100%: the Story of a Patriot

by Upton Sinclair

  He came to the number which had been given him, a tiny bungalow in apoor neighborhood, and rang the doorbell. It was answered by a girl,and at a glance Peter saw that it was the girl who had spoken tohim. She did not wait for him to announce himself, but criedimpulsively, "Mr. Gudge! Oh, I'm so glad you've come!" She added,"Comrade!"--just as if Peter were a well-known friend. And then,"But _are_ you a comrade?"

  "How do you mean?" asked Peter.

  "You're not a Socialist? Well, we'll make one of you." She broughthim in and showed him to a chair, saying, "I know what they did toyou; and you stood out against them! Oh, you were wonderful!Wonderful!"

  Peter was at a loss what to say. There was in this girl's voice anote of affection, as well as of admiration; and Peter in his hardlife had had little experience with emotions of this sort. Peter hadwatched the gushings and excitements of girls who were seekingflirtations; but this girl's attitude he felt at once was notflirtatious. Her voice tho soft, was just a trifle too solemn for ayoung girl; her deep-set, wistful grey eyes rested on Peter with thesolicitude of a mother whose child has just escaped a danger.

  She called: "Sadie, here's Mr. Gudge." And there entered anothergirl, older, taller, but thin and pale like her sister. Jennie andSadie Todd were their names, Peter learned; the older was astenographer, and supported the family. The two girls were in astate of intense concern. They started to question Peter about hisexperiences, but he had only talked for a minute or two before theelder went to the telephone. There were various people who must seePeter at once, important people who were to be notified as soon ashe turned up. She spent some time at the phone, and the people shetalked with must have phoned to others, because for the next hour ortwo there was a constant stream of visitors coming in, and Peter hadto tell his story over and over again.

  The first to come was a giant of a man with tight-set mouth and sopowerful a voice that it frightened Peter. He was not surprised tolearn that this man was the leader of one of the most radical of thecity's big labor unions, the seamen's. Yes, he was a "Red," allright; he corresponded to Peter's imaginings--a grim, dangerous man,to be pictured like Samson, seizing the pillars of society andpulling them down upon his head. "They've got you scared, my boy,"he said, noting Peter's hesitating answers to his questions. "Well,they've had me scared for forty-five years, but I've never let themknow it yet." Then, in order to cheer Peter up and strengthen hisnerves, he told how he, a runaway seaman, had been hunted thru theEverglades of Florida with bloodhounds, and tied to a tree andbeaten into insensibility.

  Then came David Andrews, whom Peter had heard of as one of thelawyers in the Goober case, a tall, distinguished-looking man withkeen, alert features. What was such a man doing among theseoutcasts? Peter decided that he must be one of the shrewd ones whomade money out of inciting the discontented. Then came a young girl,frail and sensitive, slightly crippled. As she crossed the room toshake his hand tears rolled down her cheeks, and Peter stoodembarrassed, wondering if she had just lost a near relative, andwhat was he to say about it. From her first words he gathered, tohis great consternation, that she had been moved to tears by thestory of what he himself had endured.

  Ada Ruth was a poet, and this was a new type for Peter; after muchgroping in his mind he set her down for one of the dupes of themovement--a poor little sentimental child, with no idea of thewickedness by which she was surrounded. With her came a Quaker boywith pale, ascetic face and black locks which he had to shake backfrom his eyes every now and then; he wore a Windsor tie, and a blackfelt hat, and other marks of eccentricity and from his speechesPeter gathered that he was ready to blow up all the governments ofthe world in the interests of Pacificism. The same was true ofMcCormick, an I. W. W. leader who had just served sixty days injail, a silent young Irishman with drawn lips and restless blackeyes, who made Peter uneasy by watching him closely and sayingscarcely a word.

  Section 13

  They continued to come, one at a time or in groups; old women andyoung women, old men and young men, fanatics and dreamers, agitatorswho could hardly open their mouths without some white-hot wordsescaping, revealing a blaze of passion smouldering in the deeps ofthem. Peter became more and more uneasy, realizing that he wasactually in the midst of all the most dangerous "Reds" of AmericanCity. They it was whom our law-abiding citizens dreaded, who werethe objects of more concern to the police than all the plain,everyday burglars and bandits. Peter now could see the reason--hehad not dreamed that such angry and hate-tormented people existed inthe world. Such people would be capable of anything! He sat, withhis restless eyes wandering from one face to another. Which one ofthis crowd had helped to set off the bomb? And would they boastabout it to him this evening?

  Peter half expected this; but then again, he wondered. They weresuch strange criminals! They called him "Comrade"; and they spokewith that same affection that had so bewildered him in littleJennie. Was this just a ruse to get his confidence, or did thesepeople really think that they loved him--Peter Gudge, a stranger anda secret enemy? Peter had been at great pains to fool them; but theyseemed to him so easy to fool that his pains were wasted. Hedespised them for this, and all the while he listened to them he wassaying to himself, "The poor nuts!"

  They had come to hear his story, and they plied him with questions,and made him tell over and over again every detail. Peter, ofcourse, had been carefully instructed; he was not to mention theelaborate confession he had been made to sign; that would be givingtoo dangerous a weapon to these enemies of law and order. He musttell as brief a story as possible; how he had happened to be nearthe scene of the explosion, and how the police had tried to forcehim to admit that he knew something about the case. Peter told this,according to orders; but he had not been prepared for the minutequestioning to which he was subjected by Andrews, the lawyer, aidedby old John Durand, the leader of the seamen. They wanted to knoweverything that had been done to him, and who had done it, and howand when and where and why. Peter had a sense of the dramatic, andenjoyed being the center of attention and admiration, even tho itwas from a roomful of criminal "Reds." So he told all thepicturesque details of how Guffey had twisted his wrist and shut himin a dungeon; the memory of the pain was still poignant, and cameout of him now, with a realism that would have moved a colder group.

  So pretty soon here were all these women sobbing and raging. LittleAda Ruth became inspired, and began reciting a poem--or was shecomposing it right here, before his eyes? She seemed entranced withindignation. It was something about the workers arising--the outcryof a mob--

  "No further patience with a heedless foe-- Get off our backs, or else to hell you go!"

  Peter listened, and thought to himself, "The poor nut!" And thenDonald Gordon, the Quaker boy, took the floor, and began shaking hislong black locks, and composing a speech, it seemed. And Peterlistened, and thought again, "The poor nut!" Then another man, theeditor of a labor journal, revealed the fact that he was composingan editorial; he knew Guffey, and was going to publish Guffey'spicture, and brand him as an "Inquisitionist." He asked for Peter'spicture, and Peter agreed to have one taken, and to be headlined as"The Inquisitionist's Victim." Peter had no idea what the long wordmeant; but he assented, and thought again, "The poor nut!" All ofthem were "nuts"--taking other people's troubles with suchexcitement!

  But Peter was frightened, too; he couldn't altogether enjoy being ahero, in this vivid and startling fashion; having his name and famespread from one end of the country to the other, so that organizedlabor might know the methods which the great traction interests ofAmerican City were employing to send a well-known labor leader tothe gallows! The thing seemed to grow and grow before Peter'sfrightened eyes. Peter, the ant, felt the earth shaking, and got asudden sense of the mountain size of the mighty giants who werestamping in combat over his head. Peter wondered, had Guffeyrealized what a stir his story would make, what a powerful weapon hewas giving to his enemies? What could Guffey expect to get fromPeter, to compensate for this damage to his own case? Peter, as hel
istened to the stormy oratory in the crowded little room, foundhimself thinking again and again of running away. He had never seenanything like the rage into which these people worked themselves,the terrible things they said, the denunciations, not merely of thepolice of American City, but of the courts and the newspapers, thechurches and the colleges, everything that seemed respectable andsacred to law-abiding citizens like Peter Gudge.

  Peter's fright became apparent. But why shouldn't he be frightened?Andrews, the lawyer, offered to take him away and hide him, lest theopposition should try to make way with him. Peter would be a mostimportant witness for the Goober defense, and they must take goodcare of him. But Peter recovered his self-possession, and took uphis noble role. No, he would take his chances with the rest of them,he was not too much afraid.

  Sadie Todd, the stenographer, rewarded him for his heroism. They hada spare bedroom in their little home, and if Peter cared to staywith them for a while, they would try to make him comfortable. Peteraccepted this invitation, and at a late hour in the evening thegathering broke up. The various groups of "Reds" went their way,their hands clenched and their faces portraying a grim resolve tomake out of Peter's story a means of lashing discontented labor tonew frenzies of excitement. The men clasped Peter's hand cordially;the ladies gazed at him with soulful eyes, and whispered theiradmiration for his brave course, their hope, indeed theirconviction, that he would stand by the truth to the end, and wouldstudy their ideas and join their "movement." All the while Peterwatched them, and continued saying to himself: "The poor nuts!"

  Section 14

  The respectable newspapers of American City of course did not wastetheir space upon fantastic accusations brought by radicals, chargingthe police authorities with using torture upon witnesses. But therewas a Socialist paper published every week in American City, andthis paper had a long account of Peter's experiences on the frontpage, together with his picture. Also there were three labor paperswhich carried the story, and the Goober Defense Committee prepared acircular about it and mailed out thousands of copies all over thecountry. This circular was written by Donald Gordon, the Quaker boy.He brought Peter a proof of it, to make sure that he had got all thedetails right, and Peter read it, and really could not help beingthrilled to discover what a hero he was. Peter had not said anythingabout his early career, and whoever among the Goober DefenseCommittee had learned those details chose to be diplomaticallysilent. Peter smiled to himself as he thought about that. They werefoxy, these people! They were playing their hand for all it wasworth--and Peter admired them for that. In Donald Gordon's narrativePeter appeared as a poor workingman; and Peter grinned. He was usedto the word "working," but when he talked about "working people," hemeant something different from what these Socialists meant.

  The story went out, and of course all sorts of people wanted to meetPeter, and came to the home of the Todd girls. So Peter settled downto his job of finding out all he could about these visitors, theirnames and occupations, their relations to the radical movement.Guffey had advised him not to make notes, for fear of detection, butPeter could not carry all this in his head, so he would retire tohis room and make minute notes on slips of paper, and carefully sewthese up in the lining of his coat, with a thrill of mystery.

  Except for this note-taking, however, Peter's sleuthing was easywork, for these people all seemed eager to talk about what they weredoing; sometimes it frightened Peter--they were so open and defiant!Not merely did they express their ideas to one another and to him,they were expressing them on public platforms, and in theirpublications, in pamphlets and in leaflets--what they called"literature." Peter had had no idea their "movement" was sowidespread or so powerful. He had expected to unearth a secretconspiracy, and perhaps a dynamite-bomb or two; instead of which,apparently, he was unearthing a volcano!

  However, Peter did the best he could. He got the names and detailsabout some forty or fifty people of all classes; obscure workingmenand women, Jewish tailors, Russian and Italian cigar-workers,American-born machinists and printers; also some "parlorReds"--large, immaculate and shining ladies who came rolling up tothe little bungalow in large, immaculate and shining automobiles,and left their uniformed chauffeurs outside for hours at a timewhile they listened to Peter's story of his "third degree." Onebenevolent lady with a flowing gray veil, who wafted a sweet perfumeabout the room, suggested that Peter might be in need, and pressed atwenty dollar bill into his hand. Peter, thrilled, but alsobewildered, got a new sense of the wonders of this thing called "themovement," and decided that when Guffey got thru with him he mightturn into a "Red" in earnest for a while.

  Meantime he settled down to make himself comfortable with the Toddsisters. Sadie went off to her work before eight o'clock everymorning, and that was before Peter got up; but Jennie stayed athome, and fixed his breakfast, and opened the door for his visitors,and in general played the hostess for him. She was a confirmedinvalid; twice a week she went off to a doctor to have somethingdone to her spine, and the balance of the time she was supposed tobe resting, but Peter very seldom saw her doing this. She was alwaysaddressing circulars, or writing letters for the "cause," or goingoff to sell literature and take up collections at meetings. When shewas not so employed, she was arguing with somebody--frequently withPeter--trying to make him think as she did.

  Poor kid, she was all wrought up over the notions she had got aboutthe wrongs of the working classes. She gave herself no peace aboutit, day or night, and this, of course, was a bore to Peter, whowanted peace above all things. Over in Europe millions of men wereorganized in armies, engaged in slaughtering one another. That, ofcourse, was, very terrible, but what was the good of thinking aboutit? There was no way to stop it, and it certainly wasn't Peter'sfault. But this poor, deluded child was acting all the time as ifshe were to blame for this European conflict, and had the job ofbringing it to a close. The tears would come into her deep-set greyeyes, and her soft chin would quiver with pain whenever she talkedabout it; and it seemed to Peter she was talking about it all thetime. It was her idea that the war must be stopped by uprisings onthe part of the working people in Europe. Apparently she thoughtthis might be hastened if the working people of American City wouldrise up and set an example!

  Section 15

  Jennie talked about this plan quite openly; she would put a redribbon in her hair, and pin a red badge on her bosom, and go intomeeting-places and sell little pamphlets with red covers. So, ofcourse, it would be Peter's duty to report her to the head of thesecret service of the Traction Trust. Peter regretted this, and wasashamed of having to do it; she was a nice little girl, and pretty,too, and a fellow might have had some fun with her if she had notbeen in such a hysterical state. He would sit and look at her, asshe sat bent over her typewriter. She had soft, fluffy hair, thecolor of twilight, and even white teeth, and a faint flush that cameand went in her cheeks--yes, she would not be bad looking at all, ifonly she would straighten up, and spend a little time on her looks,as other girls did.

  But no, she was always in a tension, and the devil of it was, shewas trying to get Peter into the same state. She was absolutelydetermined that Peter must get wrought up over the wrongs of theworking classes. She took it for granted that he would, when he wasinstructed. She would tell him harrowing stories, and it was hisduty to be duly harrowed; he must be continually acting an emotionalpart. She would give him some of her "literature" to read, and thenshe would pin him down and make sure that he had read it. He knewhow to read--Pericles Priam had seen to that, because he wanted himto attend to the printing of his circulars and his advertisements inthe country newspapers where he was traveling. So now Peter waspenned in a corner and compelled to fix his attention upon "The A.B. C. of Socialism," or "Capital and Proletariat," or "The Path toPower."

  Peter told himself that it was part of his job to acquire thisinformation. He was going to be a "Red," and he must learn theirlingo; but he found it awfully tiresome, full of long technicalwords which he had never heard before. Why couldn't these fe
llows atleast talk American? He had known that there were Socialists, andalso "Arnychists," as he called them, and he thought they were allalike. But now he learned, not merely about Socialists and"Arnychists," but about State Socialists and Communist Anarchists,and Communist Syndicalists and Syndicalist Anarchists and SocialistSyndicalists, and Reformist Socialists and Guild Socialists, to saynothing about Single Taxers and Liberals and Progressives andnumerous other varieties, whom he had to meet and classify andlisten to respectfully and sympathetically. Each particular groupinsisted upon the distinctions which made it different, and eachinsisted that it had the really, truly truth; and Peter becamedesperately bored with their everlasting talk--how much more simpleto lump them all together, as did Guffey and McGivney, calling themall "Reds!"

  Peter had got it clearly fixed in his mind that what these "Reds"wanted was to divide up the property of the rich. Everyone he hadquestioned about them had said this. But now he learned that thiswasn't it exactly. What they wanted was to have the State take overthe industries, or to have the labor unions do it, or to have theworking people in general do it. They pointed to the post office andthe army and the navy, as examples of how the State could runthings. Wasn't that all right? demanded Jennie. And Peter said Yes,that was all right; but hidden back in Peter's soul all the time wasa whisper that it wouldn't make a damn bit of difference. There wasa sucker born every minute, and you might be sure that no matter howthey fixed it up, there would always be some that would find it easyto live off the rest. This poor kid, for example, who was ready tothrow herself away for any fool notion, or for anybody that camealong and told her a hard-luck story--would there ever be a state ofsociety in which she wouldn't be a juicy morsel to be gobbled up bysome fellow with a normal appetite?