XII
At the main entrance to the marble works Richard nearly walkedover a man who was coming out, intently mopping his forehead with avery dirty calico handkerchief. It was an English stone-dresser namedDenyven. Richard did not recognize him at first.
"That you, Denyven!... what has happened!"
"I've 'ad a bit of a scrimmage, sir."
"A scrimmage in the yard, in work hours!"
The man nodded.
"With whom?"
"Torrini, sir,--he's awful bad this day."
"Torrini,--it is always Torrini! It seems odd that one man shouldbe everlastingly at the bottom of everything wrong. How did ithappen? Give it to me straight, Denyven; I don't want a crookedstory. This thing has got to stop in Slocum's Yard."
"The way of it was this, sir: Torrini wasn't at the shop thismorning. He 'ad a day off."
"I know."
"But about one o'clock, sir, he come in the yard. He 'ad been atthe public 'ouse, sir, and he was hummin'. First he went among thecarvers, talking Hitalian to 'em and making 'em laugh, though he wasin a precious bad humor hisself. By and by he come over to where meand my mates was, and began chaffin' us, which we didn't mind it,seeing he was 'eavy in the 'ead. He was as clear as a fog 'orn allthe same. But when he took to banging the tools on the blocks, Isings out, ''Ands off!' and then he fetched me a clip. I was neverlooking for nothing less than that he'd hit me. I was a smiling atthe hinstant."
"He must be drunker than usual."
"Hevidently, sir. I went down between two slabs as soft as youplease. When I got on my pins, I was for choking him a bit, but mymates hauled us apart. That's the 'ole of it, sir. They'll tell youthe same within."
"Are you hurt, Denyven?"
"Only a bit of a scratch over the heye, sir,--and the nose," andthe man began mopping his brow tenderly. "I'd like to 'ave thatHitalian for about ten minutes, some day when he's sober, over yonderon the green."
"I'm afraid he would make the ten minutes seem long to you."
"Well, sir, I'd willingly let him try his 'and."
"How is it, Denyven," said Richard, "that you and sensibleworkingmen like you, have permitted such a quarrelsome andirresponsible fellow to become a leader in the Association? He'ssecretary, or something, isn't he?"
"Well, sir, he writes an uncommonly clean fist, and then he's aborn horator. He's up to all the parli'mentary dodges. Must 'ave 'adno end of hexperience in them sort of things on the other side."
"No doubt,--and that accounts for him being over here."
"As for horganizing a meeting, sir"--
"I know. Torrini has a great deal of that kind of ability; perhapsa trifle too much for his own good or anybody else's. There was neverany trouble to speak of among the trades in Stillwater till he andtwo or three others came here with foreign grievances. These men getthree times the pay they ever received in their own land, and aretreated like human beings for the first time in their lives. But whatdo they do? They squander a quarter of their week's wages at thetavern,--no rich man could afford to put a fourth of his income intodrink,--and make windy speeches at the Union. I don't say all ofthem, but too many of them. The other night, I understand, Torrinicompared Mr. Slocum to Nero,--Mr. Slocum, the fairest and gentlestman that ever breathed! What rubbish!"
"It wasn't just that way, sir. His words was, and I 'eardhim,--'from Nero down to Slocum.'"
"It amounts to the same thing, and is enough to make one laugh, ifhe didn't make one want to swear. I hear that that was a very livelymeeting the other night. What was that nonsense about 'the privilegedclass'?"
"Well, there is a privileged class in the States."
"So there is, but it's a large class, Denyven. Every soul of ushas the privilege of bettering out condition if we have the brain andthe industry to do it. Energy and intelligence come to the front, andhave the right to be there. A skillful workman gets double the pay ofa bungler, and deserves it. Of course there will always be rich andpoor, and sick and sound, and I don't see how that can be changed.But no door is shut against ability, black or white. Before the year2400 we shall have a chrome-yellow president and a black-and-tansecretary of the treasury. But, seriously, Denyven, whoever talksabout privileged classes here does it to make mischief. There arecertain small politicians who reap their harvest in times of publicconfusion, just as pickpockets do. Nobody can play the tyrant or thebully in this country,--not even a workingman. Here's the Associationdead against an employer who, two years ago, ran his yard full-handedfor a twelvemonth at a loss, rather than shut down, as every othermill and factory in Stillwater did. For years and years theAssociation has prevented this employer from training more than twoapprentices annually. The result is, eighty hands find work, insteadof a hundred and eighty. Now, that can't last."
"It keeps wages fixed in Stillwater, sir."
"It keeps out a hundred workmen. It sends away capital."
"Torrini says, sir"--
"Steer clear of Torrini and what he says. He's a dangerousfellow--for his friends. It is handsome in you, Denyven, to speak upfor him--with that eye of yours."
"Oh, I don't love the man, when it comes to that; but there's nodenying he's right smart," replied Denyven, who occasionally marredhis vernacular with Americanisms. "The Association couldn't dowithout him."
"But Slocum's Yard can," said Richard, irritated to observe theinfluence Torrini exerted on even such men as Denyven.
"That's between you and him, sir, of course, but"--
"But what?"
"Well, sir, I can't say hexactly; but if I was you I would bide abit."
"No, I think Torrini's time has come."
"I don't make bold to advise you, sir. I merely throws out thehobservation."
With that Denyven departed to apply to his bruises such herbs andsimples as a long experience had taught him to be efficacious.
He had gone only a few rods, however, when it occurred to him thatthere were probabilities of a stormy scene in the yard; so he turnedon his tracks, and followed Richard Shackford.
Torrini was a Neapolitan, who had come to the country seven oreight years before. He was a man above the average intelligence ofhis class; a marble worker by trade, but he had been a fisherman, amountain guide among the Abruzzi, a soldier in the papal guard, andwhat not, and had contrived to pick up two or three languages, amongthe rest English, which he spoke with purity. His lingual gift wasone of his misfortunes.
Among the exotics in Stillwater, which even boasted a featurelessCelestial, who had unobtrusively extinguished himself with astove-pipe hat, Torrini was the only figure that approachedpicturesqueness. With his swarthy complexion and large, indolenteyes, in which a southern ferocity slept lightly, he seemed toRichard a piece out of his own foreign experience. To him Torrini wasthe crystallization of Italy, or so much of that Italy as Richard hadcaught a glimpse of at Genoa. To the town-folks Torrini perhapsvaguely suggested hand-organs and eleemosynary pennies; but Richardnever looked at the straight-limbed, handsome fellow withoutrecalling the Phrygian-capped sailors of the Mediterranean. On thisaccount, and for other reasons, Richard had taken a great fancy tothe man. Torrini had worked in the ornamental department from thefirst, and was a rapid and expert carver when he chose. He hadcarried himself steadily enough in the beginning, but in these laterdays, as Mr. Slocum had stated, he was scarcely ever sober. Richardhad stood between him and his discharge on several occasions, partlybecause he was so skillful a workman, and partly through pity for hiswife and children, who were unable to speak a word of English. ButTorrini's influence on the men in the yard,--especially on theyounger hands, who needed quite other influences,--and hisintemperate speeches at the trades-union, where he had recentlygained a kind of ascendancy by his daring, were producing the worsteffects.
At another hour Richard might have been inclined to condone thislast offense, as he had condoned others; but when he parted fromDenyven, Richard's heart was still hot with his cousin's insult. Ashe turned into the yard, not with his usua
l swinging gait, but with aquick, wide step, there was an unpleasant dilation about youngShackford's nostrils.
Torrini was seated on a block of granite in front of the uppersheds, flourishing a small chisel in one hand and addressing the men,a number of whom had stopped work to listen to him. At sight ofRichard they made a show of handling their tools, but it was so clearsomething grave was going to happen that the pretense fell through.They remained motionless, resting on their mallets, with their eyesturned towards Richard. Torrini followed the general glance, andpause din his harangue.
"Talk of the devil!" he muttered, and then, apparently continuingthe thread of his discourse, broke into a strain of noisydeclamation.
Richard walked up to him quietly.
"Torrini," he said, "you can't be allowed to speak here, youknow."
"I can speak where I like," replied Torrini gravely. He was drunk,but the intoxication was not in his tongue. His head, as Denyven hadasserted, was as clear as a fog-horn.
"When you are sober, you can come to the desk and get your pay andyour kit. You are discharged from the yard."
Richard was standing within two paces of the man, who looked upwith an uncertain smile, as if he had not quite taken in the sense ofthe words. Then, suddenly straightening himself, he exclaimed,--
"Slocum don't dare do it!"
"But I do."
"You!"
"When I do a thing Mr. Slocum backs me."
"But who backs Slocum,--the Association, may be?"
"Certainly the Association ought to. I want you to leave the yardnow."
"He backs Slocum," said Torrini, settling himself on the blockagain, "and Slocum backs down," at which there was a laugh among themen.
Richard made a step forward.
"Hands off!" cried a voice from under the sheds.
"Who said that?" demanded Richard, wheeling around. No oneanswered, but Richard had recognized Durgin's voice. "Torrini, if youdon't quit the yard in two minutes by the clock yonder, I shall putyou out by the neck. Do you understand?"
Torrini glared about him confusedly for a moment, and broke intovoluble Italian; then, without a warning gesture, sprung to his feetand struck at Richard. A straight red line, running vertically thelength of his cheek, showed where the chisel had grazed him. Theshops were instantly in a tumult, the men dropping their tools andstumbling over the blocks, with cries of "Keep them apart!" "Shame onyou!" "Look out, Mr. Shackford!"
"Is it mad ye are, Torrany!" cried Michael Hennessey, hurryingfrom the saw-bench. Durgin held him back by the shoulders.
"Let them alone," said Durgin.
The flat steel flashed again in the sunlight, but fell harmlessly,and before the blow could be repeated, Richard had knitted hisfingers in Torrini's neckerchief and twisted it so tightly that theman gasped. Holding him by this, Richard dragged Torrini across theyard, and let him drop on the sidewalk outside the gate, where he layin a heap, inert.
"That was nate," said Michael Hennessey, sententiously.
Richard stood leaning on the gate-post to recover he breath. Hisface was colorless, and the crimson line defined itself sharplyagainst the pallor; but the rage was dead within him. It had been oneof his own kind of rages,--like lightning out of a blue sky. As hestood there a smile was slowly gathering on his lip.
A score or two of the men had followed him, and now lounged in ahalf-circle a few paces in the rear. When Richard was aware of theirpresence, the glow came into his eyes again.
"Who ordered you to knock off work?"
"That was a foul blow of Torrini's, sir," said Stevens, steppingforward, "and I for one come to see fair play."
"Give us your 'and, mate!" cried Denyven; "there's a pair of us."
"Thanks," said Richard, softening at once, "but there's no need.Every man can go to his job. Denyven may stay, if he likes."
The men lingered a moment, irresolute, and returned to the shedsin silence.
Presently Torrini stretched out one leg, then the other, andslowly rose to his feet, giving a stupid glance at his empty hands ashe did so.
"Here's your tool," said Richard, stirring the chisel with the toeof his boot, "if that's what you're looking for."
Torrini advanced a step as if to pick it up, then appeared toalter his mind, hesitated perhaps a dozen seconds, and turningabruptly on his heel walked down the street without a stagger.
"I think his legs is shut off from the rest of his body bywater-tight compartments," remarked Denyven, regarding Torrini'ssteady gait with mingled amusement and envy. "Are you hurt, sir?"
"Only a bit of a scratch of the heye," replied Richard, with alaugh.
"As I hobserved just now to Mr. Stevens, sir, there's a pair ofus!"
The Stillwater Tragedy Page 12
