CHAPTER XLVIII
There was a little city, and few men within it; And there came a greatking against it, and besieged it, And built great bulwarks againstit; Now there was found in it a Poor Wise Man, And he by his wisdomdelivered the city.--Ecclesiastes IX:14, 15.
The general strike occurred two days later, at mid-day. During theinterval a joint committee representing the workers, the employers andthe public had held a protracted sitting, but without result, and byone o'clock the city was in the throes of a complete tie-up. Laundry anddelivery wagons were abandoned where they stood. Some of the street carshad been returned to the barns, but others stood in the street where thecrews had deserted them.
There was no disorder, however, and the city took its difficulties witha quiet patience and a certain sense of humor. Bulletins similar to theones used in Seattle began to appear.
"Strikers, the world is the workers' for the taking, and the workers arethe vast majority in society. Your interests are paramount to those of asmall, useless band of parasites who exploit you to their advantage. Youhave nothing to lose but your chains and you have a world to gain. Theworld for the workers."
There was one ray of light in the darkness, however. The municipalemployees had refused to strike, and only by force would the city godark that night. It was a blow to the conspirators. In the strangepsychology of the mob, darkness was an essential to violence, and bythree o'clock that afternoon the light plant and city water supply hadbeen secured against attack by effectual policing. The power plant forthe car lines was likewise protected, and at five o'clock a line ofstreet cars, stalled on Amanda Street, began to show signs of life.
The first car was boarded by a half dozen youngish men, unobtrusivelyready for trouble, and headed by a tall youth who limped slightly andwore an extremely anxious expression. He went forward and commenceda series of experiments with levers and brake, in which processincidentally he liberated a quantity of sand onto the rails. A momentlater the car lurched forward, and then stopped with a jerk.
Willy Cameron looked behind him and grinned. The entire guard was piledin an ignoble mass on the floor.
By six o'clock volunteer crews were running a number of cars, and hadbeen subjected to nothing worse than abuse. Strikers lined the streetsand watched them, but the grim faces of the guards kept them back. Theyjeered from the curbs, but except for the flinging of an occasionalstone they made no inimical move.
By eight o'clock it was clear that the tie-up would be only partial.Volunteers from all walks of life were in line at the temporaryheadquarters of the Vigilance Committee and were being detailed, forpolice duty, to bring in the trains with the morning milk, to movestreet cars and trucks. The water plant and the reservoirs wereprotected. Willy Cameron, abandoning his car after the homeward rush ofthe evening, found a line before the Committee Building which extendedfor blocks down the street.
Troops had been sent for, but it took time to mobilize and move them.It would be morning before they arrived. And the governor, over the longdistance wire to the mayor, was inclined to be querulous.
"We'll send them, of course," he said. "But if the strikers are keepingquiet--I don't know what the country's coming to. We're holding aconference here now. There's rioting breaking out all over the state."
* * * * *
There was a conference held in the Mayor's office that night: Cameronand Cardew and one or two others of the Vigilance Committee, two agentsof the government secret service, the captains of the companies of statetroops and constabulary, the Chief of Police, the Mayor himself, andsome representatives of the conservative element of organized labor.Quiet men, these last, uneasy and anxious, as ignorant as the others ofwhich way the black cat, the symbol of sabotage and destruction, wouldjump. The majority of their men would stand for order, they declared,but there were some who would go over. They urged, to offset thatreflection on their organization that the proletariat of the city mightgo over, too.
But, by midnight, it seemed as though the situation was solving itself.In the segregated district there had been a small riot, and anotheralong the river front, disturbances quickly ended by the police andthe volunteer deputies. The city had not gone dark. The bombs had notexploded. Word came in that by back roads and devious paths the mostrabid of the agitators were leaving town. And before two o'clock HowardCardew and some of the others went home to bed.
At three o'clock the Cardew doorbell rang, and Howard, not asleep,flung on his dressing gown and went out into the hall. Lily was in herdoorway, intent and anxious.
"Don't answer it, father," she begged. "You don't know what it may be."
Howard smiled, but went back and got his revolver. The visitor was WillyCameron.
"I don't like to waken you," he said, "but word has come in ofsuspicious movements at Baxter and Friendship, and one or two otherplaces. It looks like concerted action of some sort."
"What sort of concerted action?"
"They still have one card to play. The foreign element outside hasn'tbeen heard from. It looks as though the fellows who left town to-nighthave been getting busy up the river."
"They wouldn't be such fools as to come to the city."
"They've been made a lot of promises. They may be out of hand, youknow."
While Howard was hastily dressing, Willy Cameron waited below. He caughta glimpse of himself in the big mirror and looked away. His face wasdrawn and haggard, his eyes hollow and his collar a wilted string. Hewas dusty and shabby, too, and to Lily, coming down the staircase, helooked almost ill.
Lily was in a soft negligee garment, her bare feet thrust into slippers,but she was too anxious to be self-conscious.
"Willy," she said, "there is trouble after all?"
"Not in the city. Things are not so quiet up the river."
She placed a hand on his arm.
"Are you and father going up the river?"
He explained, after a momentary hesitation. "It may crystallize intosomething, or it may not," he finished.
"You think it will, don't you?"
"It will be nothing more, at the worst, than rioting."
"But you may be hurt!"
"I may have one chance to fight for my country," he said, rather grimly."Don't begrudge me that." But he added: "I'll not be hurt. The thingwill blow up as soon as it starts."
"You don't really believe that, do you?"
"I know they'll never get into the city."
But as he moved away she called him back, more breathlessly than ever,and quite white.
"I don't want you to go without knowing--Willy, do you remember oncethat you said you cared for me?"
"I remember." He stared straight ahead.
"Are you--all over that?"
"You know better than that, don't you?"
"But I've done so many things," she said, wistfully. "You ought to hateme." And when he said nothing, for the simple reason that he could notspeak: "I've ruined us both, haven't I?"
Suddenly he caught up her hand and, bending over it, held it to hislips.
"Always," he said, huskily, "I love you, Lily. I shall always love you."
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