We live in an age of communication; we can send a bit of news half
way round the world in a few seconds, we can make it known to a
whole city in a few hours. And so it was with this "prophet fresh
from God"; in spite of himself, he was seized by the scruff of the
neck and flung up to the pinnacle of fame! He had all the marvels of
a lifetime crowded into one day--enough to fill a whole newspaper
with headlines!

And the end was not yet. Suddenly there was a commotion in the
crowd, and a man pushed his way through--Korwsky, the secretary of
the tailor's union, who, learning of Carpenter's miracles, had
rushed all the way home, and got a friend with a delivery wagon, and
brought his half-grown son post-haste. He bore him now in his arms,
and poured out to Carpenter the pitiful tale of his paralyzed limbs.
Such a gentle, good child he was; no one ever heard a complaint; but
he had not been able to stand up for five years.

So, of course, Carpenter put his hands upon the child, and closed
his eyes in prayer; and suddenly he put him down to the ground and
cried: "Walk!" The lad stared at him, for one wild moment, while
people caught their breath; then, with a little choking cry, he took
a step. There came a shout from the spectators, and then--Bang!--a
puff as if a gun had gone off, and a flash of light, and clouds of
white smoke rolling to the ceiling.

Women screamed, and one or two threatened to faint; but it was
nothing more dangerous than the cameraman of the Independent Press
Service, who had hired a step-ladder, and got it set up in a corner
of the room, ready for any climax! A fine piece of stage management,
said his jealous rivals; others in the crowd were sure it was a put
up job between Carpenter and Korwsky. But the labor leaders knew the
little tailor, and they believed. After that there was no doubt
about Carpenter's being a speaker at the mass-meeting!



XXXII


It came time when the rest of us were ready for dinner, but
Carpenter said that he wanted to pray. Apparently, whenever he was
tired, and had work to do he prayed. He told me that he would find
his own way to Grant Hall, the place of the mass-meeting; but
somehow, I didn't like the idea of his walking through the streets
alone. I said I would call for him at seven-thirty and made him
promise not to leave the Labor Temple until that hour.

I cast about in my mind for a body-guard, and bethought me of old
Joe. His name is Joseph Camper, and he played centre-rush with my
elder brother in the days before they opened up the game, and when
beef was what counted. Old Joe has shoulders like the biggest hams
in a butcher shop, and you can trust him like a Newfoundland dog. I
knew that if I asked him not to let anybody hurt my friend, he
wouldn't--and this regardless of the circumstance of my friend's not
wearing pants. Old Joe knows nothing about religion or sociology--
only wrestling and motor-cars, and the price of wholesale
stationery.

So I phoned him to meet me, and we had dinner, and at seven-thirty
sharp our taxi crew drew up at the Labor Temple. Half a minute
later, who should come walking down the street but Everett, T-S's
secretary! "I thought I'd take the liberty," he said,
apologetically. "I thought Mr. Carpenter might say something worth
while, and you'd be glad to have a transcript of his speech."

"Why, that's very kind of you," I answered, "I didn't know you were
interested in him."

"Well, I didn't know it myself, but I seem to be; and besides, he
told me to follow him."

I went upstairs, and found the stranger waiting in the room where I
had left him. I put myself on one side of him, and the
ex-centre-rush on the other, with Everett respectfully bringing up
the rear, and so we walked to Grant Hall. Many people stared at us,
and a few followed, but no one said anything--and thank God, there
was nothing resembling a mob! I took my prophet to the stage
entrance of the hall, and got him into the wings; and there was a
pathetically earnest lady waiting to give him a tract on the horrors
of vivisection, and an old gentleman with a white beard and palsied
hands, inviting him to a spiritualistic seance. Funniest of all,
there was Aunt Caroline's prophet, the author of the "Eternal
Bible," with his white robes and his permanent wave, and his little
tribute of carrots and onions wrapped in a newspaper. I decided that
these were Carpenter's own kind of troubles, and I left him to
attend to them, and strolled out to have a look at the audience.

The hall was packed, both the floor and the galleries; there must
have been three thousand people. I noted a big squad of police, and
wondered what was coming; for in these days you can never tell
whether any public meeting is to be allowed to start, and still less
if it is to be allowed to finish. However, the crowd was orderly,
the only disturber being some kind of a Socialist trying to sell
literature.

I saw Mary Magna come in, with Laura Lee, another picture actress,
and Mrs. T-S. They found seats; and I looked for the magnate, and
saw him talking to some one near the door. I strolled back to speak
to him, and recognized the other man as Westerly, secretary of the
Merchants' and Manufacturers' Association. I knew what he was there
for--to size up this new disturber Of the city's peace, and perhaps
to give the police their orders.

It was not my wish to overhear the conversation, but it worked out
that way, partly because it is hard not to overhear T-S, and partly
because I stopped in surprise at the first words: "Good Gawd, Mr.
Vesterly, vy should I vant to give money to strikers? Dat's nuttin'
but fool newspaper talk. I vent to see de man, because Mary Magna
told me he vas a vunderful type, and I said I'd pay him a tousand
dollars on de contract. You know vot de newspapers do vit such
tings!"

"Then the man isn't a friend of yours?" said the other.

"My Gawd, do I make friends vit every feller vot I hire because he
looks like a character part?"

At this point there came up Rankin, one of T-S's directors. "Hello!"
said he. "I thought I'd come to hear your friend the prophet."

"Friend?" said T-S. "Who told you he's a friend o' mine?"

"Why, the papers said--"

"Vell, de papers 're nutty!"

And then came one of the strikers who had been in the
soup-kitchen--a fresh young fellow, proud to know a great man. "How
dy'do, Mr. T-S? I hear our friend, Mr. Carpenter, is going--"

"Cut out dis friend stuff!" cried T-S, irritably. "He may be
yours--he ain't mine!"

I strolled up. "Hello, T-S!" I said.

"Oh, Billy! Hello!"

"So you've denied him three times!"

"Vot you mean?"

"Three times--and the cock hasn't crowed yet! That man's a prophet
for sure, T-S!"

The magnate pretended not to understand, but the deep flush on his
features gave him away.

"How dy'do, Mr. Westerly," I said. "What do you think of Mr. T-S in
the role of the first pope?"

"You mean he's going to act?" inquired the other, puzzled.

"Come off!" exclaimed Rankin, who knew better, of course.

"He's going to be St. Peter," I insisted, "and hold the keys to the
golden gate. He's planning a religious play, you know, for this
fellow Carpenter. Maybe he might cast Mr. Westerly for a part--say
Pontius Pilate."

"Ha, ha, ha!" said the secretary of our "M. and M." "Pretty good!
Ha, ha, ha! Gimme a chance at these bunk-shooters--I'll shut 'em up,
you bet!"



XXXIII


The chairman of the meeting was a man named Brown, the president of
the city's labor council. He was certainly respectable enough, prosy
and solemn. But he was deeply moved on this question of clubbing
strikers' heads; and you could see that the crowd was only waiting
for a chance to shout its indignation. The chairman introduced the
president of the Restaurant Workers, a solid citizen whom you would
have taken for a successful grocer. He told about what had happened
last night at Prince's; and then he told about the causes of the
strike, and the things that go on behind the scenes in big
restaurants. I had been to Prince's many times in my life, but I had
never been behind the scenes, nor had I ever before been to a
labor-meeting. I must admit that I was startled. The things they put
into the hashes! And the distressing habit of unorganized waiters,
when robbed of their tips or otherwise ill-treated, to take it out
by spitting into the soup!

A couple of other labor men spoke, and then came James, the
carpenter with a religious streak. He had a harsh, rasping voice,
and a way of poking a long bony finger at the people he was
impressing. He was desperately in earnest, and it caused him to
swallow a great deal, and each time his Adam's apple would jump up.
"I'm going to read you a newspaper clipping," he began; and I
thought it was Judge Wollcott's injunction again, but it was a story
about one of our social leaders, Mrs. Alinson Pakenham, who has four
famous Pekinese spaniels, worth six thousand dollars each, and
weighing only eight ounces--or is it eighty ounces?--I'm not sure,
for I never was trusted to lift one of the wretched little brutes.
Anyhow, their names are Fe, Fi, Fo, and Fum, and they have each
their own attendant, and the four have a private limousine in which
to travel, and they dine off a service of gold plate. And here were
hundreds of starving strikers, with their wives, also starving; and
a couple of thousand other workers in factories and on ranches who
were in process of having their wages "deflated." The orator quoted
a speech of Algernon de Wiggs before the Chamber of Commerce,
declaring that the restoration of prosperity, especially in
agriculture, depended upon "deflation," and this alone; and suddenly
James, the carpenter with a religious streak, launched forth:

"Go to now, you rich men, weep and howl for your miseries that are
coming upon you! Your riches are corrupted, and your garments are
moth-eaten! Your gold and silver is cankered; and the rust on it
shall be a witness against you, and shall eat your flesh as if it
were fire. You have heaped treasure together for the last days.
Behold the hire of the laborers, who have reaped your fields; you
have kept it back by fraud, and the cries of the reapers have
entered into the ears of the Lord! You have lived in pleasure on the
earth, and been wanton; you have nourished your hearts, as in a day
of slaughter. You have condemned and killed the just--"

At this point in the tirade, my old friend the ex-centre-rush, who
was standing in the wings with me, turned and whispered: "For God's
sake, Billy, what kind of a Goddamn Bolshevik stunt is this,
anyhow?"

I answered: "Hush, you dub! He's quoting from the Bible!"



XXXIV


President Brown of the Western City Labor Council arose to perform
his next duty as chairman. Said he:

"The next speaker is a stranger to most of you, and he is also a
stranger to me. I do not know what his doctrine is, and I assume no
responsibility for it. But he is a man who has proven his friendship
for labor, not by words, but by very unusual deeds. He is a man of
remarkable personality, and we have asked him to make what
suggestions he can as to our problems. I have pleasure in
introducing Mr. Carpenter."

Whereupon the prophet fresh from God arose from his chair, and come
slowly to the front of the platform. There was no applause, but a
silence made part of curiosity and part of amazement. His figure,
standing thus apart, was majestic; and I noted a curious thing--a
shining as of light about his head. It was so clear and so beautiful
that I whispered to Old Joe: "Do you see that halo?"

"Go on, Billy!" said the ex-centre-rush. "You're getting nutty!"

"But it's plain as day, man!"

I felt some one touch my arm, and saw the little lady of the
anti-vivisection tracts peering past me. "Do you see his aura?" she
whispered, excitedly.

"Is that what it is?"

"Yes. It's purple. That denotes spirituality."

I thought to myself, "Good Lord, am I getting to be that sort?"

Carpenter began to speak, quietly, in his grave, measured voice. "My
brothers!" He waited for some time, as if that were enough; as if
all the problems of life would be solved, if only men would
understand those two words. "My brothers: I am, as your chairman
says, a stranger to this world of yours. I do not understand your
vast machines and your complex arts. But I know the souls of men and
women; when I meet greed, and pride, and cruelty, the enslavements
of the flesh, they cannot lie to me. And I have walked about the
streets of your city, and I know myself in the presence of a people
wandering in a wilderness. My children!--broken-hearted, desolate,
and betrayed--poorest when you are rich, loneliest when you throng
together, proudest when you are most ignorant--my people, I call you
into the way of salvation!"

He stretched out his arms to them, and on his face and in his whole
look was such anguish, that I think there was no man in that whole
great throng so rooted in self-esteem that he was not shaken with
sudden awe. The prophet raised his hands in invocation: "Let us
pray!" He bowed his head, and many in the audience did the same.
Others stared at him in bewilderment, having long ago forgotten how
to pray. Here and there some one snickered.

"Oh, God, Our Father, we, Thy lost children, return to Thee, the
Giver of Life. We bring our follies and our greeds, and cast them at
Thy feet. We do not like the life we have lived. We wish to be those
things which for long ages we have dreamed in vain. Wilt Thou show
the way?"

His hands sank to his sides, and he raised his head. "Such is the
prayer. What is the answer? It has been made known: Ask, and it
shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be
opened unto you. For everyone that asketh receiveth; and he that
seeketh findeth; and to him that knocketh it shall be opened.--These
are ancient words, by many forgotten. What do they mean? They mean
that we are children of our Father, and not slaves of earthly
masters. Would a man make a slave of his own child? And shall man be
more righteous than his Creator?

"My brothers: You are hungry, and in need, and your children cry for
bread; do I bid you feed them upon words? Not so; but the life of
men is made by the will of men, and that which exists in steel and
stone existed first in thought. If your thought is mean and base,
your world is a place of torment; if your thought is true and
generous, your world is free.

"There was once a man who owned much land, and upon it he built
great factories, and many thousand men toiled for him, and he grew
fat upon the product of their labor, and his heart was high. And it
came to pass that his workers rebelled; and he hired others, and
they shot down the workers, so that the rest returned to their
labor. And the master said: The world is mine, and none can oppose
me. But one day there arose among the workers a man who laughed. And
his laughter spread, until all the thousands were laughing; they
said, We are laughing at the thought that we should work and you
take the fruit of our labor. He ordered his troops to shoot them,
but his troops were also laughing, and he could not withstand the
laughter of so many men; he laughed also, and said, let us end this
foolish thing.

"Is there a man among you who can say, I am worthy of freedom? That
man shall save the world. And I say to you: Make ready your hearts
for brotherhood; for the hour draws near, and it is a shameful thing
when man is not worthy of his destiny. A man may serve with his
body, and yet be free, but he that is a slave in his soul admires
the symbols of mastery, and lusts after its fruits.

"What are the fruits of mastery? They are pride and pomp, they are
luxury and wantoness and the shows of power. And who is there among
you that can say to himself, these things have no roots in my heart?
That man is great, and the deliverance of the world is the act of
his will."



XXXV


The speaker paused, and turned; his gaze swept the platform, and
those seated on it. Said he: "You are the representatives of
organized labor. I do not know your organization, therefore I ask:
For what are you united? Is it to follow in the footsteps of your
masters, and bind others as they have bound you?"

He waited for an answer, and the chairman, upon whom his gaze was
fixed, cried, "No!" Others also cried, "No!" and the audience took
it up with fervor. Carpenter turned to them. "Then I say to you:
Break down in your hearts and in the hearts of your fellows the
worship of those base things which mastership has brought into the
world. If a man pile up food while others starve, is not this evil?
If a woman deck herself with clothing to her own discomfort, is not
this folly? And if it be folly, how shall it be admired by you, to
whom it brings starvation and despair?

"Before me sit young women of the working class. Say to yourselves:
I tear from my fingers the jewels which are the blood and tears of
my fellow-men; I wash the paint from my face, and from my head and
my bosom I take the silly feathers and ribbons. I dare to be what I
am. I dare to speak truth in a world of lies. I dare to deal
honestly with men and women.

"Before me sit young men of the working-class. I say to you: Love
honest women. Do not love harlots, nor imitations of harlots. Do not
admire the idle women of the ruling class, nor those who ape them,
and thereby glorify them. Do not admire languid limbs and pouting
lips and the signs of haughtiness and vanity, your own enslavements.

"A tree is known by the fruit it gives; and the masters are known by
the lives they give to their servants. They are known by misery and
unemployment, by plague and famine, by wars, and the slaughter of
the people. Let judgment be pronounced upon them!

"You have heard it said: Each for himself, and the devil take the
hindmost. But I say to you: Each for all, and the hindmost is your
charge. I say to you: If a man will not work, let him be the one
that hungers; if he will not serve, let him be your criminal. For if
one man be idle, another man has been robbed; and if any man make
display of wealth, that man has the flesh of his brothers in his
stomach. Verily, he that lives at ease while others starve has
blood-guilt upon him; and he that despises his fellows has committed
the sin for which there is no pardon. He that lives for his own
glory is a wolf, and vengeance will hunt him down; but he that loves
justice and mercy, and labors for these things, dwells in the bosom
of my Father.

"Do not think that I am come to bring you ease and comfort; I am
come to bring strife and discontent to this world. For the time of
martyrdom draws near, and from your Father alone can you draw the
strength to endure your trials. You are hungry, but you will be
starved; you are prisoned in mills and mines, but you will be walled
up in dungeons; you are beaten with whips, but you will be beaten
with clubs, your flesh will be torn by bullets, your skin will be
burned with fire and your lungs poisoned with deadly gases--such is
the dominion of this world. But I say to you, resist in your hearts,
and none can conquer you, for in the hearts of men lies the past and
the future, and there is no power but love.

"You say: The world is evil, and men are base; why should I die for
them? Oh, ye of little faith, how many have died for you, and would
you cheat mankind? If there is to be goodness in the world, some one
must begin; who will begin with me?

"My brothers: I am come to lead you into the way of justice. I bid
you follow; not in passion and blind excitement, but as men firm in
heart and bent upon service. For the way of self-love is easy, while
the way of justice is hard. But some will follow, and their numbers
will grow; for the lives of men have grown ill beyond enduring, and
there must be a new birth of the spirit. Think upon my message; I
shall speak to you again, and the compulsion of my law will rest
upon you. The powers of this world come to an end, but the power of
good will is everlasting, and the body can sooner escape from its
own shadow than mankind can escape from brotherhood."

He ceased, and a strange thing happened. Half the crowd rose to its
feet; and they cried, "Go, on!" Twice he tried to retire to his
seat, but they cried, "Go on, go on!" Said he, "My brothers, this is
not my meeting, there are other speakers--" But they cried, "We want
to hear you!" He answered, "You have your policies to decide, and
your leaders must have their say. But I will speak to you again
to-morrow. I am told that your city permits street speaking on
Western City Street on Sundays. In the morning I am going to church,
to see how they worship my Father in this city of many mobs; but at
noon I will hold a meeting on the corner of Fifth and Western City
Streets, and if you wish, you may hear me. Now I ask you to excuse
me, for I am weary." He stood for a moment, and I saw that, although
he had never raised his voice nor made a violent gesture, his eyes
were dark and hollow with fatigue, and drops of sweat stood upon his
forehead.

He turned and left the platform, and Old Joe and I hurried around to
join him. We found him with Korwsky the little Russian tailor whose
son he had healed. Korwsky claimed him to spend the night at his
home; the friend with the delivery wagon was on hand, and they were
ready to start. I asked Carpenter to what church he was going in the
morning, and he startled me by the reply, "St. Bartholomew's." I
promised that I would surely be on hand, and then Old Joe and I set
out to walk home.

"Well?" said I. "What do you think of him?"

The ex-centre-rush walked for a bit before he answered. "You know,
Billy boy," said he, "we do lead rotten useless lives."

"Good Lord!" I thought; it was the first sign of a soul I had ever
noted in Old Joe! "Why," I argued, "you sell paper, and that's
useful, isn't it?"

"I don't know whether it is or not. Look at what's printed on
it--mostly advertisements and bunk." And again we walked for a bit.
"By the way," said the ex-centre-rush, "before he got through, I saw
that aura, or whatever you call it. I guess I'm getting nutty, too!"



XXXVI


The first thing I did on Sunday morning was to pick up the "Western
City Times," to see what it had done to Carpenter. I found that he
had achieved the front page, triple column, with streamer head all
the way across the page:

PROPHET IN TOWN, HEALS SICK, RAVES AT RICH AMERICA IS MOBLAND,
ALLEGED IN RED RIOT OF TALK

There followed a half page story about Carpenter's strenuous day in
Western City, beginning with a "Bolshevik stump speech" to a mob of
striking tailors. It appears that the prophet had gone to the Hebrew
quarter of the city, and finding a woman railing at a butcher
because of "alleged extortion," had begun a speech, inciting a mob,
so that the police reserves had to be called out, and a riot was
narrowly averted. From there the prophet had gone to the Labor
Temple, announcing himself to the reporters as "fresh from God,"
with a message to "Mobland," his name for what he prophesied America
would be under his rule. He had then healed a sick boy, the
performance being carefully staged in front of moving picture
cameras. The account of the "Times" did not directly charge that the
performance was a "movie stunt," but it described it in a mocking
way which made it obviously that. The paper mentioned T-S in such a
way as to indicate him as the originator of the scheme, and it had
fun with Mary Magna, pawning her paste jewels. It published the
flash-light picture, and also a picture of Carpenter walking down
the street, trailed by his mob.

In another column was the climax, the "red riot of talk" at Grant
Hall. James, the striking carpenter, had indulged in virulent and
semi-insane abuse of the rich; after which the new prophet had
stirred the mob to worse frenzies. The "Times" quoted sample
sentences, such as: "Do not think that I am come to bring you ease
and comfort; I am come to bring strife and disorder to this world."

I turned to the editorial page, and there was a double-column
leader, made extra impressive by leads. "AN INFAMOUS BLASPHEMY," was
the heading. Perhaps you have a "Times" in your own city; if so, you
will no doubt recognize the standard style:

"For many years this newspaper has been pointing out to the people
of Western City the accumulating evidence that the men who
manipulate the forces of organized labor are Anarchists at heart,
plotting to let loose the torch of red revolution over this fair
land. We have clearly showed their nefarious purpose to overthrow
the Statue of Liberty and set up in its place the Dictatorship of
the Walking Delegate. But, evil as we thought them, we were naive
enough to give them credit for an elemental sense of decency. Even
though they had no respect for the works of man, we thought at least
they would spare the works of God, the most sacred symbols of divine
revelation to suffering humanity. But yesterday there occurred in
this city a performance which for shameless insolence and
blasphemous perversion exceeds anything but the wildest flight of a
devil's imagination, and reveals the bosses of the Labor Trust as
wanton defilers of everything that decent people hold precious and
holy.

"What was the spectacle? A moving picture producer, moved by blind,
and we trust unthinking lust for gain, produces in our midst an
alleged 'prophet,' dressed in a costume elaborately contrived to
imitate and suggest a Sacred Presence which our respect for religion
forbids us to name; he brings this vile, perverted creature forward,
announcing himself to the newspapers as 'fresh from God,' and
mouthing phrases of social greed and jealousy with which for the
past few years the Hun-agents and Hun-lovers in our midst have made
us only too sickenly familiar. This monstrous parody of divine
compassion is escorted to that headquarters of Pro-Germanism and red
revolution, the Labor Temple, and there performs, in the presence of
moving picture cameras, a grotesque parody upon the laying on of
hands and the healing of the sick. The 'Times' presents a photograph
of this incredible infamy. We apologize to our readers for thus
aiding the designs of cunning publicity-seekers, but there is no
other way to make clear to the public the gross affront to decency
which has been perpetrated, and the further affronts which are being
planned. This appears to be a scheme for making a moving picture
'star'; this 'Carpenter'--note the silly pun--is to become the
latest sensation in million dollar movie dolls, and the American
public is to be invited to pay money to witness a story of sacred
things played by a real 'prophet' and worker of 'miracles'!"

"But the worst has yet to be told. The masters of the Labor Trust,
not to be outdone in bidding for unholy notoriety, had the insolence
to invite this blasphemous charlatan to their riot of revolutionary
ranting called a 'protest meeting.' He and other creatures of his
ilk, summoning the forces which are organizing red ruin in our city,
proceed to rave at the police and the courts for denying to mobs of
strikers the right to throw brickbats at honest workers looking for
jobs, and to hold the pistol of the boycott at the heads of
employers who dare to stand for American liberty and democracy! We
have heard much mouthing of class venom and hate in this community,
but never have our ears been affronted by anything so unpardonable
as this disguising of the doctrine of Lenin and Trotsky in the robes
of Christian revelation. This 'prophet fresh from God,' as he styles
himself, is a man of peace and brotherly love--oh, yes, of course!
We know these wolves in sheeps' clothing, these pacifists and lovers
of man with the gold of the Red International in their pockets, and
slavering from their tongues the fine phrases of idealism which
conveniently protect them from the strong hand of the law! We have
seen their bloody work for four years in Russia, and we tell them
that if they expect to prepare the confiscation of property and the
nationalization of women in this country while disguising themselves
in moving picture imitations of religion, they are grossly
underestimating the intelligence of the red-blooded citizens of this
great republic. We shall be much mistaken if the order-loving and
patriotic people of our Christian community do not find a way to
stamp their heel upon this vile viper before its venom shall have
poisoned the air we breathe."



XXXVII


Then I picked up the "Examiner." Our "Examiner" does not go in so
much for moral causes; it is more interested in getting circulation,
for which it relies upon sensation, and especially what it calls
"heart interest," meaning sex. It had found what it wanted in this
story, as you may judge by the headlines:

MOVIE QUEEN PAWNS JEWELS FOR PROPHET OF GOD

Then followed a story of which Mary Magna was the centre, with T-S
and myself for background. The reporter had hunted out the Mexican
family with which Carpenter had spent the night, and he drew a
touching picture of Carpenter praying over Mary in this humble home,
and converting her to a better life. Would the "million dollar
vamp," as the "Examiner" called her, now take to playing only
religious parts? Mary was noncommittal on the point; and pending her
decision, the "Examiner" published her portraits in half a dozen of
her most luxurious roles--for example, as Salome after taking off
the seventh veil. Side by side with Carpenter, that had a real
"punch," you may believe!

The telephone rang, and there was the voice of T-S, fairly raving.
He didn't mind the "Examiner" stuff; that was good business, but
that in the "Times"--he was going to sue the "Times" for a million
dollars, by God, and would I back him in his claim that he had not
put Carpenter up to the healing business?

After a bit, the magnate began apologizing for his repudiation of
the prophet. He was in a position, just now with these hard times,
where the Wall Street crowd could ruin him if he got in bad with
them. And then he told me a curious story. Last night, after the
meeting, young Everett, his secretary, had come to him and asked if
he could have a couple of months' leave of absence without pay. He
was so much interested in Carpenter that he wanted to follow him and
help him!

"Y' know, Billy," said the voice over the phone, "y' could a'
knocked me over vit a fedder! Dat young feller, he vas alvays so
quiet, and such a fine business feller, I put him in charge of all
my collections. I said to him, 'Vot you gonna do?' And he said, 'I
gonna learn from Mr. Carpenter." Says I, 'Vot you gonna learn?' and
he says, 'I gonna learn to be a better man.' Den he vaits a minute,
and he says, 'Mr. T-S, he _told_ me to foller him!' J' ever hear de
like o' dat?"

"What did you say?"

"Vot could I say? I vanted to say, 'Who's givin' you de orders?' But
I couldn't, somehow! I hadda tell him to go ahead, and come back
before he forgot all my business."

I dressed, and had my breakfast, and drove to St. Bartholomew's. It
was a November morning, bright and sunny, as warm as summer; and it
is always such a pleasure to see that goodly company of ladies and
gentlemen, so perfectly groomed, so perfectly mannered, breathing a
sense of peace and well being. Ah, that wonderful sense of well
being! "God's in His Heaven, all's right with the world!" And what a
curious contrast with the Labor Temple! For a moment I doubted
Carpenter; surely these ladies with their decorative bonnets, their
sweet perfumes, their gowns of rose and lilac and other pastel
shades--surely they were more important life-products than women in
frowsy and dowdy imitation clothes! Surely it was better to be
serene and clean and pleasant, than to be terrible and bewildered,
sick and quarrelsome! I was seized by a frenzy, a sort of
instinctive animal lust for this life of ease and prettiness. No
matter if those dirty, raucous-voiced hordes of strikers, and others
of their "ilk"--as the "Times" phrased it--did have to wash my
clothes and scrub my floors, just so that _I_ stayed clean and
decent!

I bowed to a score or two of the elegant ladies, and to their
escorts in shiny top hats and uncreased kid gloves, and went into
the exquisite church with its glowing stained glass window, and
looked up over the altar--and there stood Carpenter! I tell you, it
gave me a queer shock. There he was, up in the window, exactly where
he had always been; I thought I had suddenly wakened from a dream.
There had been no "prophet fresh from God," no mass-meeting at Grant
Hall, no editorial in the "Times"! But suddenly I heard a voice at
my elbow: "Billy, what is this awful thing you've been doing?" It
was my Aunt Caroline, and I asked what she meant, and she answered,
"That terrible prophet creature, and getting your name into the
papers!"

So I knew it was true, and I walked with my dear, sweet old auntie
down the aisle, and there sat Aunt Jennie, with her two lanky girls
who have grown inches every time I run into them; and also Uncle
Timothy. Uncle Timothy was my guardian until I came of age, so I am
a little in awe of him, and now I had to listen to his whispered
reproaches--it being the first principle of our family never to "get
into the papers." I told him that it wasn't my fault I had been
knocked down by a mob, and surely I couldn't help it if this man
Carpenter found me while I was unconscious, and made me well. Nor
could I fail to be polite to my benefactor, and try to help him
about. My Uncle Timothy was amazed, because he had accepted the
"Times" story that it was all a "movie" hoax. Everybody will tell
you in Western City that they "never believe a word they read in the
'Times'"; but of course they do--they have to believe something, and
what else have they?

I was trying to think about that picture over the altar. Of course,
they would naturally have replaced it! I wondered who had found old
de Wiggs up there; I wondered if he knew about it, and if he had any
idea who had played that prank. I looked to his pew; yes, there he
sat, rosy and beaming, bland as ever! I looked for old Peter Dexter,
president of the Dexter Trust Company--yes, he was in his pew,
wizened and hunched up, prematurely bald. And Stuyvesant Gunning, of
the Fidelity National--they were all here, the masters of the city's
finance and the pillars of "law and order." Some wag had remarked if
you wanted to call directors' meeting after the service, you could
settle all the business of Western City in St. Bartholomew's!

The organ pealed and the white-robed choir marched in, bearing the
golden crosses, and followed by the Reverend Dr. Lettuce-Spray,
smooth-shaven, plump and beautiful, his eyes bent reverently on the
floor. They were singing with fervor that most orthodox of hymns:

The church's one foundation Is Jesus Christ, her Lord.

It is a beautiful old service, as you may know, and I had been
taught to love it and thrill to it as a little child, and we never
forget those things. Peace and propriety are its keynotes; order and
dignity, combined with sensuous charm. Everyone knows his part, and
it moves along like a beautiful machine. I knelt and prayed, and
then sat and listened, and then stood and sang--over and over for
perhaps three-quarters of an hour. We came to the hymn which
precedes the sermon, and turning to the number, we obediently
proclaimed:

The Son of God goes forth to war A kingly crown to gain: His
blood-red banner streams afar: Who follows in His train?

During the singing of the last verse, the Reverend Lettuce-Spray had
moved silently into the pulpit. After the choir had sung "Amen," he
raised his hands in invocation--and at that awesome moment I saw
Carpenter come striding up the aisle!



XXXVIII


He knew just where he was going, and walked so fast that before
anyone had time to realize what was happening, he was on the altar
steps, and facing the congregation. You could hear the gasp of
amazement; he was so absolutely identical with the painted figure
over his head, that if he had remained still, you could not have
told which was painting and which was flesh and blood. The rector in
the pulpit stood with his mouth open, staring as if seeing a ghost.

The prophet stretched out both his hands, and pointed two accusing
fingers at the congregation. His voice rang out, stern and
commanding: "Let this mockery cease!" Again he cried: "What do ye
with my Name?" And pointing over his head: "Ye crucify me in stained
glass!"

There came murmurs from the congregation, the first mutterings of a
storm. "Oh! Outrageous! Blasphemy!"

"Blasphemy?" cried Carpenter. "Is it not written that God dwelleth
not in temples made with hands? Ye have built a temple to Mammon,
and defile the name of my Father therein!"

The storm grew louder. "This is preposterous!" exclaimed my uncle
Timothy at my side. And the Reverend Lettuce-Spray managed to find
his voice. "Sir, whoever you are, leave this church!"

Carpenter turned upon him. "You give orders to me--you who have
brought back the moneychangers into my Father's temple?" And
suddenly he faced the congregation, crying in a voice of wrath:
"Algernon de Wiggs! Stand up!"

Strange as it may seem, the banker rose in his pew; whether under
the spell of Carpenter's majestic presence, or preparing to rush at
him and throw him out, I could not be sure. The great banker's face
was vivid scarlet.

And Carpenter pointed to another part of the congregation. "Peter
Dexter! Stand up!" The president of the Dexter Trust Company also
arose, trembling as if with palsy, mumbling something, one could not
tell whether protest or apology.

"Stuyvesant Gunning! Stand up!" And the president of the Fidelity
National obeyed. Apparently Carpenter proposed to call the whole
roll of financial directors; but the procedure was halted suddenly,
as a tall, white-robed figure strode from its seat near the choir.
Young Sidney Simpkinson, assistant to the rector, went up to
Carpenter and took him by the arm.

"Leave this house of God," he commanded.

The other faced him. "It is written, Thou shalt not take the name of
the Lord thy God in vain, for the Lord will not hold him guiltless
that taketh His name in vain."

Young Simpkinson wasted no further words in parley. He was an
advocate of what is known as "muscular Christianity," and kept
himself in trim playing on the parish basket-ball team. He flung his
strong arms about Carpenter, and half carrying him, half walking
him, took him down the steps and down the aisle. As he went,
Carpenter was proclaiming: "It is written, My house shall be called
a house of prayer; but ye have made it a den of thieves. He that
steals little is called a pickpocket, but he that steals much is
called a pillar of the church. Verily, he that deprives the laborer
of the fruit of his toil is more dangerous than he that robs upon
the highway; and he that steals the state and the powers of
government is the father of all thieves."

By that time, the prophet had been hustled two-thirds down the
aisle; and then came a new development. Unobserved by anyone, a
number of Carpenter's followers had come with him into the church;
and these, seeing the way he was being handled, set up a cry: "For
shame! For shame!" I saw Everett, secretary to T-S, and Korwsky,
secretary of the tailor's union; I saw some one leap at Everett and
strike him a ferocious blow in the teeth, and two other men leap
upon the little Russian and hurl him to the ground.

I started up, involuntarily. "Oh, shame! Shame!" I cried, and would
have rushed out into the aisle. But I had to pass my uncle, and he
had no intention of letting me make myself a spectacle. He threw his
arms about me, and pinned me against the pew in front; and as he is
one of the ten ranking golfers at the Western City Country Club, his
embrace carried authority. I struggled, but there I stayed,
shouting, "For shame! For shame!" and my uncle exclaiming, in a
stern whisper, "Shut up! Sit down, you fool!" and my Aunt Caroline
holding onto my coat-tails, crying, and my aunt Jennie threatening
to faint.

The melee came quickly to an end, for the men of the congregation
seized the half dozen disturbers and flung them outside, and mounted
guard to make sure they did not return. I sank back into my seat, my
worthy uncle holding my arm tightly with both hands, lest I should
try to make my escape over the laps of Aunt Caroline and Aunt
Jennie.

All this time the Reverend Lettuce-Spray had been standing in the
pulpit, making no sound. Now, as the congregation settled back into
order, he said, with the splendid, conscious self-possession of one
who can remain "equal to the occasion": "We will resume the
service." And he opened his portfolio, and spread out his manuscript
before him, and announced:

"Our text for the morning is the fifth chapter of the gospel
according to St. Matthew, the thirty-ninth and fortieth verses: 'But
I say unto you, that ye resist not evil: but whosoever shall smite
thee on thy right cheek, turn to him the other also. And if any man
shall sue thee at law, and take away thy coat, let him have thy
cloak also."



XXXIX


I sat through the sermon, and the offertory, and the recessional.
After that my uncle tried to detain me, to warn and scold me; but he
no longer used physical force, and nothing but that would have held
me. At the door I asked one of the ushers what had become of the
prophet, thinking he might be in jail. But the answer was that the
gang had gone off, carrying their wounded; so I ran round the corner
to where my car was parked, and within ten minutes I was on Western
City Street, where Carpenter had announced that he would speak.

There had been nothing said about the proposed meeting in the
papers, and no one knew about it save those who had been present at
Grant Hall. But it looked as if they had told everyone they knew,
and everyone they had told had come. The wide street was packed
solid for a block, and in the midst of this throng stood Carpenter,
upon a wagon, making a speech.

There was no chance to get near, so I bethought me of an alley which
ran parallel to the street. There was an obscure hotel on the
street, and I entered it through the rear entrance, and had no
trouble in persuading the clerk to let me join some of the guests of
the hotel who were watching the scene from the second story windows.

The first thing which caught my attention was the figure of Everett,
seated on the floor of the wagon from which the speech was being
made. I saw that his face was covered with blood; I learned later
that he had three teeth knocked out, and his nose broken.
Nevertheless, there he was with his stenographer's notebook, taking
down the prophet's words. He told me afterwards that he had taken
even what Carpenter said in the church. "I've an idea he won't last
very long," was the way he put it; "and if they should get rid of
him, every word he's said will be precious. Anyhow, I'm going to get
what I can."

Also I saw Korwsky, lying on the floor of the wagon, evidently
knocked out; and two other men whom I did not know, nursing battered
and bloody faces. Having taken all that in at a glance, I gave my
attention to what Carpenter was saying.

He was discussing churches and those who attend them. Later on, my
attention was called to the curious fact that his discourse was
merely a translation into modern American of portions of the
twenty-third chapter of St. Matthew; a free adaptation of those
ancient words to present day practices and conditions. But I had no
idea of this while I listened; I was shocked by what seemed to me a
furious tirade, and the guests of the hotel were even more
shocked--I think they would have taken to throwing things out of the
windows at the orator, had it not been for their fear of the crowd.
Said Carpenter:

"The theologians and scholars and the pious laymen fill the leisure
class churches, and it would be all right if you were to listen to
what they preach, and do that; but don't follow their actions, for
they never practice what they preach. They load the backs of the
working-classes with crushing burdens, but they themselves never
move a finger to carry a burden, and everything they do is for show.
They wear frock-coats and silk hats on Sundays, and they sit at the
speakers' tables at the banquets of the Civic Federation, and they
occupy the best pews in the churches, and their doings are reported
in all the papers; they are called leading citizens and pillars of
the church. But don't you be called leading citizens, for the only
useful man is the man who produces. (Applause.) And whoever exalts
himself shall be abased, and whoever humbles himself shall be
exalted.

"Woe unto you, doctors of divinity and Catholics, hypocrites! for
you shut up the kingdom of heaven against men; you don't go in
yourself and you don't let others go in. Woe unto you, doctors of
divinity and Presbyterians, hypocrites! for you foreclose mortgages
on widows' houses, and for a pretense you make long prayers. For
this you will receive the greater damnation! Woe unto you, doctors
of divinity and Methodists, hypocrites! for you send missionaries to
Africa to make one convert, and when you have made him, is twice as
much a child of hell as yourselves. (Applause.) Woe unto you, blind
guides, with your subtleties of doctrine, your transubstantiation
and consubstantiation and all the rest of it; you fools and blind!
Woe unto you, doctors of divity and Episcopalians, hypocrites! for
you drop your checks into the collection-plate and you pay no heed
to the really important things in the Bible, which are justice and
mercy and faith in goodness. You blind guides, who choke over a fly
and swallow a flivver! (Laughter.) Woe unto you, doctors of divinity
and Anglicans, hypocrites! for you dress in immaculate clothing kept
clean by the toil of frail women, but within you are full of
extortion and excess. You blind high churchmen, clean first your
hearts, so that the clothes you wear may represent you. Woe unto
you, doctors of divinity and Baptists, hypocrites! for you are like
marble tombs which appear beautiful on the outside, but inside are
full of dead men's bones and all uncleanness. Even so you appear
righteous to men, but inside you are full of hypocrisy and iniquity.
(Applause.) Woe unto you doctors of divinity and Unitarians,
hypocrites! because you erect statues to dead reformers, and put
wreaths upon the tombs of old-time martyrs. You say, if we had been
alive in those days, we would not have helped to kill those good
men. That ought to show you how to treat us at present. (Laughter.)
But you are the children of those who killed the good men; so go
ahead and kill us too! You serpents, you generation of vipers, how
can you escape the damnation of hell?"



XL


When Carpenter stopped speaking, his face was dripping with sweat,
and he was pale. But the eager crowd would not let him go. They
began to ask him questions. There were some who wanted to know what
he meant by saying that he came from God, and some who wanted to
know whether he believed in the Christian religion. There were
others who wanted to know what he thought about political action,
and if he really believed that the capitalists would give up without
using force. There was a man who had been at the relief kitchen, and
noted that he ate soup with meat in it, and asked if this was not
using force against one's fellow creatures. The old gentleman who
represented spiritualism was on hand, asking if the dead are still
alive, and if so, where are they?

Then, before the meeting was over, there came a sick man to be
healed; and others, pushing their way through the crowd, clamoring
about the wagon, seeking even to touch the hem of Carpenter's
garments. After a couple of hours of this he announced that he was
worn out. But it was a problem to get the wagon started; they could
only move slowly, the driver calling to the people in front to make
room. So they went down the street, and I got into my car and
followed at a distance. I did not know where they were going, and
there was nothing I could do but creep along--a poor little rich boy
with a big automobile and nobody to ride in it, or to pay any
attention to him.

The wagon drove to the city jail; which rather gave me a start,
because I had been thinking that the party might be arrested at any
minute, on complaint to the police from the church. But apparently
this did not trouble Carpenter. He wished to visit the strikers who
had been arrested in front of Prince's restaurant. He and several
others stood before the heavy barred doors asking for admission,
while a big crowd gathered and stared. I sat watching the scene,
with phrases learned in earliest childhood floating through my mind:
"I was sick, and ye visited me; I was in prison, and ye came unto
me."

But it appeared that Sunday was not visitors' day at the jail, and
the little company was turned away. As they climbed back into the
wagon, I saw two husky fellows come from the jail, a type one learns
to know as plain clothes men. "Why won't they let him in?" cried
some one in the crowd; and one of the detectives looked over his
shoulder, with a sneering laugh: "We'll let him in before long,
don't you worry!"

The wagon took up its slow march again. It was a one-horse
express-cart, belonging, as I afterwards learned, to a compatriot of
Korwsky the tailor. This man, Simon Karlin, earned a meager living
for himself and his family by miscellaneous delivery in his
neighborhood; but now he was so fascinated with Carpenter that he
had dropped everything in order to carry the prophet about. I
mention it, because next day in the newspapers there was much fun
made of this imitation man of God riding about town in a half
broken-down express-wagon, hauled by a rickety and spavined old nag.

The company drove to one of the poorer quarters of the city, and
stopped before a workingman's cottage on a street whose name I had
never heard before. I learned that it was the home of James, the
striking carpenter, and on the steps were his wife and a brood of
half a dozen children, and his old father and mother, and several
other people unidentified. There were many who had walked all the
way following the wagon, and others gathered quickly, and besought
the prophet to speak to them, and to heal their sick. Apparently his
whole life was to consist of that kind of thing, for he found it
hard to refuse any request. But finally he told them he must be
quiet, and went inside, and James mounted guard at the door, and I
sat in my car and waited until the crowd had filtered away. There
was no good reason why I should have been admitted, but James
apparently was glad to see me, and let me join the little company
that was gathered in his home.