He is shorter than you or I, and has found that he can't grow
upward, but can grow without limit in all lateral directions. There
is always a little more of him than his clothing can hold, and it
spreads out in rolls about his collar. He has a yellowish face,
which turns red easily. He has small, shiny eyes, he speaks
atrocious English, he is as devoid of culture as a hairy Ainu, and
he smells money and goes after it like a hog into a swill-trough.

"Hello, everybody! Madame, vere's de old voman?

"She ees being dressed--"

"Vell, speed her up! I got no time. I got--Jesus Christ!"

"Yes, exactly," said Mary Magna.

The great man of the pictures stood rooted to the spot. "Vot's dis?
Some joke you people playin' on me?" He shot a suspicious glance
from one to another of us.

"No," said Mary, "he's real. Honest to God!"

"Oh! You bring him for an engagement. Vell, I don't do no business
outside my office. Send him to see Lipsky in de mornin'."

"He hasn't asked for an engagement," said Mary.

"Oh, he ain't. Vell, vot's he hangin' about for? Been gittin' a
permanent vave? Ha, ha, ha!"

"Cut it out, Abey," said Mary Magna. "This is a gentleman, and you
must be decent. Mr. Carpenter, meet Mr. T-S."

"Carpenter, eh? Vell, Mr. Carpenter, if I vas to make a picture vit
you I gotta spend a million dollars on it--you know you can't make
no cheap skate picture fer a ting like dat, if you do you got a
piece o' cheese. It'd gotta be a costume picture, and you got shoost
as much show to market vun o' dem today as you got vit a pauper's
funeral. I spend all dat money, and no show to git it back, and den
you actors tink I'm makin' ten million a veek off you--"

"Cut it out, Abey!" broke in Mary. "Mr. Carpenter hasn't asked
anything of you."

"Oh, he ain't, hey? So dat's his game. Vell, he'll find maybe I can
vait as long as de next feller. Ven he gits ready to talk business,
he knows vere Eternal City is, I guess. Vot's de matter, Madame, you
got dat old voman o' mine melted to de chair?"

"I'll see, I'll see, Meester T-S," said Madame, hustling out of the
room.

Mary came up to the great man. "See here, Abey," she said, in a low
voice, "you're making the worst mistake of your life. Apparently
this man hasn't been discovered. When he is, you know what'll
happen."

"Vere doss he come from?"

"I don't know. Billy here brought him. I said he must have come out
of a stained glass window in St. Bartholomew's Church."

"Oho, ho!" said T-S.

"Anyhow, he's new, and he's too good to keep. The paper's 'll get
hold of him sure. Just look at him!"

"But, Mary, can he act?"

"Act? My God, he don't have to act! He only has to look at you, and
you want to fall at his feet. Go be decent to him, and find out what
he wants."

The great man surveyed the figure of the stranger appraisingly. Then
he went up to him. "See here, Mr. Carpenter, maybe I could make you
famous. Vould you like dat?"

"I have never thought of being famous," was the reply.

"Vell, you tink of it now. If I hire you, I make you de greatest
actor in de vorld. I make it a propaganda picture fer de churches,
dey vould show it to de headens in China and in Zululand. I make you
a contract fer ten years, and I pay you five hunded dollars a veek,
vedder you vork or not, and you vouldn't have to vork so much,
because I don't catch myself makin' a million dollar feature picture
vit gawd amighty and de angels in it for no regular veekly releases.
Maybe you find some cheap skate feller vit some vild cat company vot
promise you more; but he sells de picture and makes over de money to
his vife's brudders, and den he goes bust, and vere you at den, hey?
Mary Magna, here, she tell you, if you git a contract vit old Abey,
it's shoost like you got libbidy bonds. I make dat lovely lady a
check every veek fer tirty-five hunded dollars, an' I gotta sign it
vit my own hand, and I tell you it gives me de cramps to sign so
much money all de time, but I do it, and you see all dem rings and
ribbons and veils and tings vot she buys vit de money, she looks
like a jeweler's shop and a toy-store all rolled into vun goin'
valkin' down de street."

"Mr. Carpenter was just scolding me for that," said Mary. "I've an
idea if you pay him a salary, he'll feed it to the poor."

"If I pay it," said T-S, "it's his, and he can feed it to de
dicky-birds if he vants to. Vot you say, Mr. Carpenter?"

I was waiting with curiosity to hear what he would say; but at that
moment the door from the "maternity-room" was opened, and the voice
of Madame Planchet broke in: "Here she ees!" And the flesh-mountain
appeared, with the two caryatids supporting her.



XIII


"My Gawd!" gasped Mrs. T-S. "I'm dyin'!"

Her husband responded, beaming, "So you gone and done it again!"

Said Mrs. T-S: "I'll never do it no more!"

Said the husband: "Y'allus say dat. Fergit it, Maw, you're all right
now, you don't have to have your hair frizzed fer six mont's!"

Said Mrs. T-S: "I gotta lie down. I'm dyin', Abey, I tell you. Lemme
git on de sofa."

Said the husband: "Now, Maw, we gotta git to dinner--"

"I can't eat no dinner."

"Vot?" There was genuine alarm in the husband's voice. "You can't
eat no dinner? Sure you gotta eat your dinner. You can't live if you
don't eat. Come along now, Maw."

"O-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-oh!"

T-S went and stood before her, and a grin came over his face. "Sure,
now, ain't it fine? Say, Mary, look at dem lovely curves. Billy,
shoost look here! Vy, she looks like a kid again, don't she! Madame,
you're a daisy--you sure deliver de goods."

Madame Planchet beamed, and the flesh-mountain was feebly cheered.
"You like it, Abey?"

"Sure, I like it! Maw, it's grand! It's like I got a new girl! Come
on now, git up, we go git our dinner, and den we gotta see dem night
scenes took. Don't forgit, we're payin' two tousand men five dollars
apiece tonight, and we gotta git our money out of 'em." Then, taking
for granted that this settled it, he turned to the rest. "You come
vit us, Mary?"

"I must wait for my grannie."

"Sure, you leave your car fer grannie, and you come vit us, and we
git some dinner, and den we see dem mob scenes took. You come along,
Mr. Carpenter, I gotta have some talk vit you. And you, Billy? And
Rosythe--come, pile in."

"I have to wait for the missus," said the critic. "We have a date."

"Vell, said T-S, and he went up close. "You do me a favor, Rosythe;
don't say nuttin' about dis fellow Carpenter tonight. I feed him and
git him feelin' good, and den I make a contract vit him, and I give
you a front page telegraph story, see?"

"All right," said the critic.

"Mum's de vord now," said the magnate; and he waddled out, and the
two caryatids lifted the flesh-mountain, and half carried it to the
elevator, and Mary walked with Carpenter, and I brought up the rear.

The car of T-S was waiting at the door, and this car is something
special. It is long, like a freight-car, made all of shining
gun-metal, or some such material; the huge wheels are of solid
metal, and the fenders are so big and solid, it looks like an
armored military car. There is an extra wheel on each side, and two
more locked on to the rear. There is a chauffeur in uniform, and a
footman in uniform, just to open the doors and close them and salute
you as you enter. Inside, it is all like the sofas in Madame's
scalping shop; you fall into them, and soft furs enfold you, and you
give a sigh of Contentment, "O-o-o-o-o-o-oh!"

"Prince's," said T-S to the chauffeur, and the palace on wheels
began to glide along. It occurred to me to wonder that T-S was not
embarrassed to take Carpenter to a fashionable eating-place. But I
could read his thoughts; everybody would assume that he had been "on
location" with one of his stars; and anyhow, what the hell? Wasn't
he Abey Tszchniczklefritszch?

"Wor-r-r-r-r! Wor-r-r-r-r-r!" snarled the horn of the car; and I
could understand the meaning of this also. It said: "I am the car of
Abey Tszchniczklefritszch, king of the movies, future king of the
world. Get the hell out o' my way!" So we sped through the crowded
streets, and pedestrians scattered like autumn leaves before a
storm. "My Gawd, but I'm hungry!" said T-S. "I ain't had nuttin' to
eat since lunch-time. How goes it, Maw? Feelin' better? Vell, you be
all right ven you git your grub."

So we came to Prince's, and drew up before the porte-cochere, and
found ourselves confronting an adventure. There was a crowd before
the place, a surging throng half-way down the block, with a whole
line of policemen to hold them back. Over the heads of the crowd
were transparencies, frame boxes with canvas on, and lights inside,
and words painted on them. "Hello!" cried T-S. "Vot's dis?"

Suddenly I recalled what I had read in the morning's paper. The
workers of the famous lobster palace had gone on strike, and trouble
was feared. I told T-S, and he exclaimed: "Oh, hell! Ain't we got
troubles enough vit strikers in de studios, vitout dey come spoilin'
our dinner?"

The footman had jumped from his seat, and had the door open, and the
great man began to alight. At that moment the mob set up a howl.
"For shame! For shame! Unfair! Don't go in there! They starve their
workers! They're taking the bread out of our mouths! Scabs! Scabs!"

I got out second, and saw a spectacle of haggard faces, shouting
menaces and pleadings; I saw hands waved wildly, one or two fists
clenched; I saw the police, shoving against the mass, poking with
their sticks, none too gently. A poor devil in a waiter's costume
stretched out his arms to me, yelling in a foreign dialect: "You
take de food from my babies!" The next moment the club of a
policeman came down on his head, crack. I heard Mary scream behind
me, and I turned, just in the nick of time. Carpenter was leaping
toward the policeman, crying, "Stop!"

There was no chance to parley in this emergency. I grabbed Carpenter
in a foot-ball tackle. I got one arm pinned to his side, and Mary,
good old scout, got the other as quickly. She is a bit of an
athlete--has to keep in training for those hoochie-coochies and
things she does, when she wins the love of emperors and sultans and
such-like world-conquerors. Also, when we got hold of Carpenter, we
discovered that he wasn't much but skin and bones anyhow. We fairly
lifted him up and rushed him into the restaurant; and after the
first moment he stopped resisting, and let us lead him between the
aisles of diners, on the heels of the toddling T-S. There was a
table reserved, in an alcove, and we brought him to it, and then
waited to see what we had done.



XIV


Carpenter turned to me-and those sad but everchangjng eyes were
flashing. "You have taken a great liberty!"

"There wasn't any time to argue," I said. "If you knew what I know
about the police of Western City and their manners, you wouldn't
want to monkey with them."

Mary backed me up earnestly. "They'd have mashed your face, Mr.
Carpenter."

"My face?" he repeated. "Is not a man more than his face?"

You should have heard the shout of T-S! "Vot? Ain't I shoost offered
you five hunded dollars a veek fer dat face, and you vant to go git
it smashed? And fer a lot o' lousy bums dat vont vork for honest
vages, and vont let nobody else vork! Honest to Gawd, Mr. Carpenter,
I tell you some stories about strikes vot we had on our own lot--you
vouldn't spoil your face for such lousy sons-o'-guns--"

"Ssh, Abey, don't use such langwich, you should to be shamed of
yourself!" It was Maw, guardian of the proprieties, who had been
extracted from the car by the footman, and helped to the table.

"Vell, Mr. Carpenter, he dunno vot dem fellers is like--"

"Sit down, Abey!" commanded the old lady. "Ve ain't ordered no stump
speeches fer our dinner."

We seated ourselves. And Carpenter turned his dark eyes on me. "I
observe that you have many kinds of mobs in your city," he remarked.
"And the police do interfere with some of them."

"My Gawd!" cried T-S. "You gonna have a lot o' bums jumpin' on
people ven dey try to git to dinner?"

Said Carpenter: "Mr. Rosythe said that the police would not work
unless they were paid. May I ask, who pays them to work here? Is it
the proprietor of the restaurant?"

"Vell," cried T-S, "ain't he gotta take care of his place?"

"As a matter of fact," said I, laughing, "from what I read in the
'Times' this morning, I gather that an old friend of Mr. Carpenter's
has been paying in this case."

Carpenter looked at me inquiringly.

"Mr. Algernon de Wiggs, president of the Chamber of Commerce, issued
a statement denouncing the way the police were letting mobs of
strikers interfere with business, and proposing that the Chamber
take steps to stop it. You remember de Wiggs, and how we left him?"

"Yes, I remember," said Carpenter; and we exchanged a smile over
that trick we had played.

I could see T-S prick forward his ears. "Vot? You know de Viggs?"

"Mr. Carpenter possesses an acquaintance with our best society which
will astonish you when you realize it."

"Vy didn't you tell me dat?" demanded the other; and I could
complete the sentence for him: "Somebody has offered him more
money!"

Here the voice of Maw was heard: "Ain't we gonna git nuttin' to
eat?"

So for a time the problem of capital and labor was put to one side.
There were two waiters standing by, very nervous, because of the
strike. T-S grabbed the card from one, and read off a list of food,
which the waiter wrote down. Maw, who was learning the rudiments of
etiquette, handed her card to Mary, who gave her order, and then Maw
gave hers, and I gave mine, and there was only Carpenter left.

He was sitting, his dark eyes roaming here and there about the
dining-room. Prince's, as you may know, is a gorgeous establishment:
too much so for my taste--it has almost as much gilded moulding as
if T-S had designed it for a picture palace. In front of Carpenter's
eyes sat a dame with a bare white back, and a rope of big pearls
about it, and a tiara of diamonds on top; and beyond her were more
dames, and yet more, and men in dinner-coats, putting food into red
faces. You and I get used to such things, but I could understand
that to a stranger it must be shocking to see so many people feeding
so expensively.

"Vot you vant to order, Mr. Carpenter?" demanded T-S; and I waited,
full of curiosity. What would this man choose to eat in a "lobster
palace"?

Carpenter took the card from his host and studied it. Apparently he
had no difficulty in finding the most substantial part of the menu.
"I'll have prime ribs of beef," said he; "and boiled mutton with
caper sauce; and young spring turkey; and squab en casserole; and
milk fed guinea fowl--" The waiter, of course, was obediently
writing down each item. "And planked steak with mushrooms; and
braised spare ribs--"

"My Gawd!" broke in the host.

"And roast teal duck; and lamb kidneys--"

"Fer the love o' Mike, Mr. Carpenter, you gonna eat all dat?"

"No; of course not."

"Den vot you gonna do vit it?"

"I'm going to take it to the hungry men outside."

Well, sir, you'd have thought the world had stopped turning round,
so still it was. The two waiters nearly dropped their order-pads and
their napkins; they did drop their jaws, and Mrs. T-S's permanent
wave seemed about to go flat.

"Oh, hell!" cried T-S at last. You can't do it!"

"I can't?"

"You can't order only vot you gonna eat."

"But then, I don't want anything. I'm not hungry."

"But you can't sit here like a dummy, man!" He turned to the waiter.
"You bring him de same vot you bring me. Unnerstand? And git a move
on, cause I'm starvin'. Fade out now!" And the waiter turned and
fled.



XV


The proprietor of Eternal City wiped his perspiring forehead with
his napkin, and started rather hurriedly to make conversation. I
understood that he wanted to enjoy his dinner, and proposed to talk
about something pleasant in the meantime. "I vonna tell you about
dis picture ve're goin' to see took, Mr. Carpenter. I vant you
should see de scale we do tings on, ven we got a big subjic.
Y'unnerstand, dis is a feature picture ve're makin' now; a night
picture, a big mob scene.".

"Mob scene?" said Carpenter. "You have so many mobs in this world of
yours!"

"Vell, sure," said T-S. "You gotta take dis vorld de vay you find
it. Y'can't change human nature, y'know. But dis vot you're gonna
see tonight is only a play mob, y'unnerstand."

"That is what seems strangest of all to me," said the other,
thoughtfully. "You like mobs so well that you make imitation ones!"

"Vell, de people, dey like to see crowds in a picture, and dey like
to see action. If you gonna have a big picture, you gotta spend de
money."

"Why not take this real mob that is outside the door?"

"Ha, ha, ha! Ve couldn't verk dat very good, Mr. Carpenter. Ve gotta
have it in de right set; and ven you git a real mob, it don't alvays
do vot you vant exactly! Besides, you can't take night pictures
unless you got your lights and everyting. No, ve gotta make our mobs
to order; we got two tousand fellers hired--"

"What Mr. Rosythe called 'studio bums'? You have that many?"

"Sure, we could git ten tousand if de set vould hold 'em. Dis
picture is called 'De Tale o' Two Cities,' and it's de French
revolution. It's about a feller vot takes anodder feller's place and
gits his head cut off; and say, dere's a sob story in it vot's a
vunder. Ven dey brought me de scenario, I says, 'Who's de author?'
Dey says, 'It's a guy named Charles Dickens.' 'Dickens?' says I.
'Vell, I like his verk. Vot's his address?' And Lipsky, he says,
says he, 'Dey tell me he stays in a place called Vestminster Abbey,
in England.' 'Vell,' says I, 'send him a cablegram and find out vot
he'll take fer an exclusive contract.' So we sent a cablegram to
Charles Dickens, Vestminster Abbey, England, and we didn't git no
answer, and come to find out, de boys in de studios vas havin' a
laugh on old Abey, because dis guy Dickens is some old time feller,
and de Abbey is vere dey got his bones. Vell, dey can have deir
fun--how de hell's a feller like me gonna git time to know about
writers? Vy, only twelve years ago, Maw here and me vas carryin'
pants in a push-cart fer a livin', and we didn't know if a book vas
top-side up or bottom--ain't it, Maw?"

Maw certified that it was--though I thought not quite so eagerly as
her husband. There were five little T-S's growing up, and bringing
pressure to let the dead past stay buried, in Vestminster Abbey or
wherever it might be.

The waiter brought the dinner, and spread it before us. And T-S
tucked his napkin under both ears, and grabbed his knife in one hand
and his fork in the other, and took a long breath, and said:
"Good-bye, folks. See you later!" And he went to work.



XVI


For five minutes or so there was no sound but that of one man's food
going in and going down. Then suddenly the man stopped, with his
knife and fork upright on the table in each hand, and cried: "Mr.
Carpenter, you ain't eatin' nuttin'!"

The stranger, who had apparently been in a daydream, came suddenly
back to Prince's. He looked at the quantities of food spread about
him. "If you'd only let me take a little to those men outside!" He
said it pleadingly.

But T-S tapped imperiously on the table, with both his knife and
fork together. "Mr. Carpenter, eat your dinner! Eat it, now, I say!"
It was as if he were dealing with one of the five little T-S's. And
Carpenter, strange as it may seem, obeyed. He picked up a bit of
bread, and began to nibble it, and T-S went to work again.

There was another five minutes of silence; and then the picture
magnate stopped, with a look of horror on his face. "My Gawd! He's
cryin'!" Sure enough, there were two large tears trickling, one down
each cheek of the stranger, and dropping on the bread he was putting
into his mouth!

"Look here, Mr. Carpenter," protested T-S. "Is it dem strikers?"

"I'm sorry; you see--"

"Now, honest, man, vy should you spoil your dinner fer a bunch o'
damn lousy loafers--"

"Abey, vot a vay to talk at a dinner-party!" broke in Maw.

And then suddenly Mary Magna spoke. It was a strange thing, though I
did not realize it until afterwards. Mary, the irrepressible, had
hardly said one word since we left the beauty parlors! Mary, always
the life of dinner parties, was sitting like a woman who had seen
the ghost of a dead child; her eyes following Carpenter's, her mind
evidently absorbed in probing his thoughts.

"Abey!" said she, with sudden passion, of a sort I'd never seen her
display before. "Forget your grub for a moment, I have something to
say. Here's a man with a heart full of love for other people--while
you and I are just trying to see what we can get out of them! A man
who really has a religion--and you're trying to turn him into a
movie doll! Try to get it through your skull, Abey!"

The great man's eyes were wide open. "Holy smoke, Mary! Vot's got
into you?" And suddenly he almost shrieked. "Lord! She's cryin'
too!"

"No, I'm not," declared Mary, vialiantly. But there were two drops
on her cheeks, so big that she was forced to wipe them away. "It's
just a little shame, that's all. Here we sit, with three times as
much food before us as we can eat; and all over this city are poor
devils with nothing to eat, and no homes to go to--don't you know
that's true, Abey? Don't you know it, Maw?"

"Looka here, kid," said the magnate; "you know vot'll happen to you
if you git to broodin' over tings? You git your face full o'
wrinkles--you already gone and spoilt your make-up."

"Shucks, Abey," broke in Maw, "vot you gotta do vit dat? Vy don't
you mind your own business?"

"Mind my own business? My own business, you say? Vell, I like to
know vot you call my business! Ven I got a contract to pay a girl
tirty-five hunded dollars a veek fer her face, and she goes and gits
it all wrinkles, I ask any jury, is it my business or ain't it? And
if a feller vants to pull de tremulo stop fer a lot o' hoboes and
Bullsheviki, and goes and spills his tears into his soup--"

It sounded fierce; but Mary apparently knew her Abey; also, she saw
that Maw was starting to cry. "There's no use trying to bluff me,
Abey. You know as well as I do there are hungry people in this city,
and no fault of theirs. You know, too, you eat twice what you ought
to, because I've heard the doctor tell you. I'm not blaming you a
bit more than I do myself--me, with two automobiles, and a whole
show-window on my back." And suddenly she turned to Carpenter. "What
can we do?"

He answered: "Here, men gorge themselves; in Russia they are eating
their dead."

T-S dropped his knife and fork, and Maw gave a gulp. "Oh, my Gawd!"

"There are ten million people doomed to starve. Their children eat
grass, and their bellies swell up and their legs dwindle to
broom-sticks; they stagger and fall into the ditches, and other
children tear their flesh and devour it."

"O-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-oh!" wailed Maw; and the diners at Prince's began
to stare.

"Now looka here!" cried T-S, wildly. "I say dis ain't no decent way
to behave at a party. I say it ain't on de level to be a feller's
guest, and den jump on him and spoil his dinner. See here, Mr.
Carpenter, I tell you vot I do. You be good and eat your grub, so it
don't git vasted, and I promise you, tomorrow I go and hunt up
strike headquarters, and give dem a check fer a tousand dollars, and
if de damn graftin' leaders don't hog it, dey all git someting to
eat. And vot's more, I send a check fer five tousand to de Russian
relief. Now ain't dat square? Vot you say?"

"What I say is, Mr. T-S, I cannot be the keeper of another man's
conscience. But I'll try to eat, so as not to be rude."

And T-S grunted, and went back to his feeding; and the stranger made
a pretense of eating, and we did the same.



XVII


It happens that I was brought up in a highly conscientious family.
To my dear mother, and to her worthy sisters, there is nothing in
the world more painful than what they call a "scene"--unless
possibly it is what they call a "situation." And here we had
certainly had a "scene," and still had a "situation." So I sat,
racking my brains to think of something safe to talk about. I
recalled that T-S had had pretty good success with his "Tale of Two
Cities" as a topic of Conversation, so I began:

"Mr. Carpenter, the spectacle you are going to see this evening is
rather remarkable from the artistic point of view. One of the
greatest scenic artists of Paris has designed the set, and the best
judges consider it a real achievement, a landmark in moving picture
work."

"Tell me about it," said Carpenter; and I was grateful for his tone
of interest.

"Well, I don't know how much you know about picture making--"

"You had better explain everything."

"Well, Mr. T-S has built a large set, representing a street scene in
Paris over a century ago. He has hired a thousand men--"

"Two tousand!" broke in T-S.

"In the advertisements?" I suggested, with a smile.

"No, no," insisted the other. "Two tousand, really. In de
advertisements, five tousand."

"Well," said I, "these men wear costumes which T-S has had made for
them, and they pretend to be a mob. They have been practicing all
day, and by now they know what to do. There is a man with a
megaphone, shouting orders to them, and enormous lights playing upon
them, so that men with cameras can take pictures of the scene. It is
very vivid, and as a portrayal of history, is truly educational."

"And when it is done--what becomes of the men?"

Utterly hopeless, you see! We were right back on the forbidden
ground! "How do you mean?" I evaded.

"I mean, how do they live?"

"Dey got deir five dollars, ain't dey?" It was T-S, of course.

"Yes, but that won' last very long, will it? What is the cost of
this dinner we are eating?"

The magnate of the movies looked to the speaker, and then burst into
a laugh. "Ho, ho, ho! Dat's a good vun!"

Said I, hastily: "Mr. T-S means that there are cheaper eating places
to be found."

"Well," said Carpenter, "why don't we find one?"

"It's no use, Billy. He thinks it's up to me to feed all de bums on
de lot. Is dat it, Mr. Carpenter?"

"I can't say, Mr. T-S; I don't know how many there are, and I don't
know how rich you are."

"Vell, dey got five million out o' verks in this country now, and if
I vanted to bust myself, I could feed 'em vun day, maybe two. But
ven I got done, dey vouldn't be nobody to make pictures, and
somebody vould have to feed old Abey--or maybe me and Maw could go
back to carryin' pants in a push cart! If you tink I vouldn't like
to see all de hungry fed, you got me wrong, Mr. Carpenter; but vot I
learned is dis--if you stop fer all de misery you see in de vorld
about you, you vouldn't git novhere."

"Well," said Carpenter, "what difference would that make?"

The proprietor of Eternal City really wanted to make out the
processes of this abnormal mind. He wrinkled his brows, and thought
very hard over it.

"See here, Mr. Carpenter," he began at last, "I tink you got hold o'
de wrong feller. I'm a verkin' man, de same as any mechanic on my
lot. I verked ever since I vas a liddle boy, and if I eat too much
now, maybe it's because I didn't get enough ven I vas liddle. And
maybe I got more money dan vot I got a right to, but I know dis--I
ain't never had enough to do half vot I vant to! But dere's plenty
fellers got ten times vot I got, and never done a stroke o' vork fer
it. Dey're de vuns y'oughter git after!"

Said Carpenter: "I would, if I knew how."

"Dey's plenty of 'em right in dis room, I bet." And Mary added: "Ask
Billy; he knows them all!"

"You flatter me, Mary," I laughed.

"Ain't dey some of 'em here?" demanded T-S.

"Yes, that's true. There are some not far away, who are developing a
desire to meet Mr. Carpenter, unless I miss the signs."

"Vere are dey at?" demanded T-S.

"I won't tell you that," I laughed, "because you'd turn and stare
into their faces."

"So he vould!" broke in Maw. "How often I gotta tell you, Abey? You
got no more manners dan if you vas a jimpanzy."

"All right," said the magnate, grinning good naturedly. "I'll keep
a-eatin' my dinner. Who is it?"

"It's Mrs. Parmelee Stebbins," said I. "She boasts a salon, and has
to have what are called lions, and she's been watching Mr. Carpenter
out of the corner of her eye ever since he came into the
room--trying to figure out whether he's a lion, or only an actor. If
his skin were a bit dark, she would be sure he was an Eastern
potentate; as it, she's afraid he's of domestic origin, in which
case he's vulgar. The company he keeps is against him; but
still--Mrs. Stebbins has had my eye three times, hoping I would give
her a signal, I haven't given it, so she's about to leave."

"Vell, she can go to hell!" said T-S, keeping his promise to devote
himself to his dinner. "I offered Parmelee Stebbins a tird share in
'De Pride o' Passion' fer a hunded tousand dollars, and de damn fool
turned me down, and de picture has made a million and a quarter
a'ready."

"Well," said I, "he's probably paying for it by sitting up late to
buy the city council on this new franchise grab of his; and so he
hasn't kept his date to dine with his expensive family at Prince's.
Here is Miss Lucinda Stebbins; she's engaged to Babcock, millionaire
sport and man about town, but he's taking part in a flying race over
the Rocky Mountains tonight, and so Lucinda feels bored, and she
knows the vaudeville show is going to be tiresome, but still she
doesn't want to meet any freaks. She has just said to her mother
that she can't see why a person in her mother's position can't be
content to meet proper people, but always has to be getting herself
into the newspapers with some new sort of nut."

"My Gawd, Billy!" cried Maw. "You got a dictaphone on dem people?"

"No, but I know the type so well, I can tell by their looks. Lucinda
is thinking about their big new palace on Grand Avenue, and she
regards everyone outside her set as a burglar trying to break in.
And then there's Bertie Stebbins, who's thinking about a new style
of collar he saw advertised to-day, and how it would look on him,
and what impression it would make on his newest girl."

It was Mary who spoke now: "I know that little toad. I've seen him
dancing at the Palace with Dorothy Doodles, or whatever her name
is."

"Well," said I, "Mrs. Stebbins runs the newer set--those who hunt
sensations, and make a splurge in the papers. It costs like smoke,
of course--" And suddenly I stopped. "Look out!" I whispered. "Here
she comes!"



XVIII


I heard Maw catch her breath, and I heard Maw's husband give a
grunt. Then I rose. "How are you, Billy?" gurgled a voice--one of
those voices made especially for social occasions. "Wretched boy,
why do you never come to see us?"

"I was coming to-morrow," I said--for who could prove otherwise?
"Mrs. Stebbins, permit me to introduce Mrs. Tszchniczklefritszch."

"Charmed to meet you, I'm sure," said Mrs. Stebbins. "I've heard my
husband speak of your husband so often. How well you are looking,
Mrs.--"

She stopped; and Maw, knowing the terrors of her name, made haste to
say something agreeable. "Yes, ma'am; dis country agrees vit me
fine. Since I come here, I've rode and et, shoost rode and et."

"And Mr. T-S," said I.

"Howdydo, Mr. T-S?"

"Pretty good, ma'am," said T-S. He had been caught with his mouth
full, and was making desperate efforts to swallow.

A singular thing is the power of class prestige! Here was Maw, a
good woman, according to her lights, who had worked hard all her
life, and had achieved a colossal and astounding success. She had
everything in the world that money could buy; her hair was done by
the best hair-dresser, her gown had been designed by the best
costumer, her rings and bracelets selected by the best jeweller; and
yet nothing was right, no power on earth could make it right, and
Maw knew it, and writhed the consciousness of it. And here was Mrs.
Parmelee Stebbins, who had never done a useful thing in all her
days--except you count the picking out of a rich husband; yet Mrs.
Stebbins was "right," and Maw knew it, and in the presence of the
other woman she was in an utter panic, literally quivering in every
nerve. And here was old T-S, who, left to himself, might have really
meant what he said, that Mrs. Stebbins could go to hell; but because
he was married, and loved his wife, he too trembled, and gulped down
his food!

Mrs. Stebbins is one of those American matrons who do not allow
marriage and motherhood to make vulgar physical impressions upon
them. Her pale blue gown might have been worn by her daughter; her
cool grey eyes looked out through a face without a wrinkle from a
soul without a care. She was a patroness of art and intellect; but
never did she forget her fundamental duty, the enhancing of the
prestige of a family name. When she was introduced to a
screen-actress, she was gracious, but did not forget the difference
between an actress and a lady. When she was introduced to a strange
man who did not wear trousers, she took it quite as an everyday
matter, revealing no trace of vulgar human curiosity.

There came Bertie, full grown, but not yet out of the pimply stage,
and still conscious of the clothes which he had taken such pains to
get right. Bertie's sister remained in her seat, refusing naughtily
to be compromised by her mother's vagaries; but Bertie had a
purpose, and after I had introduced him round, I saw what he
wanted--Mary Magna! Bertie had a vision of himself as a sort of
sporting prince in this movie world. His social position would make
conquests easy; it was a sort of Christmas-tree, all a-glitter with
prizes.

I was standing near, and heard the beginning of their conversation.
"Oh, Miss Magna, I'm so pleased to meet you. I've heard so much
about you from Miss Dulles."

"Miss Dulles?"

"Yes; Dorothy Dulles."

"I'm sorry. I don't think I ever heard of her."

"What? Dorothy Dulles, the screen actress?"

"No, I can't place her."

"But--but she's a star!"

"Well, but you know, Mr. Stebbins--there are so many stars in the
heavens, and not all of them visible to the eye."

I turned to Bertie's mamma. She had discovered that Carpenter looked
even more thrilling on a close view; he was not a stage figure, but
a really grave and impressive personality, exactly the thing to
thrill the ladies of the Higher Arts Club at their monthly luncheon,
and to reflect prestige upon his discoverer. So here she was,
inviting the party to share her box at the theatre; and here was T-S
explaining that it couldn't be done, he had got to see his French
revolution pictures took, dey had five tousand men hired to make a
mob. I noted that Mrs. Stebbins received the "advertising" figures
on the production!

The upshot of it was that the great lady consented to forget her box
at the theatre, and run out to the studios to see the mob scenes for
the "The Tale of Two Cities." T-S hadn't quite finished his dinner,
but he waved his hand and said it was nuttin', he vouldn't keep Mrs.
Stebbins vaitin'. He beckoned the waiter, and signed his magic name
on the check, with a five-dollar bill on top for a tip. Mrs.
Stebbins collected her family and floated to the door, and our party
followed.

I expected another scene with the mob; but I found that the street
had been swept clear of everything but policemen and chauffeurs. I
knew that this must have meant rough work on the part of the
authorities, but I said nothing, and hoped that Carpenter would not
think of it. The Stebbins car drew up by the porte-cochere; and
suddenly I discovered why the wife of the street-car magnate was
known as a "social leader." "Billy," she said, "you come in our car,
and bring Mr. Carpenter; I have something to talk to you about."
Just that easily, you see! She wanted something, so she asked for
it!

I took Carpenter by the arm and put him in. Bertie drove, the
chauffeur sitting in the seat beside him. "Beat you to it!" called
Bertie, with his invincible arrogance, and waved his hand to the
picture magnate as we rolled away.



XIX


As it happened, we made a poor start. Turning the corner into
Broadway, we found ourselves caught in the jam of the theatre
traffic, and our car was brought to a halt in front of the "Empire
Varieties." If you have been on any Broadway between the Atlantic
and Pacific oceans, you can imagine the sight; the flaring electric
signs, the pictures of the head line artists, the people waiting to
buy tickets, and the crowds on the sidewalk pushing past. There was
one additional feature, a crowd of "rah-rah boys," with yellow and
purple flags in their hands, and the glory of battle in their eyes.
As our car halted, the cheer-leader gave a signal, and a hundred
throats let out in unison:

    "Rickety zim, rickety zam,
     Brickety, stickety, slickety slam!
     Wallybaloo! Billybazoo!
     We are the boys for a hullabaloo--Western City!"

It sounded all the more deafening, because Bertie, in the front
seat, had joined in.

"Hello!" said I. "We must have won the ball-game!"

"You _bet_ we did!" said Bertie, in his voice of bursting
self-importance.

"Ball-game?" asked Carpenter.

"Foot-ball," said I. "Western City played Union Tech today. Wonder
what the score was."

The cheer leader seemed to take the words out of my mouth. Again the
hundred voices roared:

    "What was the score?
     Seventeen to four!
     Who got it in the neck?
     Union Tech!
     Who took the kitty?
     Western City!"

Then more waving of flags, and yells for our prize captain and our
agile quarter-back: "Rah, rah, rah, Jerry Wilson! Rah, rah, rah,
Harriman! Western City, Western City, Western City!
W-E-S-T-E-R-N-C-I-T-Y! Western City!"

You have heard college yells, no doubt, and can imagine the tempo of
these cries, the cumulative rush of the spelled out letters, the
booming roar at the end. The voice of Bertie beat back from the
wind-shield with devastating effect upon our ears; and then our car
rolled on, and the clamor died away, and I answered the questions of
Carpenter. "They are College boys. They have won a game with another
college, and are celebrating the victory."

"But," said the other, "how do they manage to shout all together
that way?"

"Oh, they've practiced that, of course."

"You mean--they gather and practice making those noises?"

"Surely."

"They make them in cold blood?"

I laughed. "Well, the blood of youth is seldom entirely cold. They
imagine the victory while they rehearse, no doubt."

When Carpenter spoke again, it was half to himself. "You make your
children into mobs! You train them for it!"

"It really isn't that bad," I replied. "It's all in good
temper--it's their play."

"Yes, yes! But what is play but practice for reality? And how shall
love be learned in savage war-dances?"

They tell us that we have a new generation of young people since the
war; a generation which thinks for itself, and has its own way. I
was an advocate of this idea in the abstract, but I must admit that
I was startled by the concrete case which I now encountered. Bertie
suddenly looked round from his place in the driver's seat. "Say," he
demanded, in a grating voice, "where was that guy raised?"

"Bertie _dear_!" cried his mother. "Don't be rude!"

"I'm not being rude," replied the other. "I just want to know where
he got his nut ideas."

"Bertie _dear_!" cried the mother, again; and you knew that for
eighteen or nineteen years she had been crying "Bertie _dear_!"--in
a tone in which rebuke was tempered by fatuous maternal admiration.
And all the time, Bertie had gone on doing what he pleased, knowing
that in her secret heart his mother was smiling with admiration of
his masterfulness, taking it as one more symptom of the greatness of
the Stebbins line. I could see him in early childhood, stamping on
the floor and commanding his governess to bring him a
handkerchief--and throwing his shoe at her when she delayed!

Presently it was Luanda's turn. Lucinda, you understand, was in
revolt against the social indignity which her mother had inflicted
upon her. When Carpenter had entered the car, she had looked at him
once, with a deliberate stare, then lifted her chin, ignoring my
effort to introduce him to her. Since then she had sat silent, cold,
and proud. But now she spoke. "Mother, tell me, do we have to meet
those horrid fat old Jews again?"

Mrs. Stebbins wisely decided that this was not a good time to
explore the soul of a possible Eastern potentate. Instead, she
elected to talk for a minute or two about a lawn fete she was
planning to give next week for the benefit of the Polish relief.
"Poland is the World's Bulwark against Bolshevism," she explained;
and then added: "Bertie _dear_, aren't you driving recklessly?"

Bertie turned his head. "Didn't you hear me tell that old sheeny I
was going to beat him to it?"

"But, Bertie _dear_, this street is crowded!"

"Well, let them look out for themselves!"

But a few seconds later it appeared as if the son and heir of the
Stebbins family had decided to take his mother's advice. The car
suddenly slowed up--so suddenly as to slide us out of our seats.
There was a grinding of brakes, and a bump of something under the
wheels; then a wild stream from the sidewalk, and a half-stifled cry
from the chauffeur. Mrs. Stebbins gasped, "Oh, my God!" and put her
hands over her face; and Lucinda exclaimed, in outraged irritation,
"Mamma!" Carpenter looked at me, puzzled, and asked, "What is the
matter?"



XX


The accident had happened in an ill-chosen neighborhood: one of
those crowded slum quarters, swarming with Mexicans and Italians and
other foreigners. Of course, that was the only neighborhood in which
it could have happened, because it is only there that children run
wild in the streets at night. There was one child under the front
wheels, crushed almost in half, so that you could not bear to look
at it, to say nothing of touching it; and there was another, struck
by the fender and knocked into the gutter. There was an old hag of a
woman standing by, with her hands lifted into the air, shrieking in
such a voice of mingled terror and fury as I had never heard in my
life before. It roused the whole quarter; there were people running
out of twenty houses, I think, before one of us could get out of the
car.

The first person out was Carpenter. He took one glance at the form
under the car, and saw there was no hope there; then he ran to the
child in the gutter and caught it into his arms. The poor people who
rushed to the scene found him sitting on the curb, gazing into the
pitiful, quivering little face, and whispering grief-stricken words.
There was a street-lamp near, so he could see the face of the child,
and the crowd could see him.

There came a woman, apparently the mother of the dead child. She saw
the form under the car, and gave a horrified scream, and fell into a
faint. There came a man, the father, no doubt, and other relatives;
there was a clamoring, frantic throng, swarming about the car and
about the victims. I went to Carpenter, and asked, "Is it dead?" He
answered, "It will live, I think." Then, seeing that the crowd was
likely to stifle the little one, he rose. "Where does this child
live?" he asked, and some one pointed out the house, and he carried
his burden into it. I followed him, and it was fortunate that I did
so, because of the part I was able to play.

I saw him lay the child upon a couch, and put his hands upon its
forehead, and close his eyes, apparently in prayer. Then, noting the
clamor outside growing louder, I went to the door and looked out,
and found the Stebbins family in a frightful predicament. The mob
had dragged Bertie and the chauffeur outside the car, and were
yelling menaces and imprecations into their faces; poor Bertie was
shouting back, that it wasn't his fault, how could _he_ help it? But
they thought he might have helped coming into their quarter with his
big rich car; why couldn't he stay in his own part of the city, and
kill the children of the rich? A man hit him a blow in the face and
knocked him over; his mother shrieked, and leaped out to help him,
and half a dozen women flung themselves at her, and as many men at
the chauffeur. There was a pile of bricks lying handy, and no doubt
also knives in the pockets of these foreign men; I believe the
little party would have been torn to pieces, had it not occurred to
me to run into the house and summon Carpenter.

Why did I do it? I think because I had seen how the crowd gave way
before him with the child in his arms. Anyhow, I knew that I could
do nothing alone, and before I could find a policeman it might be
many times too late. I told Carpenter what was happening, and he
rose, and ran out to the street.

It was like magic, of course. To these poor foreigners, Catholics
most of them, he did not suggest a moving picture actor on location;
he suggested something serious and miraculous. He called to the
crowd, stretching out his arms, and they gave way before him, and he
walked into them, and when he got to the struggling group he held
his arms over them, and that was all there was to it.

Except, of course, that he made them a speech. Seeing that he was
saving Bertie Stebbins' life, it was no more than fair that he
should have his own way, and that a member of the younger generation
should listen in unprotesting silence to a discourse, the political
and sociological implications of which must have been very offensive
to him. And Bertie listened; I think he would not have made a sound,
even if he could have, after the crack in the face he had got.

"My people," said Carpenter, "what good would it do you to kill
these wretches? The blood-suckers who drain the life of the poor are
not to be killed by blows. There are too many of them, and more of
them grow in place of those who die. And what is worse, if you kill
them, you destroy in yourselves that which makes you better than
they, which gives you the right to life. You destroy those virtues
of patience and charity, which are the jewels of the poor, and make
them princes in the kingdom of love. Let us guard our crown of pity,
and not acquire the vices of our oppressors. Let us grow in wisdom,
and find ways to put an end to the world's enslavement, without the
degradation of our own hearts. For so many ages we have been
patient, let us wait but a little longer, and find the true way! Oh,
my people, my beloved poor, not in violence, but in solidarity, in
brotherhood, lies the way! Let us bid the rich go on, to the sure
damnation which awaits them. Let us not soil our hands with their
blood!"

He spread out his arms again, majestically. "Stand back! Make way
for them!"

Not all the crowd understood the words, but enough of them did, and
set the example. In dead silence they withdrew from the sides and
front of the car. The body of the dead child had been dragged out of
the way and laid on the sidewalk, covered by a coat; and so
Carpenter said to the Stebbins family: "The road is clear before
you. Step in." Half dazed, the four people obeyed, and again
Carpenter raised his voice. "Drinkers of human blood, devourers of
human bodies, go your way! Go forward to that doom which history
prepares for parasites!"

The engine began to purr, and the car began to move. There was a low
mutter from the crowd, a moan of fury and baffled desire; but not a
hand was lifted, and the car shot away, and disappeared down the
street, leaving Carpenter standing on the curb, making a Socialist
speech to a mob of greasers and dagoes.



XXI


When he stopped speaking, it was because a woman pressed her way
through the crowd, and caught one of his hands. "Master, my baby!"
she sobbed. "The little one that was hurt!" So Carpenter said to the
crowd, "The sick child needs me. I must go in." They started to
press after him, and he added, "You must not come into the room. The
child will need air." He went inside, and knelt once more by the
couch, and put his hand on the little one's forehead. The mother, a
frail, dark Mexican woman, crouched at the foot, not daring to touch
either the man or the child, but staring from one to the other,
pressing her hands together in an agony of dread.

The little one opened his eyes, and gazed up. Evidently he liked
what he saw, for he kept on gazing, and a smile spread over his
features, a wistful and tender and infinitely sad little smile, of a
child who perhaps never had a good meal in his lifetime. "Nice man!"
he whispered; and the woman, hearing his voice again, began sobbing
wildly, and caught Carpenter's free hand and covered it with her
tears. "It is all right," said he; "all right, all right! He will
get well--do not be afraid." He smiled back at the child, saying:
"It is better now; you will not have so much pain." To me he
remarked, "What is there so lovely as a child?"

The people thronging the doorway spread word what was going on, and
there were shouts of excitement, and presently the voice of a woman,
clamoring for admission. The throng made way, and she brought a
bundle in her arms, which being unfolded proved to contain a sick
baby. I never knew what was the matter with it; I don't suppose the
mother knew, nor did Carpenter seem to care. The woman knelt at his
feet, praying to him; but he bade her stand up, and took the child
from her, and looked into its face, and then closed his eyes in
prayer. When he handed back the burden, a few minutes later, she
gazed at it. Something had happened, or at least she thought it had
happened, for she gave a cry of joy, and fell at Carpenter's feet
again, and caught the hem of his garment with one hand and began to
kiss it. The rumor spread outside, and there were more people
clamoring. Before long, filtering into the room, came the lame, and
the halt, and the blind.

I had been reading not long ago of the miracles of Lourdes, so I
knew in a general way what to expect. I know that modern science
vindicates these things, demonstrating that any powerful stimulus
given to the unconscious can awaken new vital impulses, and heal not
merely the hysterical and neurotic, but sometimes actual physical
ailments. Of course, to these ignorant Mexicans and Italians, there
was no possible excitement so great as that caused by Carpenter's
appearance and behavior. I understood the thing clearly; and yet,
somehow, I could not watch it without being startled--thrilled in a
strange, uncomfortable way.