"I shouldn't wonder," put in Peter, sympathetically; for he was atiny bit afraid himself.
"I said to him, `Here I live in this palace, and back in theindustrial quarter of the city are several thousand men and womenwho slave at machines for me all day, and now, since the war, allnight too. I get the profits of these peoples' toil--and what have Idone to earn it? Absolutely nothing! I never did a stroke of usefulwork in my life.' And he said to me, `Suppose the dividends were tostop, what would you do?' 'I don't know what I'd do,' I answered,`I'd be miserable, of course, because I hate poverty, I couldn'tstand it, it's terrible to think of--not to have comfort andcleanliness and security. I don't see how the working-class standit--that's exactly why I'm a Red, I know it's wrong for anyone to bepoor, and there's no excuse for it. So I shall help to overthrow thecapitalist system, even if it means I have to take in washing for myliving!"
Peter sat watching her in the crisp freshness of her snowy chiffons.The words brought a horrible image to his mind; he suddenly foundhimself back in the tenement kitchen, where fat and steaming Mrs.Yankovich was laboring elbow deep in soap-suds. It was on the tip ofPeter's tongue to say: "If you really had done a day's washing, Mrs.Godd, you wouldn't talk like that!"
But he remembered that he must play the game, so he said, "They'reterrible fellows, them Federal agents. It was two of them pounded meover the head last night." And then he looked faint and pitiful, andMrs. Godd was sympathetic again, and moved to more recklessness ofutterance.
"It's because of this hideous war!" she declared. "We've gone to warto make the world safe for democracy, and meantime we have tosacrifice every bit of democracy at home. They tell you that youmust hold your peace while they murder one another, but they may tryall they please, they'll never be able to silence me! I know thatthe Allies are just as much to blame as the Germans, I know thatthis is a war of profiteers and bankers; they may take my sons andforce them into the army, but they cannot take my convictions andforce them into their army. I am a pacifist, and I am aninternationalist; I want to see the workers arise and turn out ofoffice these capitalist governments, and put an end to this hideousslaughter of human beings. I intend to go on saying that so long asI live." There sat Mrs. Godd, with her lovely firm white handsclasped as if in prayer, one large diamond ring on the left fourthfinger shining defiance, and a look of calm, child-like convictionupon her face, confronting in her imagination all the federal agentsand district attorneys and capitalist judges and statesmen andgenerals and drill sergeants in the civilized world.
She went on to tell how she had attended the trial of three pacifistclergymen a week or two previously. How atrocious that Christians ina Christian country should be sent to prison for trying to repeatthe words of Christ! "I was so indignant," declared Mrs. Godd, "thatI wrote a letter to the judge. My husband said I would be committingcontempt of court by writing to a judge during the trial, but Ianswered that my contempt for that court was beyond anything I couldput into writing. Wait--"
And Mrs. Godd rose gravely from her chair and went over to a desk bythe wall, and got a copy of the letter. "I'll read it to you," shesaid, and Peter listened to a manifesto of Olympian Bolshevism--
To His Honor:
As I entered the sanctuary, I gazed upward to the stained glassdome, upon which were inscribed four words: Peace. Justice. Truth.Law--and I felt hopeful. Before me were men who had violated noconstitutional right, who had not the slightest criminal tendency,who, were opposed to violence of every kind.
The trial proceeded. I looked again at the beautiful stained glassdome, and whispered to myself those majestic-sounding words: "Peace.Justice. Truth. Law." I listened to the prosecutors; the Law intheir hands was a hard, sharp, cruel blade, seeking insistently,relentlessly for a weak spot in the armor of its victims. I listenedto their Truth, and it was Falsehood. Their Peace was a cruel andbloody War. Their justice was a net to catch the victims at anycost--at the cost of all things but the glory of the Prosecutor'soffice.
I grew sick at heart. I can only ask myself the old, old question:What can we, the people do? How can we bring Peace, justice, Truthand Law to the world? Must we go on bended knees and ask our publicservants to see that justice is done to the defenceless, rather thanthis eternal prosecuting of the world's noblest souls! You will findthese men guilty, and sentence them to be shut behind ironbars--which should never be for human beings, no matter what theircrime, unless you want to make beasts of them. Is that your object,sir? It would seem so; and so I say that we must overturn the systemthat is brutalizing, rather than helping and uplifting mankind.
Yours for Peace..Justice..Truth..Law--
Mary Angelica Godd.
What were you going to do with such a woman? Peter could understandthe bewilderment of His Honor, and of the district attorney'soffice, and of the secret service department of the TractionTrust--as well as of Mrs. Godd's husband! Peter was bewilderedhimself; what was the use of his coming out here to get moreinformation, when Mrs. Godd had already committed contempt of courtin writing, and had given all the information there was to give to aFederal agent? She had told this man that she had contributedseveral thousand dollars to the Peoples' Council, and that sheintended to contribute more. She had put up bail for a whole bunchof Reds and Pacifists, and she intended to put up bail for McCormickand his friends, just as soon as the corrupt capitalist courts hadbeen forced to admit them to bail. "I know McCormick well, and he'sa lovely boy," she said. "I don't believe he had anything more to dowith dynamite bombs than I have."
Now all this time Peter had sat there, entirely under the spell ofMrs. Godd's opulence. Peter was dwelling among the lotus-eaters, andforgetting the world's strife and care; he was reclining on a silkencouch, sipping nectar with the shining ones of Mount Olympus. Butnow suddenly, Peter was brought back to duty, as one wakes from adream to the sound of an alarm-clock. Mrs. Godd was a friend ofMac's, Mrs. Godd proposed to get Mac out on bail! Mac, the mostdangerous Red of them all! Peter saw that he must get something onthis woman at once!
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Peter sat up suddenly among his silken cushions, and began to tellMrs. Godd about the new plan of the Anti-conscription League, toprepare a set of instructions for young conscientious objectors.Peter represented the purpose of these instructions to be theadvising of young men as to their legal and constitutional rights.But it was McGivney's idea that Peter should slip into theinstructions some phrase advising the young men to refuse militaryduty; if this were printed and circulated, it would render everymember of the Anti-conscription League liable to a sentence of tenor twenty years in jail. McGivney had warned Peter to be verycautious about this, but again Peter found that there was no need ofcaution. Mrs. Godd was perfectly willing to advise young men torefuse military service. She had advised many such, she said,including her own sons, who unfortunately agreed with their fatherin being blood-thirsty.
It came to be lunch-time, and Mrs. Godd asked if Peter could sit attable--and Peter's curiosity got the better of all caution. Hewanted to see the Godd family sipping their nectar out of goldencups. He wondered, would the disapproving husband and theblood-thirsty sons be present?
There was nobody present but an elderly woman companion, and Peterdid not see any golden cups. But he saw some fine china, so fragilethat he was afraid to touch it, and he saw a row of silverimplements, so heavy that it gave him a surprise each time he pickedone up. Also, he saw foods prepared in strange and complicated ways,so chopped up and covered with sauces that it was literally true hecouldn't give the name of a single thing he had eaten, except thebuttered toast.
He was inwardly quaking with embarrassment during this meal, but hesaved himself by Mrs. James's formula, to watch and see what theothers were doing and then do likewise. Each time a new course wasbrought, Peter would wait, and when he saw Mrs. Godd pick up acertain fork or a certain spoon, he would pick up the same one, oras near to it as he could guess. He could put his whole mind onthis, because he didn't have to do any talking; Mrs. Godd
poured outa steady stream of sedition and high treason, and all Peter had todo was to listen and nod. Mrs. Godd would understand that his mouthwas too full for utterance.
After the luncheon they went out on the broad veranda whichoverlooked a magnificent landscape. The hostess got Peter settled ina soft porch chair with many cushions, and then waved her handtoward the view of the city with its haze of thick black smoke.
"That's where my wage slaves toil to earn my dividends," said she."They're supposed to stay there--in their `place,' as it's called,and I stay here in my place. If they want to change places, it'scalled `revolution,' and that is `violence.' What I marvel at isthat they use so little violence, and feel so little. Look at thosemen being tortured in jail! Could anyone blame them if they usedviolence? Or if they made an effort to escape?"
That suggested a swift, stabbing idea to Peter. Suppose Mrs. Goddcould be induced to help in a jail delivery!
"It might be possible to help them to escape," he suggested.
"Do you think so?" asked Mrs. Godd, showing excitement for thefirst time during that interview.
"It might be," said Peter. "Those jailors are not above takingbribes, you know. I met nearly all of them while I was in that jail,and I think I might get in touch with one or two that could be paid.Would you like me to try it?"
"Well, I don't know--" began the lady, hesitatingly. "Do you reallythink--"
"You know they never ought to have been put in at all!" Peterinterjected.
"That's certainly true!" declared Mrs. Godd.
"And if they could escape without hurting anyone, if they didn'thave to fight the jailors, it wouldn't do any real harm--"
That was as far as Peter got with his impromptu conspiracy. Suddenlyhe heard a voice behind him: "What does this mean?" It was a malevoice, fierce and trembling with anger; and Peter started from hissilken cushions, and glanced around, thrusting up one arm with thedefensive gesture of a person who has been beaten since earliestchildhood.
Bearing down on him was a man; possibly he was not an abnormally bigman, but certainly he looked so to Peter. His smooth-shaven face waspink with anger, his brows gathered in a terrible frown, and hishands clenched with deadly significance. "You dirty little skunk!"he hissed. "You infernal young sneak!"
"John!" cried Mrs. Godd, imperiously; but she might as well havecried to an advancing thunder-storm. The man made a leap upon Peter,and Peter, who had dodged many hundreds of blows in his lifetime,rolled off the lounging chair, and leaped to his feet, and startedfor the stairs of the veranda. The man was right behind him, and asPeter reached the first stair the man's foot shot out, and caughtPeter fairly in the seat of his trousers, and the first stair wasthe only one of the ten or twelve stairs of the veranda that Petertouched in his descent.
Landing at the bottom, he did not stop even for a glance; he couldhear the snorting of Mr. Godd, it seemed right behind his ear, andPeter ran down the driveway as he had seldom run in his life before.Every now and then Mr. Godd would shoot out another kick, but he hadto stop slightly to do this, and Peter gained just enough to keepthe kicks from reaching him. So at last the pursuer gave up, andPeter dashed thru the gates of the Godd estate and onto the mainhighway.
Then he looked over his shoulder, and seeing that Mr. Godd was asafe distance away, he stopped and turned and shook his clenchedfist with the menace of a street-rat, shrieking, "Damn you! Damnyou!" A whirlwind of impotent rage laid hold upon him. He shoutedmore curses and menaces, and among them some strange, some almostincredible words. "Yes, I'm a Red, damn your soul, and I'll stay aRed!"
Yes, Peter Gudge, the friend of law and order, Peter Gudge, thelittle brother to the rich, shouted, "I'm a Red, and what's more,we'll blow you up some day for this--Mac and me'll put a bomb underyou!" Mr. Godd turned and stalked with contemptuous dignity back tohis own private domestic controversy.
Peter walked off down the road, rubbing his sore trousers andsobbing to himself. Yes, Peter understood now exactly how the Redsfelt. Here were these rich parasites, exploiting the labor ofworking men and living off in palaces by themselves--and what hadthey done to earn it? What would they ever do for the poor man,except to despise him, and to kick him in the seat of his trousers?They were a set of wilful brutes! Peter suddenly saw the happeningsof last night from a new angle, and wished he had all the youngermembers of the Chamber of Commerce and the Merchants' andManufacturers' Association right there along with Mr. Godd, so thathe could bundle them all off to the devil at once.
And that was no passing mood either. The seat of Peter's trousershurt so that he could hardly endure the trolley ride home, and allthe way Peter was plotting how he could punish Mr. Godd. Heremembered suddenly that Mr. Godd was an associate of NelseAckerman; and Peter now had a spy in Nelse Ackerman's home, and waspreparing some kind of a "frame-up!" Peter would see if he couldn'tfind some way to start a dynamite conspiracy against Mr. Godd! Hewould start a campaign against Mr. Godd in the radical movement, andmaybe he could find some way to get a bunch of the "wobblies" tocarry him off and tie him up and beat him with a black-snake whip!
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With these reflections Peter went back to the American House, whereMcGivney had promised to meet him that evening. Peter went to Room427, and being tired after the previous night's excitement, he laydown and fell fast asleep. And when again he opened his eyes, hewasn't sure whether it was a nightmare, or whether he had died inhis sleep and gone to hell with Mr. Godd. Somebody was shaking him,and bidding him in a gruff voice, "Wake up!" Peter opened his eyes,and saw that it was McGivney; and that was all right, it was naturalthat McGivney should be waking him up. But what was this? McGivney'svoice was angry, McGivney's face was dark and glowering, and--mostincredible circumstance of all--McGivney had a revolver in his hand,and was pointing it into Peter's face!
It really made it much harder for Peter to get awake, because hecouldn't believe that he was awake; also it made it harder forMcGivney to get any sense out of him, because his jaw hung down, andhe stared with terrified eyes into the muzzle of the revolver.
"M-m-my God, Mr. McGivney! w-w-what's the matter?"
"Get up here!" hissed the rat-faced man, and he added a vile name.He gripped Peter by the lapel of his coat and half jerked him to hisfeet, still keeping the muzzle of the revolver in Peter's face. Andpoor Peter, trying desperately to get his wits together, thought ofhalf a dozen wild guesses one after another. Could it be thatMcGivney had heard him denouncing Mr. Godd and proclaiming himself aRed? Could it be that some of the Reds had framed up something onPeter? Could it be that McGivney had gone just plain crazy; thatPeter was in the room with a maniac armed with a revolver?
"Where did you put that money I gave you the other day;" demandedMcGivney, and added some more vile names.
Instantly, of course, Peter was on the defensive. No matter howfrightened he might be, Peter would never fail to hang on to hismoney.
"I-I s-s-spent it, Mr. McGivney."
"You're lying to me!"
"N-n-no."
"Tell me where you put that money!" insisted the man, and his facewas ugly with anger, and the muzzle of the revolver seemed to betrembling with anger. Peter started to insist that he had spentevery cent. "Make him cough up, Hammett!" said McGivney; and Peterfor the first time realized that there was another man in the room.His eyes had been so fascinated by the muzzle of the revolver thathe hadn't taken a glance about.
Hammett was a big fellow, and he strode up to Peter and grabbed oneof Peter's arms, and twisted it around behind Peter's back and upbetween Peter's shoulders. When Peter started to scream, Hammettclapped his other hand over his mouth, and so Peter knew that it wasall up. He could not hold on to money at that cost. When McGivneyasked him, "Will you tell me where it is?" Peter nodded, and triedto answer thru his nose.
So Hammett took his hand from his mouth. "Where is it?" And Peterreplied, "In my right shoe."
Hammett unlaced the shoe and took it off, and pulled out the insidesole, and underneath was a littl
e flat package wrapped in tissuepaper, and inside the tissue paper was the thousand dollars thatMcGivney had given Peter, and also the three hundred dollars whichPeter had saved from Nelse Ackerman's present, and two hundreddollars which he had saved from his salary. Hammett counted themoney, and McGivney stuck it into his pocket, and then he commandedPeter to put on his shoe again. Peter obeyed with his tremblingfingers, meantime keeping his eye in part on the revolver and inpart on the face of the rat.
"W-w-what's the matter, Mr. McGivney?"
"You'll find out in time," was the answer. "Now, you marchdownstairs, and remember, I've got this gun on you, and there'seight bullets in it, and if you move a finger I'll put them all intoyou."
So Peter and McGivney and Hammett went down in the elevator of thehotel, and out of doors, and into an automobile. Hammett drove, andPeter sat in the rear seat with McGivney, who had the revolver inhis coat pocket, his finger always on the trigger and the muzzlealways pointed into Peter's middle. So Peter obeyed all orderspromptly, and stopped asking questions because he found he could getno answers.
Meantime he was using his terrified wits on the problem. The bestguess he could make was that Guffey had decided to believe JoeAngell's story instead of Peter's. But then, why all this gun-play,this movie stuff? Peter gave up in despair; and it was just as well,for what had happened lay entirely beyond the guessing power ofPeter's mind or any other mind.
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