peter walked the streets all day and a part of the +night, thinking about Nell, and thrilling over the half promises she had +made him. +</p> +<p> +They met next day in the park. No one was following them, and they found a +solitary place, and Nell let him kiss her several times, and in between +the kisses she unfolded to him a terrifying plan. Peter had thought that +he was something of an intriguer, but his self-esteem shriveled to +nothingness in the presence of the superb conception which had come to +ripeness in the space of twenty-four hours in the brain of Nell Doolin, +alias Edythe Eustace. +</p> +<p> +Peter had been doing the hard work, and these big fellows had been using +him, handing him a tip now and then, and making fortunes out of the +information he brought them. McGivney had let the cat out of the bag in +this case of Lackman; you might be sure they had been making money, big +money, out of all the other cases. What Peter must do was to work up +something of his own, and get the real money, and make himself one of the +big fellows. Peter had the facts, he knew the people; he had watched in +the Goober case exactly how a “frame-up” was made, and now he must make +one for himself, and one that would pay. It was a matter of duty to rid +the country of all these Reds; but why should he not have the money as +well? +</p> +<p> +Nell had spent the night figuring over it, trying to pick out the right +person. She had hit on old “Nelse” Ackerman, the banker. Ackerman was +enormously and incredibly wealthy; he was called the financial king of +American City. Also he was old, and Nell happened to know he was a coward; +he was sick in bed just now, and when a man is sick he is still more of a +coward. What Peter must do was to discover some kind of a bomb-plot +against old “Nelse” Ackerman. Peter might talk up the idea among some of +his Reds and get them interested in it, or he might frame up some letters +to be found upon them, and hide some dynamite in their rooms. When the +plot was discovered, it would make a frightful uproar, needless to say; +the king would hear of it, and of Peter’s part as the discoverer of it, +and he would unquestionably reward Peter. Perhaps Peter might arrange to +be retained as a secret agent to protect the king from the Reds. Thus +Peter would be in touch with real money, and might hire Guffey and +McGivney, instead of their hiring him. +</p> +<p> +If Peter had stood alone, would he have dared so perilous a dream as this? +Or was he a “piker”; a little fellow, the victim of his own fears and +vanities? Anyhow, Peter was not alone; he had Nell, and it was necessary +that he should pose before Nell as a bold and desperate blade. Just as in +the old days in the Temple, it was necessary that Peter should get plenty +of money, in order to take Nell away from another man. So he said all +right, he would go in on that plan; and proceeded to discuss with Nell the +various personalities he might use. +</p> +<p> +The most likely was Pat McCormick. “Mac,” with his grim, set face and his +silent, secretive habits, fitted perfectly to Peter’s conception of a +dynamiter. Also “Mac” was Peter’s personal enemy; “Mac” had just returned +from his organizing trip in the oil fields, and had been denouncing Peter +and gossiping about him in the various radical groups. “Mac” was the most +dangerous Red of them all! He must surely be one of the dynamiters! +</p> +<p> +Another likely one was Joe Angell, whom Peter had met at a recent +gathering of Ada Ruth’s “Anti-conscription League.” People made jokes +about this chap’s name because he looked the part, with his bright blue +eyes that seemed to have come out of heaven, and his bright golden hair, +and even the memory of dimples in his cheeks. But when Joe opened his +lips, you discovered that he was an angel from the nether regions. He was +the boldest and most defiant of all the Reds that Peter had yet come upon. +He had laughed at Ada Ruth and her sentimental literary attitude toward +the subject of the draft. It wasn’t writing poems and passing resolutions +that was wanted; it wasn’t even men who would refuse to put on the +uniform, but men who would take the guns that were offered to them, and +drill themselves, and at the proper time face about and use the guns in +the other direction. Agitating and organizing were all right in their +place, but now, when the government dared challenge the workers and force +them into the army, it was men of action that were needed in the radical +movement. +</p> +<p> +Joe Angell had been up in the lumber country, and could tell what was the +mood of the real workers, the “huskies” of the timberlands. Those fellows +weren’t doing any more talking; they had their secret committees that were +ready to take charge of things as soon as they had put the capitalists and +their governments out of business. Meantime, if there was a sheriff or +prosecuting attorney that got too gay, they would “bump him off.” This was +a favorite phrase of “Blue-eyed Angell.” He would use it every half hour +or so as he told about his adventures. “Yes,” he would say; “he got gay, +but we bumped him off all right.” + </p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0041" id="link2H_4_0041"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +Section 41 +</h2> +<p> +So Nell and Peter settled down to work out the details of their “frame-up” + on Joe Angell and Pat McCormick. Peter must get a bunch of them together +and get them to talking about bombs and killing people; and then he must +slip a note into the pockets of all who showed interest, calling them to +meet for a real conspiracy. Nell would write the notes, so that no one +could fasten the job onto Peter. She pulled out a pencil and a little pad +from her handbag, and began: “If you really believe in a bold stroke for +the workers’ rights, meet me—” And then she stopped. “Where?” + </p> +<p> +“In the studios,” put in Peter. +</p> +<p> +And Nell wrote, “In the studios. Is that enough?” + </p> +<p> +“Room 17.” Peter knew that this was the room of Nikitin, a Russian painter +who called himself an Anarchist. +</p> +<p> +So Nell wrote “Room 17,” and after further discussion she added: “Tomorrow +morning at eight o’clock. No names and no talk. Action!” This time was set +because Peter recollected that there was to be a gathering of the +“wobblies” in their headquarters this very evening. It was to be a +business meeting, but of course these fellows never got together very long +without starting the subject of “tactics.” There was a considerable +element among them who were dissatisfied with what they called the “supine +attitude” of the organization, and were always arguing for action. Peter +was sure he would be able to get some of them interested in the idea of a +dynamite conspiracy. +</p> +<p> +As it turned out, Peter had no trouble at all; the subject was started +without his having to put in a word. Were the workers to be driven like +sheep to the slaughter, and the “wobblies” not to make one move? So asked +the “Blue-eyed Angell,” vehemently, and added that if they were going to +move, American City was as good a place as any. He had talked with enough +of the rank and file to realize that they were ready for action; all they +needed was a battle-cry and an organization to guide them. +</p> +<p> +Henderson, the big lumber-jack, spoke up. That was just the trouble; you +couldn’t get an organization for such a purpose. The authorities would get +spies among you, they would find out what you were doing, and drive you +underground. +</p> +<p> +“Well,” cried Joe, “we’ll go underground!” + </p> +<p> +“Yes,” agreed the other, “but then your organization goes bust. Nobody +knows who to trust, everybody’s accusing the rest of being a spy.” + </p> +<p> +“Hell!” said Joe Angell. “I’ve been in jail for the movement, I’ll take my +chances of anybody’s calling me a spy. What I’m not going to do is to sit +down and see the workers driven to hell, because I’m so damn careful about +my precious organization.” + </p> +<p> +When others objected, Angell rushed on still more vehemently. Suppose they +did fail in a mass-uprising, suppose they were driven to assassination and +terrorism? At least they would teach the exploiters a lesson, and take a +little of the joy out of their lives. +</p> +<p> +Peter thought it would be a good idea for him to pose as a conservative +just now. “Do you really think the capitalists would give up from fear?” + he asked. +</p> +<p> +And the other answered: “You bet I do! I tell you if we’d made it +understood that every congressman who voted this country into war would be +sent to the front trenches, our country would still be at peace.” + </p> +<p> +“But,” put in Peter, deftly, “it ain’t the congressmen. It’s people higher +up than them.” + </p> +<p> +“You bet,” put in Gus, the Swedish sailor. “You bet you! I name you one +dozen big fellows in dis country—you make it clear if we don’t get +peace dey all get killed—we get peace all right!” + </p> +<p> +So Peter had things where he wanted them. “Who are those fellows?” he +asked, and got the crowd arguing over names. Of course they didn’t argue +very long before somebody mentioned “Nelse” Ackerman, who was venomously +hated by the Reds because he had put up a hundred thousand dollars of the +Anti-Goober fund. Peter pretended not to know about Nelse; and Jerry Rudd, +a “blanket-stiff” whose head was still sore from being cracked open in a +recent harvesters’ strike, remarked that by Jesus, if they’d put a few +fellows like that in the trenches, there’d be some pacifists in Ameriky +sure enough all right. +</p> +<p> +It seemed almost as if Joe Angell had come there to back up Peter’s +purpose. “What we want,” said he, “is a few fellows to fight as hard for +themselves as they fight for the capitalists.” + </p> +<p> +“Yes,” assented Henderson, grimly. “We’re all so good—we wait till +our masters tell us we can kill.” + </p> +<p> +That was the end of the discussion; but it seemed quite enough to Peter. +He watched his chance, and one by one he managed to slip his little notes +into the coat-pockets of Joe Angell, Jerry Rudd, Henderson, and Gus, the +sailor. And then Peter made his escape, trembling with excitement. The +great dynamite conspiracy was on! “They must be got rid of!” he was +whispering to himself. “They must be got rid of by any means! It’s my duty +I’m doing.” + </p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0042" id="link2H_4_0042"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +Section 42 +</h2> +<p> +Peter had an appointment to meet Nell on a street corner at eleven o’clock +that same night, and when she stepped off the street-car, Peter saw that +she was carrying a suit-case. “Did you get your job done?” she asked +quickly, and when Peter answered in the affirmative, she added: “Here’s +your bomb!” + </p> +<p> +Peter’s jaw fell. He looked so frightened that she hastened to reassure +him. It wouldn’t go off; it was only the makings of a bomb, three sticks +of dynamite and some fuses and part of a clock. The dynamite was wrapped +carefully, and there was no chance of its exploding—if he didn’t +drop it! But Peter wasn’t much consoled. He had had no idea that Nell +would go so far, or that he would actually have to handle dynamite. He +wondered where and how she had got it, and wished to God he was out of +this thing. +</p> +<p> +But it was too late now, of course. Said Nell: “You’ve got to get this +suit-case into the headquarters, and you’ve got to get it there without +anybody seeing you. They’ll be shut up pretty soon, won’t they?” + </p> +<p> +“We locked up when we left,” said Peter. +</p> +<p> +“And who has the key?” + </p> +<p> +“Grady, the secretary.” + </p> +<p> +“There’s no way you can get it?” + </p> +<p> +“I can get into the room,” said Peter, quickly. “There’s a fire escape, +and the window isn’t tight. Some of us that know about it have got in that +way when the place was locked.” + </p> +<p> +“All right,” said Nell. “We’ll wait a bit; we mustn’t take chances of +anyone coming back.” + </p> +<p> +They started to stroll along the street, Nell still carrying the +suit-case, as if distrusting the state of Peter’s nerves, Meantime she +explained, “I’ve got two pieces of paper that we’ve got to plant in the +room. One’s to be torn up and thrown into the trash-basket. It’s supposed +to be part of a letter about some big plan that’s to be pulled off, and +it’s signed ‘Mac.’ That’s for McCormick, of course. I had to type it, not +having any sample of his handwriting. The other piece is a drawing; +there’s no marks to show what it is, but of course the police’ll soon find +out. It’s a plan of old Ackerman’s home, and there’s a cross mark showing +his sleeping-porch. Now, what we want to do is to fix this on McCormick. +Is there anything in the room that belongs to him?” + </p> +<p> +Peter thought, and at last remembered that in the bookshelves were some +books which had been donated by McCormick, and which had his name written +in. That was the trick! exclaimed Nell. They would hide the paper in one +of these books, and when the police made a thorough search they would find +it. Nell asked what was in these books, and Peter thought, and remembered +that one was a book on sabotage. “Put the paper in that,” said Nell. “When +the police find it, the newspapers’ll print the whole book.” + </p> +<p> +Peter’s knees were trembling so that he could hardly walk, but he kept +reminding himself that he was a “he-man,” a 100% American, and that in +these times of war every patriot must do his part. His part was to help +rid the country of these Reds, and he must not flinch. They made their way +to the old building in which the I. W. W. headquarters were located, and +Peter climbed up on the fence and swung over to the fire-escape, and Nell +very carefully handed the suit-case to him, and Peter opened the damaged +window and slipped into the room. +</p> +<p> +He knew just where the cupboard was, and quickly stored the suit-case in +the corner, and piled some odds and ends of stuff in front of it, and +threw an old piece of canvas over it. He took out of his right-hand pocket +a typewritten letter, and tore it into small pieces and threw them into +the trash-basket. Then he took out of his left-hand pocket the other +paper, with the drawing of Ackerman’s house. He went to the bookcase and +with shaking fingers struck a match, picked out the little redbound book +entitled “Sabotage,” and stuck the paper inside, and put the book back in +place. Then he climbed out on the fire-escape and dropped to the ground, +jumped over the fence, and hurried down the alley to where Nell was +waiting for him. +</p> +<p> +“It’s for my country!” he was whispering to himself. +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0043" id="link2H_4_0043"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +Section 43 +</h2> +<p> +The job was now complete, except for getting McCormick to the rendezvous +next morning. Nell had prepared and would mail in the postoffice a special +delivery letter addressed to McCormick’s home. This would be delivered +about seven o’clock in the morning, and inside was a typewritten note, as +follows: +</p> +<p> +“Mac: Come to Room 17 of the studios at eight in the morning. Very +important. Our plan is all ready, my part is done. Joe.” + </p> +<p> +Nell figured that McCormick would take this to be a message from Angell. +He wouldn’t know what it was about, but he’d be all the more certain to +come and find out. The essential thing was that the raid by the detectives +must occur the very minute the conspirators got together, for as soon as +they compared notes they would become suspicious, and might scatter at +once. McGivney must have his men ready; he must be notified and have +plenty of time to get them ready. +</p> +<p> +But there was a serious objection to this—if McGivney had time, he +would demand a talk with Peter, and Nell was sure that Peter couldn’t +stand a cross-questioning at McGivney’s hands. Peter, needless to say, +agreed with her; his heart threatened to collapse at the thought of such +an ordeal. What Peter really wanted to do was to quit the whole thing +right there and then; but he dared not say so, he dared not face the +withering scorn of his confederate. Peter clenched his hands and set his +teeth, and when he passed a street light he turned his face away, so that +Nell might not read the humiliating terror written there. But Nell read it +all the same; Nell believed that she was dealing with a quivering, +pasty-faced coward, and proceeded on that basis; she worked out the plans, +she gave Peter his orders, and she stuck by him to see that he carried +them out. +</p> +<p> +Peter had McGivney’s home telephone number, which he was only supposed to +use in the most desperate emergency. He was to use it now, and tell +McGivney that he had just caught some members of the I. W. W., with Pat +McCormick as their leader, preparing to blow up some people with dynamite +bombs. They had some bombs in a suit-case in their headquarters, and were +just starting out with other bombs in their pockets. Peter must follow +them, otherwise he would lose them, and some crime might be committed +before he could interfere. McGivney must have his agents ready with +automobiles to swoop down upon any place that Peter indicated. Peter would +follow up the conspirators, and phone McGivney again at the first +opportunity he could find. +</p> +<p> +Nell was especially insistent that when Peter spoke to McGivney he must +have only a moment to spare, no time for questions, and he must not stop +to answer any. He must be in a state of trembling excitement; and Peter +was sure that would be very easy! He rehearsed over to Nell every word he +must say, and just how he was to cut short the conversation and hang up +the receiver. Then he went into an all night drug-store just around the +corner from the headquarters, and from a telephone booth called McGivney’s +home. +</p> +<p> +It was an apartment house, and after some delay Peter heard the voice of +his employer, surly with sleep. But Peter waked him up quickly. “Mr. +McGivney, there’s a dynamite plot!” + </p> +<p> +“<i>What</i>?” + </p> +<p> +“I. W. W. They’ve got bombs in a suit-case! They’re starting off to blow +somebody up tonight.” + </p> +<p> +“By God! What do you mean? Who?” + </p> +<p> +“I dunno yet. I only heard part of it, and I’ve got to go. They’re +starting, I’ve got to follow them. I may lose them and it’ll be too late. +You hear me, I’ve got to follow them!” + </p> +<p> +“I hear you. What do you want me to do?” + </p> +<p> +“I’ll phone you again the first chance I get. You have your men ready, a +dozen of them! Have automobiles, so you can come quick. You get me?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, but—” + </p> +<p> +“I can’t talk any more, I may lose them, I haven’t a second! You be at +your phone, and have your men ready—everything ready. You get me?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, but listen, man! You sure you’re not mistaken?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, yes, I’m sure!” cried Peter, his voice mounting in excitement. +“They’ve got the dynamite, I tell you—everything! It’s a man named +Nelse.” + </p> +<p> +“Nelse what?” + </p> +<p> +“The man they’re going to kill. I’ve got to go now, you get ready. +Good-bye!” And Peter hung up the receiver. He had got so excited over the +part he was playing that he sprang up and ran out of the drug-store, as if +he really had to catch up with some I. W. W. conspirators carrying a +dynamite bomb! +</p> +<p> +But there was Nell, and they strolled down the street again. They came to +a small park, and sat on one of the benches, because Peter’s legs would no +longer hold him up. Nell walked about to make sure there was no one on any +of the other benches; then she came back and rehearsed the next scene with +Peter. They must go over it most carefully, because before long the time +was coming when Peter wouldn’t have Nell to coach him, and must be +prepared to stand on his own legs. Peter knew that, and his legs failed +him. He wanted to back down, and declare that he couldn’t go ahead with +it; he wanted to go to McGivney and confess everything. Nell divined what +was going on in his soul, and wished to save him the humiliation of having +it known. She sat close to him on the bench, and put her hand on his as +she talked to him, and presently Peter felt a magic thrill stealing over +him. He ventured to put his arm about Nell, to get still more of this +delicious sensation; and Nell permitted the embraces, for the first time +she even encouraged them. Peter was a hero now, he was undertaking a bold +and desperate venture; he was going to put it thru like a man, and win +Nell’s real admiration. “Our country’s at war!” she exclaimed. “And these +devils are stopping it!” + </p> +<p> +So pretty soon Peter was ready to face the whole world; Peter was ready to +go himself and blow up the king of American City with a dynamite bomb! In +that mood he stayed thru the small hours of the morning, sitting on the +bench clasping his girl in his arms, and wishing she would give a little +more time to heeding his love-making, and less to making him recite his +lessons. +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0044" id="link2H_4_0044"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +Section 44 +</h2> +<p> +So the day began to break and the birds to sing. The sun rose on Peter’s +face gray with exhaustion and the Irish apples in Nell’s cheeks badly +faded. But the time for action had come, and Peter went off to watch +McCormick’s home until seven o’clock, when the special delivery letter was +due to arrive. +</p> +<p> +It came on time, and Peter saw McCormick come out of the house and set +forth in the direction of the studios. It was too early for the meeting, +so Peter figured that he would stop to get his breakfast; and sure enough +“Mac” turned into, a little dairy lunch, and Peter hastened to the nearest +telephone and called his boss. +</p> +<p> +“Mr. McGivney,” he said, “I lost those fellows last night, but now I got +them again. They decided not to do anything till today. They’re having a +meeting this morning and we’ve a chance to nab them all.” + </p> +<p> +“Where?” demanded McGivney. +</p> +<p> +“Room seventeen in the studios; but don’t let any of your men go near +there, till I make sure the right fellows are in.” + </p> +<p> +“Listen here, Peter Gudge!” cried McGivney. “Is this straight goods?” + </p> +<p> +“My God!” cried Peter. “What do you take me for? I tell you they’ve got +loads of dynamite.” + </p> +<p> +“What have they done with it?” + </p> +<p> +“They’ve got some in their headquarters. About the rest I dunno. They +carried it off and I lost them last night. But then I found a note in my +pocket—they were inviting me to come in.” + </p> +<p> +“By God!” exclaimed the rat-faced man. +</p> +<p> +“We’ve got the whole thing, I tell you! Have you got your men ready?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes.” + </p> +<p> +“Well then, have them come to the corner of Seventh and Washington +Streets, and you come to Eighth and Washington. Meet me there just as +quick as you can.” + </p> +<p> +“I get you,” was the answer, and Peter hung up, and rushed off to the +appointed rendezvous. He was so nervous that he had to sit on the steps of +a building. As time passed and McGivney didn’t appear, wild imaginings +began to torment him. Maybe McGivney hadn’t understood him correctly! Or +maybe his automobile might break down! Or his telephone might have got out +of order at precisely the critical moment! He and his men would arrive too +late, they would find the trap sprung, and the prey escaped. +</p> +<p> +Ten minutes passed, fifteen minutes, twenty minutes. At last an automobile +rushed up the street, and McGivney stepped out, and the automobile sped +on. Peter got McGivney’s eye, and then stepped back into the shelter of a +doorway. McGivney followed. “Have you got them?” he cried. +</p> +<p> +“I d-d-dunno!” chattered Peter. “They s-s-said they were c-coming at +eight!” + </p> +<p> +“Let me see that note!” commanded McGivney; so Peter pulled out one of +Nell’s notes which he had saved for himself: +</p> +<p> +“If you really believe in a bold stroke for the workers’ rights, meet me +in the studios, Room 17, tomorrow morning at eight o’clock. No names and +no talk. Action!” + </p> +<p> +“You found that in your pocket?” demanded the other. +</p> +<p> +“Y-yes, sir.” + </p> +<p> +“And you’ve no idea who put it there.” + </p> +<p> +“N-no, but I think Joe Angell—” + </p> +<p> +McGivney looked at his watch. “You’ve got twenty minutes yet,” be said. +</p> +<p> +“You got the dicks?” asked Peter. +</p> +<p> +“A dozen of them. What’s your idea now?” + </p> +<p> +Peter stammered out his suggestions. There was a little grocery store just +across the street from the entrance to the studio building. Peter would go +in there, and pretend to get something to eat, and would watch thru the +window, and the moment he saw the right men come in, he would hurry out +and signal to McGivney, who would be in a drugstore at the next corner. +McGivney must keep out of sight himself, because the “Reds” knew him as +one of Guffey’s agents. +</p> +<p> +It wasn’t necessary to repeat anything twice. McGivney was keyed up and +ready for business, and Peter hurried down the street, and stepped into +the little grocery store without being observed by anyone. He ordered some +crackers and cheese, and seated himself on a box by the window and +pretended to eat. But his hands were trembling so that he could hardly get +the food into his mouth; and this was just as well, because his mouth was +dry with fright, and crackers and cheese are articles of diet not adapted +to such a condition. +</p> +<p> +He kept his eyes glued on the dingy doorway of the old studio building, +and presently—hurrah!—he saw McCormick coming down the street! +The Irish boy turned into the building, and a couple of minutes later came +Gus the sailor, and before another five minutes had passed here came Joe +Angell and Henderson. They were walking quickly, absorbed in conversation, +and Peter could imagine he heard them talking about those mysterious +notes, and who could be the writer, and what the devil could they mean? +</p> +<p> +Peter was now wild with nervousness; he was afraid somebody in the grocery +store would notice him, and he made desperate efforts to eat the crackers +and cheese, and scattered the crumbs all over himself and over the floor. +Should he wait for Jerry Rudd, or should he take those he had already? He +had got up and started for the door, when he saw the last of his victims +coming down the street. Jerry was walking slowly, and Peter couldn’t wait +until he got inside. A car was passing, and Peter took the chance to slip +out and bolt for the drug store. Before he had got half way there McGivney +had seen him, and was on the run to the next corner. +</p> +<p> +Peter waited only long enough to see a couple of automobiles come whirling +down the street, packed solid with husky detectives. Then he turned off +and hurried down a side street. He managed to get a couple of blocks away, +and then his nerves gave way entirely, and he sat down on the curbstone +and began to cry—just the way little Jennie had cried when he told +her he couldn’t marry her! People stopped to stare at him, and one +benevolent old gentleman came up and tapped him on the shoulder and asked +what was the trouble. Peter, between his tear-stained fingers, gasped: “My +m-m-mother died!” And so they let him alone, and after a while he got up +and hurried off again. +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0045" id="link2H_4_0045"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +Section 45 +</h2> +<p> +Peter was now in a state of utter funk. He knew that he would have to face +McGivney, and he just couldn’t do it. All he wanted was Nell; and Nell, +knowing that he would want her, had agreed to be in the park at half past +eight. She had warned him not to talk to a soul until he had talked to +her. Meantime she had gone home and renewed her Irish roses with French +rouge, and restored her energy with coffee and cigarettes, and now she was +waiting for him, smiling serenely, as fresh as any bird or flower in the +park that summer morning. She asked him in even tones how things had gone, +and when Peter began to stammer that he didn’t think he could face +McGivney, she proceeded to build up his courage once more. She let him put +his arms about her, even there in broad daylight; she whispered to him to +get himself together, to be a man, and worthy of her. +</p> +<p> +What had he to be afraid of, anyway? They hadn’t a single thing on him, +and there was no possible way they could get anything. His hands were +clean all the way thru, and all he had to do was to stick it out; he must +make up his mind in advance, that no matter what happened, he would never +break down, he would never vary from the story he had rehearsed with her. +She made him go over the story again; how on the previous evening, at the +gathering in the I. W. W. headquarters, they had talked about killing +Nelse Ackerman as a means of bringing the war to an end. And after the +talk he had heard Joe Angell whisper to Jerry Rudd that he had the makings +of a bomb already; he had a suit-case full of dynamite stored there in the +closet, and he and Pat McCormick had been planning to pull off something +that very night. Peter had gone out, but had watched outside, and had seen +Angell, Henderson, Rudd and Gus come out. Peter had noticed that Angell’s +pockets were stuffed, and had assumed that they were going to do their +dynamiting, so he had phoned to McGivney from the drug-store. By this +phoning he had missed the crowd, and then he had been ashamed and afraid +to tell McGivney, and had spent the night wandering in the park. But early +in the morning he had found the note, and had understood that it must have +been slipped into his pocket, and that the conspirators wanted him to come +in on their scheme. That was all, except for three or four sentences or +fragments of sentences which Peter had overheard between Joe Angell and +Jerry Rudd. Nell made him learn these sentences by heart, and she insisted +that he must not under any circumstances try to remember or be persuaded +to remember anything further. +</p> +<p> +At last Peter was adjudged ready for the ordeal, and went to Room 427 in +the American House, and threw himself on the bed. He was so exhausted that +once or twice he dozed; but then he would think of some new question that +McGivney might ask him, and would start into wakefulness. At last he heard +a key turn, and started up. There entered one of the detectives, a man +named Hammett. “Hello, Gudge,” said he. “The boss wants you to get +arrested.” + </p> +<p> +“Arrested!” exclaimed Peter. “Good Lord!” He had a sudden swift vision of +himself shut up in a cell with those Reds, and forced to listen to “hard +luck stories.” + </p> +<p> +“Well,” said Hammett, “we’re arresting all the Reds, and if we skip you, +they’ll be suspicious. You better go somewhere right away and get caught.” + </p> +<p> +Peter saw the wisdom of this, and after a little thought he chose the home +of Miriam Yankovitch. She was a real Red, and didn’t like him; but if he +was arrested in her home, she would have to like him, and it would tend to +make him “solid” with the “left wingers.” He gave the address to Hammett, +and added, “You better come as soon as you can, because she may kick me +out of the house.” + </p> +<p> +“That’s all right,” replied the other, with a laugh. “Tell her the police +are after you, and ask her to hide you.” + </p> +<p> +So Peter hurried over to the Jewish quarter of the city, and knocked on a +door in the top story of a tenement house. The door was opened by a stout +woman with her sleeves rolled up and her arms covered with soap-suds. Yes, +Miriam was in. She was out of a job just now, said Mrs. Yankovitch. They +had fired her because she talked Socialism. Miriam entered the room, +giving the unexpected visitor a cold stare that said as plain as words: +“Jennie Todd!” + </p> +<p> +But this changed at once when Peter told her that he had been to I. W. W. +headquarters and found the police in charge. They had made a raid, and +claimed to have discovered some kind of plot; fortunately Peter had seen +the crowd outside, and had got away. Miriam took him into an inside room +and asked him a hundred questions which he could not answer. He knew +nothing, except that he had been to a meeting at headquarters the night +before, and this morning he had gone there to get a book, and had seen the +crowd and run. +</p> +<p> +Half an hour later came a bang on the door, and Peter dived under the bed. +The door was burst open, and he heard angry voices commanding, and +vehement protests from Miriam and her mother. To judge from the sounds, +the men began throwing the furniture this way and that; suddenly a hand +came under the bed, and Peter was grabbed by the ankle, and hauled forth +to confront four policemen in uniform. +</p> +<p> +It was an awkward situation, because apparently these policemen hadn’t +been told that Peter was a spy; the boobs thought they were getting a real +dynamiter! One grabbed each of Peter’s wrists, and another kept him and +Miriam covered with a revolver, while the fourth proceeded to go thru his +pockets, looking for bombs. When they didn’t find any, they seemed vexed, +and shook him and hustled him about, and made clear they would be glad of +some pretext to batter in his head. Peter was careful not to give them +such a pretext; he was frightened and humble, and kept declaring that he +didn’t know anything, he hadn’t done any harm. +</p> +<p> +“We’ll see about that, young fellow!” said the officer, as he snapped the +handcuffs on Peter’s wrists. Then, while one of them remained on guard +with the revolver, the other three proceeded to ransack the place, pulling +out the bureau-drawers and kicking the contents this way and that, +grabbing every scrap of writing they could find and jamming it into a +couple of suit-cases. There were books with red bindings and terrifying +titles, but no bombs, and no weapons more dangerous than a carving knife +and Miriam’s tongue. The girl stood there with her black eyes flashing +lightnings, and told the police exactly what she thought of them. She +didn’t know what had happened in the I. W. W. headquarters, but she knew +that whatever it was, it was a frame-up, and she dared them to arrest her, +and almost succeeded in her fierce purpose. However, the police contented +themselves with kicking over the washtub and its contents, and took their +departure, leaving Mrs. Yankovitch screaming in the midst of a flood. +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0046" id="link2H_4_0046"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +Section 46 +</h2> +<p> +They dragged Peter out thru a swarming tenement crowd, and clapped him +into an automobile, and whirled him away to police headquarters, where +they entered him in due form and put him in a cell. He was uneasy right +away, because he had failed to arrange with Hammett how long he was to +stay locked up. But barely an hour had passed before a jailer came, and +took him to a private room, where he found himself confronted by McGivney +and Hammett, also the Chief of Police of the city, a deputy district +attorney, and last but most important of all—Guffey. It was the head +detective of the Traction Trust who took Peter in charge. +</p> +<p> +“Now, Gudge,” said he, “what’s this job you’ve been putting up on us?” + </p> +<p> +It struck Peter like a blow in the face. His heart went down, his jaw +dropped, he stared like an idiot. Good God! +</p> +<p> +But he remembered Nell’s last solemn words: “Stick it out, Peter; stick it +out!” So he cried: “What do you mean, Mr. Guffey?” + </p> +<p> +“Sit down in that chair there,” said Guffey. “Now, tell us what you know +about this whole business. Begin at the beginning and tell us everything—every +word.” So Peter began. He had been at a meeting at the I. W. W. +headquarters the previous evening. There had been a long talk about the +inactivity of the organization, and what could be done to oppose the +draft. Peter detailed the arguments, the discussion of violence, of +dynamite and killing, the mention of Nelse Ackerman and the other +capitalists who were to be put out of the way. He embellished all this, +and exaggerated it greatly—it being the one place where Nell had +said he could do no harm by exaggerating. +</p> +<p> +Then he told how after the meeting had broken up he had noticed several of +the men whispering among themselves. By pretending to be getting a book +from the bookcase he had got close to Joe Angell and Jerry Rudd; he had +heard various words and fragments of sentences, “dynamite,” “suit-case in +the cupboard,” “Nelse,” and so on. And when the crowd went out he noticed +that Angell’s pockets were bulging, and assumed that he had the bombs, and +that they were going to do the job. He rushed to the drug-store and phoned +McGivney. It took a long time to get McGivney, and when he had given his +message and run out again, the crowd was out of sight. Peter was in +despair, he was ashamed to confront McGivney, he wandered about the +streets for hours looking for the crowd. He spent the rest of the night in +the park. But then in the morning he discovered the piece of paper in his +pocket, and understood that somebody had slipped it to him, intending to +invite him to the conspiracy; so he had notified McGivney, and that was +all he knew. +</p> +<p> +McGivney began to cross-question him. He had heard Joe Angell talking to +Jerry Rudd; had he heard him talking to anybody else? Had he heard any of +the others talking? Just what had he heard Joe Angell say? Peter must +repeat every word all over. This time, as instructed by Nell, he +remembered one sentence more, and repeated this sentence: “Mac put it in +the ‘sab-cat.’” He saw the others exchange glances. “That’s just what I +heard,” said Peter—“just those words. I couldn’t figure out what +they meant?” + </p> +<p> +“Sab-cat?” said the Chief of Police, a burly figure with a brown moustache +and a quid of tobacco tucked in the corner of his mouth. “That means +‘sabotage,’ don’t it?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes,” said the rat-faced man. +</p> +<p> +“Do you know anything in the office that has to do with sabotage?” + demanded Guffey of Peter. +</p> +<p> +And Peter thought. “No, I don’t,” he said. +</p> +<p> +They talked among themselves for a minute or two. The Chief said they had +got all McCormick’s things out of his room, and might find some clue to +the mystery in these. Guffey went to the telephone, and gave a number with +which Peter was familiar—that of I. W. W. headquarters. “That you, +Al?” he said. “We’re trying to find if there’s something in those rooms +that has to do with sabotage. Have you found anything—any apparatus +or pictures, or writing—anything?” Evidently the answer was in the +negative, for Guffey said: “Go ahead, look farther; if you get anything, +call me at the chief’s office quick. It may give us a lead.” + </p> +<p> +Then Guffey hung up the receiver and turned to Peter. “Now Gudge,” he +said, “that’s all your story, is it; that’s all you got to tell us?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, sir.” + </p> +<p> +“Well then, you might as well quit your fooling right away. We understand +that you framed this thing up, and we’re not going to be taken in.” + </p> +<p> +Peter stared at Guffey, speechless; and Guffey, for his part, took a +couple of steps toward Peter, his brows gathering into a terrible frown, +and his fists clenched. In a wave of sickening horror Peter remembered the +scenes after the Preparedness Day explosion. Were they going to put him +thru that again? +</p> +<p> +“We’ll have a show-down, Gudge, right here,” the head detective continued. +“You tell us all this stuff about Angell—his talk with Jerry Rudd, +and his pockets stuffed with bombs and all the rest of it—and he +denies every word of it.” + </p> +<p> +“But, m-m-my God! Mr. Guffey,” gasped Peter. “Of <i>course</i> he’ll deny +it!” Peter could hardly believe his ears—that they were taking +seriously the denial of a dynamiter, and quoting it to him! +</p> +<p> +“Yes, Gudge,” responded Guffey, “but you might as well know the truth now +as later—Angell is one of our men; we’ve had him planted on these +‘wobblies’ for the last year.” + </p> +<p> +The bottom fell out of Peter’s world; Peter went tumbling heels over head—down, +down into infinite abysses of horror and despair. Joe Angell was a secret +agent like himself! The Blue-eyed Angell, who talked dynamite and +assassination at a hundred radical gatherings, who shocked the boldest +revolutionists by his reckless language—Angell a spy, and Peter had +proceeded to plant a “frame-up” on him! +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0047" id="link2H_4_0047"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +Section 47 +</h2> +<p> +It was all up with Peter. He would go back into the hole! He would be +tortured for the balance of his days! In his ears rang the shrieks of ten +thousand lost souls and the clang of ten thousand trumpets of doom; and +yet, in the midst of all the noise and confusion, Peter managed somehow to +hear the voice of Nell, whispering over and over again: “Stick it out, +Peter; stick it out!” + </p> +<p> +He flung out his hands and started toward his accuser. “Mr. Guffey, as God +is my witness, I don’t know a thing about it but what I’ve told you. +That’s what happened, and if Joe Angell tells you anything different he’s +lying.” + </p> +<p> +“But why should he lie?” + </p> +<p> +“I don’t know why; I don’t know anything about it!” + </p> +<p> +Here was where Peter reaped the advantage of his lifelong training as an +intriguer. In the midst of all his fright and his despair, Peter’s +subconscious mind was working, thinking of schemes. “Maybe Angell was +framing something up on you! Maybe he was fixing some plan of his own, and +I come along and spoiled it; I sprung it too soon. But I tell you it’s +straight goods I’ve given you.” And Peter’s very anguish gave him the +vehemence to check Guffey’s certainty. As he rushed on, Peter could read +in the eyes of the detective that he wasn’t really as sure as he talked. +</p> +<p> +“Did you see that suit-case?” he demanded. +</p> +<p> +“No, I didn’t see no suit-case!” answered Peter. “I don’t even know if +there was a suit-case. I only know I heard Joe Angell say ‘suit-case,’ and +I heard him say ‘dynamite.’” + </p> +<p> +“Did you see anybody writing anything in the place?” + </p> +<p> +“No, I didn’t,” said Peter. “But I seen Henderson sitting at the table +working at some papers he had in his pocket, and I seen him tear something +up and throw it into the trash-basket.” Peter saw the others look at one +another, and he knew that he was beginning to make headway. +</p> +<p> +A moment later came a diversion that helped to save him. The telephone +rang, and the Chief of Police answered and nodded to Guffey, who came and +took the receiver. “A book?” he cried, with excitement in his tone. “What +sort of a plan? Well, tell one of your men to take the car and bring that +book and the plan here to the chief’s office as quick as he can move; +don’t lose a moment, everything may depend on it.” + </p> +<p> +And then Guffey turned to the others. “He says they found a book on +sabotage in the book-case, and in it there’s some kind of a drawing of a +house. The book has McCormick’s name in it.” + </p> +<p> +There were many exclamations over this, and Peter had time to think before +the company turned upon him again. The Chief of Police now questioned him, +and then the deputy of the district attorney questioned him; still he +stuck to his story. “My God!” he cried. “Would you think I’d be mad enough +to frame up a job like this? Where’d I get all that stuff? Where’d I get +that dynamite?”—Peter almost bit off his tongue as he realized the +dreadful slip he had made. No one had ever told him that the suit-case +actually contained dynamite! How had he known there was dynamite in it? He +was desperately trying to think of some way he could have heard; but, as +it happened, no one of the five men caught him up. They all knew that +there was dynamite in the suit-case; they knew it with overwhelming and +tremendous certainty, and they overlooked entirely the fact that Peter +wasn’t supposed to know it. So close to the edge of ruin can a man come +and yet escape! +</p> +<p> +Peter made haste to get away from that danger-spot. “Does Joe Angell deny +that he was whispering to Jerry Rudd?” + </p> +<p> +“He doesn’t remember that,” said Guffey. “He may have talked with him +apart, but nothing special, there wasn’t any conspiracy.” + </p> +<p> +“Does he deny that he talked about dynamite?” + </p> +<p> +“They may have talked about it in the general discussion, but he didn’t +whisper anything.” + </p> +<p> +“But I heard him!” cried Peter, whose quick wits had thought up a way of +escape, “I know what I heard! It was just before they were leaving, and +somebody had turned out some of the lights. He was standing with his back +to me, and I went over to the book-case right behind him.” + </p> +<p> +Here the deputy district attorney put in. He was a young man, a trifle +easier to fool than the others. “Are you sure it was Joe Angell?” he +demanded. +</p> +<p> +“My God! Of course it was!” said Peter. “I couldn’t have been mistaken.” + But he let his voice die away, and a note of bewilderment be heard in it. +</p> +<p> +“You say he was whispering?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, he was whispering.” + </p> +<p> +“But mightn’t it have been somebody else?” + </p> +<p> +“Why, I don’t know what to say,” said Peter. “I thought for sure it was +Joe Angell; but I had my back turned, I’d been talking to Grady, the +secretary, and then I turned around and moved over to the book-case.” + </p> +<p> +“How many men were there in the room?” + </p> +<p> +“About twenty, I guess.” + </p> +<p> +“Were the lights turned off before you turned around, or after?” + </p> +<p> +“I don’t remember that; it might have been after.” And suddenly poor +bewildered Peter cried: “It makes me feel like a fool. Of course I ought +to have talked to the fellow, and made sure it was Joe Angell before I +turned away again; but I thought sure it was him. The idea it could be +anybody else never crossed my mind.” + </p> +<p> +“But you’re sure it was Jerry Rudd that was talking to him?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, it was Jerry Rudd, because his face was toward me.” + </p> +<p> +“Was it Rudd or was it the other fellow that made the reply about the +‘sab-cat’?” And then Peter was bewildered and tied himself up, and led +them into a long process of cross-questioning; and in the middle of it +came the detective, bringing the book on sabotage with McCormick’s name +written in the fly-leaf, and with the ground plan of a house between the +pages. +</p> +<p> +They all crowded around to look at the plan, and the idea occurred to +several of them at once: Could it be Nelse Ackerman’s house? The Chief of +Police turned to his phone, and called up the great banker’s secretary. +Would he please describe Mr. Ackerman’s house; and the chief listened to +the description. “There’s a cross mark on this plan—the north side +of the house, a little to the west of the center. What could that be?” + Then, “My God!” And then, “Will you come down here to my office right away +and bring the architect’s plan of the house so we can compare them?” The +Chief turned to the others, and said, “That cross mark in the house is the +sleeping porch on the second floor where Mr. Ackerman sleeps!” + </p> +<p> +So then they forgot for a while their doubts about Peter. It was +fascinating, this work of tracing out the details of the conspiracy, and +fitting them together like a picture puzzle. It seemed quite certain to +all of them that this insignificant and scared little man whom they had +been examining could never have prepared so ingenious and intricate a +design. No, it must really be that some master mind, some devilish +intriguer was at work to spread red ruin in American City! +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0048" id="link2H_4_0048"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +Section 48 +</h2> +<p> +They dismissed Peter for the present, sending him back to his cell. He +stayed there for two days with no one to advise him, and no hint as to his +fate. They did not allow newspapers in the jail, but they had left Peter +his money, and so on the second day he succeeded in bribing one of his +keepers and obtaining a copy of the American City “Times,” with all the +details of the amazing sensation spread out on the front page. +</p> +<p> +For thirty years the “Times” had been standing for law and order against +all the forces of red riot and revolution; for thirty years the “Times” + had been declaring that labor leaders and walking delegates and Socialists +and Anarchists were all one and the same thing, and all placed their +reliance fundamentally upon one instrument, the dynamite bomb. Here at +last the “Times” was vindicated, this was the “Times” great day! They had +made the most of it, not merely on the front page, but on two other pages, +with pictures of all the conspicuous conspirators, including Peter, and +pictures of the I. W. W. headquarters, and the suit-case, and the sticks +of dynamite and the fuses and the clock; also of the “studio” in which the +Reds had been trapped, and of Nikitin, the Russian anarchist who owned +this den. Also there were columns of speculation about the case, signed +statements and interviews with leading clergymen and bankers, the +president of the Chamber of Commerce and the secretary of the Real Estate +Exchange. Also there was a two-column, double-leaded editorial, pointing +out how the “Times” had been saying this for thirty years, and not failing +to connect up the case with the Goober case, and the Lackman case, and the +case of three pacifist clergymen who had been arrested several days before +for attempting to read the Sermon on the Mount at a public meeting. +</p> +<p> +And Peter knew that he, Peter Gudge, had done all this! The forces of law +and order owed it all to one obscure little secret service agent! Peter +would get no credit, of course; the Chief of Police and the district +attorney were issuing solemn statements, taking the honors to themselves, +and with never one hint that they owed anything to the secret service +department of the Traction Trust. That was necessary, of course; for the +sake of appearances it had to be pretended that the public authorities +were doing the work, exercising their legal functions in due and regular +form. It would never do to have the mob suspect that these activities were +being financed and directed by the big business interests of the city. But +all the same, it made Peter sore! He and McGivney and the rest of Guffey’s +men had a contempt for the public officials, whom they regarded as +“pikers”; the officials had very little money to spend, and very little +power. If you really wanted to get anything done in America, you didn’t go +to any public official, you went to the big men of affairs, the ones who +had the “stuff,” and were used to doing things quickly and efficiently. It +was the same in this business of spying as in everything else. +</p> +<p> +Now and then Peter would realize how close he had come to ghastly ruin. He +would have qualms of terror, picturing himself shut up in the hole, and +Guffey proceeding to torture the truth out of him. But he was able to calm +these fears. He was sure this dynamite conspiracy would prove too big a +temptation for the authorities; it would sweep them away in spite of +themselves. They would have to go thru with it, they would have to stand +by Peter. +</p> +<p> +And sure enough, on the evening of the second day a jailer came and said: +“You’re to be let out.” And Peter was ushered thru the barred doors and +turned loose without another word. +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0049" id="link2H_4_0049"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +Section 49 +</h2> +<p> +Peter went to Room 427 of the American House and there was McGivney +waiting for him. McGivney said nothing about any suspicion of Peter, nor +did Peter say anything—he understood that by-gones were to be +by-gones. The authorities were going to take this gift which the fates had +handed to them on a silver platter. For years they had been wanting to get +these Reds, and now magically and incredibly, they had got them! +</p> +<p> +“Now, Gudge,” said McGivney, “here’s your story. You’ve been arrested on +suspicion, you’ve been cross-questioned and put thru the third degree, but +you succeeded in satisfying the police that you didn’t know anything about +it, and they’ve released you. We’ve released a couple of others at the +same time, so’s to cover you all right; and now you’re to go back and find +out all you can about the Reds, and what they’re doing, and what they’re +planning. They’re shouting, of course, that this is a ‘frame-up.’ You must +find out what they know. You must be careful, of course—watch every +step you take, because they’ll be suspicious for a while. We’ve been to +your room and turned things upside down a bit, so that will help to make +it look all right.” + </p> +<p> +Peter sallied forth; but he did not go to see the Reds immediately. He +spent an hour dodging about the city to make sure no one was shadowing +him; then he called up Nell at a telephone number she had given him, and +an hour later they met in the park, and she flew to his arms and kissed +him with rapturous delight. He had to tell her everything, of course; and +when she learned that Joe Angell was a secret agent, she first stared at +him in horror, and then she laughed until she almost cried. When Peter +told how he had met that situation and got away with it, for the first +time he was sure that he had won her love. +</p> +<p> +“Now, Peter,” she said, when they were calm again, we’ve got to get action +at once. The papers are full of it, and old Nelse Ackerman must be scared +out of his life. Here’s a letter I’m going to mail tonight—you +notice I’ve used a different typewriter from the one I used last time. I +went into a typewriter store, and paid them to let me use one for a few +minutes, so they can never trace this letter to me. +</p> +<p> +The letter was addressed to Nelson Ackerman at his home, and marked +“Personal.” Peter read: +</p> +<p> +“This is a message from a friend. The Reds had an agent in your home. They +drew a plan of your house. The police are hiding things from you, because +they can’t get the truth, and don’t want you to know they are incompetent. +There is a man who discovered all this plot, and you should see him. They +won’t let you see him if they can help it. You should demand to see him. +But do not mention this letter. If you do not get to the right man, I will +write you again. If you keep this a secret, you may trust me to help you +to the end. If you tell anybody, I will be unable to help you.” + </p> +<p> +“Now,” said Nell, “when he gets that letter he’ll get busy, and you’ve got +to know what to do, because of course everything depends on that.” So Nell +proceeded to drill Peter for his meeting with the King of American City. +Peter now stood in such awe of her judgment that he learned his lessons +quite patiently, and promised solemnly that he would do exactly what she +said and nothing else. He reaped his reward of kisses, and went home to +sleep the sleep of the just. +</p> +<p> +Next morning Peter set out to do some of his work for McGivney, so that +McGivney would have no ground for complaint. He went to see Miriam +Yankovich, and this time Miriam caught him by his two hands and wrung +them, and Peter knew that he had atoned for his crime against little +Jennie. Peter was a martyr once more. He told how he had been put thru the +third degree; and she told how the water from the washtub had leaked thru +the ceiling, and the plaster had fallen, and ruined the dinner of a poor +workingman’s family. +</p> +<p> +Also, she told him all about the frame-up as the Reds saw it. Andrews, the +lawyer, was demanding the right to see the prisoners, but this was +refused, and they were all being held without bail. On the previous +evening Miriam had attended a gathering at Andrews’ home, at which the +case was talked out. All the I. W. W.‘s declared that the thing was the +rankest kind of frame-up; the notes were obviously fake, and the dynamite +had undoubtedly been planted by the police. They had used it as a pretext +to shut up the I. W. W. headquarters, and to arrest a score of radicals. +Worst of all, of course, was the propaganda; the hideous stories with +which they were filling the papers. Had Peter seen this morning’s “Times?” + A perfectly unmistakable incitement to mobs to gather and lynch the Reds! +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0050" id="link2H_4_0050"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +Section 50 +</h2> +<p> +From Miriam’s, Peter went back to Room 427. It was Nell’s idea that Nelse +Ackerman would not lose a minute next morning; and sure enough, Peter +found a note on the dressing-table: “Wait for me, I want to see you.” + </p> +<p> +Peter waited, and before long McGivney came in and sat down in front of +him, and began very solemnly: “Now Peter Gudge, you know I’m your friend.” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, of course.” + </p> +<p> +“I’ve stood by you,” said McGivney. “If it hadn’t been for me, the boss +would have had you in the hole right now, trying to sweat you into +confessing you planted that dynamite. I want you to know that, and I want +you to know that I’m going to stand by you, and I expect you to stand by +me and give me a square deal.” + </p> +<p> +“Why, sure!” said Peter. “What is it?” Then McGivney proceeded to explain: +Old Nelse Ackerman had got the idea that the police were holding back +something from him. He was scared out of his wits about this case, of +course. He had himself shut up in a cupboard at night, and made his wife +pull down the curtains of her limousine when she went driving. And now he +was insisting that he must have a talk with the man who had discovered +this plot against him. McGivney hated to take the risk of having Peter +become acquainted with anybody, but Nelse Ackerman was a man whose word +was law. Really, he was Peter’s employer; he had put up a lot of the money +for the secret service work which Guffey was conducting, and neither +Guffey or any of the city authorities dared try to fool him. +</p> +<p> +“Well, that’s all right,” said Peter; “it won’t hurt for me to see him.” + </p> +<p> +“He’s going to question you about this case,” said McGivney. “He’s going +to try to find out everything he can. So you got to protect us; you got to +make him understand that we’ve done everything possible. You got to put us +right with him.” + </p> +<p> +Peter promised solemnly he would do so; but McGivney wasn’t satisfied. He +was in a state of trepidation, and proceeded to hammer and hammer at +Peter, impressing upon him the importance of solidarity, of keeping faith +with his fellows. It sounded exactly like some of the I. W. W.‘s talking +among themselves! +</p> +<p> +“You may think, here’s a chance to jump on us and climb out on top, but +don’t you forget it, Peter Gudge, we’ve got a machine, and in the long run +it’s the machine that wins. We’ve broken many a fellow that’s tried to +play tricks on us, and we’ll break you. Old Nelse will get what he wants +out of you; he’ll offer you a big price, no doubt—but before long +he’ll be thru with you, and then you’ll come back to us, and I give you +fair warning, by God, if you play us dirty, Guffey will have you in the +hole in a month or two, and you’ll come out on a stretcher.” + </p> +<p> +So Peter pledged his faith again; but, seeing his chance, he added: “Don’t +you think Mr. Guffey ought to do something for me, because of that plot I +discovered?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, I think that,” said McGivney; “that’s only fair.” + </p> +<p> +And so they proceeded to bargain. Peter pointed out all the dangers he had +run, and all the credit which the others had got. Guffey hadn’t got credit +in the papers, but he had got it with his employers, all right, and he +would get still more if Peter stood by him with the king of American City. +Peter said it ought to be worth a thousand dollars, and he said he ought +to have it right away, before he went to see the king. At which Guffey +scowled ferociously. “Look here, Gudge! you got the nerve to charge us +such a price for standing by your frame-up?” + </p> +<p> +McGivney generally treated Peter as a coward and a feeble bluffer; but he +had learned also that there was one time when the little man completely +changed his nature, and that was when it was a question of getting hold of +some cash. That was the question now; and Peter met McGivney scowl for +scowl. “If you don’t like my frame-up,” he snarled, “you go kick to the +newspapers about it!” + </p> +<p> +Peter was the bulldog again, and had got his teeth in the other bulldog’s +nose, and he hung right there. He had seen the rat-faced man pull money +out of his clothes before this, and he knew that this time, above all +other times, McGivney would come prepared. So he insisted—a thousand +or nothing; and as before, his heart went down into his boots when +McGivney produced his wad, and revealed that there was more in the wad +than Peter had demanded! +</p> +<p> +However, Peter consoled himself with the reflection that a thousand +dollars was a tidy sum of money, and he set out for the home of Nelse +Ackerman in a jovial frame of mind. Incidentally he decided that it might +be the part of wisdom not to say anything to Nell about this extra +thousand. When women found out that you had money, they’d never rest till +they had got every cent of it, or at least had made you spend it on them! +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0051" id="link2H_4_0051"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +Section 51 +</h2> +<p> +Nelse Ackerman’s home was far out in the suburbs of the city, upon a knoll +surrounded by forest. It was a couple of miles from the nearest trolley +line, which forced Peter to take a hot walk in the sun. Apparently the +great banker, in selecting the site of his residence, had never once +thought that anybody might want to get to it without an automobile. Peter +reflected as he walked that if he continued to move in these higher +circles, he too would have to join the motor-driving class. +</p> +<p> +About the estate there ran a great bronze fence, ten feet high, with +sharp, inhospitable spikes pointing outwards. Peter had read about this +fence a long time ago in the American City “Times”; it was so and so many +thousand yards long, and had so and so many spikes, and had cost so and so +many tens of thousands of dollars. There were big bronze gates locked +tight, and a sign that said: “Beware the dogs!” Inside the gates were +three guards carrying rifles and walking up and down; they were a +consequence of the recent dynamite conspiracy, but Peter did not realize +this, he took them for a regular institution, and a symbol of the +importance of the man he was to visit. +</p> +<p> +He pressed a button by the side of the gate, and a lodgekeeper came out, +and Peter, according to orders, gave the name “Arthur G. McGillicuddy.” + The lodge-keeper went inside and telephoned, and then came back and opened +the gate, just enough to admit Peter. “You’re to be searched,” said the +lodge-keeper; and Peter, who had been arrested many times, took no offense +at this procedure, but found it one more evidence of the importance of +Nelse Ackerman. The guards went thru his pockets, and felt him all over, +and then one of them marched him up the long gravel avenue thru the +forest, climbed a flight of marble steps to the palace on the knoll, and +turned him over to a Chinese butler who walked on padded slippers. +</p> +<p> +If Peter had not known that this was a private home he would have thought +it was an art gallery. There were great marble columns, and paintings +bigger than Peter, and tapestries with life-size horses; there were men in +armor, and battle axes and Japanese dancing devils, and many other strange +sights. Ordinarily Peter would have been interested in learning how a +great millionaire decorated his house, and would have drunk deep of the +joy of being amid such luxury. But now all his thoughts were taken up with +his dangerous business. Nell had told him what to look for, and he looked. +Mounting the velvet-carpeted staircase, he noted a curtain behind which a +man might hide, and a painting of a Spanish cavalier on the wall just +opposite. He would make use of these two sights. +</p> +<p> +They went down a hall, like a corridor in the Hotel de Soto, and at the +end of it the butler tapped softly upon a door, and Peter was ushered into +a big apartment in semi-darkness. The butler retired without a sound, +closing the door behind him and Peter stood hesitating, looking about to +get his bearings. From the other side of the room he heard three faint +coughs, suggesting a sick man. There was a four-poster bed of some dark +wood, with a canopy over it and draperies at the side, and a man in the +bed, sitting propped up with pillows. There were more coughs, and then a +faint whisper, “This way.” So Peter crossed over and stood about ten feet +from the bed, holding his hat in his hands; he was not able to see very +much of the occupant of the bed, nor was he sure it would be respectful +for him to try to see. +</p> +<p> +“So you’re—(cough) what’s your name?” + </p> +<p> +“Gudge,” said Peter. +</p> +<p> +“You are the man—(cough) that knows about the Reds?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, sir.” + </p> +<p> +The occupant of the bed coughed every two or three minutes thru the +conversation that followed, and each time Peter noticed that he put his +hand up to his mouth as if he were ashamed of the noise. Gradually Peter +got used to the twilight, and could see that Nelse Ackerman was an old man +with puffy, droopy cheeks and chin, and dark puffy crescents under his +eyes. He was quite bald, and had on his head a skull cap of embroidered +black silk, and a short, embroidered jacket over his night shirt. Beside +the bed stood a table covered with glasses and bottles and pill-boxes, and +also a telephone. Every few minutes this telephone would ring, and Peter +would wait patiently while Mr. Ackerman settled some complex problem of +business. “I’ve told them my terms,” he would say with irritation, and +then he would cough; and Peter, who was sharply watching every detail of +the conduct of the rich, noted that he was too polite even to cough into +the telephone. “If they will pay a hundred and twenty-five thousand +dollars on account, I will wait, but not a cent less,” Nelse Ackerman +would say. And Peter, awe-stricken, realized that he had now reached the +very top of Mount Olympus, he was at the highest point he could hope to +reach until he went to heaven. +</p> +<p> +The old man fixed his dark eyes on his visitor. “Who wrote me that +letter?” whispered the husky voice. +</p> +<p> +Peter had been expecting this. “What letter, sir?” + </p> +<p> +“A letter telling me to see you.” + </p> +<p> +“I don’t know anything about it, sir.” + </p> +<p> +“You mean—(cough) you didn’t write me an anonynious letter?” + </p> +<p> +“No, sir, I didn’t.” + </p> +<p> +“Then some friend of yours must have written it.” + </p> +<p> +“I dunno that. It might have been some enemy of the police.” + </p> +<p> +“Well, now, what’s this about the Reds having an agent in my home?” + </p> +<p> +“Did the letter say that?” + </p> +<p> +“It did.” + </p> +<p> +“Well, sir, that’s putting it too strong. I ain’t sure, it’s just an idea +I’ve had. It’ll need a lot of explaining.” + </p> +<p> +“You’re the man who discovered this plot, I understand?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, sir.” + </p> +<p> +“Well, take a chair, there,” said the banker. There was a chair near the +bedside, but it seemed to Peter too close to be respectful, so he pulled +it a little farther away, and sat down on the front six inches of it, +still holding his hat in his hands and twisting it nervously. “Put down +that hat,” said the old man, irritably. So Peter stuck the hat under his +chair, and said: “I beg pardon, sir.” + </p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0052" id="link2H_4_0052"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +Section 52 +</h2> +<p> +The old plutocrat was feeble and sick, but his mind was all there, and his +eyes seemed to be boring Peter through. Peter realized that he would have +to be very careful—the least little slip would be fatal here. +</p> +<p> +“Now, Gudge,” the old man began, “I want you to tell me all about it. To +begin with, how did you come to be among these Reds? Begin at the +beginning.” + </p> +<p> +So Peter told how he had happened to get interested in the radical +movement, laying particular stress upon the dangerousness of these Reds, +and his own loyalty to the class which stood for order and progress and +culture in the country. “It ought to be stopped, Mr. Ackerman!” he +exclaimed, with a fine show of feeling; and the old banker nodded. Yes, +yes, it ought to be stopped! +</p> +<p> +“Well,” said Peter, “I said to myself, ‘I’m going to find out about them +fellows.’ I went to their meetings, and little by little I pretended to +get converted, and I tell you, Mr. Ackerman, our police are asleep; they +don’t know what these agitators are doing, what they’re preaching. They +don’t know what a hold they’ve got on the mobs of the discontented!” + </p> +<p> +Peter went on to tell in detail about the propaganda of social revolution, +and about conspiracies against law and order, and the property and even +the lives of the rich. Peter noticed that when the old man took a sip of +water his hand trembled so that he could hardly keep the water from +spilling; and presently, when the phone rang again, his voice became +shrill and imperious. “I understand they’re applying for bail for those +men. Now Angus, that’s an outrage! We’ll not hear to anything like that! I +want you to see the judge at once, and make absolutely certain that those +men are held in jail.” + </p> +<p> +Then again the old banker had a coughing fit. “Now, Gudge,” he said, “I +know more or less about all that. What I want to know is about this +conspiracy against me. Tell me how you came to find out about it.” + </p> +<p> +And Peter told; but of course he embellished it, in so far as it related +to Mr. Ackerman—these fellows were talking about Mr. Ackerman all +the time, they had a special grudge against him. +</p> +<p> +“But why?” cried the old man. “Why?” + </p> +<p> +“They think you’re fighting them, Mr. Ackerman.” + </p> +<p> +“But I’m not! That’s not true!” + </p> +<p> +“Well, they say you put up money to hang Goober. They call you—you’ll +excuse me?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, yes, of course.” + </p> +<p> +“They call you the ‘head money devil.’ They call you the financial king of +American City.” + </p> +<p> +“King!” cried the banker. “What rubbish! Why, Gudge, that’s fool newspaper +talk! I’m a poor man today. There are two dozen men in this city richer +than I am, and who have more power. Why—” But the old man fell to +coughing and became so exhausted that he sank back into his pillows until +he recovered his breath. Peter waited respectfully; but of course he +wasn’t fooled. Peter had carried on bargaining many times in his life, and +had heard people proclaim their poverty and impotence. +</p> +<p> +“Now, Gudge,” the old man resumed. “I don’t want to be killed; I tell you +I don’t want to be killed.” + </p> +<p> +“No, of course not,” said Peter. It was perfectly comprehensible to him +that Mr. Ackerman didn’t want to be killed. But Mr. Ackerman seemed to +think it necessary to impress the idea upon him; in the course of the +conversation he came back to it a number of times, and each time he said +it with the same solemn assurance, as if it were a brand new idea, and a +very unusual and startling idea. “I don’t want to be killed, Gudge; I tell +you I don’t want to let those fellows get me. No, no; we’ve got to +circumvent them, we’ve got to take precautions—every precaution—I +tell you every possible precaution.” + </p> +<p> +“I’m here for that purpose, Mr. Ackerman,” said Peter, solemnly. “I’ll do +everything. We’ll do everything, I’m sure.” + </p> +<p> +“What’s this about the police?” demanded the banker. “What’s this about +Guffey’s bureau? You say they’re not competent?” + </p> +<p> +“Well now, I’ll tell you, Mr. Ackerman,” said Peter, “It’s a little +embarrassing. You see, they employ me—” + </p> +<p> +“Nonsense!” exclaimed the other. “<i>I</i> employ you! I’m putting up the +money for this work, and I want the facts!—I want them all.” + </p> +<p> +“Well,” said Peter, “they’ve been very decent to me—” + </p> +<p> +“I say tell me everything!” exclaimed the old man. He was a most irritable +old man, and couldn’t stand for a minute not having what he asked for. +“What’s the matter with them?” + </p> +<p> +Peter answered, as humbly as he could: “I could tell you a great deal +that’d be of use to you, Mr. Ackerman, but you got to keep it between you +and me.” + </p> +<p> +“All right!” said the other, quickly. “What is it?” + </p> +<p> +“If you give a hint of it to anybody else,” persisted Peter, “then I’ll +get fired.” + </p> +<p> +“You’ll not get fired, I’ll see to that. If necessary I’ll hire you +direct.” + </p> +<p> +“Ah, but you don’t understand, Mr. Ackerman. It’s a machine, and you can’t +run against it; you gotta understand it, you gotta handle it right. I’d +like to help you, and I know I can help you, but you gotta let me explain +it, and you gotta understand some things.” + </p> +<p> +“All right,” said the old man. “Go ahead, what is it?” + </p> +<p> +“Now,” said Peter, “it’s like this. These police and all these fellows +mean well, but they don’t understand; it’s too complicated, they ain’t +been in this movement long enough. They’re used to dealing with criminals; +but these Reds, you see, are cranks. Criminals ain’t organized, at least +they don’t stand together; but these Reds do, and if you fight ‘em, they +fight back, and they make what they call ‘propaganda.’ And that propaganda +is dangerous—if you make a wrong move, you may find you’ve made ‘em +stronger than they were before.” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, I see that,” said the old man. “Well?” + </p> +<p> +“Then again, the police dunno how dangerous they are. You try to tell them +things, they won’t really believe you. I’ve known for a long time there +was a group of these people getting together to kill off all the rich men, +the big men all over the country. They’ve been spying on these rich men, +getting ready to kill them. They know a lot about them that you can’t +explain their knowing. That’s how I got the idea they had somebody in your +house, Mr. Ackerman.” + </p> +<p> +“Tell me what you mean. Tell me at once.” + </p> +<p> +“Well, sir, every once in a while I pick up scraps of conversation. One +day I heard Mac—” + </p> +<p> +“Mac?” + </p> +<p> +“That’s McCormick, the one who’s in jail. He’s an I. W. W. leader, and I +think the most dangerous of all. I heard him whispering to another fellow, +and it scared me, because it had to do with killing a rich man. He’d been +watching this rich man, and said he was going to shoot him down right in +his own house! I didn’t hear the name of the man—I walked away, +because I didn’t want him to think I was trying to listen in. They’re +awful suspicious, these fellows; if you watch Mac you see him looking +around over his shoulder every minute or two. So I strolled off, and then +I strolled back again, and he was laughing about something, and I heard +him say these words; I heard him say, ‘I was hiding behind the curtain, +and there was a Spanish fellow painted on the wall, and every time I +peeked out that bugger was looking at me, and I wondered if he wasn’t +going to give me away.’” + </p> +<p> +And Peter stopped. His eyes had got used to the twilight now, and he could +see the old banker’s eyes starting out from the crescents of dark, puffy +flesh underneath. “My God!” whispered Nelse Ackerman. +</p> +<p> +“Now, that was all I heard,” said Peter. “And I didn’t know what it meant. +But when I learned about that drawing that Mac had made of your house, I +thought to myself, Jesus, I bet that was Mr. Ackerman he was waiting to +shoot!” + </p> +<p> +“Good God! Good God!” whispered the old man; and his trembling fingers +pulled at the embroidery on the coverlet. The telephone rang, and he took +up the receiver, and told somebody he was too busy now to talk; they would +have to call him later. He had another coughing spell, so that Peter +thought he was going to choke, and had to help him get some medicine down +his throat. Peter was a little bit shocked to see such obvious and abject +fear in one of the gods. After all, they were just men, these Olympians, +as much subject to pain and death as Peter Gudge himself! +</p> +<p> +Also Peter was surprised to find how “easy” Mr. Ackerman was. He made no +lofty pretence of being indifferent to the Reds. He put himself at Peter’s +mercy, to be milked at Peter’s convenience. And Peter would make the most +of this opportunity. +</p> +<p> +“Now, Mr. Ackerman,” he began, “You can see it wouldn’t be any use to tell +things like that to the police. They dunno how to handle such a situation; +the honest truth is, they don’t take these Reds serious. They’ll spend ten +times as much money to catch a plain burglar as they will to watch a whole +gang like this.” + </p> +<p> +“How can they have got into my home?” cried the old man. +</p> +<p> +“They get in by ways you’d never dream of, Mr. Ackerman. They have people +who agree with them. Why, you got no idea, there’s some preachers that are +Reds, and some college teachers, and some rich men like yourself.” + </p> +<p> +“I know, I know,” said Ackerman. “But surely—” + </p> +<p> +“How can you tell? You may have a traitor right in your own family.” + </p> +<p> +So Peter went on, spreading the Red Terror in the soul of this old +millionaire who did not want to be killed. He said again that he did not +want to be killed, and explained his reluctance in some detail. So many +people were dependent upon him for their livings, Peter could have no +conception of it! There were probably a hundred thousand men with their +families right here in American City, whose jobs depended upon plans which +Ackerman was carrying, and which nobody but Ackerman could possibly carry. +Widows and orphans looked to him for protection of their funds; a vast +net-work of responsibilities required his daily, even his hourly +decisions. And sure enough, the telephone rang, and Peter heard Nelse +Ackerman declare that the Amalgamated Securities Company would have to put +off a decision about its dividends until tomorrow, because he was too busy +to sign certain papers just then. He hung up the receiver and said: “You +see, you see! I tell you, Gudge, we must not let them get me!” + </p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0053" id="link2H_4_0053"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +Section 53 +</h2> +<p> +They came down to the question of practical plans, and Peter was ready +with suggestions. In the first place, Mr. Ackerman must give no hint +either to the police authorities or to Guffey that he was dissatisfied +with their efforts. He must simply provide for an interview with Peter now +and then, and he and Peter, quite privately, must take certain steps to +get Mr. Ackerman that protection which his importance to the community +made necessary. The first thing was to find out whether or not there was a +traitor in Mr. Ackerman’s home, and for that purpose there must be a spy, +a first-class detective working in some capacity or other. The only +trouble was, there were so few detectives you could trust; they were +nearly all scoundrels, and if they weren’t scoundrels, it was because they +didn’t have sense enough to be—they were boobs, and any Red could +see thru them in five minutes. +</p> +<p> +“But I tell you,” said Peter, “what I’ve thought. I’ve got a wife that’s a +wonder, and just now while we were talking about it, I thought, if I could +only get Edythe in here for a few days, I’d find out everything about all +the people in your home, your relatives as well as your servants.” + </p> +<p> +“Is she a professional detective?” asked the banker. +</p> +<p> +“Why no, sir,” said Peter. “She was an actress, her name was Edythe +Eustace; perhaps you might have heard of her on the stage.” + </p> +<p> +“No, I’m too busy for the theatre,” said Mr. Ackerman. +</p> +<p> +“Of course,” said Peter. “Well, I dunno whether she’d be willing to do it; +she don’t like having me mix up with these Reds, and she’s been begging me +to quit for a long time, and I’d just about promised her I would. But if I +tell her about your trouble maybe she might, just as a favor.” + </p> +<p> +But how could Peter’s wife be introduced into the Ackerman household +without attracting suspicion? Peter raised this question, pointing out +that his wife was a person of too high a social class to come as a +servant. Mr. Ackerman added that he had nothing to do with engaging his +servants, any more than with engaging the bookkeepers in his bank. It +would look suspicious for him to make a suggestion to his housekeeper. But +finally he remarked that he had a niece who sometimes came to visit him, +and would come at once if requested, and would bring Edythe Eustace as her +maid. Peter was sure that Edythe would be able to learn this part quickly, +she had acted it many times on the stage, in fact, it had been her +favorite role. Mr. Ackerman promised to get word to his niece, and have +her meet Edythe at the Hotel de Soto that same afternoon. +</p> +<p> +Then the old banker pledged his word most solemnly that he would not +whisper a hint about this matter except to his niece. Peter was most +urgent and emphatic; he specified that the police were not to be told, +that no member of the household was to be told, not even Mr. Ackerman’s +private secretary. After Mr. Ackerman had had this duly impressed upon +him, he proceeded in turn to impress upon Peter the idea which he +considered of most importance in the world: “I don’t want to be killed, +Gudge, I tell you I don’t want to be killed!” And Peter solemnly promised +to make it his business to listen to all conversations of the Reds in so +far as they might bear upon Mr. Ackerman. +</p> +<p> +When he rose to take his departure, Mr. Ackerman slipped his trembling +fingers into the pocket of his jacket, and pulled out a crisp and shiny +note. He unfolded it, and Peter saw that it was a five hundred dollar +bill, fresh from the First National Bank of American City, of which Mr. +Ackerman was chairman of the board of directors. “Here’s a little present +for you, Gudge,” he said. “I want you to understand that if you protect me +from these villains, I’ll see that you are well taken care of. From now on +I want you to be my man.” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, sir,” said Peter, “I’ll be it, sir. I thank you very much, sir.” And +he thrust the bill into his pocket, and bowed himself step by step +backwards toward the door. “You’re forgetting your hat,” said the banker. +</p> +<p> +“Why, yes,” said the trembling Peter, and he came forward again, and got +his hat from under the chair, and bowed himself backward again. +</p> +<p> +“And remember, Gudge,” said the old man, “I don’t want to be killed! I +don’t want them to get me!” + </p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0054" id="link2H_4_0054"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +Section 54 +</h2> +<p> +Peter’s first care when he got back into the city was to go to Mr. +Ackerman’s bank and change that five hundred dollar bill. The cashier +gazed at him sternly, and scrutinized the bill carefully, but he gave +Peter five one hundred dollar bills without comment. Peter tucked three of +them away in a safe hiding-place, and put the other two in his pocketbook, +and went to keep his appointment with Nell. +</p> +<p> +He told her all that had happened, and where she was to meet Mr. +Ackerman’s niece. “What did he give you?” Nell demanded, at once, and when +Peter produced the two bills, she exclaimed, “My God! the old +skint-flint!” “He said there’d be more,” remarked Peter. +</p> +<p> +“It didn’t cost him anything to say that,” was Nell’s answer. “We’ll have +to put the screws on him.” Then she added, “You’d better let me take care +of this money for you, Peter.” + </p> +<p> +“Well,” said Peter, “I have to have some for my own expenses, you know.” + </p> +<p> +“You’ve got your salary, haven’t you?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, that’s true, but—” + </p> +<p> +“I can keep it safe for you,” said Nell, “and some day when you need it +you’ll be glad to have it. You’ve never saved anything yourself; that’s a +woman’s job.” + </p> +<p> +Peter tried to haggle with her, but it wasn’t the same as haggling with +McGivney; she looked at him with her melting glances, and it made Peter’s +head swim, and automatically he put out his hand and let her take the two +bills. Then she smiled, so tenderly that he made bold to remind her, “You +know, Nell, you’re my wife now!” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, yes,” she answered, “of course. But we’ve got to get rid of Ted +Crothers somehow. He watches me all the time, and I have no end of trouble +making excuses and getting away.” + </p> +<p> +“How’re you’re going to get rid of him?” asked Peter, hungrily. +</p> +<p> +“We’ll have to skip,” she answered; “just as soon as we have pulled off +our new frame-up—” + </p> +<p> +“Another one?” gasped Peter, in dismay. +</p> +<p> +And the girl laughed. “You wait!” she said. “I’m going to pull some real +money out of Nelse Ackerman this time! Then when we’ve made our killing, +we’ll skip, and be fixed for life. You wait—and don’t talk love to +me now, because my mind is all taken up with my plans, and I can’t think +about anything else.” + </p> +<p> +So they parted, and Peter went to see McGivney in the American House. +“Stand up to him!” Nell had said. But it was not easy to do, for McGivney +pulled and hauled him and turned him about, upside down and inside +outwards, to know every single thing that had happened between him and +Nelse Ackerman. Lord, how these fellows did hang on to their sources of +graft! Peter repeated and insisted that he really had played entirely fair—he +hadn’t told Nelse Ackerman a thing except just the truth as he had told it +to Guffey and McGivney. He had said that the police were all right, and +that Guffey’s bureau was stepping right on the tail of the Reds all the +time. +</p> +<p> +“And what does he want you to do?” demanded the rat-faced man. +</p> +<p> +Peter answered, “He just wanted to make sure that he was learning +everything of importance, and he wanted me to promise him that he would +get every scrap of information that I collected about the plot against +him; and of course I promised him that we’d bring it all to him.” + </p> +<p> +“You going to see him any more?” demanded McGivney. +</p> +<p> +“He didn’t say anything about that.” + </p> +<p> +“Did he get your address?” + </p> +<p> +“No, I suppose if he wants me he’ll let you know, the same as before.” + </p> +<p> +“All right,” said McGivney. “Did he give you any money?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes,” said Peter, “he gave me two hundred dollars, and he said there was +plenty more where that came from, so that we’d work hard to help him. He +said he didn’t want to get killed; he said that a couple of dozen times, I +guess. He spent more time saying that than anything else. He’s sick, and +he’s scared out of his wits.” + </p> +<p> +So at last McGivney condescended to thank Peter for his faithfulness, and +went on to give him further orders. +</p> +<p> +The Reds were raising an awful howl. Andrews, the lawyer, had succeeded in +getting a court order to see the arrested men, and of course the prisoners +had all declared that the case was a put-up job. Now the Reds were +preparing to send out a circular to their fellow Reds all over the +country, appealing for publicity, and for funds to fight the “frame-up.” + </p> +<p> +They were very secret about it, and McGivney wanted to know where they +were getting their money. He wanted a copy of the circular they were +printing, and to know where and when the circulars were to be mailed. +Guffey had been to see the post office authorities, and they were going to +confiscate the circulars and destroy them all without letting the Reds +know it. +</p> +<p> +Peter rubbed his hands with glee. That was the real business! That was +going after these criminals in the way Peter had been urging! The +rat-faced man answered that it was nothing to what they were going to do +in a few days. Let Peter keep on his job, and he would see! Now, when the +public was wrought up over this dynamite conspiracy, was the time to get +things done. +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0055" id="link2H_4_0055"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +Section 55 +</h2> +<p> +Peter took a street car to the home of Miriam Yankovitch, and on the way +he read the afternoon edition of the American City “Times.” The editors of +this paper were certainly after the Reds, and no mistake! They had taken +McCormick’s book on Sabotage, just as Nell had predicted, and printed +whole chapters from it, with the most menacing sentences in big type, and +some boxed up in little frames and scattered here and there over the page +so that no one could possibly miss them. They had a picture of McCormick +taken in the jail; he hadn’t had a chance to shave for several days, and +probably hadn’t felt pleasant about having his picture taken—anyhow, +he looked ferocious enough to frighten the most skeptical, and Peter was +confirmed in his opinion that Mac was the most dangerous Red of them all. +</p> +<p> +Columns and columns of material this paper published about the case, +subtly linking it up with all the other dynamitings and assassinations in +American history, and with German spy plots and bomb plots. There was a +nation-wide organization of these assassins, so the paper said; they +published hundreds of papers, with millions of readers, all financed by +German gold. Also, there was a double-leaded editorial calling on the +citizens to arise and save the republic, and put an end to the Red menace +once for all. Peter read this, and like every other good American, he +believed every word that he read in his newspaper, and boiled with hatred +of the Reds. +</p> +<p> +He found Miriam Yankovitch away from home. Her mother was in a state of +excitement, because Miriam had got word that the police were giving the +prisoners the “third degree,” and she had gone to the offices of the +Peoples’ Council to get the radicals together and try to take some +immediate action. So Peter hurried over to these offices, where he found +some twenty-five Reds and Pacifists assembled, all in the same state of +excitement. Miriam was walking up and down the room, clasping and +unclasping her hands, and her eyes looked as if she had been crying all +day. Peter remembered his suspicion that Miriam and Mac were lovers. He +questioned her. They had put Mac in the “hole,” and Henderson, the +lumber-jack, was laid up in the hospital as a result of the ordeal he had +undergone. +</p> +<p> +The Jewish girl went into details, and Peter found himself shuddering—he +had such a vivid memory of the third degree himself! He did not try to +stop his shuddering, but took to pacing up and down the room like Miriam, +and told them how it felt to have your wrists twisted and your fingers +bent backward, and how damp and horrible it was in the “hole.” So he +helped to work them into a state of hysteria, hoping that they would +commit some overt action, as McGivney wanted. Why not storm the jail and +set free the prisoners? +</p> +<p> +Little Ada Ruth said that was nonsense; but might they not get banners, +and parade up and down in front of the jail, protesting against this +torturing of men who had not been convicted of any crime? The police would +fall on them, of course, the crowds would mob them and probably tear them +to pieces, but they must do something. Donald Gordon answered that this +would only make them impotent to keep up the agitation. What they must try +to get was a strike of labor. They must send telegrams to the radical +press, and go out and raise money, and call a mass-meeting three days from +date. Also, they must appeal to all the labor unions, and see if it was +possible to work up sentiment for a general strike. +</p> +<p> +Peter, somewhat disappointed, went back and reported to McGivney this +rather tame outcome. But McGivney said that was all right, he had +something that would fix them; and he revealed to Peter a startling bit of +news. Peter had been reading in the papers about German spies, but he had +only half taken it seriously; the war was a long way off, and Peter had +never seen any of that German gold that they talked so much about—in +fact, the Reds were in a state of perpetual poverty, one and all of them +stinting himself eternally to put up some portion of his scant earnings to +pay for pamphlets and circulars and postage and defence funds, and all the +expenses of an active propaganda organization. But now, McGivney declared, +there was a real, sure-enough agent of the Kaiser in American City! The +government had pretty nearly got him in his nets, and one of the things +McGivney wanted to do before the fellow was arrested was to get him to +contribute some money to the radical cause. +</p> +<p> +It wasn’t necessary to point out to Peter the importance of this. If the +authorities could show that the agitation on behalf of McCormick and the +rest had been financed by German money, the public would justify any +measures taken to bring it to an end. Could Peter suggest to McGivney the +name of a German Socialist who might be persuaded to approach this agent +of the Kaiser, and get him to contribute money for the purpose of having a +general strike called in American City? Several of the city’s big +manufacturing plants were being made over for war purposes, and obviously +the enemy had much to gain by strikes and labor discontent. Guffey’s men +had been trying for a long time to get Germans to contribute to the Goober +Defense fund, but here was an even better opportunity. +</p> +<p> +Peter thought of Comrade Apfel, who was one of the extreme Socialists, and +a temporary Pacifist like most Germans. Apfel worked in a bakery, and his +face was as pasty as the dough he kneaded, but it would show a tinge of +color when he rose in the local to denounce the “social patriots,” those +party members who were lending their aid to British plans for world +domination. McGivney said he would send somebody to Apfel at once, and +give him the name of the Kaiser’s agent as one who might be induced to +contribute to the radical defense fund. Apfel would, of course, have no +idea that the man was a German agent; he would go to see him, and ask him +for money, and McGivney and his fellow-sleuths would do the rest. Peter +said that was fine, and offered to go to Apfel himself; but the rat-faced +man answered no, Peter was too precious, and no chance must be taken of +directing Apfel’s suspicions against him. +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0056" id="link2H_4_0056"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +Section 56 +</h2> +<p> +Peter had received a brief scrawl from Nell, telling him that it was all +right, she had gone to her new job, and would soon have results. So Peter +went cheerfully about his own duties of trying to hold down the protest +campaign of the radicals. It was really quite terrifying, the success they +were having, in spite of all the best efforts of the authorities. Bundles +of circulars appeared at their gatherings as if by magic, and were carried +away and distributed before the authorities could make any move. Every +night at the Labor Temple, where the workers gathered, there were +agitators howling their heads off about the McCormick case. To make +matters worse, there was an obscure one cent evening paper in American +City which catered to working-class readers, and persisted in publishing +evidence tending to prove that the case was a “frame-up.” The Reds had +found out that their mail was being interfered with, and were raising a +terrific howl about that—pretending, of course, that it was “free +speech” they cared about! +</p> +<p> +The mass meeting was due for that evening, and Peter read an indignant +editorial in the American City “Times,” calling upon the authorities to +suppress it. “Down with the Red Flag!” the editorial was headed; and Peter +couldn’t see how any red-blooded, 100% American could read it, and not be +moved to do something. +</p> +<p> +Peter said that to McGivney, who answered: “We’re going to do something; +you wait!” And sure enough, that afternoon the papers carried the news +that the mayor of American City had notified the owners of the Auditorium +that they would be held strictly responsible under the law for all +incendiary and seditious utterances at this meeting; thereupon, the owners +of the Auditorium had cancelled the contract. Furthermore, the mayor +declared that no crowds should be gathered on the street, and that the +police would be there to see to it, and to protect law and order. Peter +hurried to the rooms of the Peoples’ Council, and found the radicals +scurrying about, trying to find some other hall; every now and then Peter +would go to the telephone, and let McGivney know what hall they were +trying to get, and McGivney would communicate with Guffey, and Guffey +would communicate with the secretary of the Chamber of Commerce, and the +owner of this hall would be called up and warned by the president of the +bank which held a mortgage on the hall, or by the chairman of the board of +directors of the Philharmonic Orchestra which gave concerts there. +</p> +<p> +So there was no Red mass meeting that night—and none for many a +night thereafter in American City! Guffey’s office had got its German spy +story ready, and next morning, here was the entire front page of the +American City “Times” given up to the amazing revelation that Karl von +Stroeme, agent of the German government, and reputed to be a nephew of the +German Vice-chancellor, had been arrested in American City, posing as a +Swedish sewing-machine agent, but in reality having been occupied in +financing the planting of dynamite bombs in the buildings of the Pioneer +Foundry Company, now being equipped for the manufacture of machine-guns. +Three of von Stroeme’s confederates had been nabbed at the same time, and +a mass of papers full of important revelations—not the least +important among them being the fact that only yesterday von Stroeme had +been caught dealing with a German Socialist of the ultra-Red variety, an +official of the Bread and Cake-Makers’ Union Number 479, by the name of +Ernst Apfel. The government had a dictagraph record of conversations in +which von Stroeme had contributed one hundred dollars to the Liberty +Defense League, an organization which the Reds had got up for the purpose +of carrying on agitation for the release of the I. W. W.s arrested in the +dynamite plot against the life of Nelse Ackerman. Moreover it was proven +that Apfel had taken this money and distributed it among several German +Reds, who had turned it in to the defense fund, or used it in paying for +circulars calling for a general strike. +</p> +<p> +Peter’s heart was leaping with excitement; and it leaped even faster when +he had got his breakfast and was walking down Main Street. He saw crowds +gathered, and American flags flying from all the buildings, just as on the +day of the Preparedness parade. It caused Peter to feet queer spasms of +fright; he imagined another bomb, but he couldn’t resist the crowds with +their eager faces and contagious enthusiasm. Presently here came a band, +with magnificent martial music, and here came soldiers marching—tramp, +tramp, tramp—line after line of khaki-clad boys with heavy packs +upon their backs and shiny new rifles. Our boys! Our boys! God bless them! +</p> +<p> +It was three regiments of the 223rd Division, coming from Camp Lincoln to +be entrained for the war. They might better have been entrained at the +camp, of course, but everyone had been clamoring for some glimpse of the +soldiers, and here they were with their music and their flags, and their +crowds of flushed, excited admirers—two endless lines of people, +wild with patriotic fervor, shouting, singing, waving hats and +handkerchiefs, until the whole street became a blur, a mad delirium. Peter +saw these closely pressed lines, straight and true, and the legs that +moved like clock-work, and the feet that shook the ground like thunder. He +saw the fresh, boyish faces, grimly set and proud, with eyes fixed ahead, +never turning, even tho they realized that this might be their last +glimpse of their home city, that they might never come back from this +journey. Our boys! Our boys! God bless them! Peter felt a choking in his +throat, and a thrill of gratitude to the boys who were protecting him and +his country; he clenched his hands and set his teeth, with fresh +determination to punish the evil men and women—draft-dodgers, +slackers, pacifists and seditionists—who were failing to take their +part in this glorious emprise. +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0057" id="link2H_4_0057"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +Section 57 +</h2> +<p> +Peter went to the American House and met McGivney, and was put to work on +a job that precisely suited his mood. The time had come for action, said +the rat-faced man. The executive committee of the I. W. W. local had been +drafting an appeal to the main organization for help, and the executive +committee was to meet that evening; Peter was to get in touch with the +secretary, Grady, and find out where this meeting was to be, and make the +suggestion that all the membership be gathered, and other Reds also. The +business men of the city were going to pull off their big stroke that +night, said McGivney; the younger members of the Chamber of Commerce and +the Merchants’ and Manufacturers’ Association had got together and worked +out a secret plan, and all they wanted was to have the Reds collected in +one place. +</p> +<p> +So Peter set out and found Shawn Grady, the young Irish boy who kept the +membership lists and other papers of the organization, in a place so +secret that not even Peter had been able to find them. Peter brought the +latest news about the sufferings of Mac in the “hole,” and how Gus, the +sailor, had joined Henderson in the hospital. He was so eloquent in his +indignation that presently Grady told him about the meeting for that +evening, and about the place, and Peter said they really ought to get some +of their friends together, and work out some way to get their protest +literature distributed quickly, because it was evident they could no +longer use the mails. What was the use of resolutions of executive +committees, when what was wanted was action by the entire membership? +Grady said all right, they would notify the active members and +sympathizers, and he gave Peter the job of telephoning and travelling +about town getting word to a dozen people. +</p> +<p> +At six o’clock that evening Peter reported the results to McGivney, and +then he got a shock. “You must go to that meeting yourself,” said the +rat-faced man. “You mustn’t take any chance of their suspecting you.” + </p> +<p> +“But, my God!” cried Peter. “What’s going to happen there?” + </p> +<p> +“You don’t need to worry about that,” answered the other. “I’ll see that +you’re protected.” + </p> +<p> +The gathering was to take place at the home of Ada Ruth, the poetess, and +McGivney had Peter describe this home to him. Beyond the living-room was a +hallway, and in this hallway was a big clothes closet. At the first alarm +Peter must make for this place. He must get into the closet, and McGivney +would be on hand, and they would pen Peter up and pretend to club him, but +in reality would protect him from whatever happened to the rest. Peter’s +knees began to tremble, and he denounced the idea indignantly; what would +happen to him if anything were to happen to McGivney, or to his +automobile, and were to fail to get there in time? McGivney declared that +Peter need not worry—he was too valuable a man for them to take any +chances with. McGivney would be there, and all Peter would have to do was +to scream and raise a rumpus, and finally fall unconscious, and McGivney +and Hammett and Cummings would carry him out to their automobile and take +him away! +</p> +<p> +Peter was so frightened that he couldn’t eat any dinner, but wandered +about the street talking to himself and screwing up his courage. He had to +stop and look at the American flags, still waving from the buildings, and +read the evening edition of the American City “Times,” in order to work up +his patriotic fervor again. As he set out for the home of the little +cripple who wrote pacifist poetry, he really felt like the soldier boys +marching away to war. +</p> +<p> +Ada Ruth was there, and her mother, a dried-up old lady who knew nothing +about all these dreadful world movements, but whose pleadings had no +effect upon her inspired daughter; also Ada’s cousin, a lean old-maid +school teacher, secretary of the Peoples’ Council; also Miriam Yankovitch, +and Sadie Todd, and Donald Gordon. On the way Peter had met Tom Duggan, +and the mournful poet revealed that he had composed a new poem about Mac +in the “hole.” Immediately afterwards came Grady, the secretary, his +pockets stuffed with his papers. Grady, a tall, dark-eyed, +impulsive-tempered Irish boy, was what the Socialists called a “Jimmie +Higgins,” that is, one of the fellows who did the hard and dreary work of +the movement, who were always on hand no matter what happened, always +ready to have some new responsibility put upon their shoulders. Grady had +no use for the Socialists, being only interested in “industrial action,” + but he was willing to be called a “Jimmie Higgins”; he had said that Peter +was one too, and Peter had smiled to himself, thinking that a “Jimmie +Higgins” was about the last thing in the world he ever would be. Peter was +on the way to independence and prosperity, and it did not occur to him to +reflect that he might be a “Jimmie Higgins” to the “Whites” instead of to +the Reds! +</p> +<p> +Grady now pulled out his papers, and began to talk over with Donald Gordon +the proceedings of the evening. He had had a telegram from the national +headquarters of the I. W. W., promising support, and his thin, hungry face +lighted up with pride as he showed this. Then he announced that “Bud” + Connor was to be present—a well-known organizer, who had been up in +the oil country with McCormick, and brought news that the workers there +were on the verge of a big strike. Then came Mrs. Jennings, a poor, +tormented little woman who was slowly dying of a cancer, and whose husband +was suing her for divorce because she had given money to the I. W. W. With +her, and helping her along, came “Andy” Adams, a big machinist, who had +been kicked out of his lodge for talking too much “direct action.” He +pulled from his pocket a copy of the “Evening Telegraph,” and read a few +lines from an editorial, denouncing “direct action” as meaning dynamiting, +which it didn’t, of course, and asking how long it would be before the +friends of law and order in American City would use a little “direct +action” of their own. +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0058" id="link2H_4_0058"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +Section 58 +</h2> +<p> +So they gathered, until about thirty were present, and then the meeting +speedily got down to business. It was evident, said Grady, that the +authorities had deliberately framed-up the dynamite conspiracy, in order +to have an excuse for wiping out the I. W. W. organization; they had +closed the hall, and confiscated everything, typewriters and office +furniture and books—including a book on Sabotage which they had +turned over to the editor of the “Evening Times”! There was a hiss of +anger at this. Also, they had taken to interfering with the mail of the +organization; the I. W. W. were having to get out their literature by +express. They were fighting for their existence, and they must find some +way of getting the truth to people. If anybody had any suggestions to +make, now was the time. +</p> +<p> +There came one suggestion after another; and meantime Peter sat as if his +chair were full of pins. Why didn’t they come—the younger members of +the Chamber of Commerce and the Merchants’ and Manufacturers’ Association—and +do what they were going to do without any further delay? Did they expect +Peter to sit there all night, trembling with alarm—and he not having +any dinner besides? +</p> +<p> +Suddenly Peter gave a jump. Outside came a yell, and Donald Gordon, who +was making a speech, stopped suddenly, and the members of the company +stared at one another, and some sprang to their feet. There were more +yells, rising to screams, and some of the company made for the front +doors, and some for the back doors, and yet others for the windows and the +staircase. Peter wasted no time, but dived into the clothes closet in the +hallway back of the living-room, and got into the farthest corner of this +closet, and pulled some of the clothes on top of him; and then, to make +him safer yet, came several other people piling on top of him. +</p> +<p> +From his place of refuge he listened to the confusion that reigned. The +place was a bedlam of women’s shrieks, and the curses of fighting men, and +the crash of overturning furniture, and of clubs and monkey-wrenches on +human heads. The younger members of the Chamber of Commerce and the +Merchants’ and Manufacturers’ Association had come in sufficient force to +make sure of their purpose. There were enough to crowd the room full, and +to pack all the doorways, and two or three to guard each window, and a +flying squadron to keep watch for anybody who jumped from the roof or +tried to hide in the trees of the garden. +</p> +<p> +Peter cowered, and listened to the furious uproar, and presently he heard +the cries of those on top of him, and realized that they were being pulled +off and clubbed; he felt hands reach down and grab him, and he cringed and +cried in terror; but nothing happened to him, and presently he glanced up +and he saw a man wearing a black mask, but easily to be recognized as +McGivney. Never in all his life had Peter been gladder to see a human face +than he was to see that masked face of a rat! McGivney had a club in his +hand, and was dealing ferocious blows to the clothes heaped around Peter. +Behind McGivney were Hammett and Cummings, covering the proceedings, and +now and then carefully putting in a blow of their own. +</p> +<p> +Most of the fighting inside the house and outside came quickly to an end, +because everybody who fought was laid out or overpowered. Then several of +the agents of Guffey, who had been studying these Reds for a year or two +and knew them all, went about picking out the ones who were especially +wanted, and searching them for arms, and then handcuffing them. One of +these men approached Peter, who instantly fell unconscious, and closed his +eyes; then Hammett caught him under the armpits and Cummings by the feet, +and McGivney walked alongside as a bodyguard, remarking now and then, “We +want this fellow, we’ll take care of him.” + </p> +<p> +They carried Peter outside, and in the darkness he opened his eyes just +enough to see that the street was lined with automobiles, and that the +Reds were being loaded aboard. Peter’s friends carried him to one car and +drove him away, and then Peter returned to consciousness, and the four of +them sat up and laughed to split their sides, and slapped one another on +the back, and mentioned the satisfactory things they had seen. Had Hammett +noticed that slice Grady had got over the eyes, and the way the blood had +run all over him? Well, he wanted to be a Red—they had helped him be +one—inside and out! Had McGivney noticed how “Buck” Ellis, one of +their men, had put the nose of the hobo poet out of joint? And young +Ogden, son of the president of the Chamber of Commerce, had certainly +managed to show how he felt about these cattle, the female ones as well as +the males; when that Yankovich slut had slapped his face, he had caught +her by the breasts and nearly twisted them off, and she had screamed and +fainted! +</p> +<p> +Yes, they had cleaned them out. But that wasn’t all of it, they were going +to finish the job tonight, by God! They were going to give these pacifists +a taste of the war, they were going to put an end to the Red Terror in +American City! Peter might go along if he liked and see the good work; +they were going into the country, and it would be dark, and if he kept a +mask on he would be quite safe. And Peter said yes; his blood was up, he +was full of the spirit of the hunt, he wanted to be in at the death, +regardless of everything. +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0059" id="link2H_4_0059"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +Section 59 +</h2> +<p> +The motor purred softly, and the car sped as if upon wings thru the +suburbs of American City, and to the country beyond. There were cars in +front, and other cars behind, a long stream of white lights flying out +into the country. They came to a grove of big pine trees, which rose two +or three feet thick, like church arches, and covered the ground beneath +them with a soft, brown carpet. It was a well-known picnic place, and here +all the cars were gathering by appointment. Evidently it had all been +pre-arranged, with that efficiency which is the pride of 100% Americans. A +man with a black mask over his face stood in the center of the grove, and +shouted his directions thru a megaphone, and each car as it swept in +ranged itself alongside the next car in a broad circle, more than a +hundred feet across. These cars of the younger members of the Chamber of +Commerce and the Merchants’ and Manufacturers’ Association were well +behaved—they were accustomed to sliding precisely into place +according to orders of a megaphone man, when receptions were being given, +or when the younger members and their wives and fiancees, clad in soft +silks and satins, came rolling up to their dinner-parties and dances. +</p> +<p> +The cars came and came, until there was just room enough for the last one +to slide in. Then at a shouted command, “Number one!” a group of men +stepped out of one of the cars, dragging a handcuffed prisoner. It was +Michael Dubin, the young Jewish tailor who had spent fifteen days in jail +with Peter. Michael was a student and dreamer, and not used to scenes of +violence; also, he belonged to a race which expresses its emotions, and +consequently is offensive to 100% Americans. He screamed and moaned while +the masked men un-handcuffed him, and took off his coat and tore his shirt +in the back. They dragged him to a tree in the center of the ring, a +somewhat smaller tree, just right for his wrists to meet around and be +handcuffed again. There he stood in the blinding glare of thirty or forty +cars, writhing and moaning, while one of the black-masked men stripped off +his coat and got ready for action. He produced a long black-snake whip, +and stood poised for a moment; then in a booming voice the man with the +megaphone shouted, “Go!” and the whip whistled thru the air and was laid +across the back of Michael, and tore into the flesh so that the blood +leaped into sight. There was a scream of anguish, and the victim began to +twist and turn and kick about as if in his death-throes. Again the whip +whistled, and again you heard the thud as it tore into the flesh, and +another red stripe leaped to view. +</p> +<p> +Now the younger members of the Chamber of Commerce and the Merchants’ and +Manufacturers’ Association were in excellent condition for this evening’s +labor. They were not pale and thin, underfed and overworked, as were their +prisoners; they were sleek and rosy, and ashine with health. It was as if +long years ago their fathers had foreseen the Red menace, and the steps +that would have to be taken to preserve 100% Americanism; the fathers had +imported a game which consisted of knocking little white balls around a +field with various styles and sizes of clubs. They had built magnificent +club-houses out here in the suburbs, and had many hundreds of acres of +ground laid out for this game, and would leave their occupations of +merchanting and manufacturing early in the afternoon, in order to repair +to these fields and keep their muscles in condition. They would hold +tournaments, and vie with one another, and tell over the stories of the +mighty strokes which they had made with their clubs, and of the hundreds +of strokes they had made in a single afternoon. So the man with the +black-snake whip was “fit,” and didn’t need to stop for breath. Stroke +after stroke he laid on, with a splendid rhythmic motion; he kept it up +easily, on and on. Had he forgotten? +</p> +<p> +Did he think this was a little white ball he was swinging down upon? He +kept on and on, until you could no longer count the welts, until the whole +back of Michael Dubin was a mass of raw and bleeding flesh. The screams of +Michael Dubin died away, and his convulsive struggling ceased, and his +head hung limp, and he sunk lower and lower upon the tree. +</p> +<p> +At last the master of ceremonies stepped forward and ordered a halt, and +the man with the whip wiped the sweat from his forehead with his +shirt-sleeve, and the other men unchained the body of Michael Dubin, and +dragged it a few feet to one side and dumped it face downward in the +pine-leaves. +</p> +<p> +“Number two!” called the master of ceremonies, in a clear, compelling +voice, as if he were calling the figures of a quadrille; and from another +car another set of men emerged, dragging another prisoner. It was Bert +Glikas, a “blanket-stiff” who was a member of the I. W. W.‘s executive +committee, and had had two teeth knocked out in a harvest-strike only a +couple of weeks previously. While they were getting off his coat, he +managed to get one hand free, and he shook it at the spectators behind the +white lights of the automobiles. “God damn you!” he yelled; and so they +tied him up, and a fresh man stepped forward and picked up the whip, and +spit on his hands for good luck, and laid on with a double will; and at +every stroke Glikas yelled a fresh curse; first in English, and then, as +if he were delirious, in some foreign language. But at last his curses +died away, and he too sank insensible, and was unhitched and dragged away +and dumped down beside the first man. “Number three!” called the master of +ceremonies. +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0060" id="link2H_4_0060"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +Section 60 +</h2> +<p> +Now Peter was sitting in the back seat of his car, wearing the mask which +McGivney had given him, a piece of cloth with two holes for his eyes and +another hole for him to breathe thru. Peter hated these Reds, and wanted +them punished, but he was not used to bloody sights, and was finding this +endless thud, thud of the whip on human flesh rather more than he could +stand. Why had he come? This wasn’t his part of the job of saving his +country from the Red menace. He had done his share in pointing out the +dangerous ones; he was a man of brains, not a man of violence. Peter saw +that the next victim was Tom Duggan with his broken and bloody nose, and +in spite of himself, Peter started with dismay. He realized that without +intending it he had become a little fond of Tom Duggan. For all his +queerness, Duggan was loyal, he was a good fellow when you had got +underneath his surly manners. He had never done anything except just to +grumble, and to put his grumbles into verses; they were making a mistake +in whipping him, and for a moment Peter had a crazy impulse to interfere +and tell them so. +</p> +<p> +The poet never made a sound. Peter got one glimpse of his face in the +blazing white light, and in spite of the fact that it was smashed and +bloody, Peter read Tom Duggan’s resolve—he would die before they +would get a moan out of him. Each time the lash fell you could see a +quiver all over his form; but there was never a sound, and he stood, +hugging the tree in a convulsive grip. They lashed him until the whip was +spattering blood all over them, until blood was running to the ground. +They had taken the precaution to bring along a doctor with a little black +case, and he now stepped up and whispered to the master of ceremonies. +They unfastened Duggan, and broke the grip of his arms about the tree, and +dumped him down beside Glikas. +</p> +<p> +Next came the turn of Donald Gordon, the Socialist Quaker, which brought a +bit of cheap drama. Donald took his religion seriously; he was always +shouting his anti-war sentiments in the name of Jesus, which made him +especially obnoxious. Now he saw a chance to get off one of his theatrical +stunts; he raised his two manacled hands into the air as if he were +praying, and shouted in piercing tones: “Father, forgive them, for they +know not what they do!” + </p> +<p> +A murmur started in the crowd; you could hear it mounting to a roar. +“Blasphemy!” they cried. “Stop his dirty mouth!” It was the same mouth +that had been heard on a hundred platforms, denouncing the war and those +who made money out of the war. They were here now, the men who had been +denounced, the younger members of the Chamber of Commerce and the +Merchants’ and Manufacturers’ Association, the best people of the city, +those who were saving the country, and charging no more than the service +was worth. So they roared with fury at this sacreligious upstart. A man +whose mask was a joke, because he was so burly and hearty that everybody +in the crowd knew him, took up the bloody whip. It was Billy Nash, +secretary of the “Improve America League,” and the crowd shouted, “Go to +it, Billy! Good eye, old boy!” Donald Gordon might tell God that Billy +Nash didn’t know what he was doing, but Billy thought that he knew, and he +meant before he got thru to convince Donald that he knew. It didn’t take +very long, because there was nothing much to the young Quaker but voice, +and he fainted at the fourth or fifth stroke, and after the twentieth +stroke the doctor interfered. +</p> +<p> +Then came the turn of Grady, secretary of the I. W. W., and here a +terrible thing happened. Grady, watching this scene from one of the cars, +had grown desperate, and when they loosed the handcuffs to get off his +coat, he gave a sudden wrench and broke free, striking down one man after +another. He had been brought up in the lumber country, and his strength +was amazing, and before the crowd quite realized it, he was leaping +between two of the cars. A dozen men sprang upon him from a dozen +directions, and he went down in the midst of a wild melee. They pinned him +with his face mashed into the dirt, and from the crowd there rose a roar +as from wild beasts in the night-time, +</p> +<p> +“String him up! String him up!” One man came running with a rope, +shouting, “Hang him!” + </p> +<p> +The master of ceremonies tried to protest thru his megaphone, but the +instrument was knocked out of his hands, and he was hauled to one side, +and presently there was a man climbing up the pine tree and hanging the +rope over a limb. You could not see Grady for the jostling throng about +him, but suddenly there was a yell from the crowd, and you saw him quite +plainly—he shot high up into the air, with the rope about his neck +and his feet kicking wildly. Underneath, men danced about and yelled and +waved their hats in the air, and one man leaped up and caught one of the +kicking feet and hung onto it. +</p> +<p> +Then, above all the din, a voice was heard thru the megaphone, “Let him +down a bit! Let me get at him!” And those who held the rope gave way, and +the body came down toward the ground, still kicking, and a man took out a +clasp-knife, and cut the clothing away from the body, and cut off +something from the body; there was another yell from the crowd, and the +men in the automobiles slapped their knees and shrieked with satisfaction. +Those in the car with Peter whispered that it was Ogden, son of the +president of the Chamber of Commerce; and all over town next day and for +weeks thereafter men would nudge one another, and whisper about what Bob +Ogden had done to the body of Shawn Grady, secretary of the “damned +wobblies.” And every one who nudged and whispered about it felt certain +that by this means the Red Terror had been forever suppressed, and 100% +Americanism vindicated, and a peaceful solution of the problem of capital +and labor made certain. +</p> +<p> +Strange as it might seem, there was one member of the I. W. W. who agreed +with them. One of the victims of that night had learned his lesson! When +Tom Duggan was able to sit up again, which was six weeks later, he wrote +an article about his experience, which was published in an I. W. W. paper, +and afterwards in pamphlet form was read by many hundreds of thousands of +workingmen. In it the poet said: +</p> +<p> +“The preamble of the I. W. W. opens with the statement that the employing +class and the working class have nothing in common; but on this occasion I +learned that the preamble is mistaken. On this occasion I saw one thing in +common between the employing class and the working class, and that thing +was a black-snake whip. The butt end of the whip was in the hands of the +employing class, and the lash of the whip was on the backs of the working +class, and thus to all eternity was symbolized the truth about the +relationship of the classes!” + </p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0061" id="link2H_4_0061"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +Section 61 +</h2> +<p> +Peter awoke next morning with a vivid sense of the pain and terror of +life. He had been clamoring to have those Reds punished; but somehow or +other he had thought of this punishment in an abstract way, a thing you +could attend to by a wave of the hand. He hadn’t quite realized the +physical side of it, what a messy and bloody job it would prove. Two hours +and more he had listened to the thud of a whip on human flesh, and each +separate stroke had been a blow upon his own nerves. Peter had an overdose +of vengeance; and now, the morning after, his conscience was gnawing at +him. He had known every one of those boys, and their faces rose up to +haunt him. What had any of them done to deserve such treatment? Could he +say that he had ever known a single one of them to do anything as violent +as the thing they had all suffered? +</p> +<p> +But more than anything else Peter was troubled by fear. Peter, the ant, +perceived the conflict of the giants becoming more ferocious, and realized +the precariousness of his position under the giants’ feet. The passions of +both sides were mounting, and the fiercer their hate became, the greater +the chance of Peter’s being discovered, the more dreadful his fate if he +were discovered. It was all very well for McGivney to assure him that only +four of Guffey’s men knew the truth, and that all these might be trusted +to the death. Peter remembered a remark he had heard Shawn Grady make, and +which had caused him to lose his appetite for more than one meal. “They’ve +got spies among us,” the young Irishman had said. “Well, sooner or later +we’ll do a bit of spying of our own!” + </p> +<p> +And now these words came back to Peter like a voice from the grave. +Suppose one of the Reds who had money were to hire somebody to get a job +in Guffey’s office! Suppose some Red girl were to try Peter’s device, and +seduce one of Guffey’s men—by no means a difficult task! The man +mightn’t even mean to reveal that Peter Gudge was a secret agent; he might +just let it slip, as little Jennie had let slip the truth about Jack +Ibbetts! Thus Mac would know who had framed him up; and what would Mac do +to Peter when he got out on bail? When Peter thought of things like that +he realized what it meant to go to war; he saw that he had gained nothing +by staying at home, he might as well have been in the front-line trenches! +After all, this was war, class-war; and in all war the penalty for spying +is death. +</p> +<p> +Also Peter was worried about Nell. She had been in her new position for +nearly a week, and he hadn’t heard a word from her. She had forbidden him +to write, for fear he might write something injudicious. Let him just +wait, Edythe Eustace would know how to take care of herself. And that was +all right, Peter had no doubt about the ability of Edythe Eustace to take +care of herself. What troubled him was the knowledge that she was working +on another “frame-up,” and he stood in fear of the exuberance of her +imagination. The last time that imagination had been pregnant, it had +presented him with a suit-case full of dynamite. What it might bring forth +next time he did not know, and was afraid to think. Nell might cause him +to be found out by Guffey; and that would be nearly as horrible as to be +found out by Mac! +</p> +<p> +Peter got his morning “Times,” and found a whole page about the whipping +of the Reds, portraying the job as a patriotic duty heroically performed; +and that naturally cheered Peter up considerably. He turned to the +editorial page, and read a two column “leader” that was one whoop of +exultation. It served still more to cure Peter’s ache of conscience; and +when he read on and found a series of interviews with leading citizens, +giving cordial endorsement to the acts of the “vigilantes,” Peter became +ashamed of his weakness, and glad that he had not revealed it to anyone. +Peter was trying his best to become a real “he-man,” a 100% red-blooded +American, and he had the “Times” twice each day, morning and evening, to +guide, sustain and inspire him. +</p> +<p> +Peter had been told by McGivney to fix himself up and pose as one of the +martyrs of the night’s affair, and this appealed to his sense of humor. He +cut off the hair from a part of his head, and stuck some raw cotton on +top, and plastered it over with surgical tape. He stuck another big wad of +surgical tape across his forehead, and a criss-cross of it on his cheek, +and tied up his wrist in an excellent imitation of a sprain. Thus rigged +out he repaired to the American House, and McGivney rewarded him with a +hearty laugh, and then proceeded to give some instructions which, entirely +restored Peter’s usual freshness of soul. Peter was going up on Mount +Olympus again! +</p> +<p> +The rat-faced man explained in detail. There was a lady of great wealth—indeed, +she was said to be several times a millionaire—who was an openly +avowed Red, a pacifist of the most malignant variety. Since the arrest of +young Lackman she had come forward and put up funds to finance the +“People’s Council,” and the “Anti-Conscription League,” and all the other +activities which for the sake of convenience were described by the term +“pro-German.” The only trouble was this lady was so extremely wealthy it +was hard to do anything to her. Her husband was a director in a couple of +Nelse Ackerman’s banks, and had other powerful connections. The husband +was a violent, anti-Socialist, and a buyer of liberty bonds; he quarrelled +with his wife, but nevertheless he did not want to see her in jail, and +this made an embarrassing situation for the police and the district +attorney’s office, and even for the Federal authorities, who naturally did +not want to trouble one of the courtiers of the king of American City. +“But something’s got to be done,” said McGivney. “This camouflaged German +propaganda can’t go on.” So Peter was to try to draw Mrs. Godd into some +kind of “overt action.” + </p> +<p> +“Mrs. Godd?” said Peter. It seemed to him a singular coincidence that one +of the dwellers on Mount Olympus should bear that name. The great lady +lived on a hilltop out in the suburbs, not so far from the hilltop of +Nelse Ackerman. One of the adventures looked forward to by Reds and +pacifists in distress was to make a pilgrimage to this palace and obtain +some long, green plasters to put over their wounds. Now was the time at +all times for Peter to go, said McGivney. Peter had many wounds to be +plastered, and Mrs. Godd would be indignant at the proceedings of last +night, and would no doubt express herself without restraint. +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0062" id="link2H_4_0062"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +Section 62 +</h2> +<p> +Peter hadn’t been so excited since the time when he had waited to meet +young Lackman. He had never quite forgiven himself for this costly +failure, and now he was to have another chance. He took a trolley ride out +into the country, and walked a couple of miles to the palace on the +hilltop, and mounted thru a grove of trees and magnificent Italian +gardens. According to McGivney’s injunctions, he summoned his courage, and +went to the front door of the stately mansion and rang the bell. +</p> +<p> +Peter was hot and dusty from his long walk, the sweat had made streaks +down his face and marred the pristine whiteness of his plasters. He was +never a distinguished-looking person at best, and now, holding his damaged +straw hat in his hands, he looked not so far from a hobo. However, the +French maid who came to the door was evidently accustomed to +strange-looking visitors. She didn’t order Peter to the servant’s +entrance, nor threaten him with the dogs; she merely said, “Be seated, +please. I will tell madame”—putting the accent on the second +syllable, where Peter had never heard it before. +</p> +<p> +And presently here came Mrs. Godd in her cloud of Olympian beneficence; a +large and ample lady, especially built for the role of divinity. Peter +felt suddenly awe-stricken. How had he dared come here? Neither in the +Hotel de Soto, with its many divinities, nor in the palace of Nelse +Ackerman, the king, had he felt such a sense of his own lowliness as the +sight of this calm, slow-moving great lady inspired. She was the +embodiment of opulence, she was “the real thing.” Despite the look of +kindliness in her wide-open blue eyes, she impressed him with a feeling of +her overwhelming superiority. He did not know it was his duty as a +gentleman to rise from his chair when a lady entered, but some instinct +brought him to his feet and caused him to stand blinking as she crossed to +him from the opposite end of the big room. +</p> +<p> +“How do you do?” she said in a low, full voice, gazing at him steadily out +of the kind, wide-open blue eyes. Peter stammered, “How d-dy do, M—Mrs. +Godd.” + </p> +<p> +In truth, Peter was almost dumb with bewilderment. Could it really, +possibly be that this grand personage was a Red? One of the things that +had most offended him about all radicals was their noisiness, their +aggressiveness; but here was a grand serenity of looks and manner, a soft, +slow voice—here was beauty, too, a skin unlined, despite middle +years, and glowing with health and a fine cleanness. Nell Doolin had had a +glowing complexion, but there was always a lot of powder stuck on, and +when you investigated closely, as Peter had done, you discovered muddy +spots in the edges of her hair and on her throat. But Mrs. Godd’s skin +shone just as the skin of a goddess would be expected to shine, and +everything about her was of a divine and compelling opulence. Peter could +not have explained just what it was that gave this last impression so +overwhelmingly. It was not that she wore many jewels, or large ones, for +Mrs. James had beaten her at that; it was not her delicate perfume, for +Nell Doolin scattered more sweetness on the air; yet somehow even poor, +ignorant Peter felt the difference—it seemed to him that none of +Mrs. Godd’s costly garments had ever been worn before, that the costly +rugs on the floor had never been stepped on before, the very chair on +which he sat had never been sat on before! +</p> +<p> +Little Ada Ruth had called Mrs. Godd “the mother of all the world;” and +now suddenly she became the mother of Peter Gudge. She had read the papers +that morning, she had received a half dozen telephone calls from horrified +and indignant Reds, and so a few words sufficed to explain to her the +meaning of Peter’s bandages and plasters. She held out to him a beautiful +cool hand, and quite without warning, tears sprang into the great blue +eyes. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, you are one of those poor boys! Thank God they did not kill you!” And +she led him to a soft couch and made him lie down amid silken pillows. +Peter’s dream of Mount Olympus had come literally true! It occurred to him +that if Mrs. Godd were willing to play permanently the role of mother to +Peter Gudge, he would be willing to give up his role of anti-Red agent +with its perils and its nervous strains; he would forget duty, forget the +world’s strife and care; he would join the lotus-eaters, the sippers of +nectar on Mount Olympus! +</p> +<p> +She sat and talked to him in the soft, gentle voice, and the kind blue +eyes watched him, and Peter thought that never in all his life had he +encountered such heavenly emotions. To be sure, when he had gone to see +Miriam Yankovich, old Mrs. Yankovich had been just as kind, and tears of +sympathy had come into her eyes just the same. But then, Mrs. Yankovich +was nothing but a fat old Jewess, who lived in a tenement and smelt of +laundry soap and partly completed washing; her hands had been hot and +slimy, and so Peter had not been in the least grateful for her kindness. +But to encounter tender emotions in these celestial regions, to be talked +to maternally and confidentially by this wonderful Mrs. Godd in soft white +chiffons just out of a band-box <i>this </i>was quite another matter! +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0063" id="link2H_4_0063"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +Section 63 +</h2> +<p> +Peter did not want to set traps for this mother of Mount Olympus, he +didn’t want to worm any secrets from her. And as it happened, he found +that he did not have to, because she told him everything right away, and +without the slightest hesitation. She talked just as the “wobblies” had +talked in their headquarters; and Peter, when he thought it over, realized +that there are two kinds of people who can afford to be frank in their +utterance—those who have nothing to lose, and those who have so much +to lose that they cannot possibly lose it. +</p> +<p> +Mrs. Godd said that what had been done to those men last night was a +crime, and it ought to be punished if ever a crime was punished, and that +she would like to engage detectives and get evidence against the guilty +ones. She said furthermore that she sympathized with the Reds of the very +reddest shade, and if there were any color redder than Red she would be of +that color. She said all this in her quiet, soft voice. Tears came into +her eyes now and then, but they were well-behaved tears, they disappeared +of their own accord, and without any injury to Mrs. Godd’s complexion, or +any apparent effect upon her self-possession. +</p> +<p> +Mrs. Godd said that she didn’t see how anybody could fail to be a Red who +thought about the injustices of present-day society. Only a few days +before she had been in to see the district attorney, and had tried to make +a Red out of him! Then she told Peter how there had come to see her a man +who had pretended to be a radical, but she had realized that he didn’t +know anything about radicalism, and had told him she was sure he was a +government agent. The man had finally admitted it, and showed her his gold +star—and then Mrs. Godd had set to work to convert him! She had +argued with him for an hour or two, and then had invited him to go to the +opera with her. “And do you know,” said Mrs. Godd, in an injured tone, “he +wouldn’t go! They don’t want to be converted, those men; they don’t want +to listen to reason. I believe the man was actually afraid I might +influence him.” + </p> +<p> +“I shouldn’t wonder,” put in Peter, sympathetically; for he was a tiny bit +afraid himself. +</p> +<p> +“I said to him, ‘Here I live in this palace, and back in the industrial +quarter of the city are several thousand men and women who slave at +machines for me all day, and now, since the war, all night too. I get the +profits of these peoples’ toil—and what have I done to earn it? +Absolutely nothing! I never did a stroke of useful work in my life.’ And +he said to me, ‘Suppose the dividends were to stop, what would you do?’ ‘I +don’t know what I’d do,’ I answered, ‘I’d be miserable, of course, because +I hate poverty, I couldn’t stand it, it’s terrible to think of—not +to have comfort and cleanliness and security. I don’t see how the +working-class stand it—that’s exactly why I’m a Red, I know it’s +wrong for anyone to be poor, and there’s no excuse for it. So I shall help +to overthrow the capitalist system, even if it means I have to take in +washing for my living!” + </p> +<p> +Peter sat watching her in the crisp freshness of her snowy chiffons. The +words brought a horrible image to his mind; he suddenly found himself back +in the tenement kitchen, where fat and steaming Mrs. Yankovich was +laboring elbow deep in soap-suds. It was on the tip of Peter’s tongue to +say: “If you really had done a day’s washing, Mrs. Godd, you wouldn’t talk +like that!” + </p> +<p> +But he remembered that he must play the game, so he said, “They’re +terrible fellows, them Federal agents. It was two of them pounded me over +the head last night.” And then he looked faint and pitiful, and Mrs. Godd +was sympathetic again, and moved to more recklessness of utterance. +</p> +<p> +“It’s because of this hideous war!” she declared. “We’ve gone to war to +make the world safe for democracy, and meantime we have to sacrifice every +bit of democracy at home. They tell you that you must hold your peace +while they murder one another, but they may try all they please, they’ll +never be able to silence me! I know that the Allies are just as much to +blame as the Germans, I know that this is a war of profiteers and bankers; +they may take my sons and force them into the army, but they cannot take +my convictions and force them into their army. I am a pacifist, and I am +an internationalist; I want to see the workers arise and turn out of +office these capitalist governments, and put an end to this hideous +slaughter of human beings. I intend to go on saying that so long as I +live.” There sat Mrs. Godd, with her lovely firm white hands clasped as if +in prayer, one large diamond ring on the left fourth finger shining +defiance, and a look of calm, child-like conviction upon her face, +confronting in her imagination all the federal agents and district +attorneys and capitalist judges and statesmen and generals and drill +sergeants in the civilized world. +</p> +<p> +She went on to tell how she had attended the trial of three pacifist +clergymen a week or two previously. How atrocious that Christians in a +Christian country should be sent to prison for trying to repeat the words +of Christ! “I was so indignant,” declared Mrs. Godd, “that I wrote a +letter to the judge. My husband said I would be committing contempt of +court by writing to a judge during the trial, but I answered that my +contempt for that court was beyond anything I could put into writing. Wait—” + </p> +<p> +And Mrs. Godd rose gravely from her chair and went over to a desk by the +wall, and got a copy of the letter. “I’ll read it to you,” she said, and +Peter listened to a manifesto of Olympian Bolshevism— +</p> +<p> +To His Honor: +</p> +<p> +As I entered the sanctuary, I gazed upward to the stained glass dome, upon +which were inscribed four words: Peace. Justice. Truth. Law—and I +felt hopeful. Before me were men who had violated no constitutional right, +who had not the slightest criminal tendency, who, were opposed to violence +of every kind. +</p> +<p> +The trial proceeded. I looked again at the beautiful stained glass dome, +and whispered to myself those majestic-sounding words: “Peace. Justice. +Truth. Law.” I listened to the prosecutors; the Law in their hands was a +hard, sharp, cruel blade, seeking insistently, relentlessly for a weak +spot in the armor of its victims. I listened to their Truth, and it was +Falsehood. Their Peace was a cruel and bloody War. Their justice was a net +to catch the victims at any cost—at the cost of all things but the +glory of the Prosecutor’s office. +</p> +<p> +I grew sick at heart. I can only ask myself the old, old question: What +can we, the people do? How can we bring Peace, justice, Truth and Law to +the world? Must we go on bended knees and ask our public servants to see +that justice is done to the defenceless, rather than this eternal +prosecuting of the world’s noblest souls! You will find these men guilty, +and sentence them to be shut behind iron bars—which should never be +for human beings, no matter what their crime, unless you want to make +beasts of them. Is that your object, sir? It would seem so; and so I say +that we must overturn the system that is brutalizing, rather than helping +and uplifting mankind. +</p> +<p> +Yours for Peace..Justice..Truth..Law— +</p> +<p> +Mary Angelica Godd. +</p> +<p> +What were you going to do with such a woman? Peter could understand the +bewilderment of His Honor, and of the district attorney’s office, and of +the secret service department of the Traction Trust—as well as of +Mrs. Godd’s husband! Peter was bewildered himself; what was the use of his +coming out here to get more information, when Mrs. Godd had already +committed contempt of court in writing, and had given all the information +there was to give to a Federal agent? She had told this man that she had +contributed several thousand dollars to the Peoples’ Council, and that she +intended to contribute more. She had put up bail for a whole bunch of Reds +and Pacifists, and she intended to put up bail for McCormick and his +friends, just as soon as the corrupt capitalist courts had been forced to +admit them to bail. “I know McCormick well, and he’s a lovely boy,” she +said. “I don’t believe he had anything more to do with dynamite bombs than +I have.” + </p> +<p> +Now all this time Peter had sat there, entirely under the spell of Mrs. +Godd’s opulence. Peter was dwelling among the lotus-eaters, and forgetting +the world’s strife and care; he was reclining on a silken couch, sipping +nectar with the shining ones of Mount Olympus. But now suddenly, Peter was +brought back to duty, as one wakes from a dream to the sound of an +alarm-clock. Mrs. Godd was a friend of Mac’s, Mrs. Godd proposed to get +Mac out on bail! Mac, the most dangerous Red of them all! Peter saw that +he must get something on this woman at once! +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0064" id="link2H_4_0064"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +Section 64 +</h2> +<p> +Peter sat up suddenly among his silken cushions, and began to tell Mrs. +Godd about the new plan of the Anti-conscription League, to prepare a set +of instructions for young conscientious objectors. Peter represented the +purpose of these instructions to be the advising of young men as to their +legal and constitutional rights. But it was McGivney’s idea that Peter +should slip into the instructions some phrase advising the young men to +refuse military duty; if this were printed and circulated, it would render +every member of the Anti-conscription League liable to a sentence of ten +or twenty years in jail. McGivney had warned Peter to be very cautious +about this, but again Peter found that there was no need of caution. Mrs. +Godd was perfectly willing to advise young men to refuse military service. +She had advised many such, she said, including her own sons, who +unfortunately agreed with their father in being blood-thirsty. +</p> +<p> +It came to be lunch-time, and Mrs. Godd asked if Peter could sit at table—and +Peter’s curiosity got the better of all caution. He wanted to see the Godd +family sipping their nectar out of golden cups. He wondered, would the +disapproving husband and the blood-thirsty sons be present? +</p> +<p> +There was nobody present but an elderly woman companion, and Peter did not +see any golden cups. But he saw some fine china, so fragile that he was +afraid to touch it, and he saw a row of silver implements, so heavy that +it gave him a surprise each time he picked one up. Also, he saw foods +prepared in strange and complicated ways, so chopped up and covered with +sauces that it was literally true he couldn’t give the name of a single +thing he had eaten, except the buttered toast. +</p> +<p> +He was inwardly quaking with embarrassment during this meal, but he saved +himself by Mrs. James’s formula, to watch and see what the others were +doing and then do likewise. Each time a new course was brought, Peter +would wait, and when he saw Mrs. Godd pick up a certain fork or a certain +spoon, he would pick up the same one, or as near to it as he could guess. +He could put his whole mind on this, because he didn’t have to do any +talking; Mrs. Godd poured out a steady stream of sedition and high +treason, and all Peter had to do was to listen and nod. Mrs. Godd would +understand that his mouth was too full for utterance. +</p> +<p> +After the luncheon they went out on the broad veranda which overlooked a +magnificent landscape. The hostess got Peter settled in a soft porch chair +with many cushions, and then waved her hand toward the view of the city +with its haze of thick black smoke. +</p> +<p> +“That’s where my wage slaves toil to earn my dividends,” said she. +“They’re supposed to stay there—in their ‘place,’ as it’s called, +and I stay here in my place. If they want to change places, it’s called +‘revolution,’ and that is ‘violence.’ What I marvel at is that they use so +little violence, and feel so little. Look at those men being tortured in +jail! Could anyone blame them if they used violence? Or if they made an +effort to escape?” + </p> +<p> +That suggested a swift, stabbing idea to Peter. Suppose Mrs. Godd could be +induced to help in a jail delivery! +</p> +<p> +“It might be possible to help them to escape,” he suggested. +</p> +<p> +“Do you think so?” asked Mrs. Godd, showing excitement for the first time +during that interview. +</p> +<p> +“It might be,” said Peter. “Those jailors are not above taking bribes, you +know. I met nearly all of them while I was in that jail, and I think I +might get in touch with one or two that could be paid. Would you like me +to try it?” + </p> +<p> +“Well, I don’t know—” began the lady, hesitatingly. “Do you really +think—” + </p> +<p> +“You know they never ought to have been put in at all!” Peter interjected. +</p> +<p> +“That’s certainly true!” declared Mrs. Godd. +</p> +<p> +“And if they could escape without hurting anyone, if they didn’t have to +fight the jailors, it wouldn’t do any real harm—” + </p> +<p> +That was as far as Peter got with his impromptu conspiracy. Suddenly he +heard a voice behind him: “What does this mean?” It was a male voice, +fierce and trembling with anger; and Peter started from his silken +cushions, and glanced around, thrusting up one arm with the defensive +gesture of a person who has been beaten since earliest childhood. +</p> +<p> +Bearing down on him was a man; possibly he was not an abnormally big man, +but certainly he looked so to Peter. His smooth-shaven face was pink with +anger, his brows gathered in a terrible frown, and his hands clenched with +deadly significance. “You dirty little skunk!” he hissed. “You infernal +young sneak!” + </p> +<p> +“John!” cried Mrs. Godd, imperiously; but she might as well have cried to +an advancing thunder-storm. The man made a leap upon Peter, and Peter, who +had dodged many hundreds of blows in his lifetime, rolled off the lounging +chair, and leaped to his feet, and started for the stairs of the veranda. +The man was right behind him, and as Peter reached the first stair the +man’s foot shot out, and caught Peter fairly in the seat of his trousers, +and the first stair was the only one of the ten or twelve stairs of the +veranda that Peter touched in his descent. +</p> +<p> +Landing at the bottom, he did not stop even for a glance; he could hear +the snorting of Mr. Godd, it seemed right behind his ear, and Peter ran +down the driveway as he had seldom run in his life before. Every now and +then Mr. Godd would shoot out another kick, but he had to stop slightly to +do this, and Peter gained just enough to keep the kicks from reaching him. +So at last the pursuer gave up, and Peter dashed thru the gates of the +Godd estate and onto the main highway. +</p> +<p> +Then he looked over his shoulder, and seeing that Mr. Godd was a safe +distance away, he stopped and turned and shook his clenched fist with the +menace of a street-rat, shrieking, “Damn you! Damn you!” A whirlwind of +impotent rage laid hold upon him. He shouted more curses and menaces, and +among them some strange, some almost incredible words. “Yes, I’m a Red, +damn your soul, and I’ll stay a Red!” + </p> +<p> +Yes, Peter Gudge, the friend of law and order, Peter Gudge, the little +brother to the rich, shouted, “I’m a Red, and what’s more, we’ll blow you +up some day for this—Mac and me’ll put a bomb under you!” Mr. Godd +turned and stalked with contemptuous dignity back to his own private +domestic controversy. +</p> +<p> +Peter walked off down the road, rubbing his sore trousers and sobbing to +himself. Yes, Peter understood now exactly how the Reds felt. Here were +these rich parasites, exploiting the labor of working men and living off +in palaces by themselves—and what had they done to earn it? What +would they ever do for the poor man, except to despise him, and to kick +him in the seat of his trousers? They were a set of wilful brutes! Peter +suddenly saw the happenings of last night from a new angle, and wished he +had all the younger members of the Chamber of Commerce and the Merchants’ +and Manufacturers’ Association right there along with Mr. Godd, so that he +could bundle them all off to the devil at once. +</p> +<p> +And that was no passing mood either. The seat of Peter’s trousers hurt so +that he could hardly endure the trolley ride home, and all the way Peter +was plotting how he could punish Mr. Godd. He remembered suddenly that Mr. +Godd was an associate of Nelse Ackerman; and Peter now had a spy in Nelse +Ackerman’s home, and was preparing some kind of a “frame-up!” Peter would +see if he couldn’t find some way to start a dynamite conspiracy against +Mr. Godd! He would start a campaign against Mr. Godd in the radical +movement, and maybe he could find some way to get a bunch of the +“wobblies” to carry him off and tie him up and beat him with a black-snake +whip! +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0065" id="link2H_4_0065"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +Section 65 +</h2> +<p> +With these reflections Peter went back to the American House, where +McGivney had promised to meet him that evening. Peter went to Room 427, +and being tired after the previous night’s excitement, he lay down and +fell fast asleep. And when again he opened his eyes, he wasn’t sure +whether it was a nightmare, or whether he had died in his sleep and gone +to hell with Mr. Godd. Somebody was shaking him, and bidding him in a +gruff voice, “Wake up!” Peter opened his eyes, and saw that it was +McGivney; and that was all right, it was natural that McGivney should be +waking him up. But what was this? McGivney’s voice was angry, McGivney’s +face was dark and glowering, and—most incredible circumstance of all—McGivney +had a revolver in his hand, and was pointing it into Peter’s face! +</p> +<p> +It really made it much harder for Peter to get awake, because he couldn’t +believe that he was awake; also it made it harder for McGivney to get any +sense out of him, because his jaw hung down, and he stared with terrified +eyes into the muzzle of the revolver. +</p> +<p> +“M-m-my God, Mr. McGivney! w-w-what’s the matter?” + </p> +<p> +“Get up here!” hissed the rat-faced man, and he added a vile name. He +gripped Peter by the lapel of his coat and half jerked him to his feet, +still keeping the muzzle of the revolver in Peter’s face. And poor Peter, +trying desperately to get his wits together, thought of half a dozen wild +guesses one after another. Could it be that McGivney had heard him +denouncing Mr. Godd and proclaiming himself a Red? Could it be that some +of the Reds had framed up something on Peter? Could it be that McGivney +had gone just plain crazy; that Peter was in the room with a maniac armed +with a revolver? +</p> +<p> +“Where did you put that money I gave you the other day;” demanded +McGivney, and added some more vile names. +</p> +<p> +Instantly, of course, Peter was on the defensive. No matter how frightened +he might be, Peter would never fail to hang on to his money. +</p> +<p> +“I-I s-s-spent it, Mr. McGivney.” + </p> +<p> +“You’re lying to me!” + </p> +<p> +“N-n-no.” + </p> +<p> +“Tell me where you put that money!” insisted the man, and his face was +ugly with anger, and the muzzle of the revolver seemed to be trembling +with anger. Peter started to insist that he had spent every cent. “Make +him cough up, Hammett!” said McGivney; and Peter for the first time +realized that there was another man in the room. His eyes had been so +fascinated by the muzzle of the revolver that he hadn’t taken a glance +about. +</p> +<p> +Hammett was a big fellow, and he strode up to Peter and grabbed one of +Peter’s arms, and twisted it around behind Peter’s back and up between +Peter’s shoulders. When Peter started to scream, Hammett clapped his other +hand over his mouth, and so Peter knew that it was all up. He could not +hold on to money at that cost. When McGivney asked him, “Will you tell me +where it is?” Peter nodded, and tried to answer thru his nose. +</p> +<p> +So Hammett took his hand from his mouth. “Where is it?” And Peter replied, +“In my right shoe.” + </p> +<p> +Hammett unlaced the shoe and took it off, and pulled out the inside sole, +and underneath was a little flat package wrapped in tissue paper, and +inside the tissue paper was the thousand dollars that McGivney had given +Peter, and also the three hundred dollars which Peter had saved from Nelse +Ackerman’s present, and two hundred dollars which he had saved from his +salary. Hammett counted the money, and McGivney stuck it into his pocket, +and then he commanded Peter to put on his shoe again. Peter obeyed with +his trembling fingers, meantime keeping his eye in part on the revolver +and in part on the face of the rat. +</p> +<p> +“W-w-what’s the matter, Mr. McGivney?” + </p> +<p> +“You’ll find out in time,” was the answer. “Now, you march downstairs, and +remember, I’ve got this gun on you, and there’s eight bullets in it, and +if you move a finger I’ll put them all into you.” + </p> +<p> +So Peter and McGivney and Hammett went down in the elevator of the hotel, +and out of doors, and into an automobile. Hammett drove, and Peter sat in +the rear seat with McGivney, who had the revolver in his coat pocket, his +finger always on the trigger and the muzzle always pointed into Peter’s +middle. So Peter obeyed all orders promptly, and stopped asking questions +because he found he could get no answers. +</p> +<p> +Meantime he was using his terrified wits on the problem. The best guess he +could make was that Guffey had decided to believe Joe Angell’s story +instead of Peter’s. But then, why all this gun-play, this movie stuff? +Peter gave up in despair; and it was just as well, for what had happened +lay entirely beyond the guessing power of Peter’s mind or any other mind. +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0066" id="link2H_4_0066"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +Section 66 +</h2> +<p> +They went to the office of the secret service department of the Traction +Trust, a place where Peter had never been allowed to come hitherto. It was +on the fourteenth floor of the Merchant’s Trust Building, and the sign on +the door read: “The American City Land & Investment Company. Walk In.” + When you walked in, you saw a conventional real estate office, and it was +only when you had penetrated several doors that you came to the secret +rooms where Guffey and his staff conducted the espionage work of the big +business interests of the city. +</p> +<p> +Peter was hustled into one of these rooms, and there stood Guffey; and the +instant Guffey saw him, he bore down upon him, shaking his fist. “You +stinking puppy!” he exclaimed. “You miserable little whelp! You dirty, +sneaking hound!” He added a number of other descriptive phrases taken from +the vocabulary of the kennel. +</p> +<p> +Peter’s knees were shaking, his teeth were chattering, and he watched +every motion of Guffey’s angry fingers, and every grimace of Guffey’s +angry features. Peter had been fully prepared for the most horrible +torture he had experienced yet; but gradually he realized that he wasn’t +going to be tortured, he was only going to be scolded and raged at, and no +words could describe the wave of relief in his soul. In the course of his +street-rat’s life Peter had been called more names than Guffey could think +of if he spent the next month trying. If all Guffey was going to do was to +pace up and down the room, and shake his fist under Peter’s nose every +time he passed him, and compare him with every kind of a domestic animal, +Peter could stand it all night without a murmur. +</p> +<p> +He stopped trying to find out what it was that had happened, because he +saw that this only drove Guffey to fresh fits of exasperation. Guffey +didn’t want to talk to Peter, he didn’t want to hear the sound of Peter’s +whining gutter-pup’s voice. All he wanted was to pour out his rage, and +have Peter listen in abject abasement, and this Peter did. But meantime, +of course, Peter’s wits were working at high speed, he was trying to pick +up hints as to what the devil it could mean. One thing was quite clear—the +damage, whatever it was, was done; the jig was up, it was all over but the +funeral. They had taken Peter’s money to pay for the funeral, and that was +all they hoped to get out of him. +</p> +<p> +Gradually came other hints. “So you thought you were going into business +on your own!” snarled Guffey, and his fist, which was under Peter’s nose, +gave an upward poke that almost dislocated Peter’s neck. +</p> +<p> +“Aha!” thought Peter. “Nelse Ackerman has given me away!” + </p> +<p> +“You thought you were going to make your fortune and retire for life on +your income!” + </p> +<p> +Yes, that was it, surely! But what could Nelse Ackerman have told that was +so very bad? +</p> +<p> +“You were going to have a spy of your own, set up your own bureau, and +kick me out, perhaps!” + </p> +<p> +“My God!” thought Peter. “Who told that?” + </p> +<p> +Then suddenly Guffey stopped in front of him. “Was that what you thought?” + he demanded. He repeated the question, and it appeared that he really +wanted an answer, and so Peter stammered, “N-n-no, sir.” But evidently the +answer didn’t suit Guffey, for he grabbed Peter’s nose and gave it a tweak +that brought the tears into his eyes. +</p> +<p> +“What was it then?” A nasty sneer came on the head detective’s face, and +he laughed at Peter with a laugh of venomous contempt. “I suppose you +thought she really loved you! Was it that? You thought she really loved +you?” And McGivney and Hammett and Guffey ha-ha-ed together, and to Peter +it seemed like the mockery of demons in the undermost pit of hell. Those +words brought every pillar of Peter’s dream castle tumbling in ruins about +his ears. Guffey had found out about Nell! +</p> +<p> +Again and again on the automobile ride to Guffey’s office Peter had +reminded himself of Nell’s command, “Stick it out, Peter! Stick it out!” + He had meant to stick it out in spite of everything; but now in a flash he +saw that all was lost. How could he stick it out when they knew about +Nell, and when Nell, herself, was no longer sticking it out? +</p> +<p> +Guffey saw these thoughts plainly written in Peter’s face, and his sneer +turned into a snarl. “So you think you’ll tell me the truth now, do you? +Well, it happens there’s nothing left to tell!” + </p> +<p> +Again he turned and began pacing up and down the room. The pressure of +rage inside him was so great that it took still more time to work it off. +But finally the head detective sat down at his desk, and opened the drawer +and took out a paper. “I see you’re sitting there, trying to think up some +new lie to tell me,” said he. And Peter did not try to deny it, because +any kind of denial only caused a fresh access of rage. “All right,” Guffey +said, “I’ll read you this, and you can see just where you stand, and just +how many kinds of a boob you are.” + </p> +<p> +So he started to read the letter; and before Peter had heard one sentence, +he knew this was a letter from Nell, and he knew that the castle of his +dreams was flat in the dust forever. The ruins of Sargon and Nineveh were +not more hopelessly flat! +</p> +<p> +“Dear Mr. Guffey,” read the letter, “I am sorry to throw you down, but +fifty thousand dollars is a lot of money, and we all get tired of work and +need a rest. This is to tell you that Ted Crothers has just broke into +Nelse Ackerman’s safe in his home, and we have got some liberty bonds and +some jewels which we guess to be worth fifty thousand dollars, and you +know Ted is a good judge of jewels. +</p> +<p> +“Now of course you will find out that I was working in Mr. Ackerman’s home +and you will be after me hot-foot, so I might as well tell you about it, +and tell you it won’t do you any good to catch us, because we have got all +the inside dope on the Goober frame-up, and everything else your bureau +has been pulling off in American City for the last year. You can ask Peter +Gudge and he’ll tell you. It was Peter and me that fixed up that dynamite +conspiracy, but you mustn’t blame Peter, because he only did what I told +him to do. He hasn’t got sense enough to be really dangerous, and he will +make you a perfectly good agent if you treat him kind and keep him away +from the women. You can do that easy enough if you don’t let him get any +money, because of course he’s nothing much on looks, and the women would +never bother with him if you didn’t pay him too much. +</p> +<p> +“Now Peter will tell you how we framed up that dynamite job, and of course +you wouldn’t want that to get known to the Reds, and you may be sure that +if Ted and me get pinched, we’ll find some way to let the Reds know all +about it. If you keep quiet we’ll never say a word, and you’ve got a +perfectly good dynamite conspiracy, with all the evidence you need to put +the Reds out of business, and you can just figure it cost you fifty +thousand dollars, and it was cheap at the price, because Nelse Ackerman +has paid a whole lot more for your work, and you never got anything half +as big as this. I know you’ll be mad when you read this, but think it over +and keep your shirt on. I send it to you by messenger so you can get hold +of Nelse Ackerman right quick, and have him not say anything to the +police; because you know how it is—if those babies find it out, it +will get to the Reds and the newspapers, and it’ll be all over town and do +a lot of harm to your frame-up. And you know after those Reds have got +beaten up and Shawn Grady lynched, you wouldn’t like to have any rumor get +out that that dynamite was planted by your own people. Ted and me will +keep out of sight, and we won’t sell the jewels for a while, and +everything will be all right. +</p> +<p> +“Yours respectfully, +</p> +<p> +“Edythe. +</p> +<p> +“P. S. It really ain’t Peter’s fault that he’s silly about women, and he +would have worked for you all right if it hadn’t been for my good looks!” + </p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0067" id="link2H_4_0067"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +Section 67 +</h2> +<p> +So there it was. When Peter had heard this letter, he understood that +there was no more to be said, and he said it. His own weight had suddenly +become more than he could support, and he saw a chair nearby and slipped +into it, and sat with eyes of abject misery roaming from Guffey to +McGivney, and from McGivney to Hammett, and then back to Guffey again. +</p> +<p> +The head detective, for all his anger, was a practical man; he could not +have managed the very important and confidential work of the Traction +Trust if he had not been. So now he proceeded to get down to business. +Peter would please tell him everything about that dynamite frame-up; just +how they had managed it and just who knew about it. And Peter, being also +a practical man, knew that there was no use trying to hide anything. He +told the story from beginning to end, taking particular pains to make +clear that he and Nell alone were in the secret—-except that beyond +doubt Nell had told her lover, Ted Crothers. It was probably Crothers that +got the dynamite. From the conversation that ensued Peter gathered that +this young man with the face of a bull-dog was one of the very fanciest +safecrackers in the country, and no doubt he was the real brains of the +conspiracy; he had put Nell up to it, and managed every step. Suddenly +Peter remembered all the kisses which Nell had given him in the park, and +he found a blush of shame stealing over him. Yes, there was no doubt about +it, he was a boob where women were concerned! +</p> +<p> +Peter began to plead for himself, Really it wasn’t his fault because Nell +had got a hold on him. In the Temple of Jimjambo, when he was only a kid, +he had been desperately in love with her. She was not only beautiful, she +was so smart; she was the smartest woman he had ever known. McGivney +remarked that she had been playing with Peter even then—she had been +in Guffey’s pay at that time, collecting evidence to put Pashtian el +Kalandra in jail and break up the cult of Eleutherinian Exoticism. She had +done many such jobs for the secret service of the Traction Trust, while +Peter was still traveling around with Pericles Priam selling patent +medicine. Nell had been used by Guffey to seduce a prominent labor leader +in American City; she had got him caught in a hotel room with her, and +thus had broken the back of the biggest labor strike ever known in the +city’s history. +</p> +<p> +Peter felt suddenly that he had a good defense. Of course a woman like +that had been too much for him! It was Guffey’s own fault if he hired +people like that and turned them loose! It suddenly dawned on Peter—Nell +must have found out that he, Peter, was going to meet young Lackman in the +Hotel de Soto, and she must have gone there deliberately to ensnare him. +When McGivney admitted that that was possibly true, Peter felt that he had +a case, and proceeded to urge it with eloquence. He had been a fool, of +course, every kind of fool there was, and he hadn’t a word to say for +himself; but he had learned his lesson and learned it thoroughly. No more +women for him, and no more high life, and if Mr. Guffey would give him +another chance— +</p> +<p> +Guffey, of course, snorted at him. He wouldn’t have a pudding-head like +Peter Gudge within ten miles of his office! But Peter only pleaded the +more abjectly. He really did know the Reds thoroughly, and where could Mr. +Guffey find anybody that knew them as well? The Reds all trusted him; he +was a real martyr—look at the plasters all over him now! And he had +just added another Red laurel to his brow—he had been to see Mrs. +Godd, and had had the seat of his trousers kicked by Mr. Godd, and of +course he could tell that story, and maybe he could catch some Reds in a +conspiracy against Mr. Godd. Anyhow, they had that perfectly good case +against McCormick and the rest of the I. W. Ws. And now that things had +gone so far, surely they couldn’t back down on that case! All that was +necessary was to explain matters to Mr. Ackerman— +</p> +<p> +Peter realized that this was an unfortunate remark. Guffey was on his feet +again, pacing up and down the room, calling Peter the names of all the +barnyard animals, and incidentally revealing that he had already had an +interview with Mr. Ackerman, and that Mr. Ackerman was not disposed to +receive amicably the news that the secret service bureau which he had been +financing, and which was supposed to be protecting him, had been the means +of introducing into his home a couple of high-class criminals who had +cracked his safe and made off with jewels that they guessed were worth +fifty thousand dollars, but that Mr. Ackerman claimed were worth +eighty-five thousand dollars. Peter was informed that he might thank his +lucky stars that Guffey didn’t shut him in the hole for the balance of his +life, or take him into a dungeon and pull him to pieces inch by inch. As +it was, all he had to do was to get himself out of Guffey’s office, and +take himself to hell by the quickest route he could find. “Go on!” said +Guffey. “I mean it, get out!” + </p> +<p> +And so Peter got to his feet and started unsteadily toward the door. He +was thinking to himself: “Shall I threaten them? Shall I say I’ll go over +to the Reds and tell what I know?” No, he had better not do that; the +least hint of that might cause Guffey to put him in the hole! But then, +how was it possible for Guffey to let him go, to take a chance of his +telling? Right now, Guffey must be thinking to himself that Peter might go +away, and in a fit of rage or of despair might let out the truth to one of +the Reds, and then everything would be ruined forever. No, surely Guffey +would not take such a chance! Peter walked very slowly to the door, he +opened the door reluctantly, he stood there, holding on as if he were too +weak to keep his balance; he waited—waited— +</p> +<p> +And sure enough, Guffey spoke. “Come back here, you mut!” And Peter turned +and started towards the head detective, stretching out his hands in a +gesture of submission; if it had been in an Eastern country, he would have +fallen on his knees and struck his forehead three times in the dust. +“Please, please, Mr. Guffey!” he wailed. “Give me another chance!” + </p> +<p> +“If I put you to work again,” snarled Guffey, “will you do what I tell +you, and not what you want to do yourself?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, yes, Mr. Guffey.” + </p> +<p> +“You’ll do no more frame-ups but my frame-ups?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, yes, Mr. Guffey.” + </p> +<p> +“All right, then, I’ll give you one more chance. But by God, if I find you +so much as winking at another girl, I’ll pull your eye teeth out!” + </p> +<p> +And Peter’s heart leaped with relief. “Oh, thank you, thank you, Mr. +Guffey!” + </p> +<p> +“I’ll pay you twenty dollars a week, and no more,” said Guffey. “You’re +worth more, but I can’t trust you with money, and you can take it or leave +it.” + </p> +<p> +“That’ll be perfectly satisfactory, Mr. Guffey,” said Peter. +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0068" id="link2H_4_0068"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +Section 68 +</h2> +<p> +So there was the end of high life for Peter Gudge. He moved no more in the +celestial circles of Mount Olympus. He never again saw the Chinese butler +of Mr. Ackerman, nor the French parlor-maid of Mrs. Godd. He would no more +be smiled at by the two hundred and twenty-four boy angels of the ceiling +of the Hotel de Soto lobby. Peter would eat his meals now seated on a +stool in front of a lunch counter, he would really be the humble +proletarian, the “Jimmie Higgins” of his role. He put behind him bright +dreams of an accumulated competence, and settled down to the hard day’s +work of cultivating the acquaintance of agitators, visiting their homes +and watching their activities, getting samples of the literature they were +circulating, stealing their letters and address-books and note-books, and +taking all these to Room 427 of the American House. +</p> +<p> +These were busy times just now. In spite of the whippings and the +lynchings and the jailings—or perhaps because of these very things—the +radical movement was seething. The I. W. Ws. had reorganized secretly, and +were accumulating a defense fund for their prisoners; also, the Socialists +of all shades of red and pink were busy, and the labor men had never +ceased their agitation over the Goober case. Just now they were redoubling +their activities, because Mrs. Goober was being tried for her life. Over +in Russia a mob of Anarchists had made a demonstration in front of the +American Legation, because of the mistreatment of a man they called +“Guba.” At any rate, that was the way the news came over the cables, and +the news-distributing associations of the country had been so successful +in keeping the Goober case from becoming known that the editors of the New +York papers really did not know any better, and printed the name as it +came, “Guba!” which of course gave the radicals a fine chance to laugh at +them, and say, how much they cared about labor! +</p> +<p> +The extreme Reds seemed to have everything their own way in Russia. Late +in the fall they overthrew the Russian government, and took control of the +country, and proceeded to make peace with Germany; which put the Allies in +a frightful predicament, and introduced a new word into the popular +vocabulary, the dread word “Bolshevik.” After that, if a man suggested +municipal ownership of ice-wagons, all you had to do was to call him a +“Bolshevik” and he was done for. +</p> +<p> +However, the extremists replied to this campaign of abuse by taking up the +name and wearing it as a badge. The Socialist local of American City +adopted amid a storm of applause a resolution to call itself the +“Bolshevik local,” and the “left-wingers” had everything their own way for +a time. The leader in this wing was a man named Herbert Ashton, editor of +the American City “Clarion,” the party’s paper. A newspaper-man, lean, +sallow, and incredibly bitter, Ashton apparently had spent all his life +studying the intrigues of international capital, and one never heard an +argument advanced that he was not ready with an answer. He saw the war as +a struggle between the old established commercialism of Great Britain, +whose government he described as “a gigantic trading corporation,” and the +newly arisen and more aggressive commercialism of Germany. +</p> +<p> +Ashton would take the formulas of the war propagandists and treat them as +a terrier treats a rat. So this was a war for democracy! The bankers of +Paris had for the last twenty years been subsidizing the Russian Tsars, +who had shipped a hundred thousand exiles to Siberia to make the world +safe for democracy! The British Empire also had gone to war for democracy—first +in Ireland, then in India and Egypt, then in the Whitechapel slums! No, +said Ashton, the workers were not to be fooled with such bunk. Wall Street +had loaned some billions of dollars to the Allied bankers, and now the +American people were asked to shed their blood to make the world safe for +those loans! +</p> +<p> +Peter had been urging McGivney to put an end to this sort of agitation, +and now the rat-faced man told him that the time for action had come. +There was to be a big mass meeting to celebrate the Bolshevik revolution, +and McGivney warned Peter to keep out of sight at that meeting, because +there might be some clubbing. Peter left off his red badge, and the button +with the clasped hands and went up into the gallery and lost himself in +the crowd. He saw a great many “bulls” whom he knew scattered thru the +audience, and also he saw the Chief of Police and the head of the city’s +detective bureau. When Herbert Ashton was half way thru his tirade, the +Chief strode up to the platform and ordered him under arrest, and a score +of policemen put themselves between the prisoner and the howling audience. +</p> +<p> +Altogether they arrested seven people; and next morning, when they saw how +much enthusiasm their action had awakened in the newspapers, they decided +to go farther yet. A dozen of Guffey’s men, with another dozen from the +District Attorney’s office, raided the office of Ashton’s paper, the +“Clarion,” kicked the editorial staff downstairs or threw them out of the +windows, and proceeded to smash the typewriters and the printing presses, +and to carry off the subscription lists and burn a ton or two of +“literature” in the back yard. Also they raided the headquarters of the +“Bolshevik local,” and placed the seven members of the executive committee +under arrest, and the judge fixed the bail of each of them at twenty-five +thousand dollars, and every day for a week or two the American City +“Times” would send a man around to Guffey’s office, and Guffey would +furnish him with a mass of material which Peter had prepared, showing that +the Socialist program was one of terrorism and murder. +</p> +<p> +Almost every day now Peter rendered some such service to his country. He +discovered where the I. W. W. had hidden a printing press with which they +were getting out circulars and leaflets, and this place was raided, and +the press confiscated, and half a dozen more agitators thrown into jail. +These men declared a hunger strike, and tried to starve themselves to +death as a protest against the beatings they got; and then some hysterical +women met in the home of Ada Ruth, and drew up a circular of protest, and +Peter kept track of the mailing of this circular, and all the copies were +confiscated in the post-office, and so one more conspiracy was foiled. +They now had several men at work in the post-office, secretly opening the +mail of the agitators; and every now and then they would issue an order +forbidding mail to be delivered to persons whose ideas were not sound. +</p> +<p> +Also the post-office department cancelled the second class mailing +privileges of the “Clarion,” and later it barred the paper from the mails +entirely. A couple of “comrades” with automobiles then took up the work of +delivering the paper in the nearby towns; so Peter was sent to get +acquainted with these fellows, and in the night time some of Guffey’s men +entered the garage, and fixed one of the cars so that its steering gear +went wrong and very nearly broke the driver’s neck. So yet another +conspiracy was foiled! +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0069" id="link2H_4_0069"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +Section 69 +</h2> +<p> +Peter was really happy now, because the authorities were thoroughly +roused, and when he brought them new facts, he had the satisfaction of +seeing something done about it. Ostensibly the action was taken by the +Federal agents, or by the District Attorney’s office, or by the city +police and detectives; but Peter knew that it was always himself and the +rest of Guffey’s agents, pulling the wires behind the scenes. Guffey had +the money, he was working for the men who really counted in American City; +Guffey was the real boss. And all over the country it was the same; the +Reds were being put out of business by the secret agents of the Chambers +of Commerce and the Merchants’ and Manufacturers’ Associations, and the +“Improve America League,” and such like camouflaged organizations. +</p> +<p> +They had everything their own way, because the country was at war, the war +excitement was blazing like a prairie fire all over the land, and all you +had to do was to call a man a pro-German or a Bolshevik, and to be +sufficiently excited about it, and you could get a mob together and go to +his home and horsewhip him or tar and feather him or lynch him. For years +the big business men had been hating the agitators, and now at last they +had their chance, and in every town, in every shop and mill and mine they +had some Peter Gudge at work, a “Jimmie Higgins” of the “Whites,” engaged +in spying and “snooping” upon the “Jimmie Higgins” of the “Reds.” + Everywhere they had Guffeys and McGivneys to direct these activities, and +they had “strong arm men,” with guns on their hips and deputy sheriffs’ +and other badges inside their coats, giving them unlimited right to +protect the country from traitors. +</p> +<p> +There were three or four million men in the training camps, and every week +great convoys were sent out from the Eastern ports, loaded with troops for +“over there.” Billions of dollars worth of munitions and supplies were +going, and all the yearnings and patriotic fervors of the country were +likewise going “over there.” Peter read more speeches and sermons and +editorials, and was proud and glad, knowing that he was taking his humble +part in the great adventure. When he read that the biggest captains of +industry and finance were selling their services to the government for the +sum of one dollar a year, how could he complain, who was getting twenty +dollars every week? When some of the Reds in their meetings or in their +“literature” declared that these captains of industry and finance were the +heads of companies which were charging the government enormous prices and +making anywhere from three to ten times the profits they had made before +the war—then Peter would know that he was listening to an extremely +dangerous Bolshevik; he would take the name of the man to McGivney, and +McGivney would pull his secret wires, and the man would suddenly find +himself out of a job—or maybe being prosecuted by the health +department of the city for having set out a garbage can without a cover. +</p> +<p> +After persistent agitation, the radicals had succeeded in persuading a +judge to let out McCormick and the rest of the conspirators on fifty +thousand dollars bail apiece. That was most exasperating to Peter, because +it was obvious that when you put a Red into jail, you made him a martyr to +the rest of the Reds you made him conspicuous to the whole community, and +then if you let him out again, his speaking and agitating were ten times +as effective as before. Either you ought to keep an agitator in jail for +good, or else you ought not put him in at all. But the judges didn’t see +that—their heads were full of a lot of legal bunk, and they let +David Andrews and the other Red lawyers hood-wink them. Herbert Ashton and +his Socialist crowd also got out on bail, and the “Clarion” was still +published and openly sold on the news-stands. While it didn’t dare oppose +the war any more, it printed every impolite thing it could possibly +collect about the “gigantic trading corporation” known as the British +Government, and also about the “French bankers” and the “Italian +imperialists.” It clamored for democracy for Ireland and Egypt and India, +and shamelessly defended the Bolsheviki, those pro-German conspirators and +nationalizers of women. +</p> +<p> +So Peter proceeded to collect more evidence against the “Clarion” staff, +and against the I. W. Ws. Presently he read the good news that the +government had arrested a couple of hundred of the I. W. W. leaders all +over the country, and also the national leaders of the Socialists, and was +going to try them all for conspiracy. Then came the trial of McCormick and +Henderson and Gus and the rest; and Peter picked up his “Times” one +morning, and read on the front page some news that caused him to gasp. Joe +Angell, one of the leaders in the dynamite conspiracy, had turned state’s +evidence! He had revealed to the District Attorney, not only the part +which he himself had played in the plan to dynamite Nelse Ackerman’s home, +but he had told everything that the others had done—just how the +dynamite had been got and prepared, and the names of all the leading +citizens of the community who were to share Nelse Ackerman’s fate! Peter +read, on and on, breathless with wonder, and when he got thru with the +story he rolled back on his bed and laughed out loud. By heck, that was +the limit! Peter had framed a frame-up on Guffey’s man, and of course +Guffey couldn’t send this man to prison; so he had had him turn state’s +evidence, and was letting him go free, as his reward for telling on the +others! +</p> +<p> +The court calendars were now crowded with “espionage” cases; pacifist +clergymen who had tried to preach sermons, and labor leaders who had tried +to call strikes; members of the Anti-conscription League and their pupils, +the draft-dodgers and slackers; Anarchists and Communists and Quakers, I. +W. Ws., and Socialists and “Russellites.” There were several trials going +on all the time, and in almost every case Peter had a finger, Peter was +called on to get this bit of evidence, or to investigate that juror, or to +prepare some little job against a witness for the defense. Peter was +wrapped up in the fate of each case, and each conviction was a personal +triumph. As there was always a conviction, Peter began to swell up again +with patriotic fervor, and the memory of Nell Doolin and Ted Crothers +slipped far into the background. When “Mac” and his fellow dynamiters were +sentenced to twenty years apiece, Peter felt that he had atoned for all +his sins, and he ventured timidly to point out to McGivney that the cost +of living was going up all the time, and that he had kept his promise not +to wink at a woman for six months. McGivney said all right, they would +raise him to thirty dollars a week. +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0070" id="link2H_4_0070"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +Section 70 +</h2> +<p> +Of course Peter’s statement to McGivney had not been literally true. He +had winked at a number of women, but the trouble was none had returned his +wink. First he had made friendly advances toward Miriam Yankovich, who was +buxom and not bad looking; but Miriam’s thoughts were evidently all with +McCormick in jail; and then, after her experience with Bob Ogden, Miriam +had to go to a hospital, and of course Peter didn’t want to fool with an +invalid. He made himself agreeable to others of the Red girls, and they +seemed to like him; they treated him as a good comrade, but somehow they +did not seem to act up to McGivney’s theories of “free love.” So Peter +made up his mind that he would find him a girl who was not a Red. It would +give him a little relief now and then, a little fun. The Reds seldom had +any fun—their idea of an adventure was to get off in a room by +themselves and sing the International or the Red Flag in whispers, so the +police couldn’t hear them. +</p> +<p> +It was Saturday afternoon, and Peter went to a clothing store kept by a +Socialist, and bought himself a new hat and a new suit of clothes on +credit. Then he went out on the street, and saw a neat little girl going +into a picture-show, and followed her, and they struck up an acquaintance +and had supper together. She was what Peter called a “swell dresser,” and +it transpired that she worked in a manicure parlor. Her idea of fun +corresponded to Peter’s, and Peter spent all the money he had that +Saturday evening, and made up his mind that if he could get something new +on the Reds in the course of the week, he would strike McGivney for forty +dollars. +</p> +<p> +Next morning was Easter Sunday, and Peter met his manicurist by +appointment, and they went for a stroll on Park Avenue, which was the +aristocratic street of American City and the scene of the “Easter parade.” + It was war time, and many of the houses had flags out, and many of the men +were in uniform, and all of the sermons dealt with martial themes. Christ, +it appeared, was risen again to make the world safe for democracy, and to +establish self-determination for all people; and Peter and Miss Frisbie +both had on their best clothes, and watched the crowds in the “Easter +parade,” and Miss Frisbie studied the costumes and make-up of the ladies, +and picked up scraps of their conversation and whispered them to Peter, +and made Peter feel that he was back on Mount Olympus again. +</p> +<p> +They turned into one of the swell Park Avenue churches; the Church of the +Divine Compassion it was called, and it was very “high,” with candles and +incense—althogh you could hardly smell the incense on this occasion +for the scent of the Easter lilies and the ladies. Peter and his friend +were escorted to one of the leather covered pews, and they heard the Rev. +de Willoughby Stotterbridge, a famous pulpit orator, deliver one of those +patriotic sermons which were quoted in the “Times” almost every Monday +morning. The Rev. de Willoughby Stotterbridge quoted some Old Testament +text about exterminating the enemies of the Lord, and he sang the triumph +of American arms, and the overwhelming superiority of American munitions. +He denounced the Bolsheviks and all other traitors, and called for their +instant suppression; he didn’t say that he had actually been among the +crowd which had horse-whipped the I. W. Ws. and smashed the printing +presses and typewriters of the Socialists, but he made it unmistakably +clear that that was what he wanted, and Peter’s bosom swelled with happy +pride. It was something to a man to know that he was serving his country +and keeping the old flag waving; but it was still more to know that he was +enlisted in the service of the Almighty, that Heaven and all its hosts +were on his side, and that everything he had done had the sanction of the +Almighty’s divinely ordained minister, speaking in the Almighty’s holy +temple, in the midst of stained-glass windows and brightly burning candles +and the ravishing odor of incense, and of Easter lilies and of mignonette +and lavender in the handkerchiefs of delicately gowned and exquisite +ladies from Mount Olympus. This, to be sure, was mixing mythologies, but +Peter’s education had been neglected in his youth, and Peter could not be +blamed for taking the great ones of the earth as they were, and believing +what they taught him. +</p> +<p> +The white robed choir marched out, and the music of “Onward Christian +Soldiers” faded away, and Peter and his lady went out from the Church of +the Divine Compassion, and strolled on the avenue again, and when they had +sufficiently filled their nostrils with the sweet odors of snobbery, they +turned into the park, where there were places of seclusion for young +couples interested in each other. But alas, the fates which dogged Peter +in his love-making had prepared an especially cruel prank that morning. At +the entrance to the park, whom should Peter meet but Comrade +Schnitzelmann, a fat little butcher who belonged to the “Bolshevik local” + of American City. Peter tried to look the other way and hurry by, but +Comrade Schnitzelmann would not have it so. He came rushing up with one +pudgy hand stretched out, and a beaming smile on his rosy Teutonic +countenance. “Ach, Comrade Gudge!” cried he. “Wie geht’s mit you dis +morning?” + </p> +<p> +“Very well, thank you,” said Peter, coldly, and tried to hurry on. +</p> +<p> +But Comrade Schnitzelmann held onto his hand. “So! You been seeing dot +Easter barade!” said he. “Vot you tink, hey? If we could get all de wage +slaves to come und see dot barade, we make dem all Bolsheviks pretty +quick! Hey, Comrade Gudge?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, I guess so,” said Peter, still more coldly. +</p> +<p> +“We show dem vot de money goes for—hey, Comrade Gudge!” And Comrade +Schnitzelmann chuckled, and Peter said, quickly, “Well, good-bye,” and +without introducing his lady-love took her by the arm and hurried away. +</p> +<p> +But alas, the damage had been done! They walked for a minute or two amid +ominous silence. Then suddenly the manicurist stood still and confronted +Peter. “Mr. Gudge,” she demanded, “what does that mean?” + </p> +<p> +And Peter of course could not answer. He did not dare to meet her flashing +eyes, but stood digging the toe of his shoe into the path. “I want to know +what it means,” persisted the girl. “Are you one of those Reds?” + </p> +<p> +And what could poor Peter say? How could he explain his acquaintance with +that Teutonic face and that Teutonic accent? +</p> +<p> +The girl stamped her foot with impatient anger. “So you’re one of those +Reds! You’re one of those pro-German traitors! You’re an imposter, a spy!” + </p> +<p> +Peter was helpless with embarrassment and dismay. “Miss Frisbie,” he +began, “I can’t explain—” + </p> +<p> +“<i>Why</i> can’t you explain? Why can’t any honest man explain?” + </p> +<p> +“But—but—I’m not what you think—it isn’t true! I—I—” + It was on the tip of Peter’s tongue to say, “I’m a patriot! I’m a 100% +American, protecting my country against these traitors!” But professional +honor sealed his tongue, and the little manicurist stamped her foot again, +and her eyes flashed with indignation. +</p> +<p> +“You dare to seek my acquaintance! You dare to take me to church! Why—if +there was a policeman in sight, I’d report you, I’d send you to jail!” And +actually she looked around for a policeman! But it is well known that +there never is a policeman in sight when you look for one; so Miss Frisbie +stamped her foot again and snorted in Peter’s face. “Goodbye, <i>Comrade</i> +Gudge!” The emphasis she put upon that word “comrade” would have frozen +the fieriest Red soul; and she turned with a swish of her skirts and +strode off, and Peter stood looking mournfully at her little French heels +going crunch, crunch, crunch on the gravel path. When the heels were clean +gone out of sight, Peter sought out the nearest bench and sat down and +buried his face in his hands, a picture of woe. Was there ever in the +world a man who had such persistent ill luck with women? +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0071" id="link2H_4_0071"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +Section 71 +</h2> +<p> +These were days of world-agony, when people bought the newspapers several +times every day, and when crowds gathered in front of bulletin boards, +looking at the big maps with little flags, and speculating, were the +Germans going to get to Paris, were they going to get to the Channel and +put France out of the war? And then suddenly the Americans struck their +first blow, and hurled the Germans back at Chateau-Thierry, and all +America rose up with one shout of triumph! +</p> +<p> +You would think that was a poor time for pacifist agitation; but the +members of the Anti-conscription League had so little discretion that they +chose this precise moment to publish a pamphlet, describing the torturing +of conscientious objectors in military prisons and training camps! Peter +had been active in this organization from the beginning, and he had helped +to write into the pamphlet a certain crucial phrase which McGivney had +suggested. So now here were the pamphlets seized by the Federal +government, and all the members of the Anti-conscription League under +arrest, including Sadie Todd and little Ada Ruth and Donald Gordon! Peter +was sorry about Sadie Todd, in spite of the fact that she had called him +names. He couldn’t be very sorry about Ada Ruth, because she was obviously +a fanatic, bent on getting herself into trouble. As for Donald Gordon, if +he hadn’t learned his lesson from that whipping, he surely had nobody to +blame but himself. +</p> +<p> +Peter was a member of this Anti-conscription League, so he pretended to be +in hiding, and carried on a little comedy with Ada Ruth’s cousin, an +Englishwoman, who hid him out in her place in the country. Peter had an +uncomfortable quarter of an hour when Donald Gordon was released on bail, +because the Quaker boy insisted that the crucial phrase which had got them +all into trouble had been stricken out of the manuscript before he handed +it to Peter Gudge to take to the printer. But Peter insisted that Donald +was mistaken, and apparently he succeeded in satisfying the others, and +after they were all out on bail, he made bold to come out of his hiding +place and to attend one or two protest meetings in private homes. +</p> +<p> +Then began a new adventure, in some ways the most startling of all. It had +to do with another girl, and the beginning was in the home of Ada Ruth, +where a few of the most uncompromising of the pacifists gathered to +discuss the question of raising money to pay for their legal defense. To +this meeting came Miriam Yankovich, pale from an operation for cancer of +the breast, but with a heart and mind as Red as ever. Miriam had brought +along a friend to help her, because she wasn’t strong enough to walk; and +it was this friend who started Peter on his new adventure. +</p> +<p> +Rosie Stern was her name, and she was a solid little Jewish working girl, +with bold black eyes, and a mass of shining black hair, and flaming cheeks +and a flashing smile. She was dressed as if she knew about her beauty, and +really appreciated it; so Peter wasn’t surprised when Miriam, introducing +her, remarked that Rosie wasn’t a Red and didn’t like the Reds, but had +just come to help her, and to see what a pacifist meeting was like. +Perhaps Peter might help to make a Red out of her! And Peter was very glad +indeed, for he was never more bored with the whining of pacifists than now +when our boys were hurling the Germans back from the Marne and writing +their names upon history’s most imperishable pages. +</p> +<p> +Rosie was something new and unforeseen, and Peter went right after her, +and presently he realized with delight that she was interested in him. +Peter knew, of course, that he was superior to all this crowd, but he +wasn’t used to having the fact recognized, and as usual when a woman +smiled upon him, the pressure of his self-esteem rose beyond the safety +point. Rosie was one of those people who take the world as it is and get +some fun out of it, so while the pacifist meeting went on, Peter sat over +in the corner and told her in whispers his funny adventures with Pericles +Priam and in the Temple of Jimjambo. Rosie could hardly repress her +laughter, and her black eyes flashed, and before the evening was over +their hands had touched several times. Then Peter offered to escort her +and Miriam, and needless to say they took Miriam home first. The tenement +streets were deserted at this late hour, so they found a chance for swift +embraces, and Peter went home with his feet hardly touching the ground. +</p> +<p> +Rosie worked in a paper-box factory, and next evening Peter took her out +to dinner, and their eager flirtation went on. But Rosie showed a tendency +to retreat, and when Peter pressed her, she told him the reason. She had +no use for Reds; she was sick of the jargon of the Reds, she would never +love a Red. Look at Miriam Yankovich—what a wreck she had made of +her life! She had been a handsome girl, she might have got a rich husband, +but now she had had to be cut to pieces! And look at Sadie Todd, slaving +herself to death, and Ada Ruth with her poems that made you tired. Rosie +jeered at them all, and riddled them with the arrows of her wit, and of +course Peter in his heart agreed with everything she said; yet Peter had +to pretend to disagree, and that made Rosie cross and spoiled their fun, +and they almost quarreled. +</p> +<p> +Under these circumstances, naturally it was hard for Peter not to give +some hint of his true feeling. After he had spent all of his money on +Rosie and a lot of his time and hadn’t got anywhere, he decided to make +some concession to her—he told her he would give up trying to make a +Red out of her. Whereupon Rosie made a face at him. “Very kind indeed of +you, Mr. Gudge! But how about my making a ‘White’ out of you?” And she +went on to inform him that she wanted a fellow that could make money and +take care of a girl. Peter answered that he was making money all right. +Well, how was he making money, asked Rosie. Peter wouldn’t tell, but he +was making it, and he would prove it by taking her to the theater every +night. +</p> +<p> +So the little duel went on, evening after evening. Peter got more and more +crazy about this black-eyed beauty, and she got more and more coquettish, +and more and more impatient with his radical leanings. Rosie’s father had +brought her as a baby from Kisheneff, but she was 100% American all the +same, so she told him; those boys in khaki who were over there walloping +the Huns were the boys for her, and she was waiting for one of them to +come back. What was the matter with Peter that he wasn’t doing his part? +Was he a draft-dodger? Rosie had never had anything to do with slackers, +and wasn’t keen for the company of a man who couldn’t give an account of +himself. Only that day she had been reading in the paper about the +atrocities committed by the Huns. How could any man with red blood in his +veins sympathize with these pacifists and traitors? And if Peter didn’t +sympathize with them, why did he travel round with them and give them his +moral support? When Peter made a feeble effort at repeating some of the +pacifists’ arguments, Rosie just said, “Oh, fudge! You’ve got too much +sense to talk that kind of stuff to me.” And Peter knew, of course, that +he <i>had</i> too much sense, and it was hard to keep from letting Rosie +see it. He had just lost one girl because of his Red entanglements. Was it +up to him to lose another? +</p> +<p> +For a couple of weeks they sparred and fought. Rosie would let Peter kiss +her, and Peter’s head would be quite turned with desire. He decided that +she was the most wonderful girl he had ever known; even Nell Doolin had +nothing on her. But then once more she would pin Peter down on this +business of his Redness, and would spurn him, and refuse to see him any +more. At last Peter admitted to her that he had lost his sympathy with the +Reds, she had converted him, and he despised them. So Rosie replied that +she was delighted; they would go at once to see Miriam Yankovich, and +Peter would tell her, and try to convert her also. Peter was then in a bad +dilemma; he had to insist that Rosie should keep his conversion a secret. +But Rosie became indignant, she set her lips and declared that a +conversion that had to be kept secret was no conversion at all, it was +simply a low sham, and Peter Gudge was a coward, and she was sick of him! +So poor Peter went away, heartbroken and bewildered. +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0072" id="link2H_4_0072"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +Section 72 +</h2> +<p> +There was only one way out of this plight for Peter, and that was for him +to tell Rosie the truth. And why should he not do it? He was wild about +her, and he knew that she was wild about him, and only one thing—his +great secret—stood in the way of their perfect bliss. If he told her +that great secret, he would be a hero of heroes in her eyes; he would be +more wonderful even than the men who were driving back the Germans from +the Marne and writing their names upon history’s most imperishable pages! +So why should he not tell? +</p> +<p> +He was in her room one evening, and his arms were about her, and she had +almost but not quite yielded. “Please, please, Peter,” she pleaded, “stop +being one of those horrid Reds!” And Peter could stand it no longer. He +told her that he really wasn’t a Red, but a secret agent employed by the +very biggest business men of American City to keep track of the Reds and +bring their activities to naught. And when he told this, Rosie stared at +him in consternation. She refused to believe him; when he insisted, she +laughed at him, and finally became angry. It was a silly yarn, and did he +imagine he could string her along like that? +</p> +<p> +So Peter, irritated, set out to convince her. He told her about Guffey and +the American City Land & Investment Company; he told her about +McGivney, and how he met McGivney regularly at Room 427 of the American +House. He told her about his thirty dollars a week, and how it was soon to +be increased to forty, and he would spend it all on her. And perhaps she +might pretend to be converted by him, and become a Red also, and if she +could satisfy McGivney that she was straight, he would pay her too, and it +would be a lot better than working ten and a half hours a day in Isaac +& Goldstein’s paper box factory. +</p> +<p> +At last Peter succeeded in convincing the girl. She was subdued and +frightened; she hadn’t been prepared for anything like that, she said, and +would have to have a little time to think it over. Peter then became +worried in turn. He hoped she wouldn’t mind, he said, and set to work to +explain to her how important his work was, how it had the sanction of all +the very best people in the city—not merely the great bankers and +business men, but mayors and public officials and newspaper editors and +college presidents, and great Park Avenue clergymen like the Rev. de +Willoughby Stotterbridge of the Church of the Divine Compassion. And Rosie +said that was all right, of course, but she was a little scared and would +have to think it over. She brought the evening to an abrupt end, and Peter +went home much disconcerted. +</p> +<p> +Perhaps an hour later there came a sharp tap on the door of his +lodging-house room, and he went to the door, and found himself confronted +by David Andrews, the lawyer, Donald Gordon, and John Durand, the labor +giant, president of the Seamen’s Union. They never even said, “Howdy do,” + but stalked into the room, and Durand shut the door behind him, and stood +with his back to it, folded his arms and glared at Peter like the stone +image of an Aztec chieftain. So before they said a word Peter knew what +had happened. He knew that the jig was up for good this time; his career +as savior of the nation was at an end. And again it was all on account of +a woman—all because he hadn’t taken Guffey’s advice about winking! +</p> +<p> +But all other thoughts were driven from Peter’s mind by one emotion, which +was terror. His teeth began giving their imitation of an angry woodchuck, +and his knees refused to hold him; he sat down on the edge of the bed, +staring from one to another of these three stone Aztec faces. “Well, +Gudge,” said Andrews, at last, “so you’re the spy we’ve been looking for +all this time!” + </p> +<p> +Peter remembered Nell’s injunction, “Stick it out, Peter! Stick it out!” + </p> +<p> +“Wh-wh-what do you mean, Mr. Andrews?” + </p> +<p> +“Forget it, Gudge,” said Andrews. “We’ve just been talking with Rosie, and +Rosie was our spy.” + </p> +<p> +“She’s been lying to you!” Peter cried. +</p> +<p> +But Andrews said: “Oh rubbish! We’re not that easy! Miriam Yankovich was +listening behind the door, and heard your talk.” + </p> +<p> +So then Peter knew that the case was hopeless, and there was nothing left +but to ascertain his fate. Had they come just to scold him and appeal to +his conscience? Or did they plan to carry him away and strangle him and +torture him to death? The latter was the terror that had been haunting +Peter from the beginning of his career, and when gradually be made out +that the three Aztecs did not intend violence, and that all they hoped for +was to get him to admit how much he had told to his employers—then +there was laughter inside Peter, and he broke down and wept tears of +scalding shame, and said that it had all been because McCormick had told +that cruel lie about him and little Jennie Todd. He had resisted the +temptation for a year, but then he had been out of a job, and the Goober +Defense Committee had refused him any work; he had actually been starving, +and so at last he had accepted McGivney’s offer to let him know about the +seditious activities of the extreme Reds. But he had never reported +anybody who hadn’t really broken the law, and he had never told McGivney +anything but the truth. +</p> +<p> +Then Andrews proceeded to examine him. Peter denied that he had ever +reported anything about the Goober case. He denied most strenuously that +he had ever had anything to do with the McCormick “frame-up.” When they +tried to pin him down on this case and that, he suddenly summoned his +dignity and declared that Andrews had no right to cross-question him, he +was a 100%, red-blooded American patriot, and had been saving his country +and his God from German agents and Bolshevik traitors. +</p> +<p> +Donald Gordon almost went wild at that. “What you’ve been doing was to +slip stuff into our pamphlet about conscientious objectors, so as to get +us all indicted!” + </p> +<p> +“That’s a lie!” cried Peter. “I never done nothing of the kind!” + </p> +<p> +“You know perfectly well you rubbed out those pencil marks that I drew +through that sentence in the pamphlet.” + </p> +<p> +“I never done it!” cried Peter, again and again. +</p> +<p> +And suddenly big John Durand clenched his hands, and his face became +terrible with his pent-up rage. “You white-livered little sneak!” he +hissed. “What we ought to do with you is to pull the lying tongue out of +you!” He took a step forward, as if he really meant to do it. +</p> +<p> +But David Andrews interfered. He was a lawyer, and knew the difference +between what he could do and what Guffey’s men could do. “No, no, John,” + he said, “nothing like that. I guess we’ve got all we can get out of this +fellow. We’ll leave him to his own conscience and his Jingo God. Come on, +Donald.” And he took the white-faced Quaker boy with one hand, and the big +labor giant with the other, and walked them out of the room, and Peter +heard them tramping down the stairs of his lodging house, and he lay on +his bed and buried his face in the pillows, and felt utterly wretched, +because once more he had been made a fool of, and as usual it was a woman +that had done it. +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0073" id="link2H_4_0073"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +Section 73 +</h2> +<p> +Peter could see it all very clearly when he came to figure over the thing; +he could see what a whooping jackass he had been. He might have known that +it was up to him to be careful, at this time of all times, when he was +suspected of having rubbed out Donald Gordon’s pencil marks. They had +picked out a girl whom Peter had never seen before, and she had come and +posed as Miriam’s friend, and had proceeded to take Peter by the nose and +lead him to the edge of the precipice and shove him over. And now she +would be laughing at him, telling all her friends about her triumph, and +about Peter’s thirty dollars a week that he would never see again. +</p> +<p> +Peter spent a good part of the night getting up the story that he was to +tell McGivney next morning. He wouldn’t mention Rosie Stern, of course; he +would say that the Reds had trailed him to Room 427, and it must be they +had a spy in Guffey’s office. Peter repeated this story quite solemnly, +and again realized too late that he had made a fool of himself. It wasn’t +twenty-four hours before every Red in American City knew the true, inside +history of the unveiling of Peter Gudge as a spy of the Traction Trust. +The story occupied a couple of pages in that week’s issue of the +“Clarion,” and included Peter’s picture, and an account of the part that +Peter had played in various frame-ups. It was nearly all true, and the +fact that it was guess-work on Donald Gordon’s part did not make it any +the better for Peter. Of course McGivney and Guffey and all his men read +the story, and knew Peter for the whooping jackass that Peter knew +himself. +</p> +<p> +“You go and get yourself a job with a pick and shovel,” said McGivney, and +Peter sorrowfully took his departure. He had only a few dollars in his +pocket, and these did not last very long, and he had got down to his last +nickel, and was confronting the wolf of starvation again, when McGivney +came to his lodging house room with a new proposition. There was one job +left, and Peter might take it if he thought he could stand the gaff. +</p> +<p> +It was the job of state’s witness. Peter had been all thru the Red +movement, he knew all these pacifists and Socialists and Syndicalists and +I. W. Ws. who were now in jail. In some cases the evidence of the +government was far from satisfactory; so Peter might have his salary back +again, if he were willing to take the witness stand and tell what he was +told to tell, and if he could manage to sit in a courtroom without falling +in love with some of the lady jurors, or some of the lady spies of the +defense. These deadly shafts of sarcasm Peter did not even feel, because +he was so frightened by the proposition which McGivney put up to him. To +come out into the open and face the blinding glare of the Red hate! To +place himself, the ant, between the smashing fists of the battling giants! +</p> +<p> +Yes, it might seem dangerous, said McGivney, for a cowardly little whelp +like himself; but then a good many men had had the nerve to do it, and +none of them had died yet. McGivney himself did not pretend to care very +much whether Peter did it or not; he put the matter up to him on Guffey’s +orders. The job was worth forty dollars a week, and he might take it or +leave it. +</p> +<p> +And there sat Peter, with only a nickel and a couple of pennies in his +pocket, and the rent for his room two weeks over-due, and his landlady +lying in wait in the hallway like an Indian with a tomahawk. Peter +objected, what about all those bad things in his early record, Pericles +Priam and the Temple of Jimjambo, which had ruined him as a witness in the +Goober case. McGivney answered dryly that he couldn’t let himself out with +that excuse; he was invited to pose as a reformed “wobbly,” and the more +crimes and rascalities he had in his record, the more convinced the jury +would be that he had been a real “wobbly.” + </p> +<p> +Peter asked, just when would he be expected to appear? And McGivney +answered, the very next week. They were trying seventeen of the “wobblies” + on a conspiracy charge, and Peter would be expected to take the stand and +tell how he had heard them advocate violence, and heard them boast of +having set fire to barns and wheat fields, and how they had put phosphorus +bombs into haystacks, and copper nails into fruit trees, and spikes into +sawmill logs, and emery powder into engine bearings. Peter needn’t worry +about what he would have to say, McGivney would tell him everything, and +would see him thoroughly posted, and he would find himself a hero in the +newspapers, which would make clear that he had done everything from the +very highest possible motives of 100% Americanism, and that no soldier in +the war had been performing a more dangerous service. +</p> +<p> +To Peter it seemed they might say that without troubling their conscience +very much. But McGivney went on to declare that he needn’t be afraid; it +was no part of Guffey’s program to give the Reds the satisfaction of +putting his star witness out of business. Peter would be kept in a safe +place, and would always have a body-guard. While he was in the city, +giving his testimony, they would put him up at the Hotel de Soto. +</p> +<p> +And that of course settled it. Here was poor Peter, with only a nickel and +two coppers in his pocket, and before him stood a chariot of fire with +magic steeds, and all he had to do was to step in, and be whirled away to +Mount Olympus. Peter stepped in! +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0074" id="link2H_4_0074"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +Section 74 +</h2> +<p> +McGivney took him to Guffey’s office, and Guffey wasted no time upon +preliminaries, but turned to his desk, and took out a long typewritten +document, a complete account of what the prosecution meant to prove +against the seventeen I. W. Ws. First, Peter told what he himself had seen +and heard—not very much, but a beginning, a hook to hang his story +upon. The I. W. W. hall was the meeting place for the casual and homeless +labor of the country, the “bindle-stiffs” who took the hardest of the +world’s hard knocks, and sometimes returned them. There was no kind of +injustice these fellows hadn’t experienced, and now and then they had +given blow for blow. Also there were loose talkers among them, who worked +off their feelings by threats of vengeance upon their enemies. Now and +then a real criminal came along, and now and then a paid inciter, a Peter +Gudge or a Joe Angell. Peter told the worst that he had heard, and all he +knew about the arrested men, and Guffey wrote it all down, and then +proceeded to build upon it. This fellow Alf Guinness had had a row with a +farmer in Wheatland County; there had been a barn burned nearby, and +Guffey would furnish an automobile and a couple of detectives to travel +with Peter, and they would visit the scene of that fire and the nearby +village, and familiarize themselves with the locality, and Peter would +testify how he had been with Guinness when he and a half dozen of the +defendants had set fire to that barn. +</p> +<p> +Peter hadn’t intended anything quite so serious as that, but Guffey was so +business-like, and took it all so much as a matter of course, that Peter +was afraid to show the white feather. After all, this was war-time; +hundreds of men were giving up their lives every day in the Argonne, and +why shouldn’t Peter take a little risk in order to put out of business his +country’s most dangerous enemies? +</p> +<p> +So Peter and his two detectives blew themselves to a joy ride in the +country. And then Peter was brought back and made comfortable in a room on +the twelfth floor of the Hotel de Soto, where he diligently studied the +typewritten documents which McGivney brought him, and thoroughly learned +the story he was to tell. There was always one of Guffey’s men walking up +and down in the hallway outside with a gun on his hip, and they brought +Peter three meals a day, not forgetting a bottle of beer and a package of +cigarettes. Twice a day Peter read in the newspapers about the heroic +deeds of our boys over there, and also about the latest bomb plots which +had been discovered all over the country, and about various trials under +the espionage act. +</p> +<p> +Also, Peter had the thrill of reading about himself in a real newspaper. +Hitherto he had been featured in labor papers, and Socialist papers like +the “Clarion,” which did not count; but now the American City “Times” came +out with a long story of how the district attorney’s office had “planted” + a secret agent with the I. W. W., and how this man, whose name was Peter +Gudge, had been working as one of them for the past two years, and was +going to reveal the whole story of I. W. W. infamy on the witness stand. +</p> +<p> +Two days before the trial Peter was escorted by McGivney and another +detective to the district attorney’s office, and spent the best part of +the day in conference with Mr. Burchard and his deputy, Mr. Stannard, who +were to try the case. McGivney had told Peter that the district attorney +was not in the secret, he really believed that Peter’s story was all true; +but Peter suspected that this was camouflage, to save Mr. Burchard’s face, +and to protect him in case Peter ever tried to “throw him down.” Peter +noticed that whenever he left any gap in his story, the district attorney +and the deputy told him to fill it, and he managed to guess what to fill +it with. +</p> +<p> +Henry Clay Burchard came from the far South, and followed a style of +oratory long since gone out of date. He wore his heavy black hair a little +long, and when he mounted the platform he would pull out the tremulo stop, +stretching out his hands and saying in tones of quivering emotion: “The +ladies, God bless them!” Also he would say: “I am a friend of the common +man. My heart beats with sympathy for those who constitute the real +backbone of America, the toilers of the shop and farm.” And then all the +banqueters of the Chamber of Commerce and the Merchants’ and +Manufacturers’ Association would applaud, and would send their checks to +the campaign fund of this friend of the common man. Mr. Burchard’s deputy, +Mr. Stannard, was a legal fox who told his chief what to do and how to do +it; a dried-up little man who looked like a bookworm, and sat boring you +thru with his keen eyes, watching for your weak points and preparing to +pierce you thru with one of his legal rapiers. He would be quite friendly +about it—he would joke with you in the noon hour, assuming that you +would of course understand it was all in the line of business, and no harm +meant. +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0075" id="link2H_4_0075"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +Section 75 +</h2> +<p> +The two men heard Peter’s story and changed it a little, and then heard +him over again and pronounced him all right, and Peter went back to his +hotel room and waited in trepidation for his hour in the limelight. When +they took him to court his knees were shaking, but also he had a thrill of +real importance, for they had provided him with a body-guard of four big +huskies; also he saw two “bulls” whom he recognized in the hallway outside +the court-room, and many others scattered thru the audience. The place was +packed with Red sympathizers, but they had all been searched before they +were allowed to enter, and were being watched every moment during the +trial. +</p> +<p> +When Peter stepped into the witness box he felt as Tom Duggan and Donald +Gordon must have felt that night when the white glare from thirty or forty +automobiles was beating upon them. Peter felt the concentrated Red hate of +two or three hundred spectators, and now and then their pent-up fury would +break restraint; there would be a murmur of protest, or perhaps a wave of +sneering laughter, and the bailiff would bang on the table with his wooden +mallet, and the judge would half rise from his seat, and declare that if +that happened again he would order the court-room cleared. +</p> +<p> +Not far in front of Peter at a long table sat the seventeen defendants, +looking like trapped rats, and every one of their thirty-four rat eyes +were fixed upon Peter’s face, and never moved from it. Peter only glanced +that way once; they bared their rats’ teeth at him, and he quickly looked +in another direction. But there also he saw a face that brought him no +comfort; there sat Mrs. Godd, in her immaculate white chiffons, her +wide-open blue eyes fixed upon his face, her expression full of grief and +reproach. “Oh, Mr. Gudge!” she seemed to be saying. “How can you? Mr. +Gudge, is this Peace. . . justice. . . Truth. . . Law?” And Peter realized +with a pang that he had cut himself off forever from Mount Olympus, and +from the porch chair with the soft silken pillows! He turned away toward +the box where sat the twelve jurymen and women. One old lady gave him a +benevolent smile, and a young farmer gave him a sly wink, so Peter knew +that he had friends in that quarter—and after all, they were the +ones who really counted in this trial. Mrs. Godd was as helpless as any +“wobbly,” in the presence of this august court. +</p> +<p> +Peter told his story, and then came his cross-questioning, and who should +rise and start the job but David Andrews, suave and humorous and deadly. +Peter had always been afraid of Andrews, and now he winced. Nobody had +told him he was to face an ordeal like this! Nobody had told him that +Andrews would be allowed to question him about every detail of these +crimes which he said he had witnessed, and about all the conversations +that had taken place, and who else was present, and what else had been +said, and how he had come to be there, and what he had done afterwards, +and what he had had to eat for breakfast that morning. Only two things +saved Peter, first the constant rapid-fire of objections which Stannard +kept making, to give Peter time to think; and second, the cyclone-cellar +which Stannard had provided for him in advance. “You can always fail to +remember,” the deputy had said; “nobody can punish you for forgetting +something.” So Peter would repeat the minute details of a conversation in +which Alf Guinness had told of burning down the barn, but he didn’t +remember who else had heard the conversation, and he didn’t remember what +else had been said, nor what was the date of the conversation. +</p> +<p> +Then came the blessed hour of noon, with a chance for Peter to get fixed +up again before the court resumed at two. He was questioned again by +Stannard, who patched up all the gaps in his testimony, and then again he +failed to remember things, and so avoided the traps which Andrews set for +his feet. He was told that he had “done fine,” and was escorted back to +the Hotel de Soto in triumph, and there for a week he stayed while the +defense made a feeble effort to answer his testimony. Peter read in the +papers the long speeches in which the district attorney and the deputy +acclaimed him as a patriot, protecting his country from its “enemies +within;” also he read a brief reference to the “tirade” of David Andrews, +who had called him a “rat” and a “slinking Judas.” Peter didn’t mind that, +of course—it was all part of the game, and the calling of names is a +pretty sure sign of impotence. +</p> +<p> +Less easy to accept placidly, however, was something which came to Peter +that same day—a letter from Mrs. Godd! It wasn’t written to him, but +he saw Hammett and another of the “bulls” chuckling together, and he asked +what was the joke, and they told him that Mrs. Godd had somehow found out +about Guffey, and had written him a letter full of insults, and Guffey was +furious. Peter asked what was in it, and they told him, and later on when +he insisted, they brought it and showed it to him, and Peter was furious +too. On very expensive stationery with a stately crest at the top, the +mother of Mount Olympus had written in a large, bland, girlish hand her +opinion of “under cover” men and those who hired them: +</p> +<p> +“You sit like a big spider and weave a net to catch men and destroy them. +You destroy alike your victims and your tools. The poor boy, Peter Gudge, +whom you sent to my home—my heart bleeds when I think of him, and +what you have put him up to! A wretched, feeble-minded victim of greed, +who ought to be sent to a hospital for deformed souls, you have taken him +and taught him a piece of villainy to recite, so that he may send a group +of sincere idealists to prison.” + </p> +<p> +That was enough! Peter put down the letter—he would not dignify such +stuff by reading it. He realized that he would have to put his mind on the +problem of Mrs. Godd once more. One woman like that, in her position of +power, was more dangerous than all the seventeen “wobblies” who had been +haled before the court. Peter inquired, and learned that Guffey had +already been to see Nelse Ackerman about it, and Mr. Ackerman had been to +see Mr. Godd, and Mr. Godd had been to see Mrs. Godd. Also the “Times” had +an editorial referring to the “nest of Bolshevism” upon Mount Olympus, and +all Mrs. Godd’s friends were staying away from her luncheon-parties—so +she was being made to suffer for her insolence to Peter Gudge! +</p> +<p> +“A hospital for deformed souls,” indeed! Peter was so upset that his joy +in life was not restored even by the news that the jury had found the +defendants guilty on the first ballot. He told McGivney that the strain of +this trial had been too much for his nerves, and they must take care of +him; so an automobile was provided, and Peter was taken to a secret hiding +place in the country to recuperate. +</p> +<p> +Hammett went with him, and Hammett was a first-class gunman, and Peter +stayed close by him; in the evening he stayed up in the second story of +the farm-house, lest perchance one of the “wobblies” should take too +literally the testimony Peter had given concerning their habit of shooting +at their enemies out of the darkness. Peter knew how they all must hate +him; he read in the paper how the judge summoned the guilty men before him +and sentenced them, incidentally forcing them to listen to a scathing +address, which was published in full in the “Times.” The law provided a +penalty of from one to fourteen years, and the judge sentenced sixteen of +them to fourteen years, and one to ten years, thus tempering justice with +mercy. +</p> +<p> +Then one day McGivney sent an automobile, and Peter was brought to +Guffey’s office, and a new plan was unfolded to him. They had arrested +another bunch of “wobblies” in the neighboring city of Eldorado, and Peter +was wanted there to repeat his testimony. It happened that he knew one of +the accused men, and that would be sufficient to get his testimony in—his +prize stuff about the burning barns and the phosphorus bombs. He would be +taken care of just as thoroughly by the district attorney’s office of +Eldorado County; or better yet, Guffey would write to his friend Steve +Ellman, who did the detective work for the Home and Fireside Association, +the big business organization of that city. +</p> +<p> +Peter hemmed and hawed. This was a pretty hard and dangerous kind of work, +it really played the devil with a man’s nerves, sitting up there in the +hotel room all day, with nothing to do but smoke cigarettes and imagine +the “wobblies” throwing bombs at you. Also, it wouldn’t last very long; it +ought to be better paid. Guffey answered that Peter needn’t worry about +the job’s lasting; if he cared to give this testimony, he might have a joy +ride from one end of the country to the other, and everywhere he would +live on the fat of the land, and be a hero in the newspapers. +</p> +<p> +But still Peter hemmed and hawed. He had learned from the American City +“Times” how valuable a witness he was, and he ventured to demand his +price, even from the terrible Guffey; he stuck it out, in spite of +Guffey’s frowns, and the upshot was that Guffey said, All right, if Peter +would take the trip he might have seventy-five dollars a week and +expenses, and Guffey would guarantee to keep him busy for not less than +six months. +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0076" id="link2H_4_0076"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +Section 76 +</h2> +<p> +So Peter went to Eldorado, and helped to send eleven men to the +penitentiary for periods varying from three to fourteen years. Then he +went to Flagland, and testified in three different trials, and added seven +more scalps to his belt. By this time he got to realize that the worst the +Reds could do was to make faces at him and show the teeth of trapped rats. +He learned to take his profession more easily, and would sometimes venture +to go out for an evening’s pleasure without his guards. When he was hidden +in the country he would take long walks regardless of the thousands of +blood-thirsty Reds on his trail. +</p> +<p> +It was while Peter was testifying in Flagland that a magic word was +flashed from Europe, and the whole city went mad with joy. Everyone, from +babies to old men, turned out on the streets and waved flags and banged +tin cans and shouted for peace with victory. When it was learned that the +newspapers had fooled them, they waited three days, and then turned out +and went thru the same performance again. Peter was a bit worried at +first, for fear the coming of peace might end his job of saving the +country; but presently he realized that there was no need for concern, the +smashing of the Reds was going on just the same. +</p> +<p> +They had some raids on the Socialists while Peter was in Flagland, and the +detectives told him he might come along for the fun of it. So Peter armed +himself with a black-jack and a revolver, and helped to rush the Socialist +headquarters. The war was over, but Peter felt just as military as if it +were still going on; when he got the little Jewish organizer of the local +pent up in a corner behind his desk and proceeded to crack him over the +head, Peter understood exactly how our boys had felt in the Argonne. When +he discovered the thrill of dancing on typewriter keys with his boots, he +even understood how the Huns had felt. +</p> +<p> +The detectives were joined by a bunch of college boys, who took to that +kind of thing with glee. Having got their blood up, they decided they +might as well clean out the Red movement entirely, so they rushed a place +called the “International Book-Shop,” kept by a Hawaiian. The proprietor +dodged into the kitchen of a Chinese restaurant next door, and put on an +apron; but no one had ever seen a Chinaman with a black mustache, so they +fell on him and broke several of the Chinaman’s sauce-pans over his head. +They took the contents of the “International Book-Shop” into the back yard +and started a bon-fire with it, and detectives and college boys on a lark +joined hands and danced an imitation of the Hawaiian hula-hula around the +blaze. +</p> +<p> +So Peter lived a merry life for several months. He had one or two journeys +for nothing, because an obstinate judge refused to admit that anything +that any I. W. W. had ever said or done anywhere within the last ten years +was proper testimony to be introduced against a particular I. W. W. on +trial. But most judges were willing to co-operate with the big business +men in ridding the country of the Red menace, and Peter’s total of scalps +amounted to over a hundred before his time was up, and Guffey sent him his +last cheek and turned him loose. +</p> +<p> +That was in the city of Richport, and Peter having in an inside pocket +something over a thousand dollars in savings, felt that he had earned a +good time. He went for a stroll on the Gay White Way of the city, and in +front of a moving picture palace a golden-haired girl smiled at him. This +was still in the days of two and three-fourths per cent beer, and Peter +invited her into a saloon to have a glass, and when he opened his eyes +again it was dark, and he had a splitting headache, and he groped around +and discovered that he was lying in a dark corner of an alleyway. Terror +gripped his heart, and he clapped his hand to the inside pocket where his +wallet had been, and there was nothing but horrible emptiness. So Peter +was ruined once again, and as usual it was a woman that had done it! +</p> +<p> +Peter went to the police-station, but they never found the woman, or if +they did, they divided with her and not with Peter. He threw himself on +the mercy of the sergeant at the desk, and succeeded in convincing the +sergeant that he, Peter, was a part of the machinery of his country’s +defense, and the sergeant agreed to stand sponsor for ten words to Guffey. +So Peter sat himself down with a pencil and paper, and figured over it, +and managed to get it into ten words, as follows: “Woman again broke any +old job any pay wire fare.” And it appeared that Guffey must have sat +himself down with a pencil and paper and figured over it also, for the +answer came back in ten words, as follows: “Idiot have wired secretary +chamber commerce will give you ticket.” + </p> +<p> +So Peter repaired forthwith to the stately offices of the Chamber of +Commerce, and the hustling, efficient young business-man secretary sent +his clerk to buy Peter a ticket and put him on the train. In a time of +need like that Peter realized what it meant to have the backing of a great +and powerful organization, with stately offices and money on hand for all +emergencies, even when they arose by telegraph. He took a new vow of +sobriety and decency, so that he might always have these forces of law and +order on his side. +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0077" id="link2H_4_0077"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +Section 77 +</h2> +<p> +Peter was duly scolded, and put to work as an “office man” at his old +salary of twenty dollars a week. It was his duty to consult with Guffey’s +many “operatives,” to tell them everything he knew about this individual +Red or that organization of Reds. He would use his inside knowledge of +personalities and doctrines and movements to help in framing up testimony, +and in setting traps for too ardent agitators. He could no longer pose as +a Red himself, but sometimes there were cases where he could do detective +work without being recognized; when, for example, there was a question of +fixing a juror, or of investigating the members of a panel. +</p> +<p> +The I. W. Ws. had been put out of business in American City, but the +Socialists were still active, in spite of prosecutions and convictions. +Also there was a new peril looming up; the returned soldiers were coming +back, and a lot of them were dissatisfied, presuming to complain of their +treatment in the army, and of the lack of good jobs at home, and even of +the peace treaty which the President was arranging in Paris. They had +fought to make the world safe for democracy, and here, they said, it had +been made safe for the profiteers. This was plain Bolshevism, and in its +most dangerous form, because these fellows had learned to use guns, and +couldn’t very well be expected to become pacifists right off the bat. +</p> +<p> +There had been a great labor shortage during the war, and some of the more +powerful unions had taken the general rise in prices as an excuse for +demanding higher wages. This naturally had made the members of the Chamber +of Commerce and the Merchants’ and Manufacturers’ Association indignant, +and now they saw their chance to use these returned soldiers to smash +strikes and to break the organizations of the labor men. They proceeded to +organize the soldiers for this purpose; in American City the Chamber of +Commerce contributed twenty-five thousand dollars to furnish the +club-rooms for them, and when the trolley men went on strike the cars were +run by returned soldiers in uniform. +</p> +<p> +There was one veteran, a fellow by the name of Sydney, who objected to +this program. He was publishing a paper, the “Veteran’s Friend,” and began +to use the paper to protest against his comrades acting as what he called +“scabs.” The secretary of the Merchants’ and Manufacturers’ Association +sent for him and gave him a straight talking to, but he went right ahead +with his campaign, and so Guffey’s office was assigned the task of +shutting him up. Peter, while he could not take an active part in the job, +was the one who guided it behind the scenes. They proceeded to plant spies +in Sydney’s office, and they had so many that it was really a joke; they +used to laugh and say that they trod on one another’s toes. Sydney was +poor, and had not enough money to run his paper, so he accepted any +volunteer labor that came along. And Guffey sent him plenty of volunteers—no +less than seven operatives—one keeping Sydney’s books, another +helping with his mailing, two more helping to raise funds among the labor +unions, others dropping in every day or two to advise him. Nevertheless +Sydney went right ahead with his program of denouncing the Merchants’ and +Manufacturers’ Association, and denouncing the government for its failure +to provide farms and jobs for the veterans. +</p> +<p> +One of Guffey’s “under cover operatives”—that was the technical term +for the Peter Gudges and Joe Angells—was a man by the name of Jonas. +This Jonas called himself a “philosophic anarchist,” and posed as the +reddest Red in American City; it was his habit to rise up in radical +meetings and question the speaker, and try to tempt him to justify +violence and insurrection and “mass-action.” If he repudiated these ideas, +then Jonas would denounce him as a “mollycoddle,” a “pink tea Socialist,” + a “labor faker.” Other people in the audience would applaud, and so +Guffey’s men would find out who were the real Red sympathizers. +</p> +<p> +Peter had long suspected Jonas, and now he was sent to meet him in Room +427 of the American House, and together they framed up a job on Sydney. +Jonas wrote a letter, supposed to come from a German “comrade,” giving the +names of some papers in Europe to which the editor should send sample +copies of his magazine. This letter was mailed to Sydney, and next morning +Jonas wandered into the office, and Sydney showed him the letter, and +Jonas told him that these were labor papers, and the editors would no +doubt be interested to know of the feelings of American soldiers since the +war. Sydney sat down to write a letter, and Jonas stood by his side and +told him what to write: “To my erstwhile enemies in arms I send fraternal +greetings, and welcome you as brothers in the new co-operative +commonwealth which is to be”—and so on, the usual Internationalist +patter, which all these agitators were spouting day and night, and which +ran off the ends of their pens automatically. Sydney mailed these letters, +and the sample copies of the magazine, and Guffey’s office tipped off the +postoffice authorities, who held up the letters. The book-keeper, one of +Guffey’s operatives, went to the Federal attorney and made affidavit that +Sydney had been carrying on a conspiracy with the enemy in war-time, and a +warrant was issued, and the offices of the magazine were raided, the +subscription-lists confiscated, and everything in the rooms dumped out +into the middle of the floor. +</p> +<p> +So there was a little job all Peter’s own; except that Jonas, the +scoundrel, claimed it for his, and tried to deprive Peter of the credit! +So Peter was glad when the Federal authorities looked the case over and +said it was a bum job, and they wouldn’t monkey with it. However, the +evidence was turned over to District-attorney Burchard, who wasn’t quite +so fastidious, and his agents made another raid, and smashed up the office +again, and threw the returned soldier into jail. The judge fixed the bail +at fifteen thousand dollars, and the American City “Times” published the +story with scare-headlines all the way across the front page—how the +editor of the “Veteran’s Friend” had been caught conspiring with the +enemy, and here was a photographic copy of his treasonable letter, and a +copy of the letter of the mysterious German conspirator with whom he had +been in relations! They spent more than a year trying that editor, and +although he was out on bail, Guffey saw to it that he could not get a job +anywhere in American City; his paper was smashed and his family near to +starvation. +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0078" id="link2H_4_0078"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +Section 78 +</h2> +<p> +Peter had now been working faithfully for six or eight months, and all +that time he religiously carried out his promise to Guffey and did not +wink at a woman. But that is an unnatural life for a man, and Peter was +lonely, his dreams were haunted by the faces of Nell Doolin and Rosie +Stern, and even of little Jennie Todd. One day another face came back to +him, the face of Miss Frisbie, the little manicurist who had spurned him +because he was a Red. Now suddenly Peter realized that he was no longer a +Red! On the contrary, he was a hero, his picture had been published in the +American City “Times,” and no doubt Miss Frisbie had seen it. Miss Frisbie +was a good girl, a straight girl, and surely all right for him to know! +</p> +<p> +So Peter went to the manicure parlor, and sure enough, there was the +little golden-haired lady; and sure enough, she had read all about him, +she had been dreaming that some day she might meet him again—and so +Peter invited her to go to a picture show. On the way home they became +very chummy, and before a week went by it was as if they had been friends +for life. When Peter asked Miss Frisbie if he might kiss her, she answered +coyly that he might, but after he had kissed her a few times she explained +to him that she was a self-supporting woman, alone and defenseless in the +world, and she had nobody to speak for her but herself; she must tell him +that she had always been a respectable woman, and that she wanted him to +know that before he kissed her any more. And Peter thought it over and +decided that he had sowed his full share of wild oats in this life; he was +ready to settle down, and the next time he saw Miss Frisbie he told her +so, and before the evening was by they were engaged. +</p> +<p> +Then Peter went to see Guffey, and seated himself on the edge of the chair +alongside Guffey’s desk, and twisted his hat in his hands, and flushed +very red, and began to stammer out his confession. He expected to be +received with a gale of ridicule; he was immensely relieved when Guffey +said that if Peter had really found a good girl and wanted to marry her, +he, Guffey, was for it. There was nothing like the influence of a good +woman, and Guffey much preferred his operatives should be married men, +living a settled and respectable life. They could be trusted then, and +sometimes when a woman operative was needed, they had a partner ready to +hand. If Peter had got married long ago, he might have had a good sum of +money in the bank by now. +</p> +<p> +Peter ventured to point out that twenty dollars a week was not exactly a +marrying salary, in the face of the present high cost of living. Guffey +answered that that was true, and he would raise Peter to thirty dollars +right away—only first he demanded the right to talk to Peter’s +fiancee, and judge for himself whether she was worthy. Peter was +delighted, and Miss Frisbie had a private and confidential interview with +Peter’s boss. But afterwards Peter wasn’t quite so delighted, for he +realized what Guffey had done. Peter’s future wife had been told all about +Peter’s weakness, and how Peter’s boss looked to her to take care of her +husband and make him walk the chalkline. So a week after Peter had entered +the holy bonds of matrimony, when he and Mrs. Gudge had their first little +family tiff, Peter suddenly discovered who was going to be top dog in that +family. He was shown his place once for all, and he took it,—alongside +that husband who described his domestic arrangements by saying that he and +his wife got along beautifully together, they had come to an arrangement +by which he was to have his way on all major issues, and she was to have +her way on all minor issues, and so far no major issues had arisen. +</p> +<p> +But really it was a very good thing; for Gladys Frisbie Gudge was an +excellent manager, and set to work making herself a nest as busily as any +female beaver. She still hung on to her manicurist job, for she had +figured it out that the Red movement must be just about destroyed by now, +and pretty soon Peter might find himself without work. In the evenings she +took to house-hunting, and during her noon hour, without consulting Peter +she selected the furniture and the wall-paper, and pretty nearly bought +out the stock of a five-and-ten-cent store to equip the beaver’s nest. +</p> +<p> +Gladys Frisbie Gudge was a diligent reader of the fashion magazines, and +kept herself right up to the minute with the styles; also she had got +herself a book on etiquette, and learned it by heart from cover to cover, +and now she took Peter in hand and taught it to him. Why must he always be +a “Jimmie Higgins” of the “Whites?” Why should he not acquire the +vocabulary of an educated man, the arts and graces of the well-to-do? +Gladys knew that it is these subtleties which determine your salary in the +long run; so every Sunday morning she would dress him up with a new brown +derby and a new pair of brown kid gloves, and take him to the Church of +the Divine Compassion, and they would listen to the patriotic sermon of +the Rev. de Willoughby Stotterbridge, and Gladys would bow her head in +prayer, and out of the corner of her eye would get points on costumes from +the lady in the next pew. And afterwards they would join the Sunday +parade, and Gladys would point out to Peter the marks of what she called +“gentility.” In the evenings they would go walking, and she would stop in +front of the big shop-windows, or take him into the hotel lobbies where +the rich could be seen free of charge. Peter would be hungry, and would +want to go to a cheap restaurant and fill himself up with honest grub; but +Gladys, who had the appetite of a bird, would insist on marching him into +the dining-room of the Hotel de Soto and making a meal upon a cup of broth +and some bread and butter—just in order that they might gaze upon a +scene of elegance and see bow “genteel” people ate their food. +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0079" id="link2H_4_0079"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +Section 79 +</h2> +<p> +And just as ardently as Gladys Frisbie Gudge adored the rich, so ardently +did she object to the poor. If you pinned her down to it, she would admit +that there had to be poor; there could not be gentility, except on the +basis of a large class of ungentility. The poor were all right in their +place; what Gladys objected to was their presuming to try to get out of +their place, or to criticise their betters. She had a word by which she +summed up everything that she despised in the world, and that word was +“common;” she used it to describe the sort of people she declined to meet, +and she used it in correcting Peter’s manners and his taste in hats. To be +“common” was to be damned; and when Gladys saw people who were indubitably +and inescapably “common,” presuming to set themselves up and form +standards of their own, she took it as a personal affront, she became +vindictive and implacable towards them. Each and every one of them became +to her a personal enemy, an enemy to something far more precious than her +person, an enemy to the thing she aspired to become, to her ideal. +</p> +<p> +Peter had once been like that himself, but now he was so comfortable, he +had a tendency to become lazy and easy-going. It was well, therefore, that +he had Gladys to jack him up, and keep him on his job. Gladys at first did +not meet any Reds face to face, she knew them only by the stories that +Peter brought home to her when his day’s work was done. But each new group +that he was hounding became to Gladys an assemblage of incarnate fiends, +and while she sat polishing the finger-nails of stout society ladies who +were too sleepy to talk, Gladys’ busy mind would be working over schemes +to foil these fiends. +</p> +<p> +Sometimes her ideas were quite wonderful. She had a woman’s intuition, the +knowledge of human foibles, all the intricate subtleties of the emotional +life; she would bring to Peter a program for the undoing of some young +radical, as complete as if she had known the man or woman all her life. +Peter took her ideas to McGivney, and then to Guffey, and the result was +that her talents were recognized, and by the lever of a generous salary +she was pried loose from the manicure parlor. Guffey sent her to make the +acquaintance of the servants in the household of a certain rich man who +was continually making contributions to the Direct Primary Association and +other semi-Red organizations, and who was believed to have a scandal in +his private life. So successful was Gladys at this job that presently +Guffey set her at the still more delicate task of visiting rich ladies, +and impressing upon them the seriousness of the Red peril, and persuading +them to meet the continually increasing expenses of Guffey’s office. +</p> +<p> +Just now was a busy time in the anti-Red campaign. For nearly two years, +ever since the Bolshevik revolution in Russia, there had been gradually +developing a split in the Socialist movement, and the “under-cover” + operatives of the Traction Trust, as well as those of the district +attorney’s office and of the Federal government, had been working +diligently to widen this split and develop dissensions in the +organization. There were some Socialists who believed in politics, and +were prepared to devote their lives to the slow and tedious job of +building up a party. There were others who were impatient, looking for a +short cut, a general strike or a mass insurrection of the workers which +would put an end to the slavery of capitalism. The whole game of politics +was rotten, these would argue; a politician could find more ways to fool +the workers in a minute than the workers could thwart in a year. They +pointed to the German Socialists, those betrayers of internationalism. +There were people who called themselves Socialists right here in American +City who wanted to draw the movement into the same kind of trap! +</p> +<p> +This debate was not conducted in the realm of abstractions; the two wings +of the movement would attack one another with bitterness. The +“politicians” would denounce the “impossibilists,” calling them +“anarchists;” and the other side, thus goaded, would accuse their enemies +of being in the hire of the government. Peter would supply McGivney with +bits of scandal which the “under cover” men would start going among the +“left-wingers;” and in the course of the long wrangles in the local these +accusations would come out. Herbert Ashton would mention them with his +biting sarcasm, or “Shorty” Gunton would shout them in one of his tirades—“hurling +them into his opponents teeth,” as he phrased it. +</p> +<p> +“Shorty” Gunton was a tramp printer, a wandering agitator who was all for +direct action, and didn’t care a hang who knew it. “Violence?” he would +say. “How many thousand years shall we submit to the violence of +capitalist governments, and never have the right to reply?” And then again +he would say, “Violence? Yes, of course we must repudiate violence—until +we get enough of it!” Peter had listened to “Shorty’s” railings at the +“compromisers” and the “political traders,” and had thought him one of the +most dangerous men in American City. But later on, after the episode of +Joe Angell had opened Peter’s eyes, he decided that “Shorty” must also be +a secret agent like himself. +</p> +<p> +Peter was never told definitely, but he picked up a fact here and there, +and fitted them together, and before long his suspicion had become +certainty. The “left wing” Socialists split off from the party, and called +a convention of their own, and this convention in turn split up, one part +forming the Communist Party, and another part forming the Communist Labor +Party. While these two conventions were in session, McGivney came to +Peter, and said that the Federal government had a man on the platform +committee of the Communist Party, and they wanted to write in some phrases +that would make membership in that party in itself a crime, so that +everybody who held a membership card could be sent to prison without +further evidence. These phrases must be in the orthodox Communist lingo, +and this was where Peter’s specialized knowledge was needed. +</p> +<p> +So Peter wrote the phrases, and a couple of days later he read in the +newspapers an account of the convention proceedings. The platform +committee had reported, and “Shorty” Gunton had submitted a minority +report, and had made a fiery speech in the convention, with the result +that his minority report was carried by a narrow margin. This minority +report contained all the phrases that Peter had written. A couple of +months later, when the government had its case ready, and the wholesale +raids upon the Communists took place, “Shorty” Gunton was arrested, but a +few days later he made a dramatic escape by sawing his way thru the roof +of the jail! +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0080" id="link2H_4_0080"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +Section 80 +</h2> +<p> +The I. W. W. had bobbed up again in American City, and had ventured to +open another headquarters. Peter did not dare go to the place himself, but +he coached a couple of young fellows whom McGivney brought to him, +teaching them the Red lingo, and how to worm their way into the movement. +Before long one of them was secretary of the local; and Peter, directing +their activities, received reports twice a week of everything the +“wobblies” were planning and doing. Peter and Gladys were figuring out +another bomb conspiracy to direct attention to these dangerous men, when +one day Peter picked up the morning paper and discovered that a kind +Providence had delivered the enemy into his hands. +</p> +<p> +Up in the lumber country of the far Northwest, in a little town called +Centralia, the “wobblies” had had their headquarters raided and smashed, +just as in American City. They had got themselves another meeting-place, +and again the members of the Chamber of Commerce and the Merchants’ and +Manufacturers’ Association had held a secret meeting and resolved to wipe +them out. The “wobblies” had appealed to the authorities for protection, +and when protection was refused, they had printed a leaflet appealing to +the public. But the business men went ahead with their plans. They +arranged for a parade of returned soldiers on the anniversary of Armistice +Day, and they diverted this parade out of its path so that it would pass +in front of the I. W. W. headquarters. Some of the more ardent members +carried ropes, symbolic of what they meant to do; and they brought the +parade to a halt in front of the headquarters, and set up a yell and +started to rush the hall. They battered in the door, and had pushed their +way half thru it when the “wobblies” opened fire from inside, killing +several of the paraders. +</p> +<p> +Then, of course, the mob flew into a frenzy of fury. They beat the men in +the hall, some of them into insensibility; they flung them into jail, and +battered and tortured them, and took one of them out of jail and carried +him away in an automobile, and after they had mutilated him as Shawn Grady +had been mutilated, they hanged him from a bridge. Of course they saw to +it that the newspaper stories which went out from Centralia that night +were the right kind of stories; and next morning all America read how a +group of “wobblies” had armed themselves with rifles, and concealed +themselves on the roof of the I. W. W. headquarters, and deliberately and +in cold blood had opened fire upon a peaceful parade of unarmed war +veterans. +</p> +<p> +Of course the country went wild, and the Guffeys and McGivneys and Gudges +all over the United States realized that their chance had come. Peter +instructed the secretary of the I. W. W. local of American City to call a +meeting for that evening, to adopt a resolution declaring the press +stories from Centralia to be lies. At the same time another of Guffey’s +men, an ex-army officer still wearing his, uniform, caused a meeting of +the American Legion to be summoned; he made a furious address to the boys, +and at nine o’clock that night some two-score of them set out, armed with +big monkey-wrenches from their automobiles, and raided the I. W. W. +headquarters, and battered the members over the head with the +monkey-wrenches, causing several to leap from the window and break their +legs. Next morning the incident was reported in the American City “Times” + with shouts of glee, and District-attorney Burchard issued a public +statement to the effect that no effort would be made to punish the soldier +boys; the “wobblies” had wanted “direct action,” and they had got it, and +it would be assumed that they were satisfied. +</p> +<p> +Then the members of the American Legion, encouraged by this applause, and +instigated by Guffey’s ex-army officer, proceeded to invade and wreck +every radical meeting-place in the city. They smashed the “Clarion” office +and the Socialist Party headquarters again, and confiscated more tons of +literature. They wrecked a couple of book-stores, and then, breaking up +into small groups, they inspected all the news-stands in the city, and +wherever they found Red magazines like the Nation or the New Republic, +they tore up the copies and threatened the agents with arrest. They +invaded the rooms of a literary society called the Ruskin Club, frequented +mostly by amiable old ladies, and sent some of these elderly dames into +hysterics. They discovered the “Russian Peoples’ Club,” which had hitherto +been overlooked because it was an educational organization. But of course +no Russian could be trusted these days—all of them were Bolsheviks, +or on the way to becoming Bolsheviks, which was the same thing; so Guffey +organized a raid on this building, and some two hundred Russians were +clubbed and thrown downstairs or out of windows, and an elderly teacher of +mathematics had his skull cracked, and a teacher of music had some teeth +knocked out. +</p> +<p> +There were several million young Americans who had been put into military +uniform, and had guns put into their hands, and been put thru target +practice and bayonet drill, and then had not seen any fighting. These +fellows were, as the phrase has it, “spoiling for a fight;” and here was +their chance. It was just as much fun as trench warfare, and had the +advantage of not being dangerous. When the raiding parties came back, +there were no missing members, and no casualties to be telegraphed to +heartbroken parents. Some fool women got together and tried to organize a +procession to protest against the blockade of Russia; the raiders fell +upon these women, and wrecked their banners, and tore their clothing to +bits, and the police hustled what was left of them off to jail. It +happened that a well-known “sporting man,” that is to say a race-track +frequenter, came along wearing a red necktie, and the raiders, taking him +for a Bolshevik, fell upon him and pretty nearly mauled the life out of +him. After that there was protest from people who thought it unwise to +break too many laws while defending law and order, so the district +attorney’s office arranged to take on the young soldier boys as deputy +sheriffs, and give them all badges, legal and proper. +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0081" id="link2H_4_0081"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +Section 81 +</h2> +<p> +Peter Gudge often went along on these hunting parties. Peter, curiously +enough, discovered in himself the same “complex” as the balked soldier +boys. Peter had been reading war news for five years, but had missed the +fighting; and now he discovered that he liked to fight. What had kept him +from liking to fight in the past was the danger of getting hurt; but now +that there was no such danger, he could enjoy it. In past times people had +called him a coward, and he had heard it so often that he had come to +believe it; but now he realized that it was not true, he was just as brave +as anybody else in the crowd. +</p> +<p> +The truth was that Peter had not had a happy time in his youth, he had +never learned, like the younger members of the Chamber of Commerce and the +Merchants’ and Manufacturers’ Association, to knock a little white ball +about a field with various shapes and sizes of clubs. Peter was like a +business man who has missed his boyhood, and then in later years finds the +need of recreation, and takes up some form of sport by the orders of his +physician. It became Peter’s, form of sport to stick an automatic revolver +in his hip-pocket, and take a blackjack in his hand, and rush into a room +where thirty or forty Russians or “Sheenies” of all ages and lengths of +beard were struggling to learn the intricacies of English spelling. Peter +would give a yell, and see this crowd leap and scurry hither and thither, +and chase them about and take a whack at a head wherever he saw one, and +jump into a crowd who were bunched together like sheep, trying to hide +their heads, and pound them over the exposed parts of their anatomy until +they scattered into the open again. He liked to get a lot of them started +downstairs and send them tumbling heels over head; or if he could get them +going out a window, that was more exhilarating yet, and he would yell and +whoop at them. He learned some of their cries—outlandish gibberish +it was—and he would curse them in their own language. He had a +streak of the monkey in him, and as he got to know these people better he +would imitate their antics and their gestures of horror, and set a whole +room full of the “bulls” laughing to split their sides. There was a famous +“movie” comedian with big feet, and Peter would imitate this man, and +waddle up to some wretched sweat-shop worker and boot him in the trousers’ +seat, or step on his toes, or maybe spit in his eye. So he became +extremely popular among the “bulls,” and they would insist on his going +everywhere with them. +</p> +<p> +Later on, when the government set to work to break up the Communist Party +and the Communist Labor Party, Peter’s popularity and prestige increased +still more. For now, instead of just raiding and smashing, the police and +detectives would round up the prisoners and arrest them by hundreds, and +carry them off and put them thru “examinations.” And Peter was always +needed for this; his special knowledge made him indispensable, and he +became practically the boss of the proceedings. It had been arranged thru +“Shorty” Gunton and the other “under cover” men that the meetings of the +Communist and Communist Labor parties should be held on the same night; +and all over the country this same thing was done, and next morning the +world was electrified by the news that all these meetings had been raided +at the same hour, and thousands of Reds placed under arrest. In American +City the Federal government had hired a suite of about a dozen rooms +adjoining the offices of Guffey, and all night and next morning batches of +prisoners were brought in, until there were about four hundred in all. +They were crowded into these rooms with barely space to sit down; of +course there was an awful uproar, moaning and screaming of people who had +been battered, and a smell that beat the monkey cage at the zoological +gardens. +</p> +<p> +The prisoners were kept penned up in this place for several weeks, and all +the time more were being brought in; there were so many that the women had +to be stored in the toilets. Many of the prisoners fell ill, or pretended +to fall ill, and several of them went insane, or pretended to go insane, +and several of them died, or pretended to die. And of course the parlor +Reds and sympathizers were busy outside making a terrible fuss about it. +They had no more papers, and could not hold any more meetings, and when +they tried to circulate literature the post-office authorities tied them +up; but still somehow they managed to get publicity, and Peter’s “under +cover” men would report to him who was doing this work, and Peter would +arrange to have more raids and more batches of prisoners brought in. In +one of the “bomb-plots” which had been unveiled in the East they had +discovered some pink paper, used either for printing leaflets, or for +wrapping explosives, one could not be sure. Anyhow, the secret agencies +with which Guffey was connected had distributed samples of this paper over +the country, and any time the police wanted to finish some poor devil, +they would find this deadly “pink paper” in his possession, and the +newspapers would brand him as one of the group of conspirators who were +sending infernal machines thru the mails. +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0082" id="link2H_4_0082"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +Section 82 +</h2> +<p> +Peter was so busy these days that he missed several nights’ sleep, and +hardly even stopped to eat. He had his own private room, where the +prisoners were brought for examination, and he had half a dozen men under +his orders to do the “strong arm” work. It was his task to extract from +these prisoners admissions which would justify their being sent to prison +if they were citizens, or being deported if they were aliens. There was of +course seldom any way to distinguish between citizens and aliens; you just +had to take a chance on it, proceeding on the certainty that all were +dangerous. Many years ago, when Peter had been working for Pericles Priam, +they had spent several months in a boarding house, and you could tell when +there was going to be beef-steak for dinner, because you heard the cook +pounding it with the potato-masher to “tender it up;” and Peter learned +this phrase, and now used the process upon his alien Reds. When they came +into the room, Peter’s men would fall upon them and beat them and cuff +them, knocking them about from one fist to another. If they were stubborn +and would not “come across,” Peter would take them in hand himself, +remembering how successful Guffey had been in getting things out of him by +the twisting of wrists and the bending back of fingers. +</p> +<p> +It was amazing how clever and subtle some of these fellows were. They were +just lousy foreign laborers, but they spent all their spare time reading; +you would find large collections of books in their rooms when you made +your raids, and they knew exactly what you wanted, and would parry your +questions. Peter would say: “You’re an Anarchist, aren’t you?” And the +answer would be: “I’m not an Anarchist in the sense of the word you mean”—as +if there could be two meanings of the word “Anarchist!” Peter would say, +“You believe in violence, do you not?” And then the fellow would become +impertinent: “It is you who believe in violence, look at my face that you +have smashed.” Or Peter would say, “You don’t like this government, do +you?” And the answer would be, “I always liked it until it treated me so +badly”—all kinds of evasions like that, and there would be a +stenographer taking it down, and unless Peter could get something into the +record that was a confession, it would not be possible to deport that Red. +So Peter would fall upon him and “tender him up” until he would answer +what he was told to answer; or maybe Peter would prepare an interview as +he wanted it to be, and the detectives would grab the man’s hand and make +him sign it; or maybe Peter would just sign it himself. +</p> +<p> +These were harsh methods, but there was no way to help it, the Reds were +so cunning. They were secretly undermining the government, and was the +government to lie down and admit its helplessness? The answer of 100% +Americanism was thundered from every wood and templed hill in the country; +also from every newspaper office. The answer was “No!” 100% Americanism +would find a way to preserve itself from the sophistries of European +Bolshevism; 100% Americanism had worked out its formula: “If they don’t +like this country, let them go back where they come from.” But of course, +knowing in their hearts that America was the best country in the world, +they didn’t want to go back, and it was necessary to make them go. +</p> +<p> +Peter was there for that purpose, and his devoted wife was by his side, +egging him on with her feminine implacability. Gladys had always been +accustomed to refer to these people as “cattle,” and now, when she smelled +them herded together in these office rooms for several weeks, she knew +that she was right, and that no fate could be too stern for them. +Presently with Peter’s help she discovered another bomb-plot, this time +against the Attorney-General of the country, who was directing these +wholesale raids. They grabbed four Italian Anarchists in American City, +and kept them apart in special rooms, and for a couple of months Peter +labored with them to get what he wanted out of them. Just as Peter thought +he had succeeded, his efforts were balked by one of them jumping out of +the window. The room being on the fourteenth story, this Italian Anarchist +was no longer available as a witness against himself. The incident set the +parlor Bolsheviks all over the country to raging, and caused David Andrews +to get some kind of court injunction, and make a lot of inconvenience to +Guffey’s office. +</p> +<p> +However, the work went on; the Reds were gradually sorted out, and some +who proved not to be Reds were let go again, and others were loaded onto +special Red trains and taken to the nearest ports. Some of them went in +grim silence, others went with furious cursings, and yet others with +wailings and shriekings; for many of them had families, and they had the +nerve to demand that the government should undertake to ship their +families also, or else to take care of their families for them! The +government, naturally, admitted no such responsibility. The Reds had no +end of money for printing seditious literature, so let them use it to take +care of their own! +</p> +<p> +In these various raids and examinations Peter of course met a great many +of the Reds whom he had once known as friends and intimates. Peter had +been wont to imagine himself meeting them, and to tremble at the bare +idea; but now he found that he rather enjoyed it. He was entirely +delivered from that fear of them, which had formerly spoiled his appetite +and disturbed his sleep. He had learned that the Reds were poor creatures +who did not fight back; they had no weapons, and many of them did not even +have muscles; there was really nothing to them but talk. And Peter knew +that he had the power of organized society behind him, the police and the +courts and the jails, if necessary the army with its machine guns and +airplanes and poison gas. Not merely was it safe to pound these people, to +tread on their toes and spit in their eyes; it was safe also to frame up +anything on them, because the newspapers would always back you up, and the +public would of course believe whatever it read in its newspapers. +</p> +<p> +No, Peter was no longer afraid of the Reds! He made up his mind that he +was not even afraid of Mac, the most dangerous Red of them all. Mac was +safely put away in jail for twenty years, and although his case had been +appealed, the court had refused to grant a stay of sentence or to let him +out on bail. As it happened, Peter got a glimpse into Mac’s soul in jail, +and knew that even that proud, grim spirit was breaking. Mac in jail had +written a letter to one of his fellow-Reds in American City, and the +post-office authorities had intercepted the letter, and Guffey had shown +it to Peter. “Write to us!” Mac had pleaded. “For God’s sake, write to us! +The worst horror of being in jail is that you are forgotten. Do at least +let us know that somebody is thinking about us!” + </p> +<p> +So Peter knew that he was the victor, he was “top dog.” And when he met +these Reds whom he had been so afraid of, he took pleasure in letting them +feel the weight of his authority, and sometimes of his fist. It was +amusing to see the various ways in which they behaved toward him. Some +would try to plead with him, for the sake of old times; some would cringe +and whine to him; some would try to reason with him, to touch his +conscience. But mostly they would be haughty, they would glare at him with +hate, or put a sneer of contempt on their faces. So Peter would set his +“bulls” to work to improve their manners, and a little thumb-bending and +wrist-twisting would soon do the work. +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0083" id="link2H_4_0083"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +Section 83 +</h2> +<p> +Among the first load to be brought in was Miriam Yankovich. Miriam had +joined the Communist Party, and she had been born in Russia, so that was +all there was to her case. Peter, knew, of course that it was Miriam who +had set Rosie Stern after him and brought about his downfall. Still, he +could not help but be moved by her appearance. She looked haggard and old, +and she had a cough, and her eyes were wild and crazy. Peter remembered +her as proud and hot-tempered, but now her pride was all gone—she +flung herself on her knees before him, and caught hold of his coat, +sobbing hysterically. It appeared that she had a mother and five young +brothers and sisters who were dependent upon her earnings; all her money +had been consumed by hospital expenses, and now she was to be deported to +Russia, and what would become of her loved ones? +</p> +<p> +Peter answered, what could he do? She had violated the law, they had her +membership card in the Communist Party, and she had admitted that she was +alien born. He tried to draw away, but she clung to him, and went on +sobbing and pleading. At least she ought to have a chance to talk with her +old mother, to tell her what to do, where to go for help, how to +communicate with Miriam in future. They were sending her away without +allowing her to have a word with her loved ones, without even a chance to +get her clothing! +</p> +<p> +Peter, as we know, had always been soft-hearted towards women, so now he +was embarrassed. In the handling of these cattle he was carrying out the +orders of his superiors; he had no power to grant favors to any one, and +he told Miriam this again and again. But she would not listen to him. +“Please, Peter, please! For God’s sake, Peter! You know you were once a +little in love with me, Peter—you told me so—” + </p> +<p> +Yes, that was true, but it hadn’t done Peter much good. Miriam had been +interested in Mac—in Mac, that most dangerous devil, who had given +Peter so many anxious hours! She had brushed Peter to one side, she had +hardly been willing to listen to what he said; and now she was trying to +use that love she had spurned! +</p> +<p> +She had got hold of his hand, and he could not get it away from her +without violence. “If you ever felt a spark of love for a woman,” she +cried, “surely you cannot deny such a favor—such a little favor! +Please, Peter, for the sake of old times!” + </p> +<p> +Suddenly Peter started, and Miriam too. There came a voice from the +doorway. “So this is one of your lady friends, is it?” And there stood +Gladys, staring, rigid with anger, her little hands clenched. “So this is +one of your Red sweethearts, one of your nationalized women?” And she +stamped her foot. “Get up, you hussy! Get up, you slut!” And as Miriam +continued to kneel, motionless with surprise, Gladys rushed at her, and +clutched two handfuls of her heavy black hair, and pulled so that Miriam +fell prone on the floor. “I’ll teach you, you free lover!” she screamed. +“I’ll teach you to make love to my husband!” And she dragged Miriam about +by that mop of black hair, kicking her and clawing her, until finally +several of the bulls had to interfere to save the girl’s life. +</p> +<p> +As a matter of fact Gladys had been told about Peter’s shameful past +before she married him; Guffey had told her, and she had told Peter that +Guffey had told her, she had reminded Peter of it many, many times. But +the actual sight of one of these “nationalized women” had driven her into +a frenzy, and it was a week before peace was restored in the Gudge family. +Meantime poor Peter was buffeted by storms of emotion, both at home and in +his office. They were getting ready the first Red train, and it seemed as +if every foreign Red that Peter had ever known was besieging him, trying +to get at him and harrow his soul and his conscience. Sadie Todd’s cousin, +who had been born in England, was shipped out on this first train, and +also a Finnish lumberman whom Peter had known in the I. W. W., and a +Bohemian cigar worker at whose home he had several times eaten, and +finally Michael Dubin, the Jewish boy with whom he had spent fifteen days +in jail, and who had been one of the victims of the black-snake whippings. +</p> +<p> +Michael made no end of wailing, because he had a wife and three babies, +and he set up the claim that when the “bulls” had raided his home they had +stolen all his savings, two or three hundred dollars. Peter, of course, +insisted that he could do nothing; Dubin was a Red and an alien, and he +must go. When they were loading them on the train, there was Dubin’s wife +and half a hundred other women, shrieking and wringing their hands, and +trying to break thru the guards to get near their loved ones. The police +had to punch them in the stomachs with their clubs to hold them back, and +in spite of all these blows, the hysterical Mrs. Dubin succeeded in +breaking thru the guards, and she threw herself under the wheels of the +train, and they were barely able to drag her away in time to save her +life. Scenes like this would, of course, have a bad effect upon the +public, and so Guffey called up the editors of all the newspapers, and +obtained a gentleman’s agreement that none of them would print any +details. +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0084" id="link2H_4_0084"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +Section 84 +</h2> +<p> +All over the country the Red trains were moving eastward, loaded with +“wobblies” and communists, pacifists and anarchists, and a hundred other +varieties of Bolsheviks. They got a shipload together and started them off +for Russia—the “Red Ark” it was called, and the Red soap-boxers set +tip a terrific uproar, and one Red clergyman compared the “Red Ark” to the +Mayflower! Also there was some Red official in Washington, who made a fuss +and cancelled a whole block of deportation orders, including some of +Peter’s own cases. This, naturally, was exasperating to Peter and his +wife; and on top of it came another incident that was still more +humiliating. +</p> +<p> +There was a “pink” mass meeting held in American City, to protest against +the deportations. Guffey said they would quite probably raid the meeting, +and Peter must go along, so as to point out the Reds to the bulls. The +work was in charge of a police detective by the name of Garrity, head of +what was called the “Bomb Squad”; but this man didn’t know very much, so +he had the habit of coming to Peter for advice. Now he had the whole +responsibility of this meeting, and he asked Peter to come up on the +platform with him, and Peter went. Here was a vast audience—all the +Red fury which had been pent up for many months, breaking loose in a +whirlwind of excitement. Here were orators, well dressed and apparently +respectable men, not in any way to be distinguished from the born rulers +of the country, coming forward on the platform and uttering the most +treasonable sentences, denouncing the government, denouncing the blockade +against Russia, praising the Bolshevik government of Russia, declaring +that the people who went away in the “Soviet Ark” were fortunate, because +they were escaping from a land of tyranny into a land of freedom. At every +few sentences the orator would be stopped by a storm of applause that +broke from the audience. +</p> +<p> +And what was a poor Irish Catholic police detective to make of a +proposition like that? Here stood an orator declaring: “Whenever any form +of government becomes destructive to these ends, it is the right of the +people to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new government, laying +its foundations on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, +as to them shall seem most likely to effect their safety and happiness.” + And Garrity turned to Peter. “What do you think of that?” he said, his +good-natured Irish face blank with dismay. +</p> +<p> +Peter thought it was the limit. Peter knew that thousands of men all over +America had been sent to prison for saying things less dangerous than +that. Peter had read many sets of instructions from the office of the +Attorney-General of the United States, and knew officially that that was +precisely the thing you were never under any circumstances permitted to +say, or to write, or even to think. So Peter said to Garrity: “That +fellow’s gone far enough. You better arrest him.” Garrity spoke to his +men, and they sprang forward on the platform, and stopped the orator and +placed him and all his fellow-orators under arrest, and ordered the +audience out of the building. There were a couple of hundred policemen and +detectives on hand to carry out Garrity’s commands, and they formed a line +with their clubs, and drove the crowd before them, and carted the speakers +off in a patrol wagon. Then Peter went back to Guffey’s office, and told +what he had done—and got a reception that reminded him of the time +Guffey had confronted him with the letter from Nell Doolin! “Who do you +think that was you pinched?” cried Guffey. “He’s the brother of a United +States senator! And what do you think he was saying? That was a sentence +from the Declaration of Independence!” + </p> +<p> +Peter couldn’t “get it”; Peter was utterly lost. Could a man go ahead and +break the law, just because he happened to be a brother of a United States +senator? And what difference did it make whether a thing was in the +Declaration of Independence, if it was seditious, if it wasn’t allowed to +be said? This incident brought Guffey and the police authorities of the +city so much ridicule that Guffey got all his men together and read them a +lecture, explaining to them just what were the limits of the anti-Red +activities, just who it was they mustn’t arrest, and just what it was they +couldn’t keep people from saying. For example, a man couldn’t be arrested +for quoting the Bible. +</p> +<p> +“But Jesus Christ, Guffey,” broke in one of the men, “have all of us got +to know the Bible by heart?” + </p> +<p> +There was a laugh all round. “No,” Guffey admitted, “but at least be +careful, and don’t arrest anybody for saying anything that sounds as if it +came from the Bible.” + </p> +<p> +“But hell!” put in another of the men, who happened to be an ex-preacher. +“That’ll tie us up tighter than a jail-sentence! Look what’s in the +Bible!” + </p> +<p> +And he proceeded to quote some of the things, and Peter knew that he had +never heard any Bolshevik talk more outrageous than that. It made one +realize more than ever how complicated was this Red problem; for Guffey +insisted, in spite of everything, that every word out of the Bible was +immune. “Up in Winnipeg,” said he, “they indicted a clergyman for quoting +two passages from the prophet Isaiah, but they couldn’t face it, they had +to let the fellow go.” And the same thing was true of the Declaration of +Independence; anybody might read it, no matter how seditious it was. And +the same thing was true of the Constitution, even tho the part called the +Bill of Rights declared that everybody in America might do all the things +that Guffey’s office was sending them to jail for doing! +</p> +<p> +This seemed a plain crazy proposition; but Guffey explained it as a matter +of politics. If they went too far, these fellows would go out and capture +the votes from them, and maybe take away the government from them, and +where would they be then? Peter had never paid any attention to politics +before this, but both he and Gladys realized after this lecture that they +must broaden their view-point. It was not enough to put the Reds in jail +and crack their skulls, you had to keep public sympathy for what you were +doing, you had to make the public understand that it was necessary, you +had to carry on what was called “propaganda,” to keep the public aware of +the odiousness of these cattle, and the desperate nature of their +purposes. +</p> +<p> +The man who perceived that most clearly was the Attorney-General of the +country, and Guffey in his lecture pointed out the double nature of his +activities. Not merely was the Attorney-General breaking up the Communist +and the Communist Labor parties and sending their members to jail; he was +using the funds of his office to send out an endless stream of propaganda, +to keep the country frightened about these Red plots. Right now he had men +in American City working over the data which Guffey had collected, and +every week or two he would make a speech somewhere, or would issue a +statement to the newspapers, telling of new bomb plots and new +conspiracies to overthrow the government. And how clever he was about it! +He would get the pictures of the very worst-looking of the Reds, pictures +taken after they had been kept in jail for weeks without a shave, and with +the third degree to spoil their tempers; and these pictures would be +spread on a sheet with the caption: “MEN LIKE THESE WOULD RULE YOU.” This +would be sent to ten thousand country newspapers all over the nation, and +ninety-nine hundred would publish it, and ninety-nine million Americans +would want to murder the Reds next morning. So successful had this plan +proven that the Attorney-General was expecting to be nominated for +President by means of it, and all the agencies of his department were +working to that end. +</p> +<p> +The same thing was being done by all the other agencies of big business +all over the country. The “Improve America League” of American City was +publishing full-page advertisements in the “Times,” and the “Home and +Fireside Association” of Eldorado was doing the same thing in the Eldorado +“Times,” and the “Patriot’s Defense Legion” was doing the same thing in +the Flagland “Banner.” They were investigating the records of all +political candidates, and if any of them showed the faintest tinge of +pink, Guffey’s office would set to work to rake up their records and get +up scandals on them, and the business men would contribute a big campaign +fund, and these candidates would be snowed under at the polls. That was +the kind of work they were doing, and all Guffey’s operatives must bear in +mind the importance of it, and must never take any step that would hamper +this political campaign, this propaganda on behalf of law and order. +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0085" id="link2H_4_0085"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +Section 85 +</h2> +<p> +Peter went out from this conference a sober man, realizing for the first +time his responsibilities as a voter, and a shepherd to other voters. +Peter agreed with Gladys that his views had been too narrow; his +conception of the duties of a secret agent had been of the pre-war order. +Now he must realize that the world was changed; now, in this new world +made safe for democracy, the secret agent was the real ruler of society, +the real master of affairs, the trustee, as it were, for civilization. +Peter and his wife must take up this new role and make themselves fit for +it. They ought of course not be moved by personal considerations, but at +the same time they must recognize the fact that this higher role would be +of great advantage to them; it would enable them to move up in the world, +to meet the best people. Thru five or six years of her young life Gladys +had sat polishing the fingernails and fondling the soft white hands of the +genteel; and always a fire of determination had burnt in her breast, that +some day she would belong to this world of gentility, she would meet these +people, not as an employee, but as an equal, she would not merely hold +their hands, but would have them hold hers. +</p> +<p> +Now the chance had come. She had a little talk with Guffey, and Guffey +said it would be a good idea, and he would speak to Billy Nash, the +secretary of the “Improve America League”; and he did so, and next week +the American City “Times” announced that on the following Sunday evening +the Men’s Bible Class of the Bethlehem Church would have an interesting +meeting. It would be addressed by an “under cover” operative of the +government, a former Red who had been for many years a most dangerous +agitator, but had seen the error of his ways, and had made amends by +giving his services to the government in the recent I. W. W. trials. +</p> +<p> +The Bethlehem Church didn’t amount to very much, it was an obscure sect +like the Holy Rollers; but Gladys had been shrewd, and had insisted that +you mustn’t try to climb to the top of the mountain in one step. Peter +must first “try it on the dog,” and if he failed, there would be no great +harm done. +</p> +<p> +But Gladys worked just as hard to make a success of this lecture as if +they had been going into real society. She spent several days getting up +her costume and Peter’s, and she spent a whole day getting her toilet +ready, and before they set out she spent at least an hour putting the +finishing touches upon herself in front of a mirror, and seeing that Peter +was proper in every detail. When Mr. Nash introduced her personally to the +Rev. Zebediah Muggins, and when this apostle of the second advent came out +upon the platform and introduced her husband to the crowded working-class +audience, Gladys was so a-quiver with delight that it was more a pain than +a pleasure. +</p> +<p> +Peter did not do perfectly, of course. He lost himself a few times, and +stammered and floundered about; but he remembered Glady’s advice—if +he got stuck, to smile and explain that he had never spoken in public +before. So everything went along nicely, and everybody in the Men’s Bible +Class was aghast at the incredible revelations of this ex-Red and secret +agent of law and order. So next week Peter was invited again—this +time by the Young Saints’ League; and when he had made good there, he was +drafted by the Ad. Men’s Association, and then by the Crackers and Cheese +Club. By this time he had acquired what Gladys called “savwaa fair”; his +fame spread rapidly, and at last came the supreme hour—he was +summoned to Park Avenue to address the members of the Friendly Society, a +parish organization of the Church of the Divine Compassion! +</p> +<p> +This was the goal upon which the eyes of Gladys had been fixed. This was +the time that really counted, and Peter was groomed and rehearsed all over +again. Their home was only a few blocks from the church, but Gladys +insisted that they must positively arrive in a taxi-cab, and when they +entered the Parish Hall and the Rev. de Willoughby Stotterbridge, that +exquisite almost-English gentleman, came up and shook hands with them, +Gladys knew that she had at last arrived. The clergyman himself escorted +her to the platform, and after he had introduced Peter, he seated himself +beside her, thus definitely putting a seal upon her social position. +</p> +<p> +Peter, having learned his lecture by heart, having found out just what +brought laughter and what brought tears and what brought patriotic +applause, was now an assured success. After the lecture he answered +questions, and two clerks in the employ of Billy Nash passed around +membership cards of the “Improve America League,” membership dues five +dollars a year, sustaining membership twenty-five dollars a year, life +membership two hundred dollars cash. Peter was shaken hands with by +members of the most exclusive social set in American City, and told by +them all to keep it up—his country needed him. Next morning there +was an account of his lecture in the “Times,” and the morning after there +was an editorial about his revelations, with the moral: “Join the Improve +America League.” + </p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0086" id="link2H_4_0086"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +Section 86 +</h2> +<p> +That second morning, when Peter got to his office, he found a letter +waiting for him, a letter written on very conspicuous and expensive +stationery, and addressed in a woman’s tall and sharp-pointed handwriting. +Peter opened it and got a start, for at the top of the letter was some +kind of crest, and a Latin inscription, and the words: “Society of the +Daughters of the American Revolution.” The letter informed him by the hand +of a secretary that Mrs. Warring Sammye requested that Mr. Peter Gudge +would be so good as to call upon her that afternoon at three o’clock. +Peter studied the letter, and tried to figure out what kind of Red this +was. He was impressed by the stationery and the regal tone, but that word +“Revolution” was one of the forbidden words. Mrs. Warren Sammye must be +one of the “Parlor Reds,” like Mrs. Godd. +</p> +<p> +So Peter took the letter to McGivney, and said suspiciously, “What kind of +a Red plot is this?” + </p> +<p> +McGivney read the letter, and said, “Red plot? How do you mean?” + </p> +<p> +“Why,” explained Peter, “it says ‘Daughters of the American Revolution.’” + </p> +<p> +And McGivney looked at him; at first he thought that Peter was joking, but +when he saw that the fellow was really in earnest, he guffawed in his +face. “You boob!” he said. “Didn’t you ever hear of the American +Revolution? Don’t you know anything about the Fourth of July?” + </p> +<p> +Just then the telephone rang and interrupted them, and McGivney shoved the +letter to him saying, “Ask your wife about it!” So when Gladys came in, +Peter gave her the letter, and she was much excited. It appeared that Mrs. +Warring Sammye was a very tip-top society lady in American City, and this +American Revolution of which she was a daughter was a perfectly +respectable revolution that had happened a long time ago; the very best +people belonged to it, and it was legal and proper to write about, and +even to put on your letterheads. Peter must go home and get himself into +his best clothes at once, and telephone to the secretary that he would be +pleased to call upon Mrs. Warring Sammye at the hour indicated. +Incidentally, there were a few more things for Peter to study. He must get +a copy of the social register, “Who’s Who in American City,” and he must +get a history of his country, and learn about the Declaration of +Independence, and what was the difference between a revolution that had +happened a long time ago and one that was happening now. +</p> +<p> +So Peter went to call on the great society lady in her grey stone mansion, +and found her every bit as opulent as Mrs. Godd, with the addition that +she respected her own social position; she did not make the mistake of +treating Peter as an equal, and so it did not occur to Peter that he might +settle down permanently in her home. Her purpose was to tell Peter that +she had heard of his lecture about the Red menace, and that she was +chairman of the Board of Directors of the Lady Patronesses of the Home for +Disabled War Veterans in American City, and she wanted to arrange to have +Peter deliver this lecture to the veterans. And Peter, instructed in +advance by Gladys, said that he would be very glad to donate this lecture +as a patriotic contribution. Mrs. Warring Sammye thanked him gravely in +the name of his country, and said she would let him know the date. +</p> +<p> +Peter went home, and Gladys made a wry face, because the lecture was to be +delivered before a lot of good-for-nothing soldiers in some hall, when it +had been her hope that it was to be delivered to the Daughters themselves, +and in Mrs. Warring Sammye’s home. However, to have attracted Mrs. Warring +Sammye’s attention for anything was in itself a triumph. So Gladys was +soon cheerful again, and she told Peter about Mrs. Warring Sammye’s life; +one picked up such valuable knowledge in the gossip at the manicure +parlors, it appeared. +</p> +<p> +Then, being in a friendly mood, Gladys talked to Peter about himself. They +had mounted to a height from which they could look back upon the past and +see it as a whole, and in the intimacy and confidence of their domestic +partnership they could draw lessons from their mistakes and plan their +future wisely. Peter had made many blunders—he must surely admit +that. Did Peter admit that? Yes, Peter did. But, continued Gladys, he had +struggled bravely, and he had the supreme good fortune to have secured for +himself that greatest of life’s blessings, the cooperation of a good and +capable woman. Gladys was very emphatic about this latter, and Peter +agreed with her. He agreed also when she stated that it is the duty of a +good and capable wife to protect her husband for the balance of their +life’s journey, so that he would be able to avoid the traps which his +enemies set for his feet. Peter, having learned by bitter experience, +would never again go chasing after a pretty face, and wake up next morning +to find his pockets empty. Peter admitted this too. As this conversation +progressed, he realized that the tour of triumph his life had become was a +thing entirely of his wife’s creation; at least, he realized that there +would be no use in trying to change his wife’s conviction on the subject. +Likewise he meekly accepted her prophecies as to his future conduct; he +would bring home his salary at the end of each week, and his wife would +use it, together with her own salary, to improve the appearance and tone +of both of them, and to aid them to climb to a higher social position. +</p> +<p> +Peter, following his wife’s careful instructions, has already become more +dignified in his speech, more grave in his movements. She tells him that +the future of society depends on his knowledge and his skill, and he +agrees to this also. He has learned what you can do and what you had +better not do; he will never again cross the dead-line into crime, or take +chances with experiments in blackmail. He will try no more free lance work +under the evil influence of low creatures like Nell Doolin, but will stand +in with the “machine,” and bear in mind that honesty is the best policy. +So he will steadily progress; he will meet the big men of the country, and +will go to them, not cringing and twisting his hat in his hands, but with +quiet self-possession. He will meet the agents of the Attorney-General +aspiring to become President, and will furnish them with material for +their weekly Red scares. He will meet legislators who want to unseat +elected Socialists, and governors who wish to jail the leaders of “outlaw” + strikes. He will meet magazine writers getting up articles, and popular +novelists looking for local Red color. +</p> +<p> +But Peter’s best bid of all will be as a lecturer. He will be able to +travel all over the country, making a sensation. Did he know why? No, +Peter answered, he was not sure he did. Well, Gladys could tell him; it +was because he was romantic. Peter didn’t know just what this word meant, +but it sounded flattering, so he smiled sheepishly, showing his crooked +teeth, and asked how Gladys found out that he was romantic. The reply was +a sudden order for him to stand up and turn around slowly. +</p> +<p> +Peter didn’t like to get up from his comfortable Morris chair, but he did +what his wife asked him. She inspected him on all sides and exclaimed, +“Peter, you must go on a diet; you’re getting ombongpoing!” She said this +in horrified tones, and Peter was frightened, because it sounded like a +disease. But Gladys added: “You can not be a romantic figure on a lecture +platform if you’ve got a bay-window!” + </p> +<p> +Peter found it interesting to be talked about, so he asked again why +Gladys thought he was romantic. There were several reasons, she said, but +the main one was that he had been a dangerous criminal, and had reformed, +which pleased the church people; he had made a happy ending by marriage, +which pleased those who read novels. +</p> +<p> +“Is that so?” said Peter, guilelessly, and she assured him that it was. +“And what else?” he asked, and she explained that he had known intimately +and at first hand those dreadful and dangerous people, those ogres of the +modern world, the Bolsheviks, about whom the average man and woman learned +only thru the newspapers. And not merely did he tell a sensational story, +but he ended it with a money-making lesson. The lesson was “Contribute to +the Improve America League. Make out your checks to the Home and Fireside +Association. The existence of your country depends upon your sustaining +the Patriot’s Defense Legion.” So the fame of Peter’s lecture would +spread, and the Guffeys and Billy Nashes of every city and town in America +would clamor for him to come, and when he came, the newspapers would +publish his picture, and he and his wife would be welcomed by leaders of +the best society. They would become social lions, and would see the homes +of the rich, and gradually become one of the rich. +</p> +<p> +Gladys looked her spouse over again, as they started to their sleeping +apartment. Yes, he was undoubtedly putting on “ombongpoing”; he would have +to take up golf. He was wearing a little American flag dangling from his +watch chain, and she wondered if that wasn’t a trifle crude. Gladys +herself now wore a real diamond ring, and had learned to say “vahse” and +“baahth.” She yawned prettily as she took off her lovely brown +“tailor-made,” and reflected that such things come with ease and security. +</p> +<p> +Both she and Peter now had these in full measure. They had lost all fear +of ever finding themselves out of a job. They had come to understand that +the Red menace is not to be so easily exterminated; it is a distemper that +lurks in the blood of society, and breaks out every now and then in a new +rash. Gladys had come to agree with the Reds to this extent, that so long +as there is a class of the rich and prosperous, so long will there be +social discontent, so long will there be some that make their living by +agitating, denouncing and crying out for change. Society is like a garden; +each year when you plant your vegetables there springs up also a crop of +weeds, and you have to go down the rows and chop off the heads of these +weeds. Gladys’ husband is an expert gardener, he knows how to chop weeds, +and he knows that society will never be able to dispense with his +services. So long as gardening continues, Peter will be a head +weedchopper, and a teacher of classes of young weedchoppers. +</p> +<p> +Ah, it was fine to have married such a man! It was the reward a good woman +received for helping her husband, making him into a good citizen, a +patriot and an upholder of law and order: For always, of course, those who +own the garden would see that their head weedchopper was taken care of, +and had his share of the best that the garden produced. Gladys stood +before her looking-glass, braiding her hair for the night, and thinking of +the things she would ask from this garden. She and Peter had earned, and +they would demand, the sweetest flowers, the most luscious fruits. +Suddenly Gladys stretched wide her arms in an ecstasy of realization. +“We’re a Success, Peter! We’re a Success! We’ll have money and all the +lovely things it will buy! Do you realize, Peter, what a hit you’ve made?” + </p> +<p> +Peter saw her face of joy, but he was a tiny bit frightened and uncertain, +because of this unusual sharing of the honors. So Gladys was impelled to +affection, mingled with pity. She held out her arms to him. “Poor, dear +Peter! He’s had such a hard life! It was cruel he didn’t have me sooner to +help him!” + </p> +<p> +And then Gladys reflected for a moment, and was moved to another outburst. +“Just think, Peter, how wonderful it is to be an American! In America you +can always rise if you do your duty! America is the land of the free! Your +example of a poor boy’s success ought to convince even the fool Reds that +they’re wrong—that any boy can rise if he works hard! Why, I’ve +heard it said that in America the poorest boy can rise to be President! +How would you like to be President, Peter?” + </p> +<p> +Peter hesitated. He doubted if he was equal to that big a job, but he knew +that it would not please Gladys for him to say so. He murmured, “Perhaps—some +day—” + </p> +<p> +“Anyhow, Peter,” his wife continued, “I’m for this country! I’m an +American!” + </p> +<p> +And this time Peter didn’t have to hesitate. “You bet!” he said, and added +his favorite formula—“100%!” + </p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_APPE" id="link2H_APPE"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +APPENDIX +</h2> +<p> +A little experimenting with the manuscript of “100%" has revealed to the +writer that everybody has a series of questions they wish immediately to +ask: How much of it is true? To what extent have the business men of +America been compelled to take over the detection and prevention of +radicalism? Have they, in putting down the Reds, been driven to such +extreme measures as you have here shown? +</p> +<p> +A few of the incidents in “100%" are fictional, for example the story of +Nell Doolin and Nelse Ackerman; but everything that has social +significance is truth, and has been made to conform to facts personally +known to the writer or to his friends. Practically all the characters in +“100%" are real persons. Peter Gudge is a real person, and has several +times been to call upon the writer in the course of his professional +activities; Guffey and McGivney are real persons, and so is Billy Nash, +and so is Gladys Frisbie. +</p> +<p> +To begin at the beginning: the “Goober case” parallels in its main +outlines the case of Tom Mooney. If you wish to know about this case, send +fifteen cents to the Mooney Defense Committee, Post Office Box 894, San +Francisco, for the pamphlet, “Shall Mooney Hang,” by Robert Minor. The +business men of San Francisco raised a million dollars to save the city +from union labor, and the Mooney case was the way they did it. It +happened, however, that the judge before whom Mooney was convicted +weakened, and wrote to the Attorney-General of the State to the effect +that he had become convinced that Mooney was convicted by perjured +testimony. But meantime Mooney was in jail, and is there still. Fremont +Older, editor of the San Francisco “Call,” who has been conducting an +investigation into this case, has recently written to the author: +“Altogether, it is the most amazing story I have ever had anything to do +with. When all is known that I think can be known, it will be shown +clearly that the State before an open-eyed community was able to murder a +man with the instruments that the people have provided for bringing about +justice. There isn’t a scrap of testimony in either of the Mooney or +Billings cases that wasn’t perjured, except that of the man who drew the +blue prints of Market Street.” + </p> +<p> +To what extent has the detection and punishment of radicalism in America +passed out of the hands of public authorities and into the hands of “Big +Business?” Any business man will of course agree that when “Big Business” + has interests to protect, it must and will protect them. So far as +possible it will make use of the public authorities; but when thru +corruption or fear of politics these fail, “Big Business” has to act for +itself. In the Colorado coal strike the coal companies raised the money to +pay the state militia, and recruited new companies of militia from their +private detectives. The Reds called this “Government by Gunmen,” and the +writer in his muckraking days wrote a novel about it, “King Coal.” The man +who directed the militia during this coal strike was A. C. Felts of the +Baldwin-Felts Detective Agency, who was killed just the other day while +governing several coal counties in West Virginia. +</p> +<p> +You will find this condition in the lumber country of Washington and +Oregon, in the oil country of Oklahoma and Kansas, in the copper country +of Michigan, Montana and Arizona, and in all the big coal districts. In +the steel country of Western Pennsylvania you will find that all the local +authorities are officials of the steel companies. If you go to Bristol, R. +I., you will find that the National India Rubber Company has agreed to pay +the salaries of two-thirds of the town’s police force. +</p> +<p> +In every large city in America the employers’ associations have raised +funds to hold down the unions and smash the Reds, and these funds are +being expended in the way portrayed in “100%.” In Los Angeles the +employers’ association raised a million dollars, and the result was the +case of Sydney R. Flowers, briefly sketched in this story under the name +of “Sydney.” The reader who wishes the details of this case is referred to +Chapter LXVI of “The Brass Cheek.” Flowers has been twice tried, and is +about to be tried a third time, and our District-Attorney is quoted as +saying that he will be tried half a dozen times if necessary. At the last +trial there were produced a total of twenty-five witnesses against +Flowers, and out of these nineteen were either Peter Gudges and McGivneys, +or else police detectives, or else employees of the local political +machine. A deputy United States attorney, talking to me about the case, +told me that he had refused to prosecute it because he realized that the +“Paul letter,” upon which the arrest had been based, was a frame-up, and +that he was quite sure he knew who had written it. He also told me that +there had been formed in Los Angeles a secret committee of fifty of the +most active rich men of the town; that he could not find out what they +were doing, but they came to his offices and demanded the secret records +of the government; and that when he refused to prosecute Flowers they had +influence enough to have the governor of California telegraph to +Washington in protest. Questioned on the witness stand, I repeated these +statements, and the deputy United States attorney was called to the stand +and attributed them to my “literary imagination.” + </p> +<p> +In the old Russian and Austrian empires the technique of trapping +agitators was well developed, and the use of spies and “under cover” men +for the purpose of luring the Reds into crime was completely worked out. +We have no English equivalent for the phrase “agent provocateur,” but in +the last four years we have put thousands of them at work in America. In +the case against Flowers three witnesses were produced who had been active +among the I. W. Ws., trying to incite crime, and were being paid to give +testimony for the state. One of these men admitted that he had himself +burned some forty barns, and was now receiving three hundred dollars a +month and expenses. At the trial of William Bross Lloyd in Chicago, +charged with membership in the Communist party, a similar witness was +produced. Santeri Nourteva, of, the Soviet Bureau in New York, has charged +that Louis C. Fraina, editor of the “Revolutionary Age,” was a government +agent, and Fraina wrote into the platform of the Communist party the +planks which were used in prosecuting and deporting its members. On +December 27, 1919, the chief of the Bureau of Investigation of the +Department of Justice in Washington sent to the head of his local bureau +in Boston a telegram containing the following sentences: “You should +arrange with your under cover informants to have meetings of the Communist +Party and Communist Labor Party held on the night set. I have been +informed by some of the bureau officers that such arrangements will be +made.” So much evidence of the activity of the provocateur was produced +before Federal Judge G. W. Anderson that he declared as follows: “What +does appear beyond reasonable dispute is that the Government owns and +operates some part of the Communist Party.” + </p> +<p> +It appears that Judge Anderson does not share the high opinion of the +“under cover” operative set forth by the writer of “100%.” Says Judge +Anderson: “I cannot adopt the contention that Government spies are any +more trustworthy, or less disposed to make trouble in order to profit +therefrom, than are spies in private industry. Except in time of war, when +a Nathan Hale may be a spy, spies are always necessarily drawn from the +unwholesome and untrustworthy classes. A right-minded man refuses such a +job. The evil wrought by the spy system in industry has, for decades, been +incalculable. Until it is eliminated, decent human relations cannot exist +between employers and employees, or even among employees. It destroys +trust and confidence; it kills human kindliness; it propagates hate.” + </p> +<p> +To what extent have the governmental authorities of America been forced to +deny to the Reds the civil rights guaranteed to good Americans by the laws +and the constitution? The reader who is curious on this point may send the +sum of twenty-five cents to the American Civil Liberties Union, 138 West +13th Street, New York, for the pamphlet entitled, “Report upon the Illegal +Practices of the United States Department of Justice,” signed by twelve +eminent lawyers in the country, including a dean of the Harvard Law +school, and a United States attorney who resigned because of his +old-fashioned ideas of law. This pamphlet contains sixty-seven pages, with +numerous exhibits and photographs. The practices set forth are listed +under six heads: Cruel and unusual punishments; arrests without warrant; +unreasonable searches and seizures; provocative agents; compelling persons +to be witnesses against themselves; propaganda by the Department of +Justice. The reader may also ask for the pamphlet entitled “Memorandum +Regarding the Persecution of the Radical Labor Movement in the United +States;” also for the pamphlet entitled “War Time Prosecution and Mob +Violence,” dated March, 1919, giving a list of cases which occupies forty +pages of closely printed type. Also he might read “The Case of the Rand +School,” published by the Rand School of Social Science, 7 East Fifteenth +Street, New York, and the pamphlets published by the National Office of +the Socialist Party, 220 South Ashland Blvd., Chicago, dealing with the +prosecutions of that organization. +</p> +<p> +To what extent has it been necessary to torture the Reds in prison in +America? Those who are interested are advised to write to Harry +Weinberger, 32 Union Square, New York, for the pamphlet entitled “Twenty +Years Prison,” dealing with the case of Mollie Steimer, and three others +who were sentenced for distributing a leaflet protesting against the war +on Russia; also to the American Civil Liberties Union for the pamphlet +entitled “Political Prisoners in Federal Military Prisons,” also the +pamphlet, “Uncle Sam: Jailer,” by Winthrop D. Lane, reprinted from the +“Survey;” also the pamphlet entitled “The Soviet of Deer Island, Boston +Harbor,” published by the Boston Branch of the American Civil Liberties +Union; also for the publications of the American Industrial Company, and +the American Freedom Foundation, 166 West Washington St., Chicago. +</p> +<p> +There may be some reader with a sense of humor who asks about the brother +of a United States senator being arrested for reading a paragraph from the +Declaration of Independence. This gentleman was the brother of United +States Senator France of Maryland, and curiously enough, the arrest took +place in the city of Philadelphia, where the Declaration of Independence +was adopted. There may be some reader who is curious about a clergyman +being indicted and arrested in Winnipeg for having quoted the prophet +Isaiah. The paragraph from the indictment in question reads as follows: +“That J. S. Woodsworth, on or about the month of June, in the year of our +Lord one thousand nine hundred and nineteen, at the City of Winnipeg, in +the Province of Manitoba, unlawfully and seditiously published seditious +libels in the words and figures following: ‘Woe unto them that decree +unrighteous decrees, and that write grievousness which they have +prescribed; to turn aside the needy from judgment, and to take away their +right from the poor of my people that widows may be their prey and that +they may rob the fatherless. . . . And they shall build houses and inhabit +them, and they shall plant vineyards and eat the fruit of them. They shall +not build and another inhabit, they shall not plant and another eat; for +as the days of a tree are the days of my people, and mine elect shall long +enjoy the work of their hands.’” + </p> +<p> +There has been reference in this book to the Centralia case. No one can +consider that he understands the technique of holding down the Reds until +he has studied this case, and therefore every friend of “Big Business” + should send fifty cents, either to the I. W. W. Headquarters, 1001 West +Madison Street, Chicago, or to the “Liberator,” New York, or to the +“Appeal to Reason,” Girard, Kansas, for the booklet, “The Centralia +Conspiracy,” by Ralph Chaplin, who attended the Centralia trial, and has +collected all the details and presents them with photographs and +documents. Many other stories about the I. W. W. have been told in the +course of “100%.” The reader will wish to know, are these men really so +dangerous, and have the business men of America been driven to treat them +as here described. The reader may again address the I. W. W. National +Headquarters for a four-page leaflet with the quaint title, “With Drops of +Blood the History of the Industrial Workers of the World has Been +Written.” Despite the fact that it is a bare record of cases, there are +many men serving long terms in prison in the United States for the offense +of having in their possession a copy of this leaflet, “With Drops of +Blood.” But the readers of this book, being all of them 100% Americans +engaged in learning the technique of smashing the Reds, will, I feel sure, +not be interfered with by the business men. Also I trust that the business +men will not object to my reprinting a few paragraphs from the leaflet, in +order to make the public realize how dangerously these Reds can write. I +will, of course, not follow their incendiary example and spatter my page +with big drops of imitation blood. I quote: +</p> +<p> +“We charge that I. W. W. members have been murdered, and mention here a +few of those who have lost their lives: +</p> +<p> +“Joseph Michalish was shot to death by a mob of so-called citizens. +Michael Hoey was beaten to death in San Diego. Samuel Chinn was so +brutally beaten in the county jail at Spokane, Washington, that he died +from the injuries. Joseph Hillstrom was judicially murdered within the +walls of the penitentiary at Salt Lake City, Utah. Anna Lopeza, a textile +worker, was shot and killed, and two other Fellow Workers were murdered +during the strike at Lawrence, Massachusetts. Frank Little, a cripple, was +lynched by hirelings of the Copper Trust at Butte, Montana. John Looney, +A. Robinowitz, Hugo Gerlot, Gustav Johnson, Felix Baron, and others were +killed by a mob of Lumber Trust gunmen on the Steamer Verona at the dock +at Everett, Washington. J. A. Kelly was arrested and re-arrested at +Seattle, Washington; finally died from the effects of the frightful +treatment he received. Four members of the I. W. W. were killed at Grabow, +Louisiana, where thirty were shot and seriously wounded. Two members were +dragged to death behind an automobile at Ketchikan, Alaska. +</p> +<p> +“These are but a few of the many who have given up their lives on the +altar of Greed, sacrificed in the ages-long struggle for Industrial +Freedom. +</p> +<p> +“We charge that many thousands of members of this organization have been +imprisoned, on most occasions arrested without warrant and held without +charge. To verify this statement it is but necessary that you read the +report of the Commission on Industrial Relations wherein is given +testimony of those who know of conditions at Lawrence, Massachusetts, +where nearly 900 men and women were thrown into prison during the Textile +Workers’ Strike at that place. This same report recites the fact that +during the Silk Workers’ Strike at Paterson, New Jersey, nearly 1,900 men +and women were cast into jail without charge or reason. Throughout the +northwest these kinds of outrages have been continually perpetrated +against members of the I. W. W. County jails and city prisons in nearly +every state in the Union have held or are holding members of this +organization. +</p> +<p> +“We charge that members of the I. W. W. have been tarred and feathered. +Frank H. Meyers was tarred and feathered by a gang of prominent citizens +at North Yakima, Washington. D. S. Dietz was tarred and feathered by a mob +led by representatives of the Lumber Trust at Sedro, Wooley, Washington. +John L. Metzen, attorney for the Industrial Workers of the World, was +tarred and feathered and severely beaten by a mob of citizens of Staunton, +Illinois. At Tulsa, Oklahoma, a mob of bankers and other business men +gathered up seventeen members of the I. W. W., loaded them in automobiles, +carried them out of town to a patch of woods, and there tarred and +feathered and beat them with rope. +</p> +<p> +“We charge that members of the Industrial Workers of the World have been +deported, and cite the cases of Bisbee, Arizona, where 1,164 miners, many +of them members of the I. W. W., and their friends, were dragged out of +their homes, loaded upon box cars, and sent out of the camp. They were +confined for months at Columbus, New Mexico. Many cases are now pending +against the copper companies and business men of Bisbee. A large number of +members were deported from Jerome, Arizona. Seven members of the I. W. W. +were deported from Florence, Oregon, and were lost for days in the woods, +Tom Lassiter, a crippled news vender, was taken out in the middle of the +night and badly beaten by a mob for selling the Liberator and other +radical papers. +</p> +<p> +“We charge that members of the I. W. W. have been cruelly and inhumanly +beaten. Hundreds of members can show scars upon their lacerated bodies +that were inflicted upon them when they were compelled to run the +gauntlet. Joe Marko and many others were treated in this fashion at San +Diego, California. James Rowan was nearly beaten to death at Everett, +Washington. At Lawrence, Massachusetts, the thugs of the Textile Trust +beat men and women who had been forced to go on strike to get a little +more of the good things of life. The shock and cruel whipping which they +gave one little Italian woman caused her to give premature birth to a +child. At Red Lodge, Montana, a member’s home was invaded and he was hung +by the neck before his screaming wife and children. At Franklin, New +Jersey, August 29, 1917, John Avila, an I. W. W., was taken in broad +daylight by the chief of police and an auto-load of business men to a +woods near the town and there hung to a tree. He was cut down before death +ensued, and badly beaten. It was five hours before Avila regained +consciousness, after which the town ‘judge’ sentenced him to three months +at hard labor. +</p> +<p> +“We charge that members of the I. W. W. have been starved. This statement +can be verified by the conditions existing in most any county jail where +members of the I. W. W. are confined. A very recent instance is at Topeka, +Kansas, where members were compelled to go on a hunger strike as a means +of securing food for themselves that would sustain life. Members have been +forced to resort to the hunger strike as a means of getting better food in +many places. You are requested to read the story written by Winthrop D. +Lane, which appears in the Sept. 6, 1919, number of ‘The Survey.’ This +story is a graphic description of the county jails in Kansas. +</p> +<p> +“We charge that I. W. W. members have been denied the right of +citizenship, and in each instance the judge frankly told the applicants +that they were refused on account of membership in the Industrial Workers +of the World, accompanying this with abusive remarks; members were denied +their citizenship papers by judge Hanford at Seattle, Washington, and +judge Paul O’Boyle at Scranton, Pennsylvania. +</p> +<p> +“We charge that members of the I. W. W. have been denied the privilege of +defense. This being an organization of working men who had little or no +funds of their own, it was necessary to appeal to the membership and the +working class generally for funds to provide a proper defense. The postal +authorities, acting under orders from the Postmaster-General at +Washington, D. C., have deliberately prevented the transportation of our +appeals, our subscription lists, our newspapers. These have been piled up +in the postoffices and we have never received a return of the stamps +affixed for mailing. +</p> +<p> +“We charge that the members of the I. W. W. have been held in exorbitant +bail. As an instance there is the case of Pietro Pierre held in the county +jail at Topeka, Kansas. His bond was fixed at $5,000, and when the amount +was tendered it was immediately raised to $10,000. This is only one of the +many instances that could be recorded. +</p> +<p> +“We charge that members of the I. W. W. have been compelled to submit to +involuntary servitude. This does not refer to members confined in the +penitentiaries, but would recall the reader’s attention to an I. W. W. +member under arrest in Birmingham, Alabama, taken from the prison and +placed on exhibition at a fair given in that city where admission of +twenty-five cents was charged to see the I. W. W.” + </p> +<p> +Finally, for the benefit of the reader who asks how it happens that such +incidents are not more generally known to the public, I will reprint the +following, from pages 382-383 of “The Brass Check,” dealing with the “New +York Times,” and its treatment of the writer’s novel, “Jimmie Higgins”: +</p> +<p> +“In the last chapters of this story an American soldier is represented as +being tortured in an American military prison. Says the ‘Times’: +</p> +<p> +“‘Mr. Sinclair should produce the evidence upon which he bases his +astounding accusations, if he has any. If he has simply written on hearsay +evidence, or, worse still, let himself be guided by his craving to be +sensational, he has laid himself open not only to censure but to +punishment.’ +</p> +<p> +“In reply to this, I send to the ‘Times’ a perfectly respectful letter, +citing scores of cases, and telling the ‘Times’ where hundreds of other +cases may be found. The ‘Times’ returns this letter without comment. A +couple of months pass, and as a result of the ceaseless agitation of the +radicals, there is a congressional investigation, and evidence of +atrocious cruelties is forced into the newspapers. The ‘Times’ publishes +an editorial entitled, ‘Prison Camp Cruelties,’ the first sentence of +which reads: ‘The fact that American soldiers confined in prison-camps +have been treated with extreme brutality may now be regarded as +established.’ So again I write a polite letter to the ‘Times,’ pointing +out that I think they owe me an apology. And how does the ‘Times’ treat +that? It alters my letter without my permission. It cuts out my request +for an apology, and also my quotation of its own words calling for my +punishment! The ‘Times,’ caught in a hole, refuses to let me remind its +readers that it wanted me ‘punished’ for telling the truth! ‘All the News +that’s Fit to Print!’” + </p> +<div style="height: 6em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg’s 100%: The Story of a Patriot, by Upton Sinclair + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 100%: THE STORY OF A PATRIOT *** + +***** This file should be named 5776-h.htm or 5776-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/5/7/7/5776/ + + +Text file produced by Charles Aldarondo + +HTML file produced by David Widger + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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