Almost every day now Peter rendered some such service to hiscountry. He discovered where the I. W. W. had hidden a printingpress with which they were getting out circulars and leaflets, andthis place was raided, and the press confiscated, and half a dozenmore agitators thrown into jail. These men declared a hunger strike,and tried to starve themselves to death as a protest against thebeatings they got; and then some hysterical women met in the home ofAda Ruth, and drew up a circular of protest, and Peter kept track ofthe mailing of this circular, and all the copies were confiscated inthe post-office, and so one more conspiracy was foiled. They now hadseveral men at work in the post-office, secretly opening the mail ofthe agitators; and every now and then they would issue an orderforbidding mail to be delivered to persons whose ideas were notsound.
Also the post-office department cancelled the second class mailingprivileges of the "Clarion," and later it barred the paper from themails entirely. A couple of "comrades" with automobiles then took upthe work of delivering the paper in the nearby towns; so Peter wassent to get acquainted with these fellows, and in the night timesome of Guffey's men entered the garage, and fixed one of the carsso that its steering gear went wrong and very nearly broke thedriver's neck. So yet another conspiracy was foiled!
Section 69
Peter was really happy now, because the authorities were thoroughlyroused, and when he brought them new facts, he had the satisfactionof seeing something done about it. Ostensibly the action was takenby the Federal agents, or by the District Attorney's office, or bythe city police and detectives; but Peter knew that it was alwayshimself and the rest of Guffey's agents, pulling the wires behindthe scenes. Guffey had the money, he was working for the men whoreally counted in American City; Guffey was the real boss. And allover the country it was the same; the Reds were being put out ofbusiness by the secret agents of the Chambers of Commerce and theMerchants' and Manufacturers' Associations, and the "Improve AmericaLeague," and such like camouflaged organizations.
They had everything their own way, because the country was at war,the war excitement was blazing like a prairie fire all over theland, and all you had to do was to call a man a pro-German or aBolshevik, and to be sufficiently excited about it, and you couldget a mob together and go to his home and horsewhip him or tar andfeather him or lynch him. For years the big business men had beenhating the agitators, and now at last they had their chance, and inevery town, in every shop and mill and mine they had some PeterGudge at work, a "Jimmie Higgins" of the "Whites," engaged in spyingand "snooping" upon the "Jimmie Higgins" of the "Reds." Everywherethey had Guffeys and McGivneys to direct these activities, and theyhad "strong arm men," with guns on their hips and deputy sheriffs'and other badges inside their coats, giving them unlimited right toprotect the country from traitors.
There were three or four million men in the training camps, andevery week great convoys were sent out from the Eastern ports,loaded with troops for "over there." Billions of dollars worth ofmunitions and supplies were going, and all the yearnings andpatriotic fervors of the country were likewise going "over there."Peter read more speeches and sermons and editorials, and was proudand glad, knowing that he was taking his humble part in the greatadventure. When he read that the biggest captains of industry andfinance were selling their services to the government for the sum ofone dollar a year, how could he complain, who was getting twentydollars every week? When some of the Reds in their meetings or intheir "literature" declared that these captains of industry andfinance were the heads of companies which were charging thegovernment enormous prices and making anywhere from three to tentimes the profits they had made before the war--then Peter wouldknow that he was listening to an extremely dangerous Bolshevik; hewould take the name of the man to McGivney, and McGivney would pullhis secret wires, and the man would suddenly find himself out of ajob--or maybe being prosecuted by the health department of the cityfor having set out a garbage can without a cover.
After persistent agitation, the radicals had succeeded in persuadinga judge to let out McCormick and the rest of the conspirators onfifty thousand dollars bail apiece. That was most exasperating toPeter, because it was obvious that when you put a Red into jail, youmade him a martyr to the rest of the Reds you made him conspicuousto the whole community, and then if you let him out again, hisspeaking and agitating were ten times as effective as before. Eitheryou ought to keep an agitator in jail for good, or else you oughtnot put him in at all. But the judges didn't see that--their headswere full of a lot of legal bunk, and they let David Andrews and theother Red lawyers hood-wink them. Herbert Ashton and his Socialistcrowd also got out on bail, and the "Clarion" was still publishedand openly sold on the news-stands. While it didn't dare oppose thewar any more, it printed every impolite thing it could possiblycollect about the "gigantic trading corporation" known as theBritish Government, and also about the "French bankers" and the"Italian imperialists." It clamored for democracy for Ireland andEgypt and India, and shamelessly defended the Bolsheviki, thosepro-German conspirators and nationalizers of women.
So Peter proceeded to collect more evidence against the "Clarion"staff, and against the I. W. Ws. Presently he read the good newsthat the government had arrested a couple of hundred of the I. W. W.leaders all over the country, and also the national leaders of theSocialists, and was going to try them all for conspiracy. Then camethe trial of McCormick and Henderson and Gus and the rest; and Peterpicked up his "Times" one morning, and read on the front page somenews that caused him to gasp. Joe Angell, one of the leaders in thedynamite conspiracy, had turned state's evidence! He had revealed tothe District Attorney, not only the part which he himself had playedin the plan to dynamite Nelse Ackerman's home, but he had toldeverything that the others had done--just how the dynamite had beengot and prepared, and the names of all the leading citizens of thecommunity who were to share Nelse Ackerman's fate! Peter read, onand on, breathless with wonder, and when he got thru with the storyhe rolled back on his bed and laughed out loud. By heck, that wasthe limit! Peter had framed a frame-up on Guffey's man, and ofcourse Guffey couldn't send this man to prison; so he had had himturn state's evidence, and was letting him go free, as his rewardfor telling on the others!
The court calendars were now crowded with "espionage" cases;pacifist clergymen who had tried to preach sermons, andlabor leaders who had tried to call strikes; members of theAnti-conscription League and their pupils, the draft-dodgers andslackers; Anarchists and Communists and Quakers, I. W. Ws., andSocialists and "Russellites." There were several trials going on allthe time, and in almost every case Peter had a finger, Peter wascalled on to get this bit of evidence, or to investigate that juror,or to prepare some little job against a witness for the defense.Peter was wrapped up in the fate of each case, and each convictionwas a personal triumph. As there was always a conviction, Peterbegan to swell up again with patriotic fervor, and the memory ofNell Doolin and Ted Crothers slipped far into the background. When"Mac" and his fellow dynamiters were sentenced to twenty yearsapiece, Peter felt that he had atoned for all his sins, and heventured timidly to point out to McGivney that the cost of livingwas going up all the time, and that he had kept his promise not towink at a woman for six months. McGivney said all right, they wouldraise him to thirty dollars a week.
Section 70
Of course Peter's statement to McGivney had not been literally true.He had winked at a number of women, but the trouble was none hadreturned his wink. First he had made friendly advances toward MiriamYankovich, who was buxom and not bad looking; but Miriam's thoughtswere evidently all with McCormick in jail; and then, after herexperience with Bob Ogden, Miriam had to go to a hospital, and ofcourse Peter didn't want to fool with an invalid. He made himselfagreeable to others of the Red girls, and they seemed to like him;they treated him as a good comrade, but somehow they did not seem toact up to McGivney's theories of "free love." So Peter made up hismind that he would find him a girl who was not a Red. It would givehim a little relief now and then, a little fun. Th
e Reds seldom hadany fun--their idea of an adventure was to get off in a room bythemselves and sing the International or the Red Flag in whispers,so the police couldn't hear them.
It was Saturday afternoon, and Peter went to a clothing store keptby a Socialist, and bought himself a new hat and a new suit ofclothes on credit. Then he went out on the street, and saw a neatlittle girl going into a picture-show, and followed her, and theystruck up an acquaintance and had supper together. She was whatPeter called a "swell dresser," and it transpired that she worked ina manicure parlor. Her idea of fun corresponded to Peter's, andPeter spent all the money he had that Saturday evening, and made uphis mind that if he could get something new on the Reds in thecourse of the week, he would strike McGivney for forty dollars.
Next morning was Easter Sunday, and Peter met his manicurist byappointment, and they went for a stroll on Park Avenue, which wasthe aristocratic street of American City and the scene of the"Easter parade." It was war time, and many of the houses had flagsout, and many of the men were in uniform, and all of the sermonsdealt with martial themes. Christ, it appeared, was risenagain to make the world safe for democracy, and to establishself-determination for all people; and Peter and Miss Frisbie bothhad on their best clothes, and watched the crowds in the "Easterparade," and Miss Frisbie studied the costumes and make-up of theladies, and picked up scraps of their conversation and whisperedthem to Peter, and made Peter feel that he was back on Mount Olympusagain.
They turned into one of the swell Park Avenue churches; the Churchof the Divine Compassion it was called, and it was very "high," withcandles and incense--althogh you could hardly smell the incense onthis occasion for the scent of the Easter lilies and the ladies.Peter and his friend were escorted to one of the leather coveredpews, and they heard the Rev. de Willoughby Stotterbridge, a famouspulpit orator, deliver one of those patriotic sermons which werequoted in the "Times" almost every Monday morning. The Rev. deWilloughby Stotterbridge quoted some Old Testament text aboutexterminating the enemies of the Lord, and he sang the triumph ofAmerican arms, and the overwhelming superiority of Americanmunitions. He denounced the Bolsheviks and all other traitors, andcalled for their instant suppression; he didn't say that he hadactually been among the crowd which had horse-whipped the I. W. Ws.and smashed the printing presses and typewriters of the Socialists,but he made it unmistakably clear that that was what he wanted, andPeter's bosom swelled with happy pride. It was something to a man toknow that he was serving his country and keeping the old flagwaving; but it was still more to know that he was enlisted in theservice of the Almighty, that Heaven and all its hosts were on hisside, and that everything he had done had the sanction of theAlmighty's divinely ordained minister, speaking in the Almighty'sholy temple, in the midst of stained-glass windows and brightlyburning candles and the ravishing odor of incense, and of Easterlilies and of mignonette and lavender in the handkerchiefs ofdelicately gowned and exquisite ladies from Mount Olympus. This, tobe sure, was mixing mythologies, but Peter's education had beenneglected in his youth, and Peter could not be blamed for taking thegreat ones of the earth as they were, and believing what they taughthim.
The white robed choir marched out, and the music of "OnwardChristian Soldiers" faded away, and Peter and his lady went out fromthe Church of the Divine Compassion, and strolled on the avenueagain, and when they had sufficiently filled their nostrils with thesweet odors of snobbery, they turned into the park, where there wereplaces of seclusion for young couples interested in each other. Butalas, the fates which dogged Peter in his love-making had preparedan especially cruel prank that morning. At the entrance to the park,whom should Peter meet but Comrade Schnitzelmann, a fat littlebutcher who belonged to the "Bolshevik local" of American City.Peter tried to look the other way and hurry by, but ComradeSchnitzelmann would not have it so. He came rushing up with onepudgy hand stretched out, and a beaming smile on his rosy Teutoniccountenance. "Ach, Comrade Gudge!" cried he. "Wie geht's mit you dismorning?"
"Very well, thank you," said Peter, coldly, and tried to hurry on.
But Comrade Schnitzelmann held onto his hand. "So! You been seeingdot Easter barade!" said he. "Vot you tink, hey? If we could get allde wage slaves to come und see dot barade, we make dem allBolsheviks pretty quick! Hey, Comrade Gudge?"
"Yes, I guess so," said Peter, still more coldly.
"We show dem vot de money goes for--hey, Comrade Gudge!" And ComradeSchnitzelmann chuckled, and Peter said, quickly, "Well, good-bye,"and without introducing his lady-love took her by the arm andhurried away.
But alas, the damage had been done! They walked for a minute or twoamid ominous silence. Then suddenly the manicurist stood still andconfronted Peter. "Mr. Gudge," she demanded, "what does that mean?"
And Peter of course could not answer. He did not dare to meet herflashing eyes, but stood digging the toe of his shoe into the path."I want to know what it means," persisted the girl. "Are you one ofthose Reds?"
And what could poor Peter say? How could he explain his acquaintancewith that Teutonic face and that Teutonic accent?
The girl stamped her foot with impatient anger. "So you're one ofthose Reds! You're one of those pro-German traitors! You're animposter, a spy!"
Peter was helpless with embarrassment and dismay. "Miss Frisbie," hebegan, "I can't explain--"
"_Why_ can't you explain? Why can't any honest man explain?"
"But--but--I'm not what you think--it isn't true! I--I--" It was onthe tip of Peter's tongue to say, "I'm a patriot! I'm a 100%American, protecting my country against these traitors!" Butprofessional honor sealed his tongue, and the little manicuriststamped her foot again, and her eyes flashed with indignation.
"You dare to seek my acquaintance! You dare to take me to church!Why--if there was a policeman in sight, I'd report you, I'd send youto jail!" And actually she looked around for a policeman! But it iswell known that there never is a policeman in sight when you lookfor one; so Miss Frisbie stamped her foot again and snorted inPeter's face. "Goodbye, _Comrade_ Gudge!" The emphasis she put uponthat word "comrade" would have frozen the fieriest Red soul; and sheturned with a swish of her skirts and strode off, and Peter stoodlooking mournfully at her little French heels going crunch, crunch,crunch on the gravel path. When the heels were clean gone out ofsight, Peter sought out the nearest bench and sat down and buriedhis face in his hands, a picture of woe. Was there ever in the worlda man who had such persistent ill luck with women?
Section 71
These were days of world-agony, when people bought the newspapersseveral times every day, and when crowds gathered in front ofbulletin boards, looking at the big maps with little flags, andspeculating, were the Germans going to get to Paris, were they goingto get to the Channel and put France out of the war? And thensuddenly the Americans struck their first blow, and hurled theGermans back at Chateau-Thierry, and all America rose up with oneshout of triumph!
You would think that was a poor time for pacifist agitation; but themembers of the Anti-conscription League had so little discretionthat they chose this precise moment to publish a pamphlet,describing the torturing of conscientious objectors in militaryprisons and training camps! Peter had been active in thisorganization from the beginning, and he had helped to write into thepamphlet a certain crucial phrase which McGivney had suggested. Sonow here were the pamphlets seized by the Federal government, andall the members of the Anti-conscription League under arrest,including Sadie Todd and little Ada Ruth and Donald Gordon! Peterwas sorry about Sadie Todd, in spite of the fact that she had calledhim names. He couldn't be very sorry about Ada Ruth, because she wasobviously a fanatic, bent on getting herself into trouble. As forDonald Gordon, if he hadn't learned his lesson from that whipping,he surely had nobody to blame but himself.
Peter was a member of this Anti-conscription League, so he pretendedto be in hiding, and carried on a little comedy with Ada Ruth'scousin, an Englishwoman, who hid him out in her place in thecountry. Peter had an uncomfortable quarter of an hour when Donal
dGordon was released on bail, because the Quaker boy insisted thatthe crucial phrase which had got them all into trouble had beenstricken out of the manuscript before he handed it to Peter Gudge totake to the printer. But Peter insisted that Donald was mistaken,and apparently he succeeded in satisfying the others, and after theywere all out on bail, he made bold to come out of his hiding placeand to attend one or two protest meetings in private homes.
Then began a new adventure, in some ways the most startling of all.It had to do with another girl, and the beginning was in the home ofAda Ruth, where a few of the most uncompromising of the pacifistsgathered to discuss the question of raising money to pay for theirlegal defense. To this meeting came Miriam Yankovich, pale from anoperation for cancer of the breast, but with a heart and mind as Redas ever. Miriam had brought along a friend to help her, because shewasn't strong enough to walk; and it was this friend who startedPeter on his new adventure.
100%: the Story of a Patriot Page 21
