Comrade Koeln, a big glass-blower, broke into the discussion. The
German government was authority for the statement that the Lusitania
had been armed with guns. And when Norwood hooted at this, every
German in the room was up in arms. What did he have to disprove it?
The word of the British government! Was not "perfidious Albion" a
byword!

"The thing that beats me," declared the young lawyer, "is the way
you Germans stand up for the Kaiser now, when before the war you
couldn't find enough bad things to say about him."

"What beats me," countered Schneider, "is how you Americans stand up
for King George. Every newspaper in Wall Street howling for America
to go into the war--just because some millionaires got killed!"

"You don't seem to realize that the greater number of the men who
lost their lives on that ship were working men!"

"Ho! Ho!" hooted Comrade Stankewitz. "Vall Street loves so the
vorking men!"

Comrade Mary Allen, who loved all men, took up the argument. If
those working men had been killed in a mine disaster, caused by
criminal carelessness and greed for profits; if they had died of
some industrial disease which might easily have been prevented; if
they had been burned in a factory without fire-escapes--nobody in
Wall Street would have wanted to go to war. And, of course, every
Socialist considered this was true; every Socialist saw quite
clearly that the enormity of the Lusitania sinking lay in the fact
that it had reached and injured the privileged people, the people
who counted, who got their names in the papers and were not supposed
to be inconvenienced, even by war. So it was possible for Jimmie
Higgins, even though shocked by what the Germans had done, to be
irritated by the fuss which the Wall Street newspapers made.

Young Emil Forster spoke, and they listened to him, as they always
did. It was a quarrel, he said--and as usual in quarrels, both sides
had their rights and wrongs. You had to balance a few English and
American babies against the millions of German babies which the
British government intended to starve. It was British sea-power
maintaining itself--and of course controlling most of the channels
of publicity. It appealed to what it called "law"--that is to say,
the customs it had found convenient in the past. British cruisers
were able to visit and search vessels, and to take off their crews;
but submarines could not do that, so what the British clamour about
"law" amounted to was an attempt to keep Germany from using her only
weapon. After all, ask yourself honestly if it was any worse to
drown people quickly than to starve them slowly.

And then came "Wild Bill". This wrangling over German and British
gave him a pain in the guts. Couldn't they see, the big stiffs, that
they were playing the masters' game? Quarrelling among themselves,
when they ought to be waking up the workers, getting ready for the
real fight. And wizened-up little Stankewitz broke in again--that
vas vy he hated var, it divided the vorkers. There was nothing you
could say for var. But "Wild Bill" smiled his crooked smile. There
were several things you could say. War gave the workers guns, and
taught them to use them; how would it be if some day they turned
these guns about and fought their own battles?




III



Comrade Gerrity now took the chair and made an effort to get things
started. The minutes of the last meeting were read, new members were
voted on, and then Comrade Mary Allen rose to report for the Worker
committee. The fund had been completed, the first number of the
paper was to appear next week, and it was now up to every member of
the local to get up on his toes and hustle as never in his life
before. Comrade Mary, with her thin, eager face of a religious
zealot, made everyone share her fervour.

All save Lawyer Norwood. Since the retirement of Dr. Service he was
the chief pro-ally trouble-maker, and he now made a little speech.
He had been agreeably surprised to learn that the money had been
raised so quickly; but then certain uncomfortable doubts having
occurred to him, he had made inquiries and found there was some
mystery about the matter. It was stated that the new paper was to
demand a general strike in the Empire; and of course everybody knew
there were powerful and sinister forces now interested in promoting
strikes in munition factories.

"Wild Bill" was on his feet in an instant. Had the comrade any
objection to munition workers demanding the eight hour day?

"No," said Norwood, "of course not; but if we are going into a fight
with other people, we surely ought to know who they are and what
their purpose is. I have been informed--there seems to be a little
hesitation in talking about it--that a lot of money has been put up
by one man, and nobody knows who that man is."

"He's an organizer for the A. F. of L.!" The voice was Jimmie's. In
his excitement the solemn pledge of secrecy was entirely forgotten!

"Indeed!" said Norwood. "What is his name?"

Nobody answered.

"Has he shown his credentials?" Again silence.

"Of course, I don't need to tell men as familiar with union affairs
as the comrades here that every bona-fide organizer for a union
carries credentials. If he does not produce them, it is at least
occasion for writing to the organization and finding out about him.
Has anybody done that?"

Again there was silence.

"I don't want to make charges," said Norwood--

"Oh, no!" put in "Wild Bill". "You only want to make insinuations!"

"What I want to do is merely to make sure that the local knows what
it is doing. It is no secret anywhere in Leesville that money is
being spent to cause trouble in the Empire. No doubt this money has
passed through a great many hands since it left the Kaiser's, but we
may be sure that his hands are guiding it to its final end."

And then what an uproar! "Shame! Shame!" cried some; and others
cried, "Bring your proofs!" The "wild" members shouted, "Put him
out!" They had long wanted to get rid of Norwood, and this looked to
be their chance.

But the young lawyer stood his ground and gave them shot for shot.
They wanted proofs, did they? Suppose they had learned of a
capitalist conspiracy to wreck the unions in the city; and suppose
that the Leesville Herald had been clamouring for "proofs"--what
would they have thought?

"In other words," shouted Schneider, "you know it's true, yust
because it's Yermany!"

"I know it's true," said Norwood, "because it would help Germany to
win the war. One doesn't have to have any other evidence--if a
certain thing will help Germany to win the war, one knows that thing
is being done. All you Germans know that, and what's more, you're
proud of it; it's your efficiency that you boast."

Again there was a cry of "Shame! Shame!" But the cry came from
Comrade Mary, the Quaker lady, and it was evident that she had
expected a chorus, and was disconcerted at being alone.

Young Norwood, who knew his Germans, laughed scornfully. "Just now
your government is selling bonds in America, supposed to be for the
benefit of the families of the dead and wounded. Some of those bonds
have been taken in this city, as I happen to know. Does anybody
really believe the money will reach the families of the dead and
wounded?"

This time the Germans answered. "I belief it!" roared Comrade Koeln.
"And I! And I!" shouted others.

"That money is staying right here in Leesville!" proclaimed the
lawyer. "It is preparing a strike in the Empire!"

A dozen men wanted the floor at once. Schneider, the brewer, got it,
for the reason that he could outbellow anyone else. "What does the
comrade want?" he demanded. "Is he not for the eight hour day?"

"Has he got any of the old man Granitch's money?" shrilled "Wild
Bill". "Or maybe he doesn't know that Granitch is spending money to
get smart young lawyers to help keep his munition slaves at work?"




IV



Norwood, having thrown the fat into the fire, sat down for a while
and let it blaze. When the Germans taunted him with being afraid to
say what he really meant--that the local should oppose the demand
for the eight hour day--he merely laughed at them. He had wanted to
make them show themselves up, and he had done it. Not merely were
they willing to do the work of the Kaiser--they were willing to take
the Kaiser's pay for doing it!

"Take his pay?" cried "Wild Bill". "I'd take the devil's pay to
carry on Socialist propaganda!"

Old Hermann Forster rose and spoke, in his gentle sentimental voice.
If it were true that the Kaiser was paying money for such ends, he
would surely find he had bought very little. There were Socialists
in Germany, one must remember--

And then came a shrill laugh. Those tame German Socialists! It was
Comrade Claudel, a Belgian jeweller, who spoke. Would any rabbit be
afraid of such revolutionists as them? Eating out of the Kaiser's
hand--having their papers distributed in the trenches for government
propaganda! Talk to a Belgian about German Socialists!

So you saw the European national lines splitting Local Leesville in
two: on the one side, the Germans and the Austrians, the Russian
Jews, the Irish and the religious pacifists; on the other side, two
English glass-blowers, a French waiter, and several Americans who,
because of college-education or other snobbish weakness, were
suspected of tenderness for John Bull. Between these extreme
factions stood the bulk of the membership, listening bewildered,
trying to grope their way through the labyrinth.

It was no easy job for these plain fellows, the Jimmie Higginses.
When they tried to think the matter out, they were almost brought to
despair. There were so many sides to the question--the last fellow
you met always had a better argument than anyone you had heard
before! You sympathized with Belgium and France, of course; but
could you help hating the British ruling classes? They were your
hereditary enemies--your school-book enemies, so to speak. And they
were the ones you knew most about; since every American jack-ass
that got rich quick and wanted to set himself up above his fellows
would proceed to get English clothes and English servants and
English bad manners. To the average plain American, the word English
stood for privilege, for ruling class culture, the things
established, the things against which he was in rebellion; Germany
was the I. W. W. among the nations--the fellow who had never got a
chance and was now hitting out for it. Moreover, the Germans were
efficient; they took the trouble to put their case before you, they
cared what you thought about them; whereas the Englishman, damn him,
turned up his snobbish nose, not caring a whoop what you or anybody
might think.

Moreover, in this controversy the force of inertia was on the German
side, and inertia is a powerful force in any organization. What the
Germans wanted of American Socialists was simply that they should go
on doing what they had been doing all their lives. And the Socialist
machine had been set up for the purpose of going on, regardless of
all the powers on earth, in the heavens above the earth, or in hell
beneath. Ask Jimmie Higgins to stop demanding higher wages and the
eight hour day! Wouldn't anybody in his senses know what Jimmie
would answer to that proposition? Go chase yourself!




V



But, on the other hand, it must be admitted that Jimmie was
staggered by the idea that he might be getting into the pay of the
Kaiser. It was true that the traditions of the Socialist movement
were German traditions, but they were German anti-Government
traditions: Jimmie regarded the Kaiser as the devil incarnate, and
the bare idea of doing anything the Kaiser wanted done was enough to
make him stop short. He could see also what a bad thing it would be
for the movement to have any person believe that it was taking the
Kaiser's money. Suppose, for example, that a report of this
evening's discussion should reach the Herald! And with the public
inflamed to madness over the Lusitania affair!

After the discussion had proceeded for an hour or so, Norwood made a
motion to the effect that the Worker committee should be instructed
to investigate thoroughly the sources of all funds contributed, and
to reject any that did not come from Socialists, or those in
sympathy with Socialism. The common sense of the meeting asserted
itself, and even the Germans voted for this motion. Sure, let them
go ahead and investigate! The Socialist movement was clean, it had
always been clean, it had nothing to conceal from anyone.

But then came another controversy. Claudel moved that Norwood should
be made a member of the committee; and this, of course, was bitterly
opposed by the radicals. It was an insult to the integrity of the
committee. Then, too, suggested Baggs, an Englishman, perhaps
Norwood might really find out something! The Jimmie Higginses voted
down the motion--not because they feared any disclosures, but
because they felt that a quiet, sensible fellow like Gerrity, their
organizer, might be trusted to protect the good faith of the
movement, and without antagonizing anybody or making a fuss.

The investigation took place, and the result of it was that the
money which Jerry Coleman had contributed for the Worker was quietly
returned to him. But the difference was at once made up by the
Germans in the local, who regarded the whole thing as a put-up job,
an effort to block the agitation for a strike. These comrades took
no stock whatever in the talk about "German gold"; but on the other
hand they were keenly on the alert for the influence of Russian
gold, which they knew was being openly distributed by old Abel
Granitch. And so they put their hands down into their pockets and
dug out their scanty wages, so that the demand for social justice
might be kept alive in Leesville.

The upshot of the whole episode was that the local rejected the
Kaiser's pay, but went on doing what the Kaiser wanted without pay.
This could hardly be considered a satisfactory solution, but it was
the best that Jimmie Higgins was able to work out at this time.




VI



The first issue of the Worker appeared, with Jack Smith's editorial
spread over the front page, calling upon the workers of the Empire
to take this occasion to organize and demand their rights. "Eight
hours for work, eight hours for sleep, eight hours for play!"
proclaimed Comrade Jack; and the Herald and the Courier, stung to a
frenzy by the appearance of a poacher on their journalistic
preserves, answered with broadsides about "German propaganda". The
Herald got the story of what had happened in the local; also it
printed a picture of "Wild Bill", and an interview with that terror
of the West, who declared that he was for war on the capitalist
class with the aid of any and every ally that came along--even to
the extent of emery powder in ball-bearings and copper nails driven
into fruit trees.

The Herald charged that the attitude of the Socialists toward
"tainted wealth" was all a sham. What had happened was simply that
the German members of the local were getting German money, and
making it "Socialist money" by the simple device of passing it
through their consecrated hands. As this had been hinted by Norwood
in the local, the German comrades now charged that Norwood had
betrayed the movement to the capitalist press. And so came another
bitter controversy in the local. The young lawyer laughed at the
charge. Did they really believe they could take German money in
Leesville, and not have the fact become known?

"Then you think we are taking German money?" roared Schneider; and
he clamoured furiously for an answer. The other would not answer
directly, but he told them a little parable. He saw a tree, sending
down its roots into the ground, spreading everywhere, each tiny
rootlet constructed for the purpose of absorbing water. And on the
top of the ground was a man with a supply of water, which he poured
out; he poured and poured without stint, and the water seeped down
toward the rootlets, and every rootlet was reaching for water,
pushing toward the places where water was likely to be. "And now,"
said Norwood, "you ask me, do I believe that tree has been getting
any of that water?"

And here, of course, was the basis of a bitter quarrel. The
hot-heads would not listen to subtle distinctions; they declared
that Norwood was accusing the movement of corruption, he was making
out his anti-war opponents to be villains! He was providing the
capitalist press with ammunition. For shame! for shame! "He's a
stool-pigeon!" shrieked "Wild Bill". "Put him out, the Judas!"

The average member of the local, the perfectly sincere fellow like
Jimmie Higgins, who was wearing himself out, half-starving himself
in the effort to bring enlightenment to his class, listened to these
controversies with bewildered distress. He saw them as echoes of the
terrible national hatreds which were rending Europe, and he resented
having these old world disputes thrust into American industrial
life. Why could he not go on with his duty of leading the American
workers into the co-operative commonwealth?

Because, answered the Germans, old man Granitch wanted to keep the
American workers as munition-slaves; and to this idea the
overwhelming percentage of the membership agreed. They were not
pacifists, non-resistants; they were perfectly willing to fight the
battles of the working-class; what they objected to was having to
fight the battles of the master-class. They wanted to go on, as they
had always gone, opposing the master-class and paying no heed to
talk about German agents. Jimmie Higgins believed--and in this
belief he was perfectly correct--that even had there been no German
agents, the capitalist papers of Leesville would have invented them,
as a means of discrediting the agitators in this crisis. Jimmie
Higgins had lived all his life in a country in which his masters
starved and oppressed him, and when he tried to help himself, met
him with every weapon of treachery and slander. So Jimmie had made
up his mind that one capitalist country was the same as another
capitalist country, and that he would not be frightened into
submission by tales about goblins and witches and sea-serpents and
German spies.






CHAPTER VI

JIMMIE HIGGINS GOES TO JAIL

I





Every evening now the party held its "soap-box" meetings on a corner
just off Main Street. Jimmie, having volunteered as one of the
assistants, would bolt his supper in the evening and hurry off to
the spot. He was not one of the speakers, of course--he would have
been terrified at the idea of making a speech; but he was one of
those whose labours made the speaking possible, and who reaped the
harvest for the movement.

The apparatus of the meeting was kept in the shop of a friendly
carpenter near-by. The carpenter had made a "soap-box" that was a
wonder--a platform mounted upon four slender legs, detachable, so
that one man could carry the whole business and set it up. Thus the
speaker was lifted a couple of feet above the heads of the crowd,
and provided with a hand-rail upon which he might lean, and even
pound, if he did not pound too hard. A kerosene torch burned some
distance from his head, illuminating his features, and it was
Jimmie's business to see that this torch was properly cleaned and
filled, and to hold it erect on a pole part of the time. The rest of
the time he peddled literature among the crowd--copies of the
Leesville Worker, and five and ten cent pamphlets supplied by the
National Office.

He would come home at night, worn out from these labours after his
daily toil; he would fall asleep at Lizzie's side, and have to be
routed out by her when the alarm-clock went off next morning. She
would get him a cup of hot coffee, and after he had drunk this, he
would be himself again, and would chatter about the adventures of
the night before. There was always something happening, a fellow
starting a controversy, a drunken man, or perhaps a couple of thugs
in the pay of old man Granitch, trying to break up the meeting.

Lizzie would do her best to show that sympathy with her husband's
activities which is expected from a dutiful wife. But all the time
there was a grief in her soul--the eternal grief of the feminine
temperament, which is cautious and conservative, in conflict with
the masculine, which is adventurous and destructive. Here was
Jimmie, earning twice what he had ever earned before, having a
chance to feed his children properly and to put by a little margin
for the first time in his harassed life; but instead of making the
most of the opportunity, he was going out on the streets every
night, doing everything in his power to destroy the golden occasion
which Fate had brought to him! Like the fellow who climbs a tree to
saw off a limb, and sits on the limb and saws between himself and
the tree!

In spite of her best efforts, Lizzie's broad, kindly face would
sometimes become hard with disappointment, and a big tear would roll
down each of her sturdy cheeks. Jimmie would be sorry for her, and
would patiently try to explain his actions. Should a man think only
of his own wife and children, and forget entirely all the other
wives and children of the working-class? That was why the workers
had been slaves all through the ages, because each thought of
himself, and never of his fellows. No, you must think of your class!
You must act as a class--on the alert to seize every advantage, to
teach solidarity and stimulate class-consciousness! Jimmie would use
these long words, which he had heard at meetings; but then, seeing
that Lizzie did not understand them, he would go back and say it
over again in words of one syllable. They had old man Granitch in a
hole just now, and they must teach him a lesson, and at the same
time teach the workers their power. Lizzie would sigh, and shake her
head; for to her, old man Granitch was not a human being, but a
natural phenomenon, like winter, or hunger. He, or some other like
him, had been the master of her fathers for generations untold, and
to try to break or even to limit his power was like commanding the
tide or the sun.




II



Events moved quickly to their culmination, justifying the worst of
Lizzie's fears. The shops were seething with discontent, and
agitators seemed fairly to spring out of the ground; some of them
paid by Jerry Coleman, no doubt, others taking their pay in the form
of gratification of those grudges with which the profit-system had
filled their hearts. Noon-meetings would start up, quite
spontaneously, without any prearrangement; and presently Jimmie
learned that men were going about taking the names of all who would
agree to strike.

The matter was brought to a head by the Empire managers, who, of
course, were kept informed by their spies. They discharged more than
a score of the trouble-makers; and when this news spread at
noon-time, the whole place burst into a flame of wrath. "Strike!
strike!" was the cry. Jimmie was one of many who started a
procession through the yards, shouting, singing, hurling menaces at
the bosses, challenging all who proposed to return to work. Less
than one-tenth of the working force made any attempt to do so, and
for that afternoon the plant of the Empire Machine Shops, which was
supposed to be turning out shell-casings for the Russian government,
was turning out labour-union, Socialist, and I. W. W. oratory.

Jimmie Higgins was beside himself with excitement. He danced about
and waved his cap, he shouted himself hoarse, he almost yielded to
the impulse to jump upon a pile of lumber and make a speech himself.
Presently came Comrades Gerrity and Mary Allen, who had got wind of
the trouble, and had loaded a whole edition of the Worker into a
Ford; so Jimmie turned newsboy, selling these papers, hundreds of
them, until his pockets were bursting with the weight of pennies and
nickels. And then he was pressed into service running errands for
those who were arranging to organize the workers; he carried bundles
of membership-cards and application-blanks, following a man with a
bull voice and a megaphone, who shouted in several languages the
location of union headquarters, and the halls where various foreign
language meetings would be held that evening. Evidently someone had
foreseen the breaking of this trouble, and had been at pains to plan
ahead.

Late in the afternoon Jimmie was witness of an exciting incident. In
one of the shops a number of the men had persisted in returning to
work, and an immense throng of strikers had gathered to wait for
them. They were afraid to come out, but stayed in the building after
the quitting-whistle, while those outside jeered and hooted and the
bosses telephoned frantically for aid. The greater part of the
Leesville police-force was on hand, and in addition, the company had
its own guards and private detectives. But they were needed all over
the place. You saw them at the various entrances, menacing, but not
quite so sure of themselves as usual; their hands had a tendency to
slip back to the bulge on their right hips.

Jimmie and another fellow had got themselves an empty box and were
standing on it, leaning against the wall of the building and
shouting "Ya! Ya!" at every "scab" head that showed itself. They saw
an automobile come in at the gate, its horn honking savagely,
causing the crowd to leap to one side or the other. The automobile
was packed with men, sitting on one another's knees, or hanging to
the running-boards outside. There came a second car, loaded in the
same fashion. They were guards, sent all the way from Hubbardtown;
for of course the Hubbard Engine Company would help out its rivals
in an emergency such as this. That was the solidarity of capitalism,
concerning which the Socialists never wearied of preaching.

The men leaped from the cars, and spread themselves fanwise in front
of the door. They had nightsticks in their hands, and grim
resolution in their faces; they cried, "Stand back! Stand back!" The
crowd hooted, but gave slightly, and a few minutes later the doors
of the building opened, and the first of the timid workers emerged.
There was a howl, and then from somewhere in the throng a stone was
thrown. "Arrest that man!" shouted a voice, and Jimmie's attention
was attracted to the owner of this voice--a young man who had
arrived in the first automobile, and was now standing up in the
seat, from which position he could dominate the throng. "Arrest that
man!" he shouted again, pointing his finger; and three of the guards
leaped into the crowd at the spot indicated. The man who had thrown
the missile started to run, but he could not go fast in the crowd,
and in a moment, as it seemed, the guards had him by the collar. He
tried to jerk away, and they struck him over the head, and laid
about them to keep the rest of the throng at bay. "Take him inside!"
the young man in the car kept shouting. And one of the guards
twisted his hand in the collar of the wretched stone-thrower, until
he grew purple in the face, and so half-dragged and half-ran him
into the building.




III



The young man in the car turned toward the crowd which was blocking
the way to the exit. "Get those men out of the way!" he yelled to
the guards. "Drive them along--God damn them, they've got no
business in here." And so on, with a string of dynamic profanity,
which stung both guards and policemen into action, and made them ply
their clubs upon the crowd.

"Do you know who that is?" asked Jimmie's companion on the box.
"That's Lacey Granitch."

Jimmie started, experiencing a thrill to the soles of his ragged
shoes. Lacey Granitch! In the four years that the little machinist
had worked for the Empire, he had never caught a glimpse of the
young lord of Leesville--something which may easily be believed,
for the young lord considered Leesville "a hole of a town", and
honoured it with his presence only once or twice a year. But his
spirit brooded over it; he was to Leesville a mythological figure,
either of wonder and awe, or of horror, according to the temperament
of the contemplator. One day "Wild Bill" had arisen in the local,
and held aloft a page from the "magazine supplement" of one of the
metropolitan "yellows". There was an account of how Lacey Granitch
had broken the hearts of seven chorus-girls by running away with an
eighth. He fairly "ate 'em alive", according to the account; in
order to give an idea of the atmosphere in which the young hero
abode, the whirl of delight which was his life, the artist of the
Sunday supplement had woven round the border of the page a maze of
feminine ankles and calves in a delirium of lingerie; while at the
top was a supper-table with champagne-corks popping, and a lady clad
in inadequate veils dancing amid the dishes.

This had happened while the local was in the midst of an acrimonious
controversy over "Section Six". Should the Socialist party bar from
its membership those who advocated sabotage, violence and crime?
Young Norwood was pleading for orderly methods of social
reconstruction; and here stood "Wild Bill", ripping to shreds the
reputation of the young plutocrat of the Empire Shops. "That's what
you geezers are sweating for! That's why you've got to be good, and
not throw monkey-wrenches in the machinery--so the seven
broken-hearted chorus-girls can drown their sorrows in champagne!"

And now here was the hero of all these romantic escapades, forsaking
the white lights of Broadway, and coming home to help the old man
keep his contracts. He stood in the seat of the automobile, glancing
this way and that, swiftly, like a hunter on the alert for dangerous
game. His dark eyes roamed here and there, his proud face was pale
with anger, his tall, perfectly groomed figure was eloquent of
mastership, of command. He was imperious as a young Caesar, terrible
in his vengeance; and poor Jimmie, watching him, was torn between
two contradictory emotions. He hated him--hated him with a deadly
and abiding hatred. But also he admired him, marvelled at him,
cringed before him. Lacey was a wanton, a cursing tyrant, a brutal
snob; but also he was the master, the conqueror, the proud, free,
rich young aristocrat, for whom all the rest of humanity existed.
And Jimmie Higgins was a poor little worm of a proletarian, with
nothing but his labour-power to sell, trying by sheer force of his
will to lift himself out of his slave-psychology!

There is an old adage that "a cat may look at a king". But this can
only have been meant to apply to house-cats, cats of the palace,
accustomed to the etiquette of courts; it cannot have been meant for
proletarian cats of the gutter, the Jimmie Higgins variety of red
revolutionary yowlers. Jimmie and his companion stood on their
perch, shouting "Ya! Ya!" and suddenly the crowd melted away in
front of them, exposing them to the angry finger of the young
master. "Get along now! Beat it! Quick!" And Jimmie, poor little
ragged, stunted Jimmie, with bad teeth and toil-deformed hands,
wilted before this blast of aristocratic wrath, and made haste to
hide himself in the throng. But it was with blazing soul that he
went; every instant he imagined himself turning back, defying the
angry finger, shouting down the imperious voice, even smashing it
back into the throat from which it came!




IV



Jimmie did not even stop for supper. The greater part of the night
he worked at helping to organize the strikers, and all next day he
spent arranging Socialist meetings. He worked like a man possessed,
lifted above the limitations of the flesh. For everywhere that day
he carried with him the image of the proud, free, rich young
aristocrat, with his dark eyes roaming swiftly, his tall, perfectly
groomed figure eloquent of mastership, his voice ringing with
challenge. Jimmie was for the time utterly possessed by hatred; and
he saw about him thousands of others sharing the mood and shouting
it aloud. Every speaker who could be found was turned loose to talk
till he was hoarse, and in the evening there was to be half a dozen
street meetings. That was always the way when there were strikes;
then the working man had time to listen--and also the desire!

So came the final crisis, when the little machinist had to show the
stuff he was made of. He was holding aloft the torch at the regular
meeting-place on the corner of Main and Third Streets, and Comrade
Gerrity was explaining the strike and the ballot as two edges of the
sword of labour, when four policemen came suddenly round the corner
and pushed their way through the crowd. "You'll have to stop this!"
declared one.

"Stop?" cried Gerrity. "What do you mean?"

"There's to be no more street-speaking during the strike."

"Who says so?"

"Orders from the chief."

"But we've got a permit."

"All permits revoked. Cut it out."

"But this is an outrage!"

"We don't want any argument, young man--"

"But we're within our rights here."

"Forget it, young feller!"

Gerrity turned swiftly to the throng.

"Fellow-citizens," he cried, "we are here in the exercise of our
rights as American citizens! We are conducting a peaceable and
orderly political meeting, and we know our rights and propose to
maintain them. We--"

"Come down off that box, young feller!" commanded the officer; and
the crowd hooted and booed.

"Fellow-citizens!" began Gerrity again; but that was as far as he
got, for the policeman seized him by the arm and pulled; and Gerrity
knew the ways of American policemen too well to resist. He came
down--but still talking. "Fellow-citizens--"

"Are you goin' to shut up?" demanded the other, and as Gerrity still
went on orating, he announced: "You are under arrest."

There were half a dozen Socialists with the party, and this was a
challenge to the self-respect of everyone of them. In an instant
Comrade Mabel Smith had leaped on to the stand. "Fellow workers!"
she cried. "Is this America, or is it Russia?"

"That'll do, lady," said the policeman, as considerately as he
dared; for Comrade Mabel wore a big picture-hat and many other signs
of youth and beauty.

"I have a right to speak here, and I mean to speak," she declared.

"We don't want to have to arrest you, lady--"

"You either have to arrest me, or else allow me to speak."

"I'm sorry, lady, but it's orders. You are arrested."

Then came the turn of Comrade Stankewitz. "Vorking men, it is for
the rights of the vorkers ve are here." And so they jerked him off.

And then "Wild Bill". This hundred per cent, middle-of-the-road
proletarian had been hanging on the outskirts of the meeting, having
been forbidden by the local to take part in the speaking, because of
the intemperate nature of his utterances; but now, of course, all
rules went down, and Bill leaped on to the shaking platform. "Are we
slaves?" he yelled. "Are we dogs?" And it would seem that the police
thought so, for they yanked him off the platform, and one of them
seized him by the wrist and twisted so that his oration ended in a
shriek of pain.

Then came Johnny Edge, a shy youth with an armful of literature,
which he hung on to in spite of police violence; and then--then
there was one more!

Poor Jimmie! He did not in the least want to get arrested, and he
was terrified at the idea of making even so short a speech as was
here the order of the night. But, of course, his honour was at
stake, there was no way out. He handed his torch to a bystander, and
mounted the scaffold. "Is this a free country?" he cried. "Do we
have free speech?" And Jimmie's first effort at oratory ended in a
jerk at his coat-tail, which all but upset the frail platform upon
which he stood.

There were four policemen, with six prisoners, and a throng about
them howling with indignation, perhaps ready to become violent--who
could say? The guardians of order had been prepared however. One of
them stepped to the corner and blew his whistle, and a minute later
came the shriek of a siren, and round the corner came swinging the
city's big patrol-wagon, the "Black Maria". The crowd gave way, and
one by one the prisoners were thrust in. One of them, "Wild Bill",
feeling himself for a moment released from the grip of his captors,
raised his voice, shouting through the wire grating of the wagon: "I
denounce this outrage! I am a free American--" And suddenly Jimmie,
who was next in the wagon, felt himself flung to one side, and a
policeman leaped by him, and planted his fist with terrific violence
full in the orator's mouth. "Wild Bill" went down like a bullock
under the slaughter-man's axe, and the patrol-wagon started up, the
cry of its siren drowning the protests of the crowd.

Poor Bill! He lay across the seat, and Jimmie, who had to sit next
to him, caught him in his arms and held him. He was quivering, with
awful motions like a spasm. He made no sound, and Jimmie was
terrified, thinking that he was dying. Before long Jimmie felt a hot
wetness stealing over his hands, first slimy, then turning sticky.
He had to sit there, almost fainting with horror; he dared not say
anything, for maybe the policeman would strike him also. He sat,
clutching in his arms the shaking body, and whispering under his
breath, "Poor Bill! Poor Bill!"




V



They came to the station-house, and Bill was carried out and laid on
a bench, and the others were stood up before the desk and had their
pedigrees taken. Gerrity demanded indignantly to be allowed to
telephone, and this demand was granted. He routed Lawyer Norwood
from a party, and set him to finding bail; and meantime the
prisoners were led to cells.

They had been there only a couple of minutes when there came
floating through the row of steel cages the voice of a woman
singing. It was Comrade Mabel Smith in that clear sweet voice they
had so often listened to on "social evenings" in the local. She was
singing the Internationale:

    Arise, ye prisoners of starvation.
    Arise, ye wretched of the earth!

The sound thrilled them to the very bones, and they joined in the
chorus with a shout. Then, of course, came the jailer: "Shut up."
And then again: "Shut up!" And then a third time: "Will ye shut up?"
And then came a bucket of water, hurled through the cell bars. It
hit Jimmie squarely in the mouth, and in the words of the poet, "the
subsequent proceedings interested him no more!"

About midnight came Lawyer Norwood and Dr. Service. Both of these
men had protested against the street-speaking at this time; but of
course, when it came to comrades in trouble, they could not resist
the appeal to their sympathies. Such is the difficulty of entirely
respectable and decorous "parlour" Socialists, in their dealings
with the wayward children of the movement, the "impossibilists" and
"direct actionists" and other sowers of proletarian wild oats. Dr.
Service produced a wad of bills and bailed out all the prisoners,
and delivered himself of impressive indignation to the
police-sergeant, while waiting for an ambulance to carry "Wild Bill"
to the hospital. Jimmie Higgins, who had always hitherto shouted
with the "wild" ones, realized suddenly how pleasant it is to have a
friend who wears black broadcloth, and carries himself like the
drum-major of a band, and is reputed to be worth a couple of hundred
thousand dollars.

Jimmie went home; and there was Lizzie, pacing the floor and
wringing her hands in anxiety--for there had been no way to get word
to her what had happened. She flung herself into his arms, and then
recoiled in fright when, she discovered that he was wet. He told her
the story; and would you believe it--Lizzie, being a woman, and only
in the A-B-C stage of revolutionary education, actually did not know
that it was a glorious and heroic adventure to be arrested! She
thought it a disgrace, and tried to persuade him to keep the
dreadful secret from the neighbourhood! And when she found that he
was not through yet, but had to go to court in the morning and be
tried, she wept copiously, and woke up Jimmie Junior, and started
him to bawling. She was only to be pacified when Jimmie Senior
agreed to take off his wet clothes at once, and drink a cup or two
of boiling hot tea, and let himself be covered up with blankets, so
that he might not die of pneumonia before he could get to court.

Next morning there was a crowded court-room and a stern and solemn
judge frowning over his spectacles, and Lawyer Norwood making an
impassioned defence of the fundamental American right of free
speech. It was so very thrilling that Jimmie could hardly be kept
from applauding his own lawyer! And then Comrade Dr. Service arose,
and in his most impressive voice gave the professional information
that "Wild Bill's" nose had been broken, and three of his front
teeth knocked out, and that he was in the hospital and unable to
come to court; and all the other prisoners were called upon to
testify what "Wild Bill" had done to bring this fate upon him. The
policeman who had struck the blow testified that the prisoner had
resisted arrest; a second policeman testified, "I seen the prisoner
hit him first, your Honour,"--which caused Comrade Mabel Smith to
cry out, "Oh, the ungrammatical prevaricator!" The upshot of the
trial was that each of the defendants was fined ten dollars. Comrade
Gerrity led off with an indignant refusal to pay the fine; the rest
of them followed suit--even Comrade Mabel! This caused evident
distress of mind to the judge, for Comrade Mabel with her indignant
pink cheeks and her big picture-hat looked more than ever the lady,
and it is a fact known even to judges that American jails have not
been constructed for ladies. The matter was settled by Lawyer
Norwood paying her fine, in spite of her protests, and her demand to
be sent to jail.




VI



The five men were led away, over the "Bridge of Sighs", as it was
called, to the city jail, where they had their pedigrees taken
again, and their pictures and their finger-prints--which for the
first time impressed upon their minds the fact that they were
dangerous criminals. Their clothes were taken away, and shirts and
trousers given them, whose faded blue colour seemed to have been
impregnated with the misery of scores of previous wearers. They were
led through steel-barred doors, and along dark, steel-barred
passages to one of the "tanks". A "tank", you discovered, was one
floor of this four-storied packing box; on each side of it were a
row of a dozen barred cells, each with four bunks, so that the total
maximum population which might be crowded into the central space of
the "tank" was ninety-six; however, this only happened on Monday
mornings, when the "drunks" had all been brought in, and before the
courts had had time to sort them out.

After you had lain down on your bunk for a few minutes, or had
leaned against the wall of the "tank", you felt an annoying stinging
sensation somewhere on you. You began to rub and scratch; before
long you would be rubbing and scratching in a dozen different
places, and then you would observe your neighbour watching you with
a grin. "Seam-squirrels?" he would say; and he would bid you take
off your coat, and engage in the popular hunting game of the
institution. Jimmie remembered having heard a speaker refer to the
city jail as the "Leesville Louseranch"; he had thought that a good
joke at the time, but now it seemed otherwise to him.

It was splendid to stand up in court and to take your stand as a
martyr; but now Jimmie discovered, as many an unfortunate has
discovered before him, that being a martyr is not the sport it is
cracked up to be. There were no heroics now, no singing. If you even
so much as hummed, they took you out and shut you up in a dark hole
called the "cooler"! Nor could you read, for there was no light in
your cell, and perpetual twilight in the central gathering place of
the "tank". Apparently the only things the authorities of Leesville
wished you to do were to hunt "seam-squirrels", to smoke cigarettes,
to "shoot craps", and to make the acquaintance of a variety of
interesting young criminals, so that when you were ready to resume
your outside life you might decide whether you wanted to be a
hold-up man, a safe-cracker, a forger, or a second-story operator.

Jimmie Higgins, of course, brought a different psychology from that
of the average jail-inmate. Jimmie could do his kind of work just as
well in jail as anywhere else; and barring the torment of vermin,
the diet of bread and thin coffee and ill-smelling greasy soup, and
the worry about his helpless family outside, he really had a happy
time-making the acquaintance of tramps and pickpockets, and
explaining to them the revolutionary philosophy. A man who went in
to remedy social injustice all by himself could never get very far.
It was only when he realized himself as a member of a class, and
stood as a class and acted as a class, that he could accomplish a
permanent result. Some of the workers had discovered this, and had
set out to educate their fellows. They brought the wondrous message,
even to those in jail; holding out to them the vision of a world
made over in justice and kindness, the co-operative commonwealth of
labour, in which every man should get what he produced, and no man
could exploit his fellows.




VII



Three days passed, and then one afternoon Jimmie was summoned to see
a visitor. He could guess who the visitor was, and he went with his
heart in his throat, and looked through the dark mesh of wire, and
saw Lizzie standing--stout, motherly Lizzie, now very pale, and
breathing hard, and with tears running in little streamlets down her
cheeks. Poor Lizzie, with her three babies at home, and her plain,
ordinary, non-revolutionary psychology, which made going to jail a
humiliation instead of a test of manhood, a badge of distinction!
Jimmie felt a clutch in his own throat, and an impulse to tear down
the beastly wire mesh and clasp the dear motherly soul in his arms.
But all he could do was to screw his face into a dubious smile.
Sure, he was having the time of his life in this jail! He wouldn't
have missed it for anything! He had made a Socialist out of
"Dead-eye Mike", and had got Pete Curley, a fancy "con" man, to
promise to read "War, What For?"

There was only one thing which had been troubling him, and that was,
how his family was getting on. They had had practically nothing in
the house, he knew, and poor Meissner could not feed four extra
mouths. But Lizzie, also screwing her face into a smile, assured him
that everything was all right at home, there was no need to worry.
In the first place, Comrade Dr. Service had sent her a piece of
paper with his name written on it; it appeared that this was called
a cheque, and the groceryman had exchanged it for a five dollar
bill. And in the next place there was a domestic secret which Lizzie
had to confide--she had put by some money, without letting Jimmie
know it.

"But how?" cried Jimmie, in wonder--for he had thought he knew all
about his household and its expenses.

So Lizzie explained the trick she had played. Jimmie had committed
an extravagance, treating her to a new dress out of his increased
earnings: a gorgeous contrivance of several colours, looking like
silk, even if it wasn't. Lizzie had stated that the cost was fifteen
dollars, and he, the dupe, had believed it! The truth was she had
bought the dress in a second-hand shop for three dollars, and had
put twelve dollars away for the time of the strike!

And Jimmie went back to his "tank", shaking his head and
philosophizing: "Gee! Can you beat these women?"






CHAPTER VII

JIMMIE HIGGINS DALLIES WITH CUPID

I





The strike was over when Jimmie came out of jail; it had been
settled by the double-barrelled device of raising the wages of the
men and putting their leaders behind bars. Jimmie presented himself
at his old place of working, and the boss told him to go to hell; so
Jimmie went to Hubbardtown, and stood in the long line of men
waiting at the gate of the engine company. Jimmie knew about
black-lists, so when his time came to be questioned, he said his
name was Joe Aronsky, and he had last worked in a machine-shop in
Pittsburg; he had come to Hubbardtown because he had heard of high
pay and good treatment. While he was answering these questions, he
noticed a man sitting in the corner of the room studying his face,
and he saw the boss turn and glance in that direction. The man shook
his head, and the boss said: "Nothin' doin'." So Jimmie understood
that the Hubbard Engine Company was taking measures to keep its
shops clear of the agitators from Leesville.

He spent a couple of days trying other places in his home town, but
all in vain--they had him spotted. At the brewery they were slower
than elsewhere--they took him on for two hours. Then they found out
his record, and "fired" him; and Jimmie "kidded" the boss, saying
that they were too late--he had already given a Socialist leaflet to
every man in the room!

On Jefferson Street, an out of the way part of the town, was a
bicycle-shop kept by an old German named Kumme. One of the comrades
told Jimmie that he wanted a helper, and Jimmie went there and got a
job at two dollars a day. That was poor pay at present prices, but
Jimmie liked the place, because his boss was a near-Socialist, a
pacifist--for all countries except Germany. He got round it by
saying that every nation had a right to defend itself; and Germany
was the nation which had been attacked in this war. A good part of
the energies of the old man went into proving this to his customers;
if there were any customers who did not like it, they could go
elsewhere.

Those who came were largely Germans, and so Jimmie was kept fully
supplied with arguments against the munitions industry, which they
called a trade in murder, and in favour of the programme of "Feed
America First". Among those who frequented the place was Jerry
Coleman, who was still on the job, and as well supplied with
ten-dollar bills as ever. He had now revealed himself as an
organizer for a new propaganda society, called "Labour's National
Peace Council". Inasmuch as Labour and Peace were the phrases upon
which Jimmie lived, he saw no reason why he should not back this
organization. Coleman assured Jimmie he hated the Kaiser, but that
the German "people" must be defended. So Jimmie became, without
having the least idea of it, one of the agencies whereby the Kaiser
was subsidizing social discontent in America.