100%: The Story of a Patriot

By UPTON SINCLAIR

PUBLISHED BY THE AUTHOR

PASADENA, CALIFORNIA

1920

TO MY WIFE

Who is the creator of the most charming character in this story, "Mrs. Godd, " and who positively refuses to permit the book to go topress until it has been explained that the character is a GrecianGodd and not a Hebrew Godd, so that no one may accuse the creator ofsacrilege. 

Section 1

Now and then it occurs to one to reflect upon what slender threadsof accident depend the most important circumstances of his life; tolook back and shudder, realizing how close to the edge ofnothingness his being has come. A young man is walking down thestreet, quite casually, with an empty mind and no set purpose; hecomes to a crossing, and for no reason that he could tell he takesthe right hand turn instead of the left; and so it happens that heencounters a blue-eyed girl, who sets his heart to beating. He meetsthe girl, marries her--and she became your mother. But now, supposethe young man had taken the left hand turn instead of the right, andhad never met the blue-eyed girl; where would you be now, and whatwould have become of those qualities of mind which you consider ofimportance to the world, and those grave affairs of business towhich your time is devoted?

Something like that it was which befell Peter Gudge; just such anaccident, changing the whole current of his life, and making theseries of events with which this story deals. Peter was walking downthe street one afternoon, when a woman approached and held out tohim a printed leaflet. "Read this, please, " she said. 

And Peter, who was hungry, and at odds with the world, answeredgruffly: "I got no money. " He thought it was an advertising dodger, and he said: "I can't buy nothin'. "

"It isn't anything for sale, " answered the woman. "It's a message. "

"Religion?" said Peter. "I just got kicked out of a church. "

"No, not a church, " said the woman. "It's something different; putit in your pocket. " She was an elderly woman with gray hair, and shefollowed along, smiling pleasantly at this frail, poor-lookingstranger, but nagging at him. "Read it some time when you've nothingelse to do. " And so Peter, just to get rid of her, took the leafletand thrust it into his pocket, and went on, and in a minute or twohad forgotten all about it. 

Peter was thinking--or rather Peter's stomach was thinking for him;for when you have had nothing to eat all day, and nothing on the daybefore but a cup of coffee and one sandwich, your thought-centersare transferred from the top to the middle of you. Peter wasthinking that this was a hell of a life. Who could have foreseenthat just because he had stolen one miserable fried doughnut, hewould lose his easy job and his chance of rising in the world?Peter's whole being was concentrated on the effort to rise in theworld; to get success, which means money, which means ease andpleasure--the magic names which lure all human creatures. 

But who could have foreseen that Mrs. Smithers would have kept countof those fried doughnuts every time anybody passed thru her pantry?And it was only that one ridiculous circumstance which had broughtPeter to his present misery. But for that he might have had hislunch of bread and dried herring and weak tea in the home of theshoe-maker's wife, and might have still been busy with his job ofstirring up dissension in the First Apostolic Church, otherwiseknown as the Holy Rollers, and of getting the Rev. Gamaliel Lunkturned out, and Shoemaker Smithers established at the job of pastor, with Peter Gudge as his right hand man. 

Always it had been like that, thru Peter's twenty years of life. Time after time he would get his feeble clutch fixed upon the ladderof prosperity, and then something would happen--some wretched thinglike the stealing of a fried doughnut--to pry him loose and tumblehim down again into the pit of misery. 

So Peter walked along, with his belt drawn tight, and his restlessblue eyes wandering here and there, looking for a place to get ameal. There were jobs to be had, but they were hard jobs, and Peterwanted an easy one. There are people in this world who live by theirmuscles, and others who live by their wits; Peter belonged to thelatter class; and had missed many a meal rather than descend in thesocial scale. 

Peter looked into the faces of everyone he passed, searching for apossible opening. Some returned his glance, but never for more thana second, for they saw an insignificant looking man, undersized, undernourished, and with one shoulder higher than the other, a weakchin and mouth, crooked teeth, and a brown moustache too feeble tohold itself up at the corners. Peters' straw hat had many strawsmissing, his second-hand brown suit was become third-hand, and hisshoes were turning over at the sides. In a city where everybody was"hustling, " everybody, as they phrased it, "on the make, " why shouldanyone take a second glance at Peter Gudge? Why should anyone careabout the restless soul hidden inside him, or dream that Peter was, in his own obscure way, a sort of genius? No one did care; no onedid dream. 

It was about two o'clock of an afternoon in July, and the sun beatdown upon the streets of American City. There were crowds upon thestreets, and Peter noticed that everywhere were flags and bunting. Once or twice he heard the strains of distant music, and wonderedwhat was "up. " Peter had not been reading the newspapers; all hisattention bad been taken up by the quarrels of the Smithers factionand the Lunk faction in the First Apostolic Church, otherwise knownas the Holy Rollers, and great events that had been happening in theworld outside were of no concern to him. Peter knew vaguely that onthe other side of the world half a dozen mighty nations were lockedtogether in a grip of death; the whole earth was shaken with theirstruggles, and Peter had felt a bit of the trembling now and then. But Peter did not know that his own country had anything to do withthis European quarrel, and did not know that certain great intereststhruout the country had set themselves to rouse the public toaction. 

This movement had reached American City, and the streets had brokenout in a blaze of patriotic display. In all the windows of thestores there were signs: "Wake up, America!" Across the broad MainStreet there were banners: "America Prepare!" Down in the square atone end of the street a small army was gathering--old veterans ofthe Civil War, and middle-aged veterans of the Spanish War, andregiments of the state militia, and brigades of marines and sailorsfrom the ships in the harbor, and members of fraternal lodges withtheir Lord High Chief Grand Marshals on horseback with gold sashesand waving white plumes, and all the notables of the city incarriages, and a score of bands to stir their feet and ten thousandflags waving above their heads. "Wake up America!" And here wasPeter Gudge, with an empty stomach, coming suddenly upon theswarming crowds in Main Street, and having no remotest idea what itwas all about. 

A crowd suggested one thing to Peter. For seven years of his younglife he had been assistant to Pericles Priam, and had traveled overAmerica selling Priam's Peerless Pain Paralyzer; they had ridden inan automobile, and wherever there was a fair or a convention or anexcursion or a picnic, they were on hand, and Pericles Priam wouldstop at a place where the crowds were thickest, and ring a dinnerbell, and deliver his super-eloquent message to humanity--the elixirof life revealed, suffering banished from the earth, and allinconveniences of this mortal state brought to an end for one dollarper bottle of fifteen per cent opium. It had been Peter's job tohandle the bottles and take in the coin; and so now, when he saw thecrowd, he looked about him eagerly. Perhaps there might be here somevender of corn-plasters or ink-stain removers, or some three cardmonte man to whom Peter could attach himself for the price of asandwich. 

Peter wormed his way thru the crowd for two or three blocks, but sawnothing more promising than venders of American flags on littlesticks, and of patriotic buttons with "Wake up America!" But then, on the other side of the street at one of the crossings Peter saw aman standing on a truck making a speech, and he dug his way thru thecrowd, elbowing, sliding this way and that, begging everybody'spardon--until at last he was out of the crowd, and standing in theopen way which had been cleared for the procession, a seeminglyendless road lined with solid walls of human beings, withblue-uniformed policemen holding them back. Peter started to runacross--and at that same instant came the end of the world. 

Section 2

One who seeks to tell about events in words comes occasionally upona fundamental difficulty. An event of colossal and overwhelmingsignificance may happen all at once, but the words which describe ithave to come one by one in a long chain. The event may reveal itselfwithout a moment's warning; but if one is to give a sense of it inwords, one must prepare for it, build up to it, awaken anticipation, establish a climax. If the description of this event which fatesprung upon Peter Gudge as he was crossing the street were limitedto the one word "BANG" in letters a couple of inches high across thepage, the impression would hardly be adequate. 

The end of the world, it seemed to Peter, when he was able tocollect enough of his terrified wits to think about it. But at firstthere was no thinking; there was only sensation--a terrific roar, asif the whole universe had suddenly turned to sound; a blinding whiteglare, as of all the lightnings of the heavens; a blow that pickedhim up as if he had been a piece of thistledown, and flung himacross the street and against the side of a building. Peter fellupon the sidewalk in a heap, deafened, blinded, stunned; and therehe lay--he had no idea how long-until gradually his senses began toreturn to him, and from the confusion certain factors began to standout: a faint gray smoke that seemed to lie upon the ground, a bitterodor that stung the nostrils and tongue, and screams of people, moaning and sobbing and general uproar. Something lay across Peter'schest, and he felt that he was suffocating, and struggledconvulsively to push it away; the hands with which he pushed feltsomething hot and wet and slimy. And the horrified Peter realizedthat it was half the body of a mangled human being. 

Yes, it was the end of the world. Only a couple of days previouslyPeter Gudge had been a devout member of the First Apostolic Church, otherwise known as the Holy Rollers, and had listened atprayer-meetings to soul-shaking imaginings out of the Book ofRevelations. So Peter knew that this was it; and having many sinsupon his conscience, and being in no way eager to confront his God, he looked out over the bodies of the dead and the writhing wounded, and saw a row of boxes standing against the building, having beenplaced there by people who wished to see over the heads of thecrowd. Peter started to crawl, and found that he was able to do so, and wormed his way behind one of these packing-boxes, and got insideand lay hidden from his God. 

There was blood on him, and he did not know whether it was his ownor other peoples'. He was trembling with fright, his crooked teethwere hammering together like those of an angry woodchuck. But theeffects of the shock continued to pass away, and his wits to comeback to him, and at last Peter realized that he never had takenseriously the ideas of the First Apostolic Church of American City. He listened to the moans of the wounded, and to the shouts anduproar of the crowd, and began seriously figuring out what couldhave happened. There had once been an earthquake in American City;could this be another one? Or had a volcano opened up in the midstof Main Street? Or could it have been a gas-main? And was this theend, or would it explode some more? Would the volcano go onerupting, and blow Peter and his frail packing-box thru the walls ofGuggenheim's Department-store?

So Peter waited, and listened to the horrible sounds of people inagony, and pleading with others to put them out of it. Peter heardvoices of men giving orders, and realized that these must bepolicemen, and that no doubt there would be ambulances coming. Maybethere was something the matter with him, and he ought to crawl outand get himself taken care of. All of a sudden Peter remembered hisstomach; and his wits, which had been sharpened by twenty years'struggle against a hostile world, realized in a flash theopportunity which fate had brought to him. He must pretend to bewounded, badly wounded; he must be unconscious, suffering from shockand shattered nerves; then they would take him to the hospital andput him in a soft bed and give him things to eat--maybe he mightstay there for weeks, and they might give him money when he cameout. 

Or perhaps he might get a job in the hospital, something that waseasy, and required only alert intelligence. Perhaps the head doctorin the hospital might want somebody to watch the other doctors, tosee if they were neglecting the patients, or perhaps flirting withsome of the nurses--there was sure to be something like that goingon. It had been that way in the orphans' home where Peter had spenta part of his childhood till he ran away. It had been that way againin the great Temple of Jimjambo, conducted by Pashtian el Kalandra, Chief Magistrian of Eleutherinian Exoticism. Peter had worked asscullion in the kitchen in that mystic institution, and had workedhis way upward until he possessed the confidence of Tushbar Akrogas, major-domo and right hand man of the Prophet himself. 

Wherever there was a group of people, and a treasure to beadministered, there Peter knew was backbiting and scandal andintriguing and spying, and a chance for somebody whose brains were"all there. " It might seem strange that Peter should think aboutsuch things, just then when the earth had opened up in front of himand the air had turned to roaring noise and blinding white flame, and had hurled him against the side of a building and dropped thebleeding half of a woman's body across his chest; but Peter hadlived from earliest childhood by his wits and by nothing else, andsuch a fellow has to learn to use his wits under any and allcircumstances, no matter how bewildering. Peter's training coveredalmost every emergency one could think of; he had even at timesoccupied himself by imagining what he would do if the Holy Rollersshould turn out to be right, and if suddenly Gabriel's trumpet wereto blow, and be were to find himself confronting Jesus in a longwhite night-gown. 

Section 3

Peter's imaginings were brought to an end by the packing-box beingpulled out from the wall. "Hello!" said a voice. 

Peter groaned, but did not look up. The box was pulled out further, and a face peered in. "What you hidin' in there for?"

Peter stammered feebly: "Wh-wh-what?"

"You hurt?" demanded the voice. 

"I dunno, " moaned Peter. 

The box was pulled out further, and its occupant slid out. Peterlooked up, and saw three or four policemen bending over him; hemoaned again. 

"How did you get in there?" asked one. 

"I crawled in. "

"What for?"

"To g-g-get away from the--what was it?"

"Bomb, " said one of the policemen; and Peter was astounded that fora moment he forgot to be a nervous wreck. 

"Bomb!" he cried; and at the same moment one of the policemen liftedhim to his feet. 

"Can you stand up?" he demanded; and Peter tried, and found that hecould, and forgot that he couldn't. He was covered with blood anddirt, and was an unpresentable object, but he was really relieved todiscover that his limbs were intact. 

"What's your name?" demanded one of the policemen, and when Peteranswered, he asked, "Where do you work?"

"I got no job, " replied Peter. 

"Where'd you work last?" And then another broke in, "What did youcrawl in there for?"

"My God!" cried Peter. "I wanted to get away!"

The policemen seemed to find it suspicious that he had stayed hiddenso long. They were in a state of excitement themselves, it appeared;a terrible crime had been committed, and they were hunting for anytrace of the criminal. Another man came up, not dressed in uniform, but evidently having authority, and he fell onto Peter, demanding toknow who he was, and where he had come from, and what he had beendoing in that crowd. And of course Peter had no very satisfactoryanswers to give to any of these questions. His occupations had beenunusual, and not entirely credible, and his purposes were hard toexplain to a suspicious questioner. The man was big and burly, atleast a foot taller than Peter, and as he talked he stooped down andstared into Peter's eyes as if he were looking for dark secretshidden back in the depths of Peter's skull. Peter remembered that hewas supposed to be sick, and his eyelids drooped and he reeledslightly, so that the policemen had to hold him up. 

"I want to talk to that fellow, " said the questioner. "Take himinside. " One of the officers took Peter under one arm, and the otherunder the other arm, and they half walked and half carried himacross the street and into a building. 

Section 4

It was a big store which the police had opened up. Inside there werewounded people lying on the floor, with doctors and others attendingthem. Peter was marched down the corridor, and into a room where sator stood several other men, more or less in a state of collapse likehimself; people who had failed to satisfy the police, and were beingheld under guard. 

Peter's two policemen backed him against the wall and proceeded togo thru his pockets, producing the shameful contents--a soiled rag, and two cigarette butts picked up on the street, and a broken pipe, and a watch which had once cost a dollar, but was now out of order, and too badly damaged to be pawned. That was all they had any rightto find, so far as Peter knew. But there came forth one thingmore--the printed circular which Peter had thrust into his pocket. The policeman who pulled it out took a glance at it, and then cried, "Good God!" He stared at Peter, then he stared at the otherpoliceman and handed him the paper. 

At that moment the man not in uniform entered the room. "Mr. Guffey!" cried the policeman. "See this!" The man took the paper, and glanced at it, and Peter, watching with bewildered andfascinated eyes, saw a most terrifying sight. It was as if the manwent suddenly out of his mind. He glared at Peter, and under hisblack eyebrows the big staring eyes seemed ready to jump out of hishead. 

"Aha!" he exclaimed; and then, "So I've got you!" The hand that heldthe paper was trembling, and the other hand reached out like a greatclaw, and fastened itself in the neck of Peter's coat, and drew ittogether until Peter was squeezed tight. "You threw that bomb!"hissed the man. 

"Wh-what?" gasped Peter, his voice almost fainting. "B-b-bomb?"

"Out with it!" cried the man, and his face came close to Peter's, his teeth gleaming as if he were going to bite off Peter's nose. "Out with it! Quick! Who helped you?"

"My G-God!" said Peter. "I d-dunno what you mean. "

"You dare lie to me?" roared the man; and he shook Peter as if hemeant to jar his teeth out. "No nonsense now! Who helped you makethat bomb?"

Peter's voice rose to a scream of terror: "I never saw no bomb! Idunno what you're talkin' about!"

"You, come this way, " said the man, and started suddenly toward thedoor. It might have been more convenient if he had turned Peteraround, and got him by the back of his coat-collar; but he evidentlyheld Peter's physical being as a thing too slight forconsideration--he just kept his grip in the bosom of Peter's jacket, and half lifted him and half shoved him back out of the room, anddown a long passage to the back part of the building. And all thetime he was hissing into Peter's face: "I'll have it out of you!Don't think you can lie to me! Make up your mind to it, you're goingto come thru!"

The man opened a door. It was some kind of storeroom, and he walkedPeter inside and slammed the door behind him. "Now, out with it!" hesaid. The man thrust into his pocket the printed circular, orwhatever it was--Peter never saw it again, and never found out whatwas printed on it. With his free hand the man grabbed one of Peter'shands, or rather one finger of Peter's hand, and bent it suddenlybackward with terrible violence. "Oh!" screamed Peter. "Stop!" Andthen, with a wild shriek, "You'll break it. "

"I mean to break it! mean to break every bone in your body! I'lltear your finger-nails out; I'll tear the eyes out of your head, ifI have to! You tell me who helped you make that bomb!"

Peter broke out in a storm of agonized protest; he had never heardof any bomb, he didn't know what the man was talking about; hewrithed and twisted and doubled himself over backward, trying toevade the frightful pain of that pressure on his finger. 

"You're lying!" insisted Guffey. "I know you're lying. You're one ofthat crowd. "

"What crowd? Ouch! I dunno what you mean!"

"You're one of them Reds, aint you?"

"Reds? What are Reds?"

"You want to tell me you don't know what a Red is? Aint you beengiving out them circulars on the street?"

"I never seen the circular!" repeated Peter. "I never seen a word init; I dunno what it is. "

"You try to stuff me with that?"

"Some woman gimme that circular on the street! Ouch! Stop! Jesus! Itell you I never looked at the circular!"

"You dare go on lying?" shouted the man, with fresh access of rage. "And when I seen you with them Reds? I know about your plots, I'mgoing to get it out of you. " He grabbed Peter's wrist and began totwist it, and Peter half turned over in the effort to save himself, and shrieked again, in more piercing tones, "I dunno! I dunno!"

"What's them fellows done for you that you protect them?" demandedthe other. "What good'll it do you if we hang you and let themescape?"

But Peter only screamed and wept the louder. 

"They'll have time to get out of town, " persisted the other. "If youspeak quick we can nab them all, and then I'll let you go. Youunderstand, we won't do a thing to you, if you'll come thru and tellus who put you up to this. We know it wasn't you that planned it;it's the big fellows we want. "

He began to wheedle and coax Peter; but then, when Peter answeredagain with his provoking "I dunno, " he would give another twist toPeter's wrist, and Peter would yell, almost incoherent with terrorand pain--but still declaring that he could tell nothing, he knewnothing about any bomb. 

So at last Guffey wearied of this futile inquisition; or perhaps itoccurred to him that this was too public a place for the prosecutionof a "third degree"--there might be some one listening outside thedoor. He stopped twisting Peter's wrist, and tilted back Peter'shead so that Peter's frightened eyes were staring into his. 

"Now, young fellow, " he said, "look here. I got no time for you justnow, but you're going to jail, you're my prisoner, and make up yourmind to it, sooner or later I'm going to get it out of you. It maytake a day, or it may take a month, but you're going to tell meabout this bomb plot, and who printed this here circular opposed toPreparedness, and all about these Reds you work with. I'm tellingyou now--so you think it over; and meantime, you hold your mouth, don't say a word to a living soul, or if you do I'll tear yourtongue out of your throat. "

Then, paying no attention to Peter's wailings, he took him by theback of the collar and marched him down the hall again, and turnedhim over to one of the policemen. "Take this man to the city jail, "he said, "and put him in the hole, and keep him there until I come, and don't let him speak a word to anybody. If he tries it, mash hismouth for him. " So the policeman took poor sobbing Peter by the armand marched him out of the building. 

Section 5

The police had got the crowds driven back by now, and had ropesacross the street to hold them, and inside the roped space wereseveral ambulances and a couple of patrol-wagons. Peter was shovedinto one of these latter, and a policeman sat by his side, and thebell clanged, and the patrol-wagon forced its way slowly thru thestruggling crowd. Half an hour later they arrived at the huge stonejail, and Peter was marched inside. There were no formalities, theydid not enter Peter on the books, or take his name or his fingerprints; some higher power had spoken, and Peter's fate was alreadydetermined. He was taken into an elevator, and down into a basement, and then down a flight of stone steps into a deeper basement, andthere was an iron door with a tiny slit an inch wide and six incheslong near the top. This was the "hole, " and the door was opened andPeter shoved inside into utter darkness. The door banged, and thebolts rattled; and then silence. Peter sank upon a cold stone floor, a bundle of abject and hideous misery. 

These events had happened with such terrifying rapidity that PeterGudge had hardly time to keep track of them. But now he had plentyof time, he had nothing but time. He could think the whole thingout, and realize the ghastly trick which fate had played upon him. He lay there, and time passed; he had no way of measuring it, noidea whether it was hours or days. It was cold and clammy in thestone cell; they called it the "cooler, " and used it to reduce thetemperature of the violent and intractable. It was a trouble-savingdevice; they just left the man there and forgot him, and his owntormented mind did the rest. 

And surely no more tormented mind than the mind of Peter Gudge hadever been put in that black hole. It was the more terrible, becauseso utterly undeserved, so preposterous. For such a thing to happento him, Peter Gudge, of all people--who took such pains to avoiddiscomfort in life, who was always ready to oblige anybody, to doanything he was told to do, so as to have'an easy time, asufficiency of food, and a warm corner to crawl into! What couldhave persuaded fate to pick him for the victim of this cruel prank;to put him into this position, where he could not avoid suffering, no matter what he did? They wanted him to tell something, and Peterwould have been perfectly willing to tell anything--but how could hetell it when he did not know it?

The more Peter thought about it, the more outraged he became. It wasmonstrous! He sat up and glared into the black darkness. He talkedto himself, he talked to the world outside, to the universe whichhad forgotten his existence. He stormed, he wept. He got on his feetand flung himself about the cell, which was six feet square, andbarely tall enough for him to stand erect. He pounded on the doorwith his one hand which Guffey had not lamed, he kicked, and heshouted. But there was no answer, and so far as he could tell, therewas no one to hear. 

When he had exhausted himself, he sank down, and fell into a hauntedsleep; and then he wakened again, to a reality worse than anynightmare. That awful man was coming after him again! He was goingto torture him, to make him tell what he did not know! All the ogresand all the demons that had ever been invented to frighten theimagination of children were as nothing compared to the image of theman called Guffey, as Peter thought of him. 

Several ages after Peter had been locked up, he heard soundsoutside, and the door was opened. Peter was cowering in the corner, thinking that Guffey had come. There was a scraping on the floor, and then the door was banged again, and silence fell. Peterinvestigated and discovered that they had put in a chunk of breadand a pan of water. 

Then more ages passed, and Peter's impotent ragings were repeated;then once more they brought bread and water, and Peter wondered, wasit twice a day they brought it, or was this a new day? And how longdid they mean to keep him here? Did they mean to drive him mad? Heasked these questions of the man who brought the bread and water, but the man made no answer, he never at any time spoke a word. Peterhad no company in that "hole" but his God; and Peter was not wellacquainted with his God, and did not enjoy a tete-a-tete with Him. 

What troubled Peter most was the cold; it got into his bones, andhis teeth were chattering all the time. Despite all his movingabout, he could not keep warm. When the man opened the door, hecried out to him, begging for a blanket; each time the man came, Peter begged more frantically than ever. He was ill, he had beeninjured in the explosion, he needed a doctor, he was going to die!But there was never any answer. Peter would lie there and shiver andweep, and writhe, and babble, and lose consciousness for a while, and not know whether he was awake or asleep, whether he was livingor dead. He was becoming delirious, and the things that werehappening to him, the people who were tormenting him, becamemonsters and fiends who carried him away upon far journeys, andplunged him thru abysses of terror and torment. 

And yet, many and strange as were the phantoms which Peter's sickimagination conjured up, there was no one of them as terrible as thereality which prevailed just then in the life of American City, andwas determining the destiny of a poor little man by the name ofPeter Gudge. There lived in American City a group of men who hadtaken possession of its industries and dominated the lives of itspopulation. This group, intrenched in power in the city's businessand also in its government, were facing the opposition of a new andrapidly rising power, that of organized labor, determined to breakthe oligarchy of business and take over its powers. The struggle ofthese two groups was coming to its culmination. They were like twomighty wrestlers, locked in a grip of death; two giants in combat, who tear up trees by the roots and break off fragments of cliffsfrom the mountains to smash in each other's skulls. And poorPeter--what was he? An ant which happened to come blundering acrossthe ground where these combatants met. The earth was shaken withtheir trampling, the dirt was kicked this way and that, and theunhappy ant was knocked about, tumbled head over heels, buried inthe debris; and suddenly--Smash!--a giant foot came down upon theplace where he was struggling and gasping!

Section 6

Peter had been in the "hole" perhaps three days, perhaps a week--hedid not know, and no one ever told him. The door was opened again, and for the first time he heard a voice, "Come out here. "

Peter had been longing to hear a voice; but now he shrunk terrifiedinto a corner. The voice was the voice of Guffey, and Peter knewwhat it meant. His teeth began to rattle again, and he wailed, "Idunno anything! I can't tell anything!"

A hand reached in and took him by the collar, and he found himselfwalking down the corridor in front of Guffey. "Shut up!" said theman, in answer to all his wailings, and took him into a room andthrew him into a chair as if he had been a bundle of bedding, andpulled up another chair and sat down in front of Peter. 

"Now look here, " he said. "I want to have an understanding with you. Do you want to go back into that hole again?"

"N-n-no, " moaned Peter. 

"Well, I want you to know that you'll spend the rest of your life inthat hole, except when you're talking to me. And when you're talkingto me you'll be having your arms twisted off you, and splintersdriven into your finger nails, and your skin burned withmatches--until you tell me what I want to know. Nobody's going tohelp you, nobody's going to know about it. You're going to stay herewith me until you come across. "

Peter could only sob and moan. 

"Now, " continued Guffey, "I been finding out all about you, I gotyour life story from the day you were born, and there's no use yourtrying to hide anything. I know your part in this here bomb plot, and I can send you to the gallows without any trouble whatever. Butthere's some things I can't prove on the other fellows. They're thebig ones, the real devils, and they're the ones I want, so you'vegot a chance to save yourself, and you better be thankful for it. "

Peter went on moaning and sobbing. 

"Shut up!" cried the man. And then, fixing Peter's frightened gazewith his own, he continued, "Understand, you got a chance to saveyourself. All you got to do is to tell what you know. Then you cancome out and you won't have any more trouble. We'll take good careof you; everything'll be easy for you. "

Peter continued to gaze like a fascinated rabbit. And such a longingas surged up in his soul--to be free, and out of trouble, and takencare of! If only he had known anything to tell; if only there wassome way he could find out something to tell!

Section 7

Suddenly the man reached out and grasped one of Peter's hands. Hetwisted the wrist again, the sore wrist which still ached from thetorture. "Will you tell?"

"I'd tell if I could!" screamed Peter. "My God, how can I?"

"Don't lie to me, " hissed the man. "I know about it now, you can'tfool me. You know Jim Goober. "

"I never heard of him!" wailed Peter. 

"You lie!" declared the other, and he gave Peter's wrist a twist. 

"Yes, yes, I know him!" shrieked Peter. 

"Oh, that's more like it!" said the other. "Of course you know him. What sort of a looking man is he?"

"I--I dunno. He's a big man. "

"You lie! You know he's a medium-sized man!"

"He's a medium-sized man. "

"A dark man?"

"Yes, a dark man. "

"And you know Mrs. Goober, the music teacher?"

"Yes, I know her. "

"And you've been to her house?"

"Yes, I've been to her house. "

"Where is their house?"

"I dunno--that is--"

"It's on Fourth Street?"

"Yes, it's on Fourth Street. "

"And he hired you to carry that suit-case with the bombs in it, didn't he?"

"Yes, he hired me. "

"And he told you what was in it, didn't he?"

"He--he--that is--I dunno. "

"You don't know whether he told you?"

"Y-y-yes, he told me. "

"You knew all about the plot, didn't you?"

"Y-y-yes, I knew. "

"And you know Isaacs, the Jew?"

"Y-y-yes, I know him. "

"He was the fellow that drove the jitney, wasn't he?"

"Y-y-yes, he drove the jitney. "

"Where did he drive it?"

"H-h-he drove it everywhere. "

"He drove it over here with the suit-case, didn't he?"

"Yes, he did. "

"And you know Biddle, and you know what he did, don't you?"

"Yes, I know. "

"And you're willing to tell all you know about it, are you?"

"Yes, I'll tell it all. I'll tell whatever you--"

"You'll tell whatever you know, will you?"

"Y-y-yes, sir. "

"And you'll stand by it? You'll not try to back out? You don't wantto go back into the hole?"

"No, sir. "

And suddenly Guffey pulled from his pocket a paper folded up. It wasseveral typewritten sheets. "Peter Gudge, " he said, "I been lookingup your record, and I've found out what you did in this case. You'llsee when you read how perfectly I've got it. You won't find a singlemistake in it. " Guffey meant this for wit, but poor Peter was toofar gone with terror to have any idea that there was such a thing asa smile in the world. 

"This is your story, d'you see?" continued Guffey. "Now take it andread it. "

So Peter took the paper in his trembling hand, the one which had notbeen twisted lame. He tried to read it, but his hand shook so thathe had to put it on his knee, and then he discovered that his eyeshad not yet got used to the light. He could not see the print. "Ic-c-can't, " he wailed. 

And the other man took the paper from him. "I'll read it to you, " hesaid. "Now you listen, and put your mind on it, and make sure I'vegot it all right. "

And so Guffey started to read an elaborate legal document: "I, PeterGudge, being duly sworn do depose and declare--" and so on. It wasan elaborate and detailed story about a man named Jim Goober, andhis wife and three other men, and how they had employed Peter to buyfor them certain materials to make bombs, and how Peter had helpedthem to make the bombs in a certain room at a certain given address, and how they had put the bombs in a suit-case, with a time clock toset them off, and how Isaacs, the jitney driver, had driven them toa certain corner on Main Street, and how they had left the suit-casewith the bombs on the street in front of the Preparedness Dayparade. 

It was very simple and clear, and Peter, as he listened, was almostready to cry with delight, realizing that this was all he had to doto escape from his horrible predicament. He knew now what he wassupposed to know; and he knew it. Why had not Guffey told him longago, so that he might have known it without having his fingers bentout of place and his wrist twisted off?

"Now then, " said Guffey, "that's your confession, is it?"

"Y-y-yes, " said Peter. 

"And you'll stand by it to the end?"

"Y-y-yes, sir. "

"We can count on you now? No more nonsense?"

"Y-y-yes, sir. "

"You swear it's all true?"

"I do. "

"And you won't let anybody persuade you to go back on it--no matterwhat they say to you?"

"N-n-no, sir, " said Peter. 

"All right, " said Guffey; and his voice showed the relief of abusiness man who has closed an important deal. He became almosthuman as lie went on. "Now, Peter, " he said, "you're our man, andwe're going to count on you. You understand, of course, that we haveto hold you as a witness, but you're not to be a prisoner, and we'regoing to treat you well. We'll put you in the hospital part of thejail, and you'll have good grub and nothing to do. In a week or so, we'll want you to appear before the grand jury. Meantime, youunderstand--not a word to a soul! People may try to worm somethingout of you, but don't you open your mouth about this case except tome. I'm your boss, and I'll tell you what to do, and I'll take careof you all the way. You got that all straight?"

"Y-y-yes, sir, " said Peter. 

Section 8

There was once, so legend declares, a darky who said that he likedto stub his toe because it felt so good when it stopped hurting. Onthis same principle Peter had a happy time in the hospital of theAmerican City jail. He had a comfortable bed, and plenty to eat, andabsolutely nothing to do. His sore joints became gradually healed, and he gained half a pound a day in weight, and his busy mind set towork to study the circumstances about him, to find out how he couldperpetuate these comfortable conditions, and add to them the littleluxuries which make life really worth living. 

In charge of this hospital was an old man by the name of Doobman. Hehad been appointed because he was the uncle of an alderman, and hehad held the job for the last six years, and during that time hadgained weight almost as rapidly as Peter was gaining. He had nowcome to a condition where he did not like to get out of his armchairif it could be avoided. Peter discovered this, and so found itpossible to make himself useful in small ways. Also Mr. Doobman hada secret vice; he took snuff, and for the sake of discipline he didnot want this dreadful fact to become known. Therefore he would waituntil everybody's back was turned before he took a pinch of snuff;and Peter learned this, and would tactfully turn his back. 

Everybody in this hospital had some secret vice, and it was Mr. Doobman's duty to repress the vices of the others. The inmates ofthe hospital included many of the prisoners who had money, and couldpay to make themselves comfortable. They wanted tobacco, whiskey, cocaine and other drugs, and some of them wanted a chance topractice unnamable horrors. All the money they could smuggle in theywere ready to spend for license to indulge themselves. As for theattendants in the hospital, they were all political appointees, derelicts who had been unable to hold a job in the commercial world, and had sought an easy berth, like Peter himself. They took bribes, and were prepared to bribe Peter to outwit Mr. Doobman; Mr. Doobman, on the other hand, was prepared to reward Peter with many favors, ifPeter would consent to bring him secret information. In such asituation it was possible for a man with his wits about him toaccumulate quite a little capital. 

For the most part Peter stuck by Doobman; having learned by bitterexperience that in the long run it pays to be honest. Doobman wasreferred to by the other attendants as the "Old Man"; and always inPeter's life, from the very dawn of childhood, there had been somesuch "Old Man, " the fountain-head of authority, the dispenser ofcreature comforts. First had been "Old Man" Drubb, who from earlymorning until late at night wore green spectacles, and a sign acrosshis chest, "I am blind, " and made a weary little child lead him thruthe streets by the hand. At night, when they got home to theirgarret-room, "Old Man" Drubb would take off his green goggles, andwas perfectly able to see Peter, and if Peter had made the slightestmistake during the day he would beat him. 

When Drubb was arrested, Peter was taken to the orphan asylum, andthere was another "Old Man, " and the same harsh lesson ofsubservience to be learned. Peter had run away from the asylum; andthen had come Pericles Priam with his Pain Paralyzer, and Peter hadstudied his whims and served his interests. When Pericles hadmarried a rich widow and she had kicked Peter out, there had comethe Temple of Jimjambo, where the "Old Man" had been TushbarAkrogas, the major-domo--terrible when he was thwarted, but agenerous dispenser of favors when once you had learned to flatterhim, to play upon his weaknesses, to smooth the path of hispleasures. All these years Peter had been forced to "crook thepregnant hinges of the knee"; it had become an instinct with him--aninstinct that went back far behind the twenty years of his consciouslife, that went back twenty thousand years, perhaps ten times twentythousand years, to a time when Peter had chipped flint spear-headsat the mouth of some cave, and broiled marrow-bones for some "OldMan" of the borde, and seen rebellious young fellows cast out tofall prey to the sabre-tooth tiger. 

Section 9

Peter found that he was something of a personality in this hospital. He was the "star" witness in the sensational Goober case, aboutwhich the whole city, and in fact the whole country was talking. Itwas known that he had "turned State's"; but just what he knew andwhat he had told was a mighty secret, and Peter "held his mouth" andlooked portentous, and enjoyed thrills of self-importance. 

But meantime there was no reason why he should not listen to otherstalk; no reason why he should not inform himself fully about thiscase, so that in future he might be able to take care of himself. Helistened to what "Old Man" Doobman had to say, and to what JanChristian, his Swedish assistant had to say, and to what GeraldLeslie, the "coke" fiend, had to say. All these, and others, hadfriends on the outside, people who were "in the know. " Some told onething, and others told exactly the opposite; but Peter put this andthat together, and used his own intrigue-sharpened wits upon it, andbefore long he was satisfied that he had got the facts. 

Jim Goober was a prominent labor leader. He had organized theemployees of the Traction Trust, and had called and led a tremendousstrike. Also he had called building strikes, and some people said hehad used dynamite upon uncompleted buildings, and made a joke of it. Anyhow, the business men of the city wanted to put him where hecould no longer trouble them; and when some maniac unknown had flunga dynamite bomb into the path of the Preparedness parade, the bigfellows of the city had decided that now was the opportunity theywere seeking. Guffey, the man who had taken charge of Peter, washead of the secret service of the Traction Trust, and the bigfellows had put him in complete charge. They wanted action, andwould take no chances with the graft-ridden and incompetent policeof the city. They had Goober in jail, with his wife and three of hisgang, and thru the newspapers of the city they were carrying on apropaganda to prepare the public for the hanging of all five. 

And that was all right, of course; Jim Goober was only a name toPeter, and of less importance than a single one of Peter's meals. Peter understood what Guffey had done, and his only grudge wasbecause Guffey had not had the sense to tell him his story at thebeginning, instead of first nearly twisting his arm off. However, Peter reflected, no doubt Guffey had meant to teach him a lesson, tomake sure of him. Peter had learned the lesson, and his purpose nowwas to make this clear to Guffey and to Doobman. 

"Hold your mouth, " Guffey had said, and Peter never once said a wordabout the Goober case. But, of course, he talked about othermatters. A fellow could not go around like a mummy all day long, andit was Peter's weakness that he liked to tell about his exploits, the clever devices by which he had outwitted his last "Old Man. " Soto Gerald Leslie, the "coke" fiend, he told the story of PericlesPriam, and how many thousands of dollars he had helped to wheedleout of the public, and how twice he and Pericles bad been arrestedfor swindling. Also he told about the Temple of Jimjambo, and allthe strange and incredible things that had gone on there. Pashtianel Kalandra, who called himself the Chief Magistrian ofEleutherinian Exoticism, gave himself out to his followers to beeighty years of age, but as a matter of fact he was less than forty. He was supposed to be a Persian prince, but had been born in a smalltown in Indiana, and had begun life as a grocer-boy. He was supposedto live upon a handful of fruit, but every day it had been Peter'sjob to assist in the preparation of a large beef-steak or a roastchicken. These were "for sacrificial purposes, " so the prophetexplained to his attendants; and Peter would get the remains of thesacrificial beef-steaks and chickens, and would sacrificially devourthem behind the pantry door. That had been one of his privategrafts, which he got in return for keeping secret from the prophetsome of the stealings of Tushbar Akrogas, the major-domo. 

A wonderful place had been this Temple of Jimjambo. There weremystic altars with seven veils before them, and thru these the ChiefMagistrian would appear, clad in a long cream-colored robe with goldand purple borders, and with pink embroidered slippers and symbolichead-dress. His lectures and religious rites had been attended byhundreds--many of them rich society women, who came rolling up tothe temple in their limousines. Also there had been a school, wherechildren had been initiated into the mystic rites of the cult. Theprophet would take these children into his private apartments, andthere were awful rumors--which had ended in the raiding of thetemple by the police, and the flight of the prophet, and likewise ofthe majordomo, and of Peter Gudge, his scullion and confederate. 

Also, Peter thought it was fun to tell Gerald Leslie about hisadventures with the Holy Rollers, into whose church he had driftedduring his search for a job. Peter had taken up with this sect, andlearned the art of "talking in tongues, " and how to fall over theback of your chair in convulsions of celestial glory. Peter hadgained the confidence of the Rev. Gamaliel Lunk, and had beensecretly employed by him to carry on a propaganda among thecongregation to obtain a raise in salary for the underpaidconvulsionist. But certain things which Peter had learned had causedhim to go over to the faction of Shoemaker Smithers, who was tryingto persuade the congregation that he could roll harder and fasterthan the Rev. Gamaliel. Peter had only held this latter job a fewdays before he had been fired for stealing the fried doughnut. 

Section 10

All these things and more Peter told; thinking that he was safe now, under the protection of authority. But after he had spent about twomonths in the hospital, he was summoned one day into the office, andthere stood Guffey, glowering at him in a black fury. "You damnedfool!" were Guffey's first words. 

Peter's knees went weak and his teeth began to chatter again. "Wh-wh-what?" he cried. 

"Didn't I tell you to hold your mouth?" And Guffey looked as if hewere going to twist Peter's wrist again. 

"Mr. Guffey, I ain't told a soul! I ain't said one word about theGoober case, not one word!"

Peter rushed on, pouring out protests. But Guffey cut him short. "Shut up, you nut! Maybe you didn't talk about the Goober case, butyou talked about yourself. Didn't you tell somebody you'd workedwith that fellow Kalandra?"

"Y-y-yes, sir. "

"And you knew the police were after him, and after you, too?"

"Y-y-yes, sir. "

"And you said you'd been arrested selling fake patent medicines?"

"Y-y-yes, sir. "

"Christ almighty!" cried Guffey. "And what kind of a witness do youthink you'll make?"

"But, " cried Peter in despair, "I didn't tell anybody that wouldmatter. I only--"

"What do you know what would matter?" roared the detective, addinga stream of furious oaths. "The Goober people have got spies on us;they've got somebody right here in this jail. Anyhow, they've foundout about you and your record. You've gone and ruined us with yourblabbing mouth!"

"My Lord!" whispered Peter, his voice dying away. 

"Look at yourself on a witness-stand! Look at what they'll do to youbefore a jury! Traveling over the country, swindling people withpatent medicines--and getting in jail for it! Working for thathell-blasted scoundrel Kalandra--" and Guffey added some dreadfulwords, descriptive of the loathsome vices of which the ChiefMagistrian had been accused. "And you mixed up in that kind ofthing!"

"I never done anything like that!" cried Peter wildly. "I didn'teven know for sure. "

"Tell that to the jury!" sneered Guffey. "Why, they've even been tothat Shoemaker Smithers, and they'll put his wife on the stand toprove you a sneak thief, and tell how she kicked you out. And allbecause you couldn't hold your mouth as I told you to!"

Peter burst into tears. He fell down on his knees, pleading that hehadn't meant any harm; he hadn't had any idea that he was notsupposed to talk about his past life; he hadn't realized what awitness was, or what he was supposed to do. All he had been told wasto keep quiet about the Goober case, and he had kept quiet. So Petersobbed and pleaded--but in vain. Guffey ordered him back to thehole, declaring his intention to prove that Peter was the one whohad thrown the bomb, and that Peter, instead of Jim Goober, had beenthe head and front of the conspiracy. Hadn't Peter signed aconfession that he had helped to make the bomb?

Section 11

Again Peter did not know how long he lay shivering in the blackdungeon. He only knew that they brought him bread and water threetimes, before Guffey came again and summoned him forth. Peter nowsat huddled into a chair, twisting his trembling hands together, while the chief detective of the Traction Trust explained to him hisnew program. Peter was permanently ruined as a witness in the case. The labor conspirators had raised huge sums for their defense; theyhad all the labor unions of the city, and in fact of the entirecountry behind them, and they were hiring spies and informers, andtrying to find out all they could about the prosecution, theevidence it had collected and the moves it was preparing. Guffey didnot say that he had been afraid to kick Peter out because of thepossibility that Peter might go over to the Goober side and tell allhe knew; but Peter guessed this while he sat listening to Guffey'sexplanation, and realized with a thrill of excitement that at lasthe had really got a hold upon the ladder of prosperity. Not in vainhad his finger been almost broken and his wrist almost dislocated!

"Now, " said Guffey, "here's my idea: As a witness you're on the bum, but as a spy, you're it. They know that you blabbed, and that I knowit; they know I've had you in the hole. So now what I want to do isto make a martyr of you. D'you see?"

Peter nodded; yes, he saw. It was his specialty, seeing things likethat. 

"You're an honest witness, you understand? I tried to get you tolie, and you wouldn't, so now you go over to the other side, andthey take you in, and you find out all you can, and from time totime you meet somebody as I'll arrange it, and send me word whatyou've learned. You get me?"

"I get you, " said Peter, eagerly. No words could portray his relief. He had a real job now! He was going to be a sleuth, like Guffeyhimself. 

"Now, " said Guffey, "the first thing I want to know is, who'sblabbing in this jail; we can't do anything but they get tipped off. I've got witnesses that I want kept hidden, and I don't dare putthem here for fear of the Goober crowd. I want to know who are thetraitors. I want to know a lot of things that I'll tell you fromtime to time. I want you to get next to these Reds, and learn abouttheir ideas, so you can talk their lingo. 

"Sure, " said Peter. He could not help smiling a little. He wassupposed to be a "Red" already, to have been one of their leadingconspirators. But Guffey had abandoned that pretence--or perhaps hadforgotten about it!

It was really an easy job that Peter had set before him. He did nothave to pretend to be anything different from what he was. He wouldcall himself a victim of circumstances, and would be honestlyindignant against those who had sought to use him in a frame-upagainst Jim Goober. The rest would follow naturally. He would getthe confidence of the labor people, and Guffey would tell him whatto do next. 

"We'll put you in one of the cells of this jail, " said the chiefdetective, "and we'll pretend to give you a `third degree. ' You'llholler and make a fuss, and say you won't tell, and finally we'llgive up and kick you out. And then all you have to do is just hangaround. They'll come after you, or I miss my guess. "

So the little comedy was arranged and played thru. Guffey took Peterby the collar and led him out into the main part of the jail, andlocked him in one of a row of open cells. He grabbed Peter by thewrist and pretended to twist it, and Peter pretended to protest. Hedid not have to draw on his imagination; he knew how it felt, andhow he was supposed to act, and he acted. He sobbed and screamed, and again and again he vowed that he had told the truth, that heknew nothing else than what he had told, and that nothing could makehim tell any more. Guffey left him there until late the nextafternoon, and then came again, and took him by the collar, and ledhim out to the steps of the jail, and gave him a parting kick. 

Peter was free! What a wonderful sensation--freedom! God! Had thereever been anything like it? He wanted to shout and howl with joy. But instead he staggered along the street, and sank down upon astone coping, sobbing, with his head clasped in his hands, waitingfor something to happen. And sure enough, it happened. Perhaps anhour passed, when he was touched lightly on the shoulder. "Comrade, "said a soft voice, and Peter, looking between his fingers, saw theskirts of a girl. A folded slip of paper was pressed into his handand the soft voice said: "Come to this address. " The girl walked on, and Peter's heart leaped with excitement. Peter was a sleuth atlast!

Section 12

Peter waited until after dark, in order to indulge his sense of theromantic; also he flattered his self-importance by looking carefullyabout him as he walked down the street. He did not know just whowould be shadowing him, but Peter wanted to be sleuthy. 

Also he had a bit of genuine anxiety. He had told the truth when hesaid to Guffey that he didn't know what a "Red" was; but since thenhe had been making in quiries, and now he knew. A "Red" was a fellowwho sympathized with labor unions and with strikes; who wanted tomurder the rich and divide their property, and believed that thequickest way to do the dividing was by means of dynamite. All "Reds"made bombs, and carried concealed weapons, and perhaps secretpoisons--who could tell? And now Peter was going among them, he wasgoing to become one of them! It was almost too interesting, for afellow who aimed above everything to be comfortable. Something inhim whispered, "Why not skip; get out of town and be done with it?"But then he thought of the rewards and honors that Guffey hadpromised him. Also there was the spirit of curiosity; he might skipat any time, but first he would like to know a bit more about beinga "dick. "

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 helistened 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 fellows 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?

She was alone in the house all day with Peter, and she got to seemmore and more pretty as he got to know her better. Also it wasevident that she liked Peter more and more as Peter played his game. Peter revealed himself as deeply sympathetic, and a quick convert tothe cause; he saw everything that Jennie explained to him, he washorrified at the horrible stories, he was ready to help her end theEuropean war by starting a revolution among the working people ofAmerican City. Also, he told her about himself, and awakened hersympathy for his harsh life, his twenty years of privation andservitude; and when she wept over this, Peter liked it. It was fine, somehow, to have her so sorry for him; it helped to compensate himfor the boredom of hearing her be sorry for the whole working class. 

Peter didn't know whether Jennie had learned about his bad record, but he took no chances--he told her everything, and thus took thesting out of it. Yes, he had been trapped into evil ways, but itwasn't his fault, he hadn't known any better, he had been a pitifulvictim of circumstances. He told how he had been starved and drivenabout and beaten by "Old Man" Drubb, and the tears glistened inJennie's grey eyes and stole down her cheeks. He told aboutloneliness and heartsickness and misery in the orphan asylum. Andhow could he, poor lad, realize that it was wrong to help PericlesPriam sell his Peerless Pain Paralyzer? How could he know whetherthe medicine was any good or not--he didn't even know now, as amatter of fact. As for the Temple of Jimjambo, all that Peter haddone was to wash dishes and work as a kitchen slave, as in any hotelor restaurant. 

It was a story easy to fix up, and especially easy because the firstarticle in the creed of Socialist Jennie was that economiccircumstances were to blame for human frailties. That opened thedoor for all varieties of grafters, and made the child such an easymark that Peter would have been ashamed to make a victim of her, hadit not been that she happened to stand in the path of his higherpurposes--and also that she happened to be young, only seventeen, with tender grey eyes, and tempting, sweet lips, alone there in thehouse all day. 

Section 16

Peter's adventures in love had so far been pretty much of a piecewith the rest of his life experiences; there had been hopes, andwonderful dreams, but very few realizations. Peter knew a lot aboutsuch matters; in the orphan asylum there were few vicious practiceswhich he did not witness, few obscene imaginings with which he wasnot made familiar. Also, Pericles Priam had been a man like thetraditional sailor, with a girl in every port; and generally inthese towns and villages there had been no place for Peter to gosave where Pericles went, so Peter had been the witness of many ofhis master's amours and the recipient of his confidences. But noneof these girls and women had paid any attention to Peter. Peter wasonly a "kid"; and when he grew up and was no longer a kid, but ayouth tormented with sharp desires, they still paid no attention tohim--why should they? Peter was nothing; he had no position, nomoney, no charms; he was frail and undersized, his teeth werecrooked, and one shoulder higher than the other. What could heexpect from women and girls but laughter and rebuffs?

Then Peter moved on to the Temple of Jimjambo, and there adevastating experience befell him--he tumbled head over heels andagonizingly in love. There was a chambermaid in the institution, aradiant creature from the Emerald Isles with hair like sunrise andcheeks like apples, and a laugh that shook the dish-pans on thekitchen walls. She laughed at Peter, she laughed at the major-domo, she laughed at all the men in the place who tried to catch her roundthe waist. Once or twice a month perhaps she would let them succeed, just to keep them interested, and to keep herself in practice. 

The only one she really favored was the laundry deliveryman, andPeter soon realized why. This laundry fellow had the use of anautomobile on Sundays, and Nell would dress herself up to kill, androll away in state with him. He would spend all his week's earningsentertaining her at the beach; Peter knew, because she would tellthe whole establishment on Monday morning. "Gee, but I had a swelltime!" she would say; and would count the ice-creams and themerry-go-rounds and the whirly-gigs and all the whang-doodle things. She would tell about the tattooed men and the five-legged calf andthe woman who was half man, and all the while she would make thedishpans rattle. 

Yes, she was a marvelous creature, and Peter suddenly realized thathis ultimate desire in life was to possess a "swell lady-friend"like Nell. He realized that there was one essential prerequisite, and that was money. None of them would look at you without money. Nell had gone out with him only once, and that was upon the savingsof six months, and Peter had not been able to conceal the effort itcost him to spend it all. So he had been set down as a "tight-wad, "and had made no headway. 

Nell had disappeared, along with everybody else when the policeraided the Temple. Peter never knew what had become of her, but theold longings still haunted him, and he would find himselfimagining--suppose the police had got her; suppose she were in jail, and he with his new "pull" were able to get her out, and carry heraway and keep her hid from the laundry man!

These were dreams; but meantime here was reality, here was a newworld. Peter had settled down in the home of the Todd sisters; andwhat was their attitude toward these awful mysteries of love?

Section 17

It had been arranged with Guffey that at the end of a week Peter wasto have a secret meeting with one of the chief detective's men. SoPeter told the girls that he was tired of being a prisoner in thehouse and must get some fresh air. 

"Oh please, Mr. Gudge, don't take such a chance!" cried Sadie, herthin, anxious face suddenly growing more anxious and thin. "Don'tyou know this house is being watched? They are just hoping to catchyou out alone. It would be the last of you. "

"I'm not so important as that, " said Peter; but she insisted that hewas, and Peter was pleased, in spite of his boredom, he liked tohear her insist upon his importance. 

"Oh!" she cried. "Don't you know yet how much depends on you as awitness for the Goober defense? This case is of concern to millionsof people all over the world! It is a test case, Mr. Gudge--are theyto be allowed to murder the leaders of the working class without astruggle? No, we must show them that there is a great movement, aworld-wide awakening of the workers, a struggle for freedom for thewage slaves--"

But Peter could stand no more of this. "All right, " he said, suddenly interrupting Sadie's eloquence. "I suppose it's my duty tostay, even if I die of consumption, being shut up without any freshair. " He would play the martyr; which was not so hard, for he wasone, and looked like one, with his thin, one-sided little figure, and his shabby clothes. Both Sadie and Jennie gazed at him withadmiration, and sighed with relief. 

But later on, Peter thought of an idea. He could go out at night, hetold Sadie, and slip out the back way, so that no one would see him;he would not go into crowds or brightly lighted streets, so therewould be no chance of his being recognized. There was a fellow heabsolutely had to see, who owed him some money; it was way over onthe other side of the city--that was why he rejected Jennie's offerto accompany him. 

So that evening Peter climbed a back fence and stole thru aneighbor's chicken-yard and got away. He had a fine time ducking anddodging in the crowds, making sure that no one was trailing him tohis secret rendezvous--no "Red" who might chance to be suspicious ofhis "comradeship. " It was in the "American House, " an obscure hotel, and Peter was to take the elevator to the fourth floor, withoutspeaking to any one, and to tap three times on the door of Room 427. Peter did so, and the door opened, and he slipped in, and there hemet Jerry McGivney, with the face of a rat. 

"Well, what have you got?" demanded McGivney; and Peter sat downand started to tell. With eager fingers he undid the amateur sewingin the lining of his coat, and pulled out his notes with the namesand descriptions of people who had come to see him. 

McGivney glanced over them quickly. "Jesus!" he said, "What's thegood of all this?"

"Well, but they're Reds!" exclaimed Peter. 

"I know, " said the other, "but what of that? We can go hear themspout at meetings any night. We got membership lists of thesedifferent organizations. But what about the Goober case?"

"Well, " said Peter, "they're agitating about it all the time;they've been printing stuff about me. "

"Sure, we know that, " said McGivney. "And the hell of a fine storyyou gave them; you must have enjoyed hearing yourself talk. But whatgood does that do us?"

"But what do you want to know?" cried Peter, in dismay. 

"We want to know their secret plans, " said the other. "We want toknow what they're doing to get our witnesses; we want to know who itis that is selling us out, who's the spy in the jail. Didn't youfind that out?"

"N-no, " said Peter. "Nobody said anything about it. "

"Good God!" said the detective. "D'you expect them to bring youthings on a silver tray?" He began turning over Peter's notesagain, and finally threw them on the bed in disgust. He beganquestioning Peter, and Peter's dismay turned to despair. He had notgot a single thing that McGivney wanted. His whole week of"sleuthing" had been wasted!

The detective did not mince words. "It's plain that you're a boob, "he said. "But such as you are, we've got to do the best we can withyou. Now, put your mind on it and get it straight: we know who theseReds are, and we know what they're teaching; we can't send 'em tojail for that. What we want you to find out is the name of theirspy, and who are their witnesses in the Goober case, and whatthey're going to say. "

"But how can I find out things like that?" cried Peter. 

"You've got to use your wits, " said McGivney. "But I'll give you onetip; get yourself a girl. "

"A girl?" cried Peter, in wonder. 

"Sure thing, " said the other. "That's the way we always work. Guffeysays there's just three times when people tell their secrets: Thefirst is when they're drunk, and the second is when they're inlove--"

Then McGivney stopped. Peter, who wanted to complete his education, inquired, "And the third?"

"The third is when they're both drunk and in love, " was the reply. And Peter was silent, smitten with admiration. This business ofsleuthing was revealing itself as more complicated and morefascinating all the time. 

"Ain't you seen any girl you fancy in that crowd?" demanded theother. 

"Well--it might be--" said Peter, shyly. 

"It ought to be easy, " continued the detective. "Them Reds are allfree lovers, you know. "

"Free lovers!" exclaimed Peter. "How do you mean?"

"Didn't you know about that?" laughed the other. 

Peter sat staring at him. All the women that Peter had ever known orheard of took money for their love. They either took it directly, orthey took it in the form of automobile rides and flowers and candyand tickets to the whang-doodle things. Could it be that there werewomen who did not take money in either form, but whose love wasentirely free?

The detective assured him that such was the case. "They boast aboutit, " said he. "They think it's right. " And to Peter that seemed themost shocking thing he had yet heard about the Reds. 

To be sure, when he thought it over, he could see that it had someredeeming points; it was decidedly convenient from the point of viewof the man; it was so much money in his pocket. If women chose to bethat silly--and Peter found himself suddenly thinking about littleJennie Todd. Yes, she would be that silly, it was plain to see. Shegave away everything she had; so of course she would be a "freelover!"

Peter went away from his rendezvous with McGivney, thrilling with anew and wonderful idea. You couldn't have got him to give up his jobnow. This sleuthing business was the real thing!

It was late when Peter got home, but the two girls were sitting upfor him, and their relief at his safe return was evident. He noticedthat Jennie's face expressed deeper concern than her sister's, andthis gave him a sudden new emotion. Jennie's breath came and wentmore swiftly because he had entered the room; and this affected hisown breath in the same way. He had a swift impulse towards her, anentirely unselfish desire to reassure her and relieve her anxiety;but with an instinctive understanding of the sex game which he hadnot before known he possessed, he checked this impulse and turnedinstead to the older sister, assuring her that nobody had followedhim. He told an elaborate story, prepared on the way; he had workedfor ten days for a fellow at sawing wood--hard work, you bet, andthen the fellow had tried to get out of paying him! Peter had caughthim at his home that evening, and had succeeded in getting fivedollars out of him, and a promise of a few dollars more every week. That was to cover future visits to McGivney. 

Section 18

Peter lay awake a good part of the night, thinking over this newjob--that of getting himself a girl. He realized that for some timehe had been falling in love with little Jennie; but be wanted to besane and practical, he wanted to use his mind in choosing a girl. Hewas after information, first of all. And who had the most to givehim? He thought of Miss Nebbins, who was secretary to Andrews, thelawyer; she would surely know more secrets than anyone else; butthen, Miss Nebbins was an old maid, who wore spectacles andbroad-toed shoes, and was evidently out of the question forlove-making. Then he thought of Miss Standish, a tall, blond beautywho worked in an insurance office and belonged to the SocialistParty. She was a "swell dresser, " and Peter would have been glad tohave something like that to show off to McGivney and the rest ofGuffey's men; but with the best efforts of his self-esteem, Petercould not imagine himself persuading Miss Standish to look at him. There was a Miss Yankovich, one of the real Reds, who trained withthe I. W. W. ; but she was a Jewess, with sharp, black eyes thatclearly indicated a temper, and frightened Peter. Also, he had asuspicion that she was interested in McCormick--tho of course withthese "free lovers" you could never tell. 

But one girl Peter was quite sure about, and that was little Jennie;he didn't know if Jennie knew many secrets, but surely she couldfind some out for him. Once he got her for his own, he could use herto question others. And so Peter began to picture what love withJennie would be like. She wasn't exactly what you would call"swell, " but there was something about her that made him sure heneedn't be ashamed of her. With some new clothes she would bepretty, and she had grand manners--she had not shown the least fearof the rich ladies who came to the house in their automobiles; alsoshe knew an awful lot for a girl--even if most of what she knewwasn't so!

Peter lost no time in setting to work at his new job. In the papersnext morning appeared the usual details from Flanders; thousands ofmen being shot to pieces almost every hour of the day and night, amillion men on each side locked in a ferocious combat that hadlasted for weeks, that might last for months. And sentimental littleJennie sat there with brimming eyes, talking about it while Peterate his oatmeal and thin milk. And Peter talked about it too; howwicked it was, and how they must stop it, he and Jennie together. Heagreed with her now; he was a Socialist, he called her "Comrade, "and told her she had converted him. Her eyes lighted up with joy, asif she had really done something to end the war. 

They were sitting on the sofa, looking at the paper, and they werealone in the house. Peter suddenly looked up from the reading andsaid, very much embarrassed, "But Comrade Jennie--"

"Yes, " she said, and looked at him with her frank grey eyes. Peterwas shy, truly a little frightened, this kind of detective businessbeing new to him. 

"Comrade Jennie, " he said, "I--I--don't know just how to say it, butI'm afraid I'm falling a little in love. "

Jennie drew back her hands, and Peter heard her breath come quickly. "Oh, Mr. Gudge!" she exclaimed. 

"I--I don't know--" stammered Peter. "I hope you won't mind. "

"Oh, don't let's do that!" she cried. 

"Why not, Comrade Jennie?" And he added, "I don't know as I canhelp it. "

"Oh, we were having such a happy time, Mr. Gudge! I thought we weregoing to work for the cause!"

"Well, but it won't interfere--"

"Oh, but it does, it does; it makes people unhappy!"

"Then--" and Peter's voice trembled--"then you don't care the leastbit for me, Comrade Jennie?"

She hesitated a moment. "I don't know, " she said. "I hadn'tthought--"

And Peter's heart gave a leap inside him. It was the first time thatany girl had ever had to hesitate in answering that question forPeter. Something prompted him--just as if he had been doing thiskind of "sleuthing" all his life. He reached over, and very gentlytook her hand. "You do care just a little for me?" he whispered. 

"Oh, Comrade Gudge, " she answered, and Peter said, "Call me `Peter. 'Please, please do. "

"Comrade Peter, " she said, and there was a little catch in herthroat, and Peter, looking at her, saw that her eyes were cast down. 

"I know I'm not very much to love, " he pleaded. "I'm poor andobscure--I'm not good looking--"

"Oh, it isn't that!" she cried, "Oh, no, no! Why should I thinkabout such things? You are a comrade!"

Peter had known, of course, just how she would take this line oftalk. "Nobody has ever loved me, " he said, sadly. "Nobody caresanything about you, when you are poor, and have nothing to offer--"

"I tell you, that isn't it!" she insisted. "Please don't think that!You are a hero. You have sacrificed for the cause, and you are goingon and become a leader. "

"I hope so, " said Peter, modestly. "But then, what is it, ComradeJennie? Why don't you care for me?"

She looked up at him, and their eyes met, and with a little sob inher voice she answered, "I'm not well, Comrade Peter. I'm of no use;it would be wicked for me to marry. "

Somewhere back in the depths of Peter, where his inner self wascrouching, it was as if a sudden douche of ice-cold water were letdown on him. "Marry!" Who had said anything about marrying? Peter'sreaction fitted the stock-phrase of the comic papers: "This is sosudden!"

But Peter was too clever to reveal such dismay. He humored littleJennie, saying, "We don't have to marry right away. I could wait, ifonly I knew that you cared for me; and some day, when you getwell--"

She shook her head sadly. "I'm afraid I'll never get really well. And besides, neither of us have any money, Comrade Peter. "

Ah, there it was! Money, always money! This "free love" was nothingbut a dream. 

"I could get a job, " said Peter--just like any other tame andconventional wooer. 

"But you couldn't earn enough for two of us, " protested the girl;and suddenly she sprang up. "Oh, Comrade Peter, let's not fall inlove with each other! Let's not make ourselves unhappy, let's workfor the cause! Promise me that you will!"

Peter promised; but of course he had no remotest intention ofkeeping the promise. He was not only a detective, he was a man--andin both capacities he wanted Comrade Jennie. He had all the rest ofthe day, and over the addressing of envelopes which he undertookwith her, he would now and then steal love-glances; and Jennie knewnow what these looks meant, and the faint flush would creep over hercheeks and down into her neck and throat. She was really very prettywhen she was falling in love, and Peter found his new job the mostdelightful one of his lifetime. He watched carefully, and noted thesigns, and was sure he was making no mistake; before Sadie came backat supper-time he had his arms about Comrade Jennie, and waspressing kisses upon the lovely white throat; and Comrade Jennie wassobbing softly, and her pleading with him to stop had grown faintand unconvincing. 

Section 19

There was the question of Sadie to be settled. There was a certainsevere look that sometimes came about Sadie's lips, and that causedPeter to feel absolutely certain that Comrade Sadie had no sympathywith "free love, " and very little sympathy with any love save herown for Jennie. She had nursed her "little sister" and tended herlike a mother for many years; she took the food out of her mouth togive to Jennie--and Jennie in turn gave it to any wandering agitatorwho came along and hung around until mealtime. Peter didn't wantSadie to know what had been going on in her absence, and yet he wasafraid to suggest to Jennie that she should deceive her sister. 

He managed it very tactfully. Jennie began pleading again: "We oughtnot to do this, Comrade Peter!" And so Peter agreed, perhaps theyoughtn't, and they wouldn't any more. So Jennie put her hair inorder, and straightened her blouse, and her lover could see that shewasn't going to tell Sadie. 

And the next day they were kissing again and agreeing again thatthey mustn't do it; and so once more Jennie didn't tell Sadie. Before long Peter had managed to whisper the suggestion that theirlove was their own affair, and they ought not to tell anybody forthe present; they would keep the delicious secret, and it would dono one any harm. Jennie had read somewhere about a woman poet by thename of Mrs. Browning, who had been an invalid all her life, andwhose health had been completely restored by a great and wonderfullove. Such a love had now come to her; only Sadie might notunderstand, Sadie might think they did not know each other wellenough, and that they ought to wait. They knew, of course, that theyreally did know each other perfectly, so there was no reason foruncertainty or fear. Peter managed deftly to put these suggestionsinto Jennie's mind as if they were her own. 

And all the time he was making ardent love to her; all day long, while he was helping her address envelopes and mail out circularsfor the Goober Defense Committee. He really did work hard; he didn'tmind working, when he had Jennie at the table beside him, and couldreach over and hold her hand every now and then, or catch her in hisarms and murmur passionate words. Delicious thrills and rapturespossessed him; his hopes would rise like a flood-tide--but then, alas, only to ebb again! He would get so far, and every time itwould be as if he had run into a stone wall. No farther!

Peter realized that McGivney's "free love" talk had been a cruelmistake. Little Jennie was like all the other women--her love wasn'tgoing to be "free. " Little Jennie wanted a husband, and every timeyou kissed her, she began right away to talk about marriage, and youdared not hint at anything else because you knew it would spoileverything. So Peter was thrown back upon devices older than theteachings of any "Reds. " He went after little Jennie, not in the wayof "free lovers, " but in the way of a man alone in the house with agirl of seventeen, and wishing to seduce her. He vowed that he lovedher with an overwhelming and eternal love. He vowed that he wouldget a job and take care of her. And then he let her discover that hewas suffering torments; he could not live without her. He playedupon her sympathy, he played upon her childish innocence, he playedupon that pitiful, weak sentimentality which caused her to believein pacifism and altruism and socialism and all the other "isms" thatwere jumbled up in her head. 

And so in a couple of weeks Peter had succeeded in his purpose ofcarrying little Jennie by storm. And then, how enraptured he was!Peter, with his first girl, decided that being a detective was thejob for him! Peter knew that he was a real detective now, using thereal inside methods, and on the trail of the real secrets of theGoober case!

And sure enough, he began at once to get them. Jennie was in love;Jennie was, as you might say, "drunk with love, " and so shefulfilled both the conditions which Guffey had laid down. So Jennietold the truth! Sitting on Peter's knee, with her arms clasped abouthim, and talking about her girlhood, the happy days before hermother and father had been killed in the factory where they worked, little Jennie mentioned the name of a young man, Ibbetts. 

"Ibbetts?" said Peter. It was a peculiar name, and soundedfamiliar. 

"A cousin of ours, " said Jennie. 

"Have I met him?" asked Peter, groping in his mind. 

"No, he hasn't been here. "

"Ibbetts?" he repeated, still groping; and suddenly he remembered. "Isn't his name Jack?"

Jennie did not answer for a moment. He looked at her, and their eyesmet, and he saw that she was frightened. "Oh, Peter!" she whispered. "I wasn't to tell! I wasn't to tell a soul!"

Inside Peter, something was shouting with delight. To hide hisemotion he had to bury his face in the soft white throat. "Sweetheart!" he whispered. "Darling!"

"Uh, Peter!" she cried. "You know--don't you?"

"Of course!" he laughed. "But I won't tell. You needn't mindtrusting me. "

"Oh, but Mr. Andrews was so insistent!" said Jennie, "He made Sadieand me swear that we wouldn't breathe it to a soul. "

"Well, you didn't tell, " said Peter. "I found it out by accident. Don't mention it, and nobody will be any the wiser. If they shouldfind out that I know, they wouldn't blame you; they'd understandthat I know Jack Ibbetts--me being in jail so long. "

So Jennie forgot all about the matter, and Peter went on with thekisses, making her happy, as a means of concealing his ownexultation. He had done the job for which Guffey had sent him! Hehad solved the first great mystery of the Goober case! The spy inthe jail of American City, who was carrying out news to the DefenseCommittee, was Jack Ibbetts, one of the keepers in the jail, and acousin of the Todd sisters!

Section 20

It was fortunate that this was the day of Peter's meeting withMcGivney. He could really not have kept this wonderful secret tohimself over night. He made excuses to the girls, and dodged thruthe chicken-yard as before, and made his way to the American House. As he walked, Peter's mind was working busily. He had really got hisgrip on the ladder of prosperity now; he must not fail to tightenit. 

McGivney saw right away from Peter's face that something hadhappened. "Well?" he inquired. 

"I've got it!" exclaimed Peter. 

"Got what?"

"The name of the spy in the jail. "

"Christ! You don't mean it!" cried the other. 

"No doubt about it, " answered Peter. 

"Who is he?"

Peter clenched his hands and summoned his resolution. "First, " hesaid, "you and me got to have an understanding. Mr. Guffey said Iwas to be paid, but he didn't say how much, or when. "

"Oh, hell!" said McGivney. "If you've got the name of that spy, youdon't need to worry about your reward. "

"Well, that's all right, " said Peter, "but I'd like to know what I'mto get and how I'm to get it. "

"How much do you want?" demanded the man with the face of a rat. Rat-like, he was retreating into a corner, his sharp black eyeswatching his enemy. "How much?" he repeated. 

Peter had tried his best to rise to this occasion. Was he notworking for the greatest and richest concern in American City, theTraction Trust? Tens and hundreds of millions of dollars they wereworth--he had no idea how much, but he knew they could afford to payfor his secret. "I think it ought to be worth two hundred dollars, "he said. 

"Sure, " said McGivney, "that's all right. We'll pay you that. "

And straightway Peter's heart sank. What a fool he had been! Whyhadn't he had more courage, and asked for five hundred dollars? Hemight even have asked a thousand, and made himself independent forlife!

"Well, " said McGivney, "who's the spy?"

Peter made an agonizing, effort, and summoned yet more nerve. "First, I got to know, when do I get that money?"

"Oh, good God!" said McGivney. "You give us the information, andyou'll get your money all right. What kind of cheap skates do youtake us for?"

"Well, that's all right, " said Peter. "But you know, Mr. Guffeydidn't give me any reason to think he loved me. I still can hardlyuse this wrist like I used to. "

"Well, he was trying to get some information out of you, " saidMcGivney. "He thought you were one of them dynamiters--how could youblame him? You give me the name of that spy, and I'll see you getyour money. "

But still Peter wouldn't yield. He was afraid of the rat-facedMcGivney, and his heart was thumping fast, but he stood his ground. "I think I ought to see that money, " he said, doggedly. 

"Say, what the hell do you take me for?" demanded the detective. "D'you suppose I'm going to give you two hundred dollars and thenhave you give me some fake name and skip?"

"Oh, I wouldn't do that!" cried Peter. 

"How do I know you wouldn't?"

"Well, I want to go on working for you. "

"Sure, and we want you to go on working for us. This ain't the lastsecret we'll get from you, and you'll find we play straight with ourpeople--how'd we ever get anywheres otherwise? There's a milliondollars been put up to hang that Goober crowd, and if you deliverthe goods, you'll get your share, and get it right on time. "

He spoke with conviction, and Peter was partly persuaded. But mostof Peter's lifetime had been spent in watching people bargainingwith one another--watching scoundrels trying to outwit oneanother--and when it was a question of some money to be got, Peterwas like a bulldog that has got his teeth fixed tight in anotherdog's nose; he doesn't consider the other dog's feelings, nor doeshe consider whether the other dog admires him or not. 

"On time?" said Peter. "What do you mean by `on time'?"

"Oh, my God!" said McGivney, in disgust. 

"Well, but I want to know, " said Peter. "D'you mean when I give thename, or d'you mean after you've gone and found out whether hereally is the spy or not?"

So they worried back and forth, these snarling bulldogs, growingmore and more angry. But Peter was the one who had got his teeth in, and Peter hung on. Once McGivney hinted quite plainly that the greatTraction Trust had had power enough to shut Peter in the "hole" ontwo occasions and keep him there, and it might have power enough todo it a third time. Peter's heart failed with terror, but all thesame, he hung on to McGivney's nose. 

"All right, " said the rat-faced man, at last. He said it in a toneof wearied scorn; but that didn't worry Peter a particle. "Allright, I'll take a chance with you. " And he reached into his pocketand pulled out a roll of bills--twenty dollar bills they were, andhe counted out ten of them. Peter saw that there was still a lotleft to the roll, and knew that he hadn't asked as much money asMcGivney had been prepared to have him ask; so his heart was sickwithin him. At the same time his heart was leaping withexultation--such a strange thing is the human heart!

Section 21

McGivney laid the money on the bed. "There it is, " he said, "and ifyou give me the name of the spy you can take it. But you'd bettertake my advice and not spend it, because if it turns out that youhaven't got the spy, by God, I believe Ed Guffey'd twist the armsout of you!"

Peter was easy about that. "I know he's the spy all right. "

"Well, who is he?"

"He's Jack Ibbetts. "

"The devil you say!" cried McGivney, incredulously. 

"Jack Ibbetts, one of the night keepers in the jail. "

"I know him, " said the other. "But what put that notion into yourhead?"

"He's a cousin of the Todd sisters. "

"Who are the Todd sisters?"

"Jennie Todd is my girl, " said Peter. 

"Girl!" echoed the other; he stared at Peter, and a grin spread overhis face. "You got a girl in two weeks? I didn't know you had it inyou!"

It was a doubtful compliment, but Peter's smile was no lessexpansive, and showed all his crooked teeth. "I got her all right, "he said, "and she blabbed it out the first thing--that Ibbetts washer cousin. And then she was scared, because Andrews, the lawyer, had made her and her sister swear they wouldn't mention his name toa soul. So you see, they're using him for a spy--there ain't aparticle of doubt about it. "

"Good God!" said McGivney, and there was genuine dismay in his tone. "Who'd think it possible? Why, Ibbetts is as decent a fellow as everyou talked to--and him a Red, and a traitor at that! You know, that's what makes it the devil trying to handle these Reds--younever can tell who they'll get; you never know who to trust. How, d'you suppose they manage it?"

"I dunno, " said Peter. "There's a sucker born every minute, youknow!"

"Well, anyhow, I see you ain't one of 'em, " said the rat-faced man, as he watched Peter take the roll of bills from the bed and tuckthem away in an inside pocket. 

Section 22

Peter was warned by the rat-faced man that he must be careful how hespent any of that money. Nothing would be more certain to bringsuspicion on him than to have it whispered about that he was "infunds. " He must be able to show how he had come honestly byeverything he had. And Peter agreed to that; he would hide the moneyaway in a safe place until he was thru with his job. 

Then he in turn proceeded to warn McGivney. If they were to fireIbbetts from his job, it would certainly cause talk, and mightdirect suspicion against Peter. McGivney answered with a smile thathe wasn't born yesterday. They would "promote" Jack Ibbetts, givinghim some job where he couldn't get any news about the Goober case;then, after a bit, they would catch him up on some mistake, or gethim into some trouble, and fire him. 

At this meeting, and at later meetings, Peter and the rat-faced mantalked out every aspect of the Goober case, which was becoming moreand more complicated, and bigger as a public issue. New people werecontinually being involved, and new problems continually arising; itwas more fascinating than a game of chess. McGivney had spoken theliteral truth when he said that the big business interests ofAmerican City had put up a million dollars to hang Goober and hiscrowd. At the very beginning there had been offered seventeenthousand dollars in rewards for information, and these rewardsnaturally had many claimants. The trouble was that people who wantedthis money generally had records that wouldn't go well before ajury; the women nearly always turned out to be prostitutes, and themen to be ex-convicts, forgers, gamblers, or what not. Sometimesthey didn't tell their past records until the other side unearthedthem, and then it was necessary to doctor court records, and pullwires all over the country. 

There were a dozen such witnesses as this in the Goober case. Theyhad told their stories before the grand jury, and innumerable flawsand discrepancies had been discovered, which made more work andtrouble for Guffey and his lieutenants. Thru a miserable mischanceit happened that Jim Goober and his wife had been watching theparade from the roof of a building a couple of miles away, at thevery hour when they were accused of having planted the suit-casewith the bomb in it. Somebody had taken a photograph of the paradefrom this roof, which showed both Goober and his wife looking over, and also a big clock in front of a jewelry store, plainly indicatingthe very minute. Fortunately the prosecution got hold of thisphotograph first; but now the defense had learned of its existence, and was trying to get a look at it. The prosecution didn't daredestroy it, because its existence could be proven; but they hadphotographed the photograph, and re-photographed that, until theyhad the face of the clock so dim that the time could not be seen. Now the defense was trying to get evidence that this trick had beenworked. 

Then there were all the witnesses for the defense. Thru anothermischance it had happened that half a dozen different people hadseen the bomb thrown from the roof of Guggenheim's Department Store;which entirely contradicted the suit-case theory upon which theprosecution was based. So now it was necessary to "reach" thesevarious witnesses. One perhaps had a mortgage on his home whichcould be bought and foreclosed; another perhaps had a wife whowanted to divorce him, and could be persuaded to help get him intotrouble. Or perhaps he was engaged in an intrigue with some otherman's wife; or perhaps some woman could be sent to draw him into anintrigue. 

Then again, it appeared that very soon after the explosion some ofGuffey's men had taken a sledge hammer and smashed the sidewalk, also the wall of the building where the explosion had taken place. This was to fit in with the theory of the suit-case bomb, and theyhad taken a number of photographs of the damage. But now ittranspired that somebody had taken a photograph of the spot beforethis extra damage had been done, and that the defense was inpossession of this photograph. Who had taken this photograph, andhow could he be "fixed"? If Peter could help in such matters, hewould come out of the Goober case a rich man. 

Peter would go away from these meetings with McGivney with his headfull of visions, and would concentrate all his faculties upon thecollecting of information. He and Jennie and Sadie talked about thecase incessantly, and Jennie and Sadie would tell freely everythingthey had heard outside. Others would come in--young McCormick, andMiriam Yankovitch, and Miss Nebbins, the secretary to Andrews, andthey would tell what they had learned and what they suspected, andwhat the defense was hoping to find out. They got hold of a cousinof the man who had taken the photograph on the roof; they wereworking on him, to get him to persuade the photographer to tell thetruth. Next day Donald Gordon would come in, cast down with despair, because it had been learned that one of the most valuable witnessesof the defense, a groceryman, had once pleaded guilty to sellingspoilt cheese! Thus every evening, before he went to sleep, Peterwould jot down notes, and sew them up inside his jacket, and once aweek he would go to the meeting with McGivney, and the two wouldargue and bargain over the value of Peter's news. 

Section 23

It had become a fascinating game, and Peter would never have tiredof it, but for the fact that he had to stay all day in the housewith little Jennie. A honeymoon is all right for a few weeks, but noman can stand it forever. Little Jennie apparently never tired ofbeing kissed, and never seemed satisfied that Peter thoroughly lovedher. A man got thru with his love-making after awhile, but a woman, it appeared, never knew how to drop the subject; she was alwayslooking before and after, and figuring consequences andresponsibilities, her duty and her reputation and all the rest ofit. Which, of course, was a bore. 

Jennie was unhappy because she was deceiving Sadie; she wanted totell Sadie, and yet somehow it was easier to go on concealing thanadmit that one had concealed. Peter didn't see why Sadie had to betold at all; he didn't see why things couldn't stay just as theywere, and why he and his sweetheart couldn't have some fun now andthen, instead of always being sentimental, always having agoniesover the class war, to say nothing of the world war, and theprospects of America becoming involved in it. 

This did not mean that Peter was hard and feelingless. No, whenPeter clasped trembling little Jennie in his arms he was very deeplymoved; he had a real sense of what a gentle and good little soul shewas. He would have been glad to help her--but what could he do aboutit? The situation was such that he could not plead with her, hecould not try to change her; he had to give himself up to all hercrazy whims and pretend to agree with her. Little Jennie was by herweakness marked for destruction, and what good would it do for himto go to destruction along with her?

Peter understood clearly that there are two kinds of people in theworld, those who eat, and those who are eaten; and it was hisintention to stay among the former, group. Peter had come in histwenty years of life to a definite understanding of the thingscalled "ideas" and "causes" and "religions. " They were bait to catchsuckers; and there is a continual competition between the suckers, who of course don't want to be caught, and those people of superiorwits who want to catch them, and therefore are continually inventingnew and more plausible and alluring kinds of bait. Peter had by nowheard enough of the jargon of the "comrades" to realize that theirswas an especially effective kind; and here was poor little Jennie, stuck fast on the hook, and what could Peter do about it?

Yet, this was Peter's first love, and when he was deeply thrilled, he understood the truth of Guffey's saying that a man in love wantsto tell the truth. Peter would have the impulse to say to her: "Oh, drop all that preaching, and give yourself a rest! Let's you and meenjoy life a bit. "

Yes, it would be all he could do to keep from saying this--despitethe fact that he knew it would ruin everything. Once little Jennieappeared in a new silk dress, brought to her by one of the richladies whose heart was touched by her dowdy appearance. It was ofsoft grey silk--cheap silk, but fresh and new, and Peter had neverhad anything so fine in his arms before. It matched Jennie's greyeyes, and its freshness gave her a pink glow; or was it that Peteradmired her, and loved her more, and so brought the blood to hercheeks? Peter had an impulse to take her out and show her off, andhe pressed his face into the soft folds of the dress and whispered, "Say kid, some day you an me got to cut all this hard luck businessfor a bit!"

He felt little Jennie stiffen, and draw away from him; so quickly hehad to set to work to patch up the damage. "I want you to get well, "he pleaded. "You're so good to everybody--you treat everybody wellbut yourself!"

It had been something in his tone rather than his actual words thathad frightened the girl. "Oh Peter!" she cried. "What does it matterabout me, or about any other one person, when millions of young menare being shot to fragments, and millions of women and children arestarving to death!"

So there they were, fighting the war again; Peter had to take up herburden, be a hero, and a martyr, and a "Red. " That same afternoon, as fate willed it, three "wobblies" out of a job came to call; andoh, how tired Peter was of these wandering agitators--insufferable"grouches!" Peter would want to say: "Oh, cut it out! What you callyour `cause' is nothing but your scheme to work with your tonguesinstead of with a pick and a shovel. " And this would start animaginary quarrel in Peter's mind. He would hear one of the fellowsdemanding, "How much pick and shovel work you ever done?" Anothersaying, "Looks to me like you been finding the easy jobs whereveryou go!" The fact that this was true did not make Peter's irritationany less, did not make it easier for him to meet with Comrade Smith, and Brother Jones, and Fellow-worker Brown just out of jail, andlisten to their hard-luck stories, and watch them take from thetable food that Peter wanted, and--the bitterest pill of all--letthem think that they were fooling him with their patter!

The time came when Peter wasn't able to stand it any longer. Shut upin the house all day, he was becoming as irritable as a chained dog. Unless he could get out in the world again, he would surely givehimself away. He pleaded that the doctors had warned him that hishealth would not stand indoor life; he must get some fresh air. Sohe got away by himself, and after that he found things much easier. He could spend a little of his money; he could find a quiet cornerin a restaurant and get himself a beefsteak, and eat all he wantedof it, without feeling the eyes of any "comrades" resting upon himreprovingly. Peter had lived in a jail, and in an orphan asylum, andin the home of Shoemaker Smithers, but nowhere had he fared someagerly as in the home of the Todd sisters, who were contributingnearly everything they owned to the Goober defense, and to the"Clarion, " the Socialist paper of American City. 

Section 24

Peter went to see Andrews, the lawyer, and asked for a job; hewanted to be active in the case, he said, so he was set to work inthe offices of the Defense Committee, where he heard people talkingabout the case all day, and he could pick up no end of valuabletips. He made himself agreeable and gained friends; before long hewas intimate with one of the best witnesses of the defense, anddiscovered that this man had once been named as co-respondent in adivorce case. Peter found out the name of the woman, and Guffey setto work to bring her to American City. The job was to be donecleverly, without the woman's even knowing that she was being used. She would have a little holiday, and the spell of old love wouldreassert itself, and Guffey would have a half dozen men to springthe trap--and there would be a star witness of the Goober defenseclean down and out! "There's always something you can get them on!"said McGivney, and cheerfully paid Peter Gudge five hundred dollarsfor the information he had brought. 

Peter would have been wildly happy, but just at this moment adreadful calamity befell him. Jennie had been talking about marriagemore and more, and now she revealed to him a reason which mademarriage imperative. She revealed it with downcast eyes, withblushes and trembling; and Peter was so overcome with consternationthat he could not play the part that was expected of him. Hithertoin these love crises he had caught Jennie in his arms and comfortedher; but now for a moment he let her see his real emotions. 

Jennie promptly had a fit. What was the matter with him? Didn't hemean to marry her, as he had promised? Surely he must realize nowthat they could no longer delay! And Peter, who was not familiarwith the symptoms of hysterics, lost his head completely and couldthink of nothing to do but rush out of the house and slam the door. 

The more he considered it, the more clearly he realized that he wasin the devil of a predicament. As a servant of the Traction Trust, he had taken it for granted that he was immune to all legalpenalties and obligations; but here, he had a feeling, was a troublefrom which the powerful ones of the city would be unable to shieldtheir agent. Were they able to arrange it so that one could marry agirl, and then get out of it when one's job was done?

Peter was so uneasy that he had to call up the office of Guffey andget hold of McGivney. This was dangerous, because the prosecutionwas tapping telephone wires, and they feared the defense might bedoing the same. But Peter took a chance; he told McGivney to comeand meet him at the usual place; and there they argued the matterout, and Peter's worst fears were confirmed. When he put theproposition up to McGivney, the rat-faced man guffawed in his face. He found it so funny that he did not stop laughing until he saw thathe was putting his spy into a rage. 

"What's the joke?" demanded Peter. "If I'm ruined, where'll you getany more information?"

"But, my God!" said McGivney. "What did you have to go and get thatkind of a girl for?"

"I had to take what I could, " answered Peter. "Besides, they're allalike--they get into trouble, and you can't help it. "

"Sure, you can help it!" said McGivney. "Why didn't you ask longago? Now if you've got yourself tied up with a marrying proposition, it's your own lookout; you can't put it off on me. "

They argued back and forth. The rat-faced man was positive thatthere was no way Peter could pretend to marry Jennie and not havethe marriage count. He might get himself into no end of trouble andcertainly he would be ruined as a spy. What he must do was to paythe girl some money and send her somewhere to get fixed up. McGivneywould find out the name of a doctor to do the job. 

"Yes, but what excuse can I give her?" cried Peter. "I mean, why Idon't marry her!"

"Make something up, " said McGivney. "Why not have a wife already?"Then, seeing Peter's look of dismay: "Sure, you can fix that. I'llget you one, if you need her. But you won't have to take thattrouble--just tell your girl a hard luck story. You've got a wife, you thought you could get free from her, but now you find you can't;your wife's got wind of what you're doing here, and she's trying toblackmail you. Fix it up so your girl can't do anything on accountof hurting the Goober defense. If she's really sincere about it, shewon't disgrace you; maybe she won't even tell her sister. "

Peter hated to do anything like that. He had a vision of littleJennie lying on the sofa in hysterics as he had left her, and hedreaded the long emotional scene that would be necessary. However, it seemed that he must go thru with it; there was no better way thathe could think of. Also, he must be quick, because in a couple ofhours Sadie would be coming home from work, and it might be toolate. 

Section 25

Peter hurried back to the Todd home, and there was white-facedlittle Jennie lying on the bed, still sobbing. One would think shemight have used up her surplus stock of emotions; but no, there isnever any limit to the emotions a woman can pour out. As soon asPeter had got fairly started on the humiliating confession that hehad a wife, little Jennie sprang up from the bed with a terrifiedshriek, and confronted him with a face like the ghost of an escapedlunatic. Peter tried to explain that it wasn't his fault, he hadreally expected to be free any day. But Jennie only clasped herhands to her forehead and screamed: "You have deceived me! You havebetrayed me!" It was just like a scene in the movies, the boredlittle devil inside Peter was whispering. 

He tried to take her hand and reason with her, but she sprang awayfrom him, she rushed to the other side of the room and stood there, staring at him as if she were some wild thing that he had in acorner and was threatening to kill. She made so much noise that hewas afraid that she would bring the neighbors in; he had to pointout to her that if this matter became public he would be ruinedforever as a witness, and thus she might be the means of sending JimGoober to the gallows. 

Thereupon Jennie fell silent, and it was possible for Peter to getin a word. He told her of the intrigues against him; the other sidehad sent somebody to him and offered him ten thousand dollars if hewould sell out the Goober defense. Now, since he had refused, theywere trying to blackmail him, using his wife. They had somehow cometo suspect that he was involved in a love affair, and this was to bethe means of ruining him. 

Jennie still would not let Peter touch, her, but she consented tosit down quietly in a chair, and figure out what they were going todo. Whatever happened, she said, they must do no harm to the Goobercase. Peter had done her a monstrous wrong in keeping the truth fromher, but she would suffer the penalty, whatever it might be; shewould never involve him. 

Peter started to explain; perhaps it wasn't so serious as shefeared. He had been thinking things over; he knew where PericlesPriam, his old employer, was living, and Pericles was rich now, andPeter felt sure that he could borrow two hundred dollars, and therewere places where little Jennie could go--there were ways to get outof this trouble--

But little Jennie stopped him. She was only a child in some ways, but in others she was a mature woman. She had strange fixed ideas, and when you ran into them it was like running into a stone wall. She would not hear of the idea Peter suggested; it would be murder. 

"Nonsense, " said Peter, echoing McGivney. "It's nothing; everybodydoes it. " But Jennie was apparently not listening. She sat staringwith her wild, terrified eyes, and pulling at her dress with herfingers. Peter got to watching these fingers, and they got on hisnerves. They behaved like insane fingers; they manifested all theemotions which the rest of little Jennie was choking back andrepressing. 

"If you would only not take it so seriously!" Peter pleaded. "It's amiserable accident, but it's happened, and now we've got to make thebest of it. Some day I'll get free; some day I'll marry you. "

"Stop, Peter!" the girl whispered, in her tense voice. "I don't wantto talk to you any more, if that's all you have to say. I don't knowthat I'd be willing to marry you--now that I know you could deceiveme--that you could go on deceiving me day after day for months. "

Peter thought she was going to break out into hysterics again, andhe was frightened. He tried to plead with her, but suddenly shesprang up. "Go away!" she exclaimed. "Please go away and let mealone. I'll think it over and decide what to do myself. Whatever Ido, I won't disgrace you, so leave me alone, go quickly!"

Section 26

She drove him out of the house, and Peter went, though with manymisgivings. He wandered about the streets, not knowing what to dowith himself, looking back over the blunders he had made andtormenting himself with that most tormenting of all thoughts: howdifferent my life might have been, if only I had had sense enough todo this, or not to do that! Dinner time came, and Peter blew himselfto a square meal, but even that did not comfort him entirely. Hepictured Sadie coming home at this hour. Was Jennie telling her ornot?

There was a big mass meeting called by the Goober Defense Committeethat evening, and Peter attended, and it proved to be the worstthing he could have done. His mind was in no condition to encounterthe, fierce passions of this crowded assemblage. Peter had thepicture of himself being exposed and denounced; he wasn't sure yetthat it mightn't happen to him. And here was this meeting--thousandsof workingmen, horny handed blacksmiths, longshoremen with shoulderslike barns and truckmen with fists like battering rams, long-hairedradicals of a hundred dangerous varieties, women who waved redhandkerchiefs and shrieked until to Peter they seemed like gorgonswith snakes instead of hair. 

Such were the mob-frenzies engendered by the Goober case; and Peterknew, of course, that to all these people he was a traitor, apoisonous worm, a snake in the grass. If ever they were to find outwhat he was doing--if for instance, someone were to rise up andexpose him to this crowd--they would seize him and tear him topieces. And maybe, right now, little Jennie was telling Sadie; andSadie would tell Andrews, and Andrews would become suspicious, andset spies on Peter Gudge! Maybe they had spies on him already, andknew of his meetings with McGivney!

Haunted by such terrors, Peter had to listen to the tirades ofDonald Gordon, of John Durand, and of Sorensen, the longshoremen'sleader. He had to listen to exposure after exposure of the trickswhich Guffey had played; he had to hear the district attorney of thecounty denounced as a suborner of perjury, and his agents asblackmailers and forgers. Peter couldn't understand why such thingsshould be permitted--why these speakers were not all clapped intojail. But instead, he had to sit there and listen; he even had toapplaud and pretend to approve! All the other secret operatives ofthe Traction Trust and of the district attorney's office had tolisten and pretend to approve! In the hall Peter had met MiriamYankovich, and was sitting next to her. "Look, " she said, "there's acouple of dicks over there. Look at the mugs on them!"

"Which?" said Peter. 

And she answered: "That fellow that looks like a bruiser, and thatone next to him, with the face of a rat. " Peter looked, and saw thatit was McGivney; and McGivney looked at Peter, but gave no sign. 

The meeting lasted until nearly midnight. It subscribed severalthousand dollars to the Goober defense fund, and adopted ferociousresolutions which it ordered printed and sent to every local ofevery labor union in the country. Peter got out before it was over, because he could no longer stand the strain of his own fears andanxieties. He pushed his way thru the crowd, and in the lobby he raninto Pat McCormick, the I. W. W. Leader. 

There was more excitement in this boy's grim face than Peter hadever seen there before. Peter thought it was the meeting, but theother rushed up to him, exclaiming: "Have you heard the news?"

"What news?"

"Little Jennie Todd has killed herself!"

"My God!" gasped Peter, starting back. 

"Ada Ruth just told me. Sadie found a note when she got home. Jenniehad left--she was going to drown herself. "

"But what--why?" cried Peter, in horror. 

"She was suffering so, her health was so wretched, she begs Sadienot to look for her body, not to make a fuss--they'll never findher. "

And horrified and stunned as Peter was, there was something insidehim that drew a deep breath of relief. Little Jennie had kept herpromise! Peter was, safe!

Section 27

Yes, Peter was safe, but it bad been a close call, and he still hadpainful scenes to play his part in. He had to go back to the Toddhome and meet the frantic Sadie, and weep and be horrified with therest of them. It would have been suspicious if he had not done this;the "comrades" would never have forgiven him. Then to his dismay, hefound that Sadie had somehow come to a positive conviction as toJennie's trouble. She penned Peter up in a corner and accused him ofbeing responsible; and there was poor Peter, protesting vehementlythat he was innocent, and wishing that the floor would open up andswallow him. 

In the midst of his protestations a clever scheme occurred to him. He lowered his voice in shame. There was a man, a young man, whoused to come to see Jennie off and on. "Jennie asked me not totell. " Peter hesitated a moment, and added his master-stroke. "Jennie explained to me that she was a free-lover; she told me allabout free love. I told her I didn't believe in it, but you know, Sadie, when Jennie believed in anything, she would stand by it andact on it. So I felt certain it wouldn't do any good for me to buttin. "

Sadie almost went out of her mind at this. She glared at Peter. "Slanderer! Devil!" she cried. "Who was this man?"

Peter answered, "He went by the name of Ned. That's what Jenniecalled him. It wasn't my business to pin her down about him. "

"It wasn't your business to look out for an innocent child?"

"Jennie herself said she wasn't an innocent child, she knew exactlywhat she was doing--all Socialists did it. " And to this parting shothe added that he hadn't thought it was decent, when he was a guestin a home, to spy on the morals of the people in it. When Sadiepersisted in doubting him, and even in calling him names, he tookthe easiest way out of the difficulty--fell into a rage and stormedout of the house. 

Peter felt pretty certain that Sadie would not spread the story veryfar; it was too disgraceful to her sister and to herself; and maybewhen she had thought it over she might come to believe Peter'sstory; maybe she herself was a "free lover. " McGivney had certainlysaid that all Socialists were, and he had been studying them a lot. Anyhow, Sadie would have to think first of the Goober case, just aslittle Jennie had done. Peter had them there all right, and realizedthat he could afford to be forgiving, so he went to the telephoneand called up Sadie and said: "I want you to know that I'm not goingto say anything about this story; it won't become known except thruyou. "

There were half a dozen people whom Sadie must have told. MissNebbins was icy-cold to Peter the next time he came in to see Mr. Andrews; also Miriam Yankovich lost her former cordiality, andseveral other women treated him with studied reserve. But the onlyperson who spoke about the matter was Pat McCormick, the I. W. W. Boy who had given Peter the news of little Jennie's suicide. PerhapsPeter hadn't been able to act satisfactorily on that occasion; orperhaps the young fellow had observed something for himself, somelove-glances between Peter and Jennie. Peter had never feltcomfortable in the presence of this silent Irish boy, whose darkeyes would roam from one person to another in the room, and seemedto be probing your most secret thoughts. 

Now Peter's worst fears were justified. "Mac" got him off in acorner, and put his fist under his nose, and told him that he was "adirty hound, " and if it hadn't been for the Goober case, he, "Mac, "would kill him without a moment's concern. 

And Peter did not dare open his mouth; the look on the Irishman'sface was so fierce that he was really afraid for his life. God, whata hateful lot these Reds were! And now here was Peter with the worstone of all against him! From now on his life would be in danger fromthis maniac Irishman! Peter hated him--so heartily and genuinelythat it served to divert his thoughts from little Jennie, and tomake him regard himself as a victim. 

Yes, in the midnight hours when Jennie's gentle little face hauntedhim and his conscience attacked him, Peter looked back upon thetangled web of events, and saw quite clearly how inevitable thistragedy had been, how naturally it had grown out of circumstancesbeyond his control. The fearful labor struggle in American City wassurely not Peter's fault; nor was it his fault that he had beendrawn into it, and forced to act first as an unwilling witness, andthen as a secret agent. Peter read the American City "Times" everymorning, and knew that the cause of Goober was the cause of anarchyand riot, while the cause of the district attorney and of Guffey'ssecret service was the cause of law and order. Peter was doing hisbest in this great cause, he was following the instructions of thoseabove him, and how could he be blamed because one poor weakling of agirl had got in the way of the great chariot of the law?

Peter knew that it wasn't his fault; and yet grief and terror gnawedat him. For one thing, he missed little Jennie, he missed her by dayand he missed her by night. He missed her gentle voice, her fluffysoft hair, her body in his empty arms. She was his first love, andshe was gone, and it is human weakness to appreciate things mostwhen they have been lost. 

Peter aspired to be a strong man, a "he-man, " according to the slangthat was coming into fashion; he now tried to live up to that role. He didn't want to go mooning about over this accident; yet Jennie'sface stayed with him--sometimes wild, as he had seen it at theirlast meeting, sometimes gentle and reproachful. Peter would rememberhow good she had been, how tender, how never-failing in instantresponse to an advance of love on his part. Where would he ever findanother girl like that?

Another thing troubled him especially--a strange, inexplicablething, for which Peter had no words, and about which he foundhimself frequently thinking. This weak, frail slip of a girl haddeliberately given her life for her convictions; she had died, inorder that he might be saved as a witness for the Goobers! Of coursePeter had known all along that little Jennie was doomed, that shewas throwing herself away, that nothing could save her. But somehow, it does frighten the strongest heart when people are so fanatical asto throw away their very lives for a cause. Peter found himselfregarding the ideas of these Reds from a new angle; before this theyhad been just a bunch of "nuts, " but now they seemed to himcreatures of monstrous deformity, products of the devil, or of a Godgone insane. 

Section 28

There was only one person whom Peter could take into his confidence, and that was McGivney. Peter could not conceal from McGivney thefact that he was troubled over his bereavement; and so McGivney tookhim in hand and gave him a "jacking up. " It was dangerous work, thisof holding down the Reds; dangerous, because their doctrines were soinsidious, they were so devilishly cunning in their working uponpeople's minds. McGivney had seen more than one fellow start foolingwith their ideas and turn into one himself. Peter must guard againstthat danger. 

"It ain't that, " Peter explained. "It ain't their ideas. It's justthat I was soft on that kid. "

"Well, it comes to the same thing, " said McGivney. "You get sorryfor them, and the first thing you know, you're listening to theirarguments. Now, Peter, you're one of the best men I've got on thiscase--and that's saying a good deal, because I've got charge ofseventeen. " The rat-faced man was watching Peter, and saw Peterflush with pleasure. Yes, he continued, Peter had a future beforehim, he would make all kinds of money, he would be givenresponsibility, a permanent position. But he might throw it all awayif he got to fooling with these Red doctrines. And also, he ought tounderstand, he could never fool McGivney; because McGivney had spieson him!

So Peter clenched his hands and braced himself up. Peter was a real"he-man, " and wasn't going to waste himself. "It's just that I can'thelp missing the girl!" he explained; to which the other answered:"Well, that's only natural. What you want to do is to get yourselfanother one. "

Peter went on with his work in the office of the Goober DefenseCommittee. The time for the trial had come, and the struggle betweenthe two giants had reached its climax. The district attorney, whowas prosecuting the case, and who was expecting to become governorof the state on the strength of it, had the backing of half a dozenof the shrewdest lawyers in the city, their expenses being paid bythe big business men. A small army of detectives were at work, andthe court where the trial took place was swarming with spies andagents. Every one of the hundreds of prospective jurors had beeninvestigated and card-cataloged, his every weakness and everyprejudice recorded; not merely had his psychology been studied, buthis financial status, and that of his relatives and friends. Peterhad met half a dozen other agents beside McGivney, men who had cometo question him about this or that detail; and from the conversationof these men he got glimpses of the endless ramifications of thecase. It seemed to him that the whole of American City had beenhired to help send Jim Goober to the gallows. 

Peter was now getting fifty dollars a week and expenses, in additionto special tips for valuable bits of news. Hardly a day passed thathe didn't get wind of some important development, and every night hewould have to communicate with McGivney. The prosecution had asecret office, where there was a telephone operator on duty, andcouriers traveling to the district attorney's office and to Guffey'soffice--all this to forestall telephone tapping. Peter would go fromthe headquarters of the Goober Defense Committee to atelephone-booth in some hotel, and there he would give the secretnumber, and then his own number, which was six forty-two. Everybodyconcerned was known by numbers, the principal people, both of theprosecution and of the defense; the name "Goober" was never spokenover the phone. 

After the trial had got started it was hard to get anybody to workin the office of the Defense Committee--everybody wanted to be incourt! Someone would come in every few minutes, with the latestreports of sensational developments. The prosecution had succeededin making away with the police court records, proving the convictionof its star witness of having kept a brothel for negroes. Theprosecution had introduced various articles alleged to have beenfound on the street by the police after the explosion; one was aspring, supposed to have been part of a bomb--but it turned out tobe a part of a telephone! Also they had introduced parts of aclock--but it appeared that in their super-zeal they had introducedthe parts of _two_ clocks! There was some excitement like this everyday. 

Section 29

The time came when the prosecution closed its case, and Peter wassummoned to the office of Andrews, to be coached in his part as awitness. He would be wanted in two or three days, the lawyers toldhim. 

Now Peter had never intended to appear as a witness; he had beenfooling the defense all this time--"stringing them along, " as hephrased it, so as to keep in favor with them to the end. Meantime hehad been figuring out how to justify his final refusal. Peter waseating his lunch when this plan occurred to him, and he was so muchexcited that he swallowed a piece of pie the wrong way, and had tojump up and run out of the lunch-room. It was his first stroke ofgenius; hitherto it was McGivney who had thought these things out, but now Peter was on the way to becoming his own boss! Why should hego on taking orders, when he had such brains of his own? He took theplan to McGivney, and McGivney called it a "peach, " and Peter was soproud he asked for a raise, and got it. 

This plan had the double advantage that not merely would it savePeter's prestige and reputation, among the Reds, it would ruinMcCormick, who was one of the hardest workers for the defense, andone of the most dangerous Reds in American City, as well as being apersonal enemy of Peter's. McGivney pulled some of his secret wires, and the American City "Times, " in the course of its accounts of thecase, mentioned a rumor that the defense proposed to put on thestand a man who claimed to have been tortured in the city jail, inan effort to make him give false testimony against Goober; theprosecution had investigated this man's record and discovered thatonly recently he had seduced a young girl, and she had killedherself because of his refusal to marry her. Peter took this copy ofthe American City "Times" to the office of David Andrews, andinsisted upon seeing the lawyer before he went to court; he laid theitem on the desk, and declared that there was his finish as awitness in the Goober case. "It's a cowardly, dirty lie!" hedeclared. "And the man responsible for circulating it is PatMcCormick. "

Such are the burdens that fall upon the shoulders of lawyers inhard-fought criminal trials! Poor Andrews did his best to patchthings up; he pleaded with Peter--if the story was false, Peterought to be glad of a chance to answer his slanderers. The defensewould put witnesses on the stand to deny it. They would produceSadie Todd to deny it. 

"But Sadie told me she suspected me!"

"Yes, " said Andrews, "but she told me recently she wasn't sure. "

"Much good that'll do me!" retorted Peter. "They'll ask me ifanybody ever accused me, and who, and I'll have to say McCormick, and if they put him on the stand, will he deny that he accused me?"

Peter flew into a rage against McCormick; a fine sort of radical hewas, pretending to be devoted to the cause, and having no bettersense than to repeat a cruel slander against a comrade! Here Peterhad been working on this case for nearly six months, working forbarely enough to keep body and soul together, and now they expectedhim to go on the and have a story like that brought out in thepapers, and have the prosecution hiring witnesses to prove him avillain. "No, sir!" said Peter. "I'm thru with this case right now. You put McCormick on the witness stand and let him save Goober'slife. You can't use me, I'm out!" And shutting his ears to thelawyer's pleading, he stormed out of the office, and over to theoffice of the Goober Defense Committee, where he repeated the samescene. 

Section 30

Thus Peter was done with the Goober case, and mighty glad of it hewas. He was tired of the strain, he needed a rest and a littlepleasure. He had his pockets stuffed with money, and a good fat bankaccount, and proposed to take things easy for the first time in hishard and lonely life. 

The opportunity was at hand: for he had taken McGivney's advise andgot himself another girl. It was a little romance, very worldly anddelightful. To understand it, you must know that in the judicialprocedure of American City they used both men and women jurors; andbecause busy men of affairs did not want to waste their time in thejury-box, nor to have the time of their clerks and workingmenwasted, there had gradually grown up a class of men and women whomade their living by working as jurors. They hung around thecourthouse and were summoned on panel after panel, being paid sixdollars a day, with numerous opportunities to make money on the sideif they were clever. 

Among this group of professional jurors, there was the keenestcompetition to get into the jury-box of the Goober case. It was tobe a long and hard-fought case, there would be a good deal ofprestige attached to it, and also there were numerous sums of moneyfloating round. Anybody who got in, and who voted right, might besure of an income for life, to say nothing of a life-job as a jurorif he wanted it. 

Peter happened to be in court while the talesmen were beingquestioned. A very charming and petite brunette--what Peterdescribed as a "swell dresser"--was on the stand, and was cleverlytrying to satisfy both sides. She knew nothing about the case, shehad never read anything about it, she knew nothing and cared nothingabout social problems; so she was accepted by the prosecution. Butthen the defense took her in hand, and it appeared that once upon atime she had been so indiscreet as to declare to somebody herconviction that all labor leaders ought to be stood up against thewall and filled with lead; so she was challenged by the defense, andvery much chagrined she came down from the stand, and took a seat inthe courtroom next to Peter. He saw a trace of tears in her eyes, and realizing her disappointment, ventured a word of sympathy. Theacquaintance grew, and they went out to lunch together. 

Mrs. James was her name, and she was a widow, a grass widow as shearchly mentioned. She was quick and lively, with brilliant whiteteeth, and cheeks with the glow of health in them; this glow cameout of a little bottle, but Peter never guessed it. Peter had gothimself a good suit of clothes now, and made bold to spend somemoney on the lunch. As it happened, both he and Mrs. James were thruwith the Goober case; both were tired and wanted a change, andPeter, blushing shyly, suggested that a sojourn at the beach mightbe fun. Mrs. James agreed immediately, and the matter was arranged. 

Peter had seen enough of the detective business by this time to knowwhat you can safely do, and what you had better not do. He didn'ttravel with his grass widow, he didn't pay her car-fare, nor doanything else to constitute her a "white slave. " He simply went tothe beach and engaged himself a comfortable apartment; and next day, strolling on the board walk, he happened to meet the widow. 

So for a couple of months Peter and Mrs. James set up housekeepingtogether. It was a wonderful experience for the former, because Mrs. James was what is called a "lady, " she had rich relatives, and tookpains to let Peter know that she had lived in luxury before herhusband had run away to Paris with a tight-rope walker. She taughtPeter all those worldly arts which one misses when one is brought upin an orphan asylum, and on the road with a patent medicine vender. Tactfully, and without hurting his feelings, she taught him how tohold a knife and fork, and what color tie to select. At the sametime she managed to conduct a propaganda which caused him to regardhimself as the most favored of mankind; he was overwhelmed withgratitude for every single kiss from the lips of his grass widow. Ofcourse he could not expect such extraordinary favors of fortunewithout paying for them; he had learned by now that there was nosuch thing as "free love. " So he paid, hand over fist; he not onlypaid all the expenses of the unregistered honeymoon, he boughtnumerous expensive presents at the lady's tactful suggestion. Shewas always so vivacious and affectionate when Peter had given her apresent! Peter lived in a kind of dream, his money seemed to go outof his pockets without his having to touch it. 

Meantime great events were rolling by, unheeded by Peter and hisgrass widow who never read the newspapers. For one thing Jim Gooberwas convicted and sentenced to die on the gallows, and Jim Goober'sassociate, Biddle, was found guilty, and sentenced to prison forlife. Also, America entered the war, and a wave of patrioticexcitement swept like a prairie fire over the country. Peter couldnot help hearing about this; his attention was attracted to oneaspect of the matter--Congress was about to pass a conscription act. And Peter was within the age limit; Peter would almost certainly bedrafted into the army!

No terror that he had ever felt in his life was equal to thisterror. He had tried to forget the horrible pictures of battle andslaughter, of machine-guns and hand-grenades and torpedoes andpoison gas, with which little Jennie had filled his imagination; butnow these imaginings came crowding back upon him, now for the firsttime they concerned him. From that time on his honeymoon wasspoiled. Peter and his grass widow were like a party of picnickerswho are far away in the wilderness, and see a black thunder-stormcome rolling up the sky!

Also, Peter's bank account was running low. Peter had had noconception how much money you could spend on a grass widow who is a"swell dresser" and understands what is "proper. " He was overwhelmedwith embarrassment; he put off telling Mrs. James until the lastmoment--in fact, until he wasn't quite sure whether he had enoughmoney in bank to meet the last check he had given to the landlady. Then, realizing that the game was up, he told. 

He was surprised to see how charmingly a grass widow of "goodbreeding" could take bad tidings. Evidently it wasn't the first timethat Mrs. James had been to the beach. She smiled cheerfully, andsaid that it was the jury-box for her once more. She gave Peter hercard, and told him she would be glad to have him call upon heragain--when he had restored his fortunes. She packed up hersuit-case and her new trunk full of Peter's presents, and departedwith the most perfect sweetness and good taste. 

Section 31

So there was Peter, down and out once more. But fate was kind tohim. That very day came a letter signed "Two forty-three, " whichmeant McGivney. "Two forty-three" had some important work for Peter, so would he please call at once? Peter pawned his last bit ofjewelry for his fare to American City, and met McGivney at the usualrendezvous. 

The purpose of the meeting was quickly explained. America was now atwar, and the time had come when the mouths of these Reds were to bestopped for good. You could do things in war-time that you couldn'tdo in peace-time, and one of the things you were going to do was toput an end to the agitation against property. Peter licked his lips, metaphorically speaking. It was something he had many times toldMcGivney ought to be done. Pat McCormick especially ought to be putaway for good. These were a dangerous bunch, these Reds, and Mac wasthe worst of all. It was every man's duty to help, and what couldPeter do?

McGivney answered that the authorities were making a complete listof all the radical organizations and their members, getting evidencepreliminary to arrests. Guffey was in charge of the job; as in theGoober case, the big business interests of the city were going aheadwhile the government was still wiping the sleep out of its eyes. Would Peter take a job spying upon the Reds in American City?

"I can't!" exclaimed Peter. "They're all sore at me because I didn'ttestify in the Goober case. "

"We can easily fix that up, " answered the rat-faced man. "It maymean a little inconvenience for you. You may have to go to jail fora few days. "

"To jail!" cried Peter, in dismay. 

"Yes, " said the other, "you'll have to get arrested, and made into amartyr. Then, you see, they'll all be sure you're straight, andthey'll take you back again and welcome you. "

Peter didn't like the idea of going to jail; his memories of thejail in American City were especially painful. But McGivneyexplained that this was a time when men couldn't consider their ownfeelings; the country was in danger, public safety must beprotected, and it was up to everybody to make some patrioticsacrifice. The rich men were all subscribing to liberty bonds; thepoor men were going to give their lives; and what was Peter Gudgegoing to give? "Maybe I'll be drafted into the army, " Peterremarked. 

"No, you won't--not if you take this job, " said McGivney. "We canfix that. A man like you, who has special abilities, is too preciousto be wasted. " Peter decided forthwith that he would accept theproposition. It was much more sensible to spend a few days in jailthan to spend a few years in the trenches, and maybe the balance ofeternity under the sod of France. 

Matters were quickly arranged. Peter took off his good clothes, anddressed himself as became a workingman, and went into theeating-room where Donald Gordon, the Quaker boy, always got hislunch. Peter was quite sure that Donald would be one of the leadingagitators against the draft, and in this he was not mistaken. 

Donald was decidedly uncordial in his welcoming of Peter; withoutsaying a word the young Quaker made Peter aware that he was arenegade, a coward who had "thrown down" the Goober defense. ButPeter was patient and tactful; he did not try to defend himself, nordid he ask any questions about Donald and Donald's activities. Hesimply announced that he had been studying the subject ofmilitarism, and had come to a definite point of view. He was aSocialist and an Internationalist; he considered America's entryinto the war a crime, and he was willing to do his part in agitatingagainst it. He was going to take his stand as a conscientiousobjector; they might send him to jail if they pleased, or even standhim against a wall and shoot him, but they would never get him toput on a uniform. 

It was impossible for Donald Gordon to hold out against a man whotalked like that; a man who looked him in the eye and expressed hisconvictions so simply and honestly. And that evening Peter went to ameeting of Local American City of the Socialist Party, and renewedhis acquaintance with all the comrades. He didn't make a speech ordo anything conspicuous, but simply got into the spirit of things;and next day he managed to meet some of the members, and wheneverand wherever he was asked, he expressed his convictions as aconscientious objector. So before a week had passed Peter found thathe was being tolerated, that nobody was going to denounce him as atraitor, or kick him out of the room. 

At the next weekly meeting of Local American City, Peter ventured tosay a few words. It was a red-hot meeting, at which the war and thedraft were the sole subjects of discussion. There were some Germansin the local, some Irishmen, and one or two Hindoos; they, naturally, were all ardent pacifists. Also there were agitators ofwhat was coming to be called the "left wing"; the group within theparty who considered it too conservative, and were always clamoringfor more radical declarations, for "mass action" and general strikesand appeals to the proletariat to rise forthwith and break theirchains. These were days of great events; the Russian revolution hadelectrified the world, and these comrades of the "left wing" feltthemselves lifted upon pinions of hope. 

Peter spoke as one who had been out on the road, meeting the rankand file; he could speak for the men on the job. What was the use ofopposing the draft here in a hall, where nobody but party memberswere present? What was wanted was for them to lift up their voiceson the street, to awaken the people before it was too late! Wasthere anybody in this gathering bold enough to organize a streetmeeting?

There were some who could not resist this challenge, and in a fewminutes Peter had secured the pledges of half a dozen younghot-heads, Donald Gordon among them. Before the evening was past ithad been arranged that these would-be-martyrs should hire a truck, and make their debut on Main Street the very next evening. Old handsin the movement warned them that they would only get their headscracked by the police. But the answer to that was obvious--theymight as well get their heads cracked by the police as get themblown to pieces by German artillery. 

Section 32

Peter reported to McGivney what was planned, and McGivney promisedthat the police would be on hand. Peter warned him to be careful andhave the police be gentle; at which McGivney grinned, and answeredthat he would see to that. 

It was all very simple, and took less than ten minutes of time. Thetruck drew up on Main Street, and a young orator stepped forward andannounced to his fellow citizens that the time had come for theworkers to make known their true feelings about the draft. Neverwould free Americans permit themselves to be herded into armies andshipped over seas and be slaughtered for the benefit ofinternational bankers. Thus far the orator had got, when a policemanstepped forward and ordered him to shut up. When he refused, thepoliceman tapped on the sidewalk with his stick, and a squad ofeight or ten came round the corner, and the orator was informed thathe was under arrest. Another orator stepped forward and took up theharangue, and when he also had been put under arrest, another, andanother, until the whole six of them, including Peter, were in hand. 

The crowd had had no time to work up any interest one way or theother, A patrol-wagon was waiting, and the orators were bundled inand driven to the station-house, and next morning they were haledbefore a magistrate and sentenced each to fifteen days. As they hadbeen expecting to get six months, they were a happy bunch of "leftwingers. "

And they were still happier when they saw how they were to betreated in jail. Ordinarily it was the custom of the police toinflict all possible pain and humiliation upon the Reds. They wouldput them in the revolving tank, a huge steel structure of many cellswhich was turned round and round by a crank. In order to get intoany cell, the whole tank had to be turned until that particular cellwas opposite the entrance, which meant that everybody in the tankgot a free ride, accompanied by endless groaning and scraping ofrusty machinery; also it meant that nobody got any consecutivesleep. The tank was dark, too dark to read, even if they had hadbooks or papers. There was nothing to do save to smoke cigarettesand shoot craps, and listen to the smutty stories of the criminals, and plot revenge against society when they got out again. But up inthe new wing of the jail were some cells which were clean and brightand airy, being only three or four feet from a row of windows. Inthese cells they generally put the higher class of criminals--womenwho had cut the throats of their sweethearts, and burglars who hadgot I away with the swag, and bankers who had plundered wholecommunities. But now, to the great surprise of five out of the sixanti-militarists, the entire party was put in one of these bigcells, and allowed the privilege of having reading matter and ofpaying for their own food. Under these circumstances martyrdombecame a joke, and the little party settled down to enjoy life. Itnever once occurred to them to think of Peter Gudge as the source ofthis bounty. They attributed it, as the French say, "to theirbeautiful eyes. "

There was Donald Gordon, who was the son of a well-to-do businessman, and had been to college, until he was expelled for taking thedoctrines of Christianity too literally and expounding them toopersistently on the college campus. There was a big, brawnylumber-jack from the North, Jim Henderson by name, who had beendriven out of the camps for the same reason, and had appallingstories to tell of the cruelties and hardships of the life of alogger. There was a Swedish sailor by the name of Gus, who hadvisited every port in the world, and a young Jewish cigar-worker whohad never been outside of American City, but had travelled even morewidely in his mind. 

The sixth man was the strangest character of all to Peter; a shy, dreamy fellow with eyes so full of pain and a face so altogethermournful that it hurt to look at him. Duggan was his name, and hewas known in the movement as the "hobo poet. " He wrote verses, endless verses about the lives of society's outcasts; he would gethimself a pencil and paper and sit off in the corner of the cell bythe hour, and the rest of the fellows, respecting his work, wouldtalk in whispers so as not to disturb him. He wrote all the timewhile the others slept, it seemed to Peter. He wrote verses aboutthe adventures of his fellow-prisoners, and presently he was writingverses about the jailers, and about other prisoners in this part ofthe jail. He would have moods of inspiration, and would make uptopical verses as he went along; then again he would sink back intohis despair, and say that life was hell, and making rhymes about itwas childishness. 

There was no part of America that Tom Duggan hadn't visited, notragedy of the life of outcasts that he hadn't seen. He was sosaturated with it that he couldn't think of anything else. He wouldtell about men who had perished of thirst in the desert, aboutminers sealed up for weeks in an exploded mine, about matchmakerspoisoned until their teeth fell out, and their finger nails and eventheir eyes. Peter could see no excuse for such morbidness, suchendless harping upon the horrible things of life. It spoiled all hishappiness in the jail--it was worse than little Jennie's talkingabout the war!

Section 33

One of Duggan's poems had to do with a poor devil named Slim, whowas a "snow-eater, " that is to say, a cocaine victim. This Slimwandered about the streets of New York in the winter-time withoutany shelter, and would get into an office building late in theafternoon, and hide in one of the lavatories to spend the night. Ifhe lay down, he would be seen and thrown out, so his only chance wasto sit up; but when he fell asleep, he would fall off theseat--therefore he carried a rope in his pocket, and would tiehimself in a sitting position. 

Now what was the use of a story like that? Peter didn't want to hearabout such people! He wanted to express his disgust; but he knew, ofcourse, that he must hide it. He laughed as he exclaimed, "ChristAlmighty, Duggan, can't you give us something with a smile? Youdon't think it's the job of Socialists to find a cure for the dopehabit, do you? That's sure one thing that ain't caused by the profitsystem. "

Duggan smiled his bitterest smile. "If there's any misery in theworld today that ain't kept alive by the profit system, I'd like tosee it! D'you think dope sells itself? If there wasn't a profit init, would it be sold to any one but doctors? Where'd you get yourSocialism, anyhow?"

So Peter beat a hasty retreat. "Oh, sure, I know all that. But hereyou're shut up in jail because you want to change things. Ain't yougot a right to give yourself a rest while you're in?"

The poet looked at him, as solemn as an owl. He shook his head. "No, " he said. "Just because we're fixed up nice and comfortable injail, have we got the right to forget the misery of those outside?"

The others laughed; but Duggan did not mean to be funny at all. Herose slowly to his feet and with his arms outstretched, in themanner of one offering himself as a sacrifice, he proclaimed:

"While there is a lower class, I am in it. 

"While there is a criminal element, I am of it. 

"While there is a soul in jail, I am not free. "

Then he sat down and buried his face in his hands. The group ofrough fellows sat in solemn silence. Presently Gus, the Swedishsailor, feeling perhaps that the rebuke to Peter had been toosevere, spoke timidly: "Comrade Gudge, he ban in jail twicealready. "

So the poet looked up again. He held out his hand to Peter. "Sure, Iknow that!" he said, clasping Peter in the grip of comradeship. Andthen he added: "I'll tell you a story with a smile!"

Once upon a time, it appeared, Duggan had been working in a movingpicture studio, where they needed tramps and outcasts and all sortsof people for crowds. They had been making a "Preparedness" picture, and wanted to show the agitators and trouble-makers, mobbing thepalace of a banker. They got two hundred bums and hoboes, and tookthem in trucks to the palace of a real banker, and on the front lawnthe director made a speech to the crowd, explaining his ideas. "Now, " said he, "remember, the guy that owns this house is the guythat's got all the wealth that you fellows have produced. You aredown and out, and you know that he's robbed you, so you hate him. You gather on his lawn and you're going to mob his home; if you canget hold of him, you're going to tear him to bits for what he's doneto you. " So the director went on, until finally Duggan interrupted:"Say, boss, you don't have to teach us. This is a real palace, andwe're real bums!"

Apparently the others saw the "smile" in this story, for theychuckled for some time over it. But it only added to Peter's hatredof these Reds; it made him realize more than ever that they were abunch of "sore heads, " they were green and yellow with jealousy. Everybody that had succeeded in the world they hated--just becausethey had succeeded! Well, _they_ would never succeed; they could goon forever with their grouching, but the mass of the workers inAmerica had a normal attitude toward the big man, who could dothings. They did not want to wreck his palace; they admired him forhaving it, and they followed his leadership gladly. 

It seemed as if Henderson, the lumber-jack, had read Peter'sthought. "My God!" he said. "What a job it is to make the workersclass-conscious!" He sat on the edge of his cot, with his broadshoulders bowed and his heavy brows knit in thought over the problemof how to increase the world's discontent. He told of one camp wherehe had worked--so hard and dangerous was the toil that seven men hadgiven up their lives in the course of one winter. The man who ownedthis tract, and was exploiting it, had gotten the land by therankest kind of public frauds; there were filthy bunk-houses, vermin, rotten food, poor wages and incessant abuse. And yet, in thespring-time, here came the young son of this owner, on a honeymoontrip with his bride. "And Jesus, " said Henderson, "if you could haveseen those stiffs turn out and cheer to split their throats! Theyreally meant it, you know; they just loved that pair of idle, good-for-nothing kids!"

Gus, the sailor, spoke up, his broad, good-natured face wearing agrin which showed where three of his front teeth had been knockedout with a belaying pin. It was exactly the same with the seamen, hedeclared. They never saw the ship-owners, they didn't know even thenames of the people who were getting the profit of their toil, butthey had a crazy loyalty to their ship, Some old tanker would besent out to sea on purpose to be sunk, so that the owners might getthe insurance. But the poor A. Bs. Would love that old tub so thatthey would go down to the bottom with her--or perhaps they wouldsave her, to the owners great disgust!

Thus, for hours on end, Peter had to sit listening to this dingdonging about the wrongs of the poor and the crimes of the rich. Here he had been sentenced for fifteen days and nights to listen toSocialist wrangles! Every one of these fellows had a different ideaof how he wanted the world to be run, and every one had a differentidea of how to bring about the change. Life was an endless strugglebetween the haves and the have-nots, and the question of how thehave-nots were to turn out the haves was called "tactics. " When youtalked about "tactics" you used long technical terms which made yourconversation unintelligible to a plain, ordinary mortal. It seemedto Peter that every time he fell asleep it was to the music ofproletariat and surplus value and unearned increment, possibilismand impossibilism, political action, direct action, mass action, andthe perpetual circle of Syndicalist-Anarchist, Anarchist-Communist, Communist-Socialist and Socialist-Syndicalist. 

Section 34

In company such as this Peter's education for the role of detectivewas completed by force, as it were. He listened to everything, andwhile he did not dare make any notes, he stored away treasures inhis mind, and when he came out of the jail he was able to giveMcGivney a pretty complete picture of the various radicalorganizations in American City, and the attitude of each one towardthe war. 

Peter found that McGivney's device had worked perfectly. Peter wasnow a martyr and a hero; his position as one of the "left wingers"was definitely established, and anyone who ventured to say a wordagainst him would be indignantly rebuked. As a matter of fact, noone desired to say much. Pat McCormick, Peter's enemy, was out on anorganizing trip among the oil workers. 

Duggan had apparently taken a fancy to Peter, and took him to meetsome of his friends, who lived in an old, deserted warehouse, whichhappened to have skylights in the roof; this constituted each room a"studio, " and various radicals rented the rooms, and lived here asort of picnic existence which Peter learned was called "Bohemian. "They were young people, most of them, with one or two old fellows, derelicts; they wore flannel shirts, and soft ties, or no ties atall, and their fingers were always smeared with paint. Their liferequirements were simple; all they wanted was an unlimited quantityof canvas and paint, some cigarettes, and at long intervals a pickleor some sauer-kraut and a bottle of beer. They would sit all day infront of an easel, painting the most inconceivable pictures--pinkskies and green-faced women and purple grass and fantastic splurgesof color which they would call anything from "The Woman with aMustard Pot" to "A Nude Coming Downstairs. " And there would beothers, like Duggan, writing verses all day; pounding away on atypewriter, if they could manage to rent or borrow one. There wereseveral who sang, and one who played the flute and caused all theothers to tear their hair. There was a boy fresh from the country, who declared that he had run away from home because the family sanghymns all day Sunday, and never sang in tune. 

From people such as these you would hear the most revolutionaryutterances; but Peter soon realized that it was mostly just talkwith them. They would work off their frenzies with a few dashes ofpaint or some ferocious chords on the piano. The really dangerousones were not here; they were hidden away in offices or dens oftheir own, where they were prompting strikes and labor agitations, and preparing incendiary literature to be circulated among the poor. 

You met such people in the Socialist local, and in the I. W. W. Headquarters, and in numerous clubs and propaganda societies whichPeter investigated, and to which he was welcomed as a member. In theSocialist local there was a fierce struggle going on over the war. What should be the attitude of the party? There was a group, acomparatively small group, which believed that the interests ofSocialism would best be served by helping the Allies to theoverthrow of the Kaiser. There was another group, larger and stillmore determined, which believed that the war was a conspiracy ofallied capitalism to rivet its power upon the world, and this groupwanted the party to stake its existence upon a struggle againstAmerican participation. These two groups contested for the minds ofthe rank and file of the members, who seemed to be bewildered by themagnitude of the issue and the complexity of the arguments. Peter'sorders were to go with the extreme anti-militarists; they were theones whose confidence he wished to gain, also they were thetrouble-makers of the movement, and McGivney's instructions were tomake all the trouble possible. 

Over at the I. W. W. Headquarters was another group whose memberswere debating their attitude to the war. Should they call strikesand try to cripple the leading industries of the country? Or shouldthey go quietly on with their organization work, certain that in theend the workers would sicken of the military adventure into whichthey were being snared? Some of these "wobblies" were Socialistparty members also, and were active in both gatherings; two of them, Henderson, the lumber-jack, and Gus Lindstrom, the sailor, had beenin jail with Peter, and had been among his intimates ever since. 

Also Peter met the Pacifists; the "Peoples' Council, " as they calledthemselves. Many of these were religious people, two or threeclergymen, and Donald Gordon, the Quaker, and a varied assortment ofwomen--sentimental young girls who shrunk from the thought ofbloodshed, and mothers with tear-stained cheeks who did not wanttheir darlings to be drafted. Peter saw right away that thesemothers had no "conscientious objections. " Each mother was thinkingabout her own son and about nothing else. Peter was irritated atthis, and took it for his special job to see that those mother'sdarlings did their duty. 

He attended a gathering of Pacifists in the home of aschool-teacher. They made heart-breaking speeches, and finallylittle Ada Ruth, the poetess, got up and wanted to know, was it allto end in talk, or would they organize and prepare to take someaction against the draft? Would they not at least go out on thestreet, get up a parade with banners of protest, and go to jail asComrade Peter Gudge had so nobly done?

Comrade Peter was called on for "a few words. " Comrade Peterexplained that he was no speaker; after all, actions spoke louderthan words, and he had tried to show what he believed. The otherswere made ashamed by this, and decided for a bold stand at once. AdaRuth became president and Donald Gordon secretary of the"Anti-conscription League"--a list of whose charter members wasturned over to McGivney the same evening. 

Section 35

All this time the country had been going to war. The huge militarymachine was getting under way, the storm of public feeling wasrising. Congress had voted a huge loan, a country-wide machine ofpropaganda was being organized, and the oratory of Four Minute Menwas echoing from Maine to California. Peter read the American City"Times" every morning, and here were speeches of statesmen andsermons of clergymen, here were cartoons and editorials, all burningwith the fervor's of patriotism. Peter absorbed these, and his soulbecame transfigured. Hitherto Peter had been living for himself; butthere comes a time in the life of every man who can use his brain atall when he realizes that he is not the one thing of importance inthe universe, the one end to be served. Peter very often sufferedfrom qualms of conscience, waves of doubt as to his ownrighteousness. Peter, like every other soul that ever lived, neededa religion, an ideal. 

The Reds had a religion, as you might call it; but this religion hadfailed to attract Peter. In the first place it was low; its devoteeswere wholly lacking in the graces of life, in prestige, and thatease which comes with assurance of power. They were noisy in theirfervors, and repelled Peter as much as the Holy Rollers. Also, theywere always harping upon the sordid and painful facts of life; whobut a pervert would listen to "sob stories, " when he might have allthe things that are glorious and shining and splendid in the world?

But now here was the religion Peter wanted. These clergymen in theirrobes of snow white linen, preaching in churches with golden altarsand stained-glass windows; these statesmen who wore the halo offame, and went about with the cheering of thousands in their ears;these mighty captains of industry whose very names were magic--withpower, when written on pieces of paper, to cause cities to rise inthe desert, and then to fall again beneath a rain of shells andpoison gas; these editors and cartoonists of the American City"Times, " with all their wit and learning--these people all combinedto construct for Peter a religion and an ideal, and to hand it outto him, ready-made and precisely fitted to his understanding. Peterwould go right on doing the things he had been doing before; but hewould no longer do them in the name of Peter Gudge, the ant, hewould do them in the name of a mighty nation of a hundred and tenmillion people, with all its priceless memories of the past and itsinfinite hopes for the future; he would do them in the sacred nameof patriotism, and the still more sacred name of democracy. And--most convenient of circumstances--the big business men ofAmerican City, who had established a secret service bureau withGuffey in charge of it, would go right on putting up their funds, and paying Peter fifty dollars a week and expenses while he servedthe holy cause!

It was the fashion these days for orators and public men to vie withone another in expressing the extremes of patriotism, and Peterwould read these phrases, and cherish them; they came to seem a partof him, he felt as if he had invented them. He became greedy formore and yet more of this soul-food; and there was always more to behad--until Peter's soul was become swollen, puffed up as with abellows. Peter became a patriot of patriots, a super-patriot; Peterwas a red-blooded American and no mollycoddle; Peter was a"he-American, " a 100% American--and if there could have been such athing as a 101% American, Peter would have been that. Peter was somuch of an American that the very sight of a foreigner filled himwith a fighting impulse. As for the Reds--well, Peter groped forquite a time before he finally came upon a formula which expressedhis feelings. It was a famous clergyman who achieved it forhim--saying that if he could have his way he would take all theReds, and put them in a ship of stone with sails of lead, and sendthem forth with hell for their destination. 

So Peter chafed more and more at his inability to get action. Howmuch more evidence did the secret service of the Traction Trustrequire? Peter would ask this question of McGivney again and again, and McGivney would answer: "Keep your shirt on. You're getting yourpay every week. What's the matter with you?"

"The matter is, I'm tired of listening to these fellows ranting, "Peter would say. "I want to stop their mouths. "

Yes, Peter had come to take it as a personal affront that theseradicals should go on denouncing the cause which Peter had espoused. They all thought of Peter as a comrade, they were most friendly tohim; but Peter had the knowledge of how they would regard him whenthey knew the real truth, and this imagined contempt burned him likean acid. Sometimes there would be talk about spies and informers, and then these people would exhaust their vocabulary of abuse, andPeter, of course, would apply every word of it to himself and becomewild with anger. He would long to answer back; he was waiting forthe day when he might vindicate himself and his cause by smashingthese Reds in the mouth. 

Section 36

"Well, " said McGivney one day, "I've got something interesting foryou now. You're going into high society for a while!"

And the rat-faced man explained that there was a young man in aneighboring city, reputed to be a multi-millionaire, who had writtena book against the war, and was the financial source of muchpacificism and sedition. "These people are spending lots of moneyfor printing, " said McGivney, "and we hear this fellow Lackman isputting it up. We've learned that he is to be in town tomorrow, andwe want you to find out all about his affairs. "

So Peter was to meet a millionaire! Peter had never known one ofthese fortunate beings, but he was for them--he had always been forthem. Ever since he had learned to read, he had liked to findstories about them in the newspapers, with pictures of them andtheir palaces. He had read these stories as a child reads fairytales. They were his creatures of dreams, belonging to a world abovereality, above pain and inconvenience. 

And then in the days when Peter had been a servant in the Temple ofJimjambo, devoted to the cult of Eleutherinian Exoticism, he hadfound hanging in the main assembly room a picture labelled, "MountOlympus, " showing a dozen gods and goddesses reclining at ease onsilken couches, sipping nectar from golden goblets and gazing downupon the far-off troubles of the world. Peter would peer from behindthe curtains and see the Chief Magistrian emerging from behind theseven mystic veils, lifting his rolling voice and in a kind of chantexpounding life to his flock of adoring society ladies. He wouldpoint to the picture and explain those golden, Olympian days whenthe Eleutherinian cult had originated. The world had changed muchsince then, and for the worse; those who had power must take it astheir task to restore beauty and splendor to the world, and todevelop the gracious possibilities of being. 

Peter, of course, hadn't really believed in anything that went on inthe Temple of Jimjambo; and yet he had been awed by its richness, and by the undoubtedly exclusive character of its worshippers; hehad got the idea definitely fixed in his head that there really hadbeen a Mount Olympus, and when he tried to imagine the millionairesand their ways, it was these gods and goddesses, reclining on silkencouches and sipping nectar, that came to his mind!

Now since Peter had come to know the Reds, who wanted to blow up thepalaces of the millionaires, he was more than ever on the side ofhis gods and goddesses. His fervors for them increased every time heheard them assailed; he wanted to meet some of them, andpassionately, yet respectfully, pour out to them his allegiance. Aglow of satisfaction came over him as he pictured himself in somepalace, lounging upon a silken conch and explaining to a millionairehis understanding of the value of beauty and splendor in the world. 

And now he was to meet one; it was to be a part of his job tocultivate one! True, there was something wrong with this particularmillionaire--he was one of those freaks who for some reason beyondimagining gave their sympathy to the dynamiters and assassins. Peterhad met "Parlor Reds" at the home of the Todd sisters; the largeshining ladies who came in large shining cars to hear him tell ofhis jail experiences. But he hadn't been sure as to whether theywere really millionaires or not, and Sadie, when he had inquiredparticularly, had answered vaguely that every one in the radicalmovement who could afford an automobile or a dress-suit was called amillionaire by the newspapers. 

But young Lackman was a real millionaire, McGivney positivelyassured him; and so Peter was free to admire him in spite of all hisfreak ideas, which the rat-faced man explained with intenseamusement. Young Lackman conducted a school for boys, and when oneof the boys did wrong, the teacher would punish himself instead ofthe boy! Peter must pretend to be interested in this kind of"education, " said McGivney, and he must learn at least the names ofLackman's books. 

"But will he pay any attention to me?" demanded Peter. 

"Sure, he will, " said McGivney. "That's the point--you've been injail, you've really done something as a pacifist. What you want todo is to try to interest him in your Anti-conscription League. Tellhim you want to make it into a national organization, you want toget something done besides talking. "

The address of young Lackman was the Hotel de Soto; and as he heardthis, Peter's heart gave a leap. The Hotel de Soto was the MountOlympus of American City! Peter had walked by the vast whitestructure, and seen the bronze doors swing outward, and the favoredones of the earth emerging to their magic chariots; but never had itoccurred to him that he might pass thru those bronze doors, and gazeupon those hidden mysteries!

"Will they let me in?" he asked McGivney, and the other laughed. "Just walk in as if you owned the place, " he said. "Hold up yourhead, and pretend you've lived there all your life. "

That was easy for McGivney to say, but not so easy for Peter toimagine. However, he would try it; McGivney must be right, for itwas the same thing Mrs. James had impressed upon him many times. Youmust watch what other people did, and practice by yourself, and thengo in and do it as if you had never done anything else. All life wasa gigantic bluff, and you encouraged yourself in your bluffing bythe certainty that everybody else was bluffing just as hard. 

At seven o'clock that evening Peter strolled up to the magic bronzedoors, and touched them; and sure enough, the blue-uniformedguardians drew them back without a word, and the tiny brass-buttonimps never even glanced at Peter as he strode up to the desk andasked for Mr. Lackman. 

The haughty clerk passed him on to a still more haughty telephoneoperator, who condescended to speak into her trumpet, and theninformed him that Mr. Lackman was out; he had left word that hewould return at eight. Peter was about to go out and wander aboutthe streets for an hour, when he suddenly remembered that everybodyelse was bluffing; so he marched across the lobby and seated himselfin one of the huge leather arm-chairs, big enough to hold three ofhim. There he sat, and continued to sit--and nobody said a word!

Section 37

Yes, this was Mount Olympus, and here were the gods: the female onesin a state of divine semi-nudity, the male ones mostly clad in blackcoats with pleated shirt-fronts puffing out. Every time one of themmoved up to the desk Peter would watch and wonder, was this Mr. Lackman? He might have been able to pick out a millionaire from anordinary crowd; but here every male god was got up for the precisepurpose of looking like a millionaire, so Peter's job was animpossible one. 

In front of him across the lobby floor there arose a ten-foot pillarto a far-distant roof. This pillar was of pale, green-streakedmarble, and Peter's eyes followed it to the top, where it explodedin a snow-white cloud-burst, full of fascination. There were fourcornucopias, one at each corner, and out of each cornucopia cametangled ropes of roses, and out of these roses came other ropes, with what appeared to be apples and leaves, and still more roses, and still more emerging ropes, spreading in a tangle over theceiling. Here and there, in the midst of all this splendor, was thelarge, placidly smiling face of a boy angel; four of these placidlysmiling boy angels gazed from the four sides of the snow-whitecloud-burst, and Peter's eye roamed from one to another, fascinatedby the mathematics of this architectural marvel. There were fourteencolumns in a row, and four such rows in the lobby. That madefifty-six columns in all, or two hundred and twenty-four boy angels'heads. How many cornucopias and how many roses and how many applesit meant, defied all calculation. The boy angels' heads were exactlyalike, every head with the same size and quality of smile; and Petermarvelled--how many days would it take a sculptor to carve thedetails of two hundred and twenty-four boy angel smiles?

All over the Hotel de Soto was this same kind of sumptuousmagnificence; and Peter experienced the mental effect which it wascontrived to produce upon him--a sense of bedazzlement and awe, arealization that those who dwelt in the midst of this splendor werepeople to whom money was nothing, who could pour out treasures in anever-ceasing flood. And everything else about the place was of thesame character, contrived for the same effect--even the gods and thegoddesses! One would sweep by with a tiara of jewels in her hair;you might amuse yourself by figuring out the number of the jewels, as you had figured out the number of the boy angels' heads. Or youmight take her gown of black lace, embroidered with goldenbutterflies, every one patiently done by hand; you might figure--somany yards of material, and so many golden butterflies to the yard!You might count the number of sparkling points upon her jetslippers, or trace the intricate designs upon her almost transparentstockings--only there was an inch or two of the stockings which youcould not see. 

Peter watched these gorgeous divinities emerge from the elevators, and sweep their way into the dining-room beyond. Some people mighthave been shocked by their costumes; but to Peter, who had thepicture of Mount Olympus in mind, they seemed most proper. It alldepended on the point of view: whether you thought of a goddess asfully clothed from chin to toes, and proceeded with a pair of shearsto cut away so much of her costume, or whether you imagined thegoddess in a state of nature, and proceeded to put veils of gauzeabout her, and a ribbon over each shoulder to hold the veils inplace. 

Twice Peter went to the desk, to inquire if Mr. Lackman had come inyet; but still he had not come; and Peter--growing bolder, like thefox who spoke to the lion--strolled about the lobby, gazing at thegroups of gods at ease. He had noticed a great balcony around allfour sides of this lobby, the "mezzanine floor, " as it was called;he decided he would see what was up there, and climbed the whitemarble stairs, and beheld more rows of chairs and couches, done indark grey velvet. Here, evidently, was where the female gods came tolinger, and Peter seated himself as unobtrusively as possible, andwatched. 

Directly in front of him sat a divinity, lolling on a velvet couchwith one bare white arm stretched out. It was a large stout arm, andthe possessor was large and stout, with pale golden hair and manysparkling jewels. Her glance roamed lazily from place to place. Itrested for an instant on Peter, and then moved on, and Peter feltthe comment upon his own insignificance. 

Nevertheless, he continued to steal glances now and then, andpresently saw an interesting sight. In her lap this Juno had agold-embroidered bag, and she opened it, disclosing a collection ofmysterious apparatus of which she proceeded to make use: first alittle gold hand-mirror, in which she studied her charms; then alittle white powder-puff with which she deftly tapped her nose andcheeks; then some kind of red pencil with which she proceeded to rubher lips; then a golden pencil with which she lightly touched hereyebrows. Then it seemed as if she must have discovered a littlehair which had grown since she left her dressing-room. Petercouldn't be sure, but she had a little pair of tweezers, and seemedto pull something out of her chin. She went on with quite anelaborate and complicated toilet, paying meantime not the slightestattention to the people passing by. 

Peter looked farther, and saw that just as when one person sneezesor yawns everybody else in the room is irresistibly impelled tosneeze or yawn, so all these Dianas and Junos and Hebes on the"mezzanine floor" had suddenly remembered their little gold orsilver hand-mirrors, their powder-puffs and red or golden or blackpencils. One after another, the little vanity-bags came forth, andPeter, gazing in wonder, thought that Mount Olympus had turned intoa beauty parlor. 

Peter rose again and strolled and watched the goddesses, big andlittle, old and young, fat and thin, pretty and ugly--and it seemedto him the fatter and older and uglier they were, the more intentlythey gazed into the little hand-mirrors. He watched them with hungryeyes, for he knew that here he was in the midst of high life, thereal thing, the utmost glory to which man could ever hope to attain, and he wanted to know all there was to know about it. He strolledon, innocent and unsuspecting, and the two hundred and twenty-fourwhite boy angels in the ceiling smiled their bland and placid smilesat him, and Peter knew no more than they what complications fate hadprepared for him on that mezzanine floor!

On one of the big lounges there sat a girl, a radiant creature fromthe Emerald Isles, with hair like sunrise and cheeks like apples. Peter took one glance at her, and his heart missed three successivebeats, and then, to make up for lost time, began leaping like arunaway race-horse. He could hardly believe what his eyes told him;but his eyes insisted, his eyes knew; yes, his eyes had gazed forhours and hours on end upon that hair like sunrise and those cheekslike apples. The girl was Nell, the chambermaid of the Temple ofJimjambo!

She had not looked Peter's way, so there was time for him to startback and hide himself behind a pillar; there he stood, peering outand watching her profile, still arguing with his eyes. It couldn'tbe Nell; and yet it was! Nell transfigured, Nell translated toOlympus, turned into a goddess with a pale grey band about hermiddle, and a pale grey ribbon over each shoulder to hold it inplace! Nell reclining at ease and chatting vivaciously to a youngman with the face of a bulldog and the dinner-jacket of a magazineadvertisement!

Peter gazed and waited, while his heart went on misbehaving. Peterlearned in those few fearful minutes what real love is, a mostdevastating force. Little Jennie was forgotten, Mrs. James, thegrass widow was forgotten, and Peter knew that he had never reallyadmired but one woman in the world, and that was Nell, the Irishchambermaid of the Temple of Jimjambo. The poets have seen fit torepresent young love as a mischievous little archer with a sharp andpenetrating arrow, and now Peter understood what they had meant;that arrow had pierced him thru, and he had to hold on to the columnto keep himself from falling. 

Section 38

Presently the couple rose and strolled away to the elevator, andPeter followed. He did not dare get into the elevator with them, forhe had suddenly become accutely aware of the costume he was wearingin his role of proletarian anti-militarist! But Peter was certainthat Nell and her escort were not going out of the building, forthey had no hats or wraps; so he went downstairs and hunted thru thelobby and the dining-room, and then thru the basement, from which heheard strains of music. Here was another vast room, got up in mysticoriental fashion, with electric lights hidden in bunches ofimitation flowers on each table. This room was called the "grill, "and part of it was bare for dancing, and on a little platform sat aband playing music. 

The strangest music that ever assailed human ears! If Peter hadheard it before seeing Nell, he would not have understood it, butnow its weird rhythms fitted exactly to the moods which weretormenting him. This music would groan, it would rattle and squeak;it would make noises like swiftly torn canvas, or like a steam sirenin a hurry. It would climb up to the heavens and come banging downto hell. And every thing with queer, tormenting motions, gliding andwrithing, wriggling, jerking, jumping. Peter would never have knownwhat to make of such music, if he had not had it here made visiblebefore his eyes, in the behavior of the half-naked goddesses and theblack-coated gods on this dancing floor. These celestial ones camesliding across the floor like skaters, they came writhing likeserpents, they came strutting like turkeys, jumping like rabbits, stalking solemnly like giraffes. They came clamped in one another'sarms like bears trying to hug each other to death; they camecontorting themselves as if they were boa-constrictors trying toswallow each other. And Peter, watching them and listening to theirmusic, made a curious discovery about himself. Deeply buried inPeter's soul were the ghosts of all sorts of animals; Peter had oncebeen a boa-constrictor, Peter had once been a bear, Peter had oncebeen a rabbit and a giraffe, a turkey and a fox; and now under thespell of this weird music these dead creatures came to life in hissoul. So Peter discovered the meaning of "jazz, " in all its weirdlynamed and incredible varieties. 

Also Peter discovered that he had once been a caveman, and had hithis rival over the head with a stone axe and carried off his girl bythe hair. All this he discovered while he stood in the doorway ofthe Hotel de Soto grill, and watched Nell, the ex-chambermaid of theTemple of Jimjambo, doing the turkey-trot and the fox-trot and thegrizzly-bear and the bunny-hug in the arms of a young man with theface of a bulldog. 

Peter stood for a long while in a daze. Nell and the young man satdown at one of the tables to have a meal, but still Peter stoodwatching and trying to figure out what to do. He knew that he mustnot speak to her in his present costume; there would be no way tomake her understand that he was only playing a role--that he wholooked like a "dead one" was really a prosperous man of importantaffairs, a 100% red-blooded patriot disguised as a proletarianpacifist. No, he must wait, he must get into his best before hespoke to her. But meantime, she might go away, and he might not beable to find her again in this huge city!

After an hour or two he succeeded in figuring out a way, and hurriedupstairs to the writing-room and penned a note:

"Nell: This is your old friend Peter Gudge. I have struck it richand have important news for you. Be sure to send word to me. Peter. "To this he added his address, and sealed it in an envelope to "MissNell Doolin. "

Then he went out into the lobby, and signalled to one of thebrass-button imps who went about the place calling names in shrillsing-song; he got this youngster off in a corner and pressed adollar bill into his hand. There was a young lady in the grill whowas to have this note at once. It was very important. Would thebrass-button imp do it?

The imp said sure, and Peter stood in the doorway and watched himwalk back and forth thru the aisles of the grill, calling in hisshrill sing-song, "Miss Nell Doolin! Miss Nell Doolin!" He walkedright by the table where Nell sat eating; he sang right into herface, it seemed to Peter; but she never gave a sign. 

Peter did not know what to make of it, but he was bound to get thatnote to Nell. So when the imp returned, he pointed her out, and theimp went again and handed the note to her. Peter saw her takeit--then he darted away; and remembering suddenly that he wassupposed to be on duty, be rushed back to the office and inquiredfor Mr. Lackman. To his horror he learned that Mr. Lackman hadreturned, paid his bill, and departed with his suitcase to adestination unknown!

Section 39

Peter had a midnight appointment with McGivney, and now had to goand admit this humiliating failure. He had done his best, hedeclared; he had inquired at the desk, and waited and waited, butthe hotel people had failed to notify him of Lackman's arrival. Allthis was strictly true; but it did not pacify McGivney, who was in ablack fury. "It might have been worth thousands of dollars to you!"he declared. "He's the biggest fish we'll ever get on our hook. "

"Won't he come again?" asked grief-stricken Peter. 

"No, " declared the other. "They'll get him at his home city. "

"But won't that do?" asked Peter, naively. 

"You damned fool!" was McGivney's response. "We wanted to get himhere, where we could pluck him ourselves. "

The rat-faced man hadn't intended to tell Peter so much, but in hisrage he let it out. He and a couple of his friends had planned to"get something" on this young millionaire, and scare the wits out ofhim, with the idea that he would put up a good many thousand dollarsto be let off. Peter might have had his share of this--only he hadbeen fool enough to let the bird get out of his net!

Peter offered to follow the young man to his home city, and findsome way to lure him back into McGivney's power. After McGivney hadstormed for a while, he decided that this might be possible. Hewould talk it over with the others, and let Peter know. But alas, when Peter picked up an afternoon newspaper next day, he read on thefront page how young Lackman, stepping off the train in his homecity that morning, had been placed under arrest; his school had beenraided, and half a dozen of the teachers were in jail, and a ton ofRed literature had been confiscated, and a swarm of direconspiracies against the safety of the country had been laid bare!

Peter read this news, and knew that he was in for another stormyhour with his boss. But he hardly gave a thought to it, because ofsomething which had happened a few minutes before, something of somuch greater importance. A messenger had brought him a specialdelivery letter, and with thumping heart he had torn it open andread:

"All right. Meet me in the waiting-room of Guggenheim's DepartmentStore at two o'clock this afternoon. But for God's sake forget NellDoolin. Yours, Edythe Eustace. "

So here was Peter dressed in his best clothes, as for his temporaryhoneymoon with the grass widow, and on the way to the rendezvous anhour ahead of time. And here came Nell, also dressed, every garmentso contrived that a single glance would tell the beholder that theirowner was moving in the highest circles, and regardless of expense. Nell glanced over her shoulder now and then as she talked, andexplained that Ted Crothers, the man with the bulldog face, was aterror, and it was hard to get away from him, because he had nothingto do all day. 

The waiting-room of a big department-store was not the place Peterwould have selected for the pouring out of his heart; but he had tomake the best of it, so he told Nell that he loved her, that hewould never be able to love anybody else, and that he had made pilesof money now, he was high up on the ladder of prosperity. Nell didnot laugh at him, as she had laughed in the Temple of Jimjambo, forit was easily to be seen that Peter Gudge was no longer a scullion, but a man of the world with a fascinating air of mystery. Nellwanted to know forthwith what was he doing; he answered that hecould not tell, it was a secret of the most desperate import; he wasunder oath. These were the days of German spies and bomb-plots, whenkings and kaisers and emperors and tsars were pouring treasures intoAmerica for all kinds of melodramatic purposes; also the days ofgovernment contracts and secret deals, when in the lobbies andprivate meeting-places of hotels like the de Soto there werefortunes made and unmade every hour. So it was easy for Nell tobelieve in a real secret, and being a woman, she put all herfaculties upon the job of guessing it. 

She did not again ask Peter to tell her; but she let him talk, andtactfully guided the conversation, and before long she knew thatPeter was intimate with a great many of the most desperate Reds, andlikewise that he knew all about the insides of the Goober case, andabout the great men of American City who had put up a milliondollars for the purpose of hanging Goober, and about the variousways in which this money had been spent and wires had been pulled tosecure a conviction. Nell put two and two together, and before longshe figured out that the total was four; she suddenly confrontedPeter with this total, and Peter was dumb with consternation, andbroke down and confessed everything, and told Nell all about hisschemes and his achievements and his adventures--omitting onlylittle Jennie and the grass widow. 

He told about the sums he had been making and was expecting to make;he told about Lackman, and showed Nell the newspaper with picturesof the young millionaire and his school. "What a handsome fellow!"said Nell. "It's a shame!"

"How do you mean?" asked Peter, a little puzzled. Could it be thatNell had any sympathy for these Reds?

"I mean, " she answered, "that he'd have been worth more to you thanall the rest put together. "

Nell was a woman, and her mind ran to the, practical aspect ofthings. "Look here, Peter, " she said, "you've been letting those`dicks' work you. They're getting the swag, and just giving youtips. What you need is somebody to take care of you. "

Peter's heart leaped. "Will you do it?" he cried. 

"I've got Ted on my hands, " said the girl. "He'd cut my throat, andyours too, if he knew I was here. But I'll try to get myself free, and then maybe--I won't promise, but I'll think over your problem, Peter, and I'll certainly try to help, so that McGivney and Guffeyand those fellows can't play you for a sucker any longer. "

She must have time to think it over, she said, and to make inquiriesabout the people involved--some of whom apparently she knew. Shewould meet Peter again the next day, and in a more private placethan here. She named a spot in the city park which would be easy tofind, and yet sufficiently remote for a quiet conference. 

Section 40

Peter had been made so bold by Nell's flattery and what she had saidabout his importance, that he did not go back to McGivney to takehis second scolding about the Lackman case. He was getting tired ofMcGivney's scoldings; if McGivney didn't like his work, let McGivneygo and be a Red for a while himself. Peter walked the streets allday and a part of the night, thinking about Nell, and thrilling overthe half promises she had made him. 

They met next day in the park. No one was following them, and theyfound a solitary place, and Nell let him kiss her several times, andin between the kisses she unfolded to him a terrifying plan. Peterhad thought that he was something of an intriguer, but hisself-esteem shriveled to nothingness in the presence of the superbconception which had come to ripeness in the space of twenty-fourhours in the brain of Nell Doolin, alias Edythe Eustace. 

Peter had been doing the hard work, and these big fellows had beenusing him, handing him a tip now and then, and making fortunes outof the information he brought them. McGivney had let the cat out ofthe bag in this case of Lackman; you might be sure they had beenmaking money, big money, out of all the other cases. What Peter mustdo was to work up something of his own, and get the real money, andmake himself one of the big fellows. Peter had the facts, he knewthe people; he had watched in the Goober case exactly how a"frame-up" was made, and now he must make one for himself, and onethat would pay. It was a matter of duty to rid the country of allthese Reds; but why should he not have the money as well?

Nell had spent the night figuring over it, trying to pick out theright person. She had hit on old "Nelse" Ackerman, the banker. Ackerman was enormously and incredibly wealthy; he was called thefinancial king of American City. Also he was old, and Nell happenedto know he was a coward; he was sick in bed just now, and when a manis sick he is still more of a coward. What Peter must do was todiscover some kind of a bomb-plot against old "Nelse" Ackerman. Peter might talk up the idea among some of his Reds and get theminterested in it, or he might frame up some letters to be found uponthem, and hide some dynamite in their rooms. When the plot wasdiscovered, it would make a frightful uproar, needless to say; theking would hear of it, and of Peter's part as the discoverer of it, and he would unquestionably reward Peter. Perhaps Peter mightarrange to be retained as a secret agent to protect the king fromthe Reds. Thus Peter would be in touch with real money, and mighthire Guffey and McGivney, instead of their hiring him. 

If Peter had stood alone, would he have dared so perilous a dream asthis? Or was he a "piker"; a little fellow, the victim of his ownfears and vanities? Anyhow, Peter was not alone; he had Nell, and itwas necessary that he should pose before Nell as a bold anddesperate blade. Just as in the old days in the Temple, it wasnecessary that Peter should get plenty of money, in order to takeNell away from another man. So he said all right, he would go in onthat plan; and proceeded to discuss with Nell the variouspersonalities he might use. 

The most likely was Pat McCormick. "Mac, " with his grim, set faceand his silent, secretive habits, fitted perfectly to Peter'sconception of a dynamiter. Also "Mac" was Peter's personal enemy;"Mac" had just returned from his organizing trip in the oil fields, and had been denouncing Peter and gossiping about him in the variousradical groups. "Mac" was the most dangerous Red of them all! Hemust surely be one of the dynamiters!

Another likely one was Joe Angell, whom Peter had met at a recentgathering of Ada Ruth's "Anti-conscription League. " People madejokes about this chap's name because he looked the part, with hisbright blue eyes that seemed to have come out of heaven, and hisbright golden hair, and even the memory of dimples in his cheeks. But when Joe opened his lips, you discovered that he was an angelfrom the nether regions. He was the boldest and most defiant of allthe Reds that Peter had yet come upon. He had laughed at Ada Ruthand her sentimental literary attitude toward the subject of thedraft. It wasn't writing poems and passing resolutions that waswanted; it wasn't even men who would refuse to put on the uniform, but men who would take the guns that were offered to them, and drillthemselves, and at the proper time face about and use the guns inthe other direction. Agitating and organizing were all right intheir place, but now, when the government dared challenge theworkers and force them into the army, it was men of action that wereneeded in the radical movement. 

Joe Angell had been up in the lumber country, and could tell whatwas the mood of the real workers, the "huskies" of the timberlands. Those fellows weren't doing any more talking; they had their secretcommittees that were ready to take charge of things as soon as theyhad put the capitalists and their governments out of business. Meantime, if there was a sheriff or prosecuting attorney that gottoo gay, they would "bump him off. " This was a favorite phrase of"Blue-eyed Angell. " He would use it every half hour or so as he toldabout his adventures. "Yes, " he would say; "he got gay, but webumped him off all right. "

Section 41

So Nell and Peter settled down to work out the details of their"frame-up" on Joe Angell and Pat McCormick. Peter must get a bunchof them together and get them to talking about bombs and killingpeople; and then he must slip a note into the pockets of all whoshowed interest, calling them to meet for a real conspiracy. Nellwould write the notes, so that no one could fasten the job ontoPeter. She pulled out a pencil and a little pad from her handbag, and began: "If you really believe in a bold stroke for the workers'rights, meet me--" And then she stopped. "Where?"

"In the studios, " put in Peter. 

And Nell wrote, "In the studios. Is that enough?"

"Room 17. " Peter knew that this was the room of Nikitin, a Russianpainter who called himself an Anarchist. 

So Nell wrote "Room 17, " and after further discussion she added:"Tomorrow morning at eight o'clock. No names and no talk. Action!"This time was set because Peter recollected that there was to be agathering of the "wobblies" in their headquarters this very evening. It was to be a business meeting, but of course these fellows nevergot together very long without starting the subject of "tactics. "There was a considerable element among them who were dissatisfiedwith what they called the "supine attitude" of the organization, andwere always arguing for action. Peter was sure he would be able toget some of them interested in the idea of a dynamite conspiracy. 

As it turned out, Peter had no trouble at all; the subject wasstarted without his having to put in a word. Were the workers to bedriven like sheep to the slaughter, and the "wobblies" not to makeone move? So asked the "Blue-eyed Angell, " vehemently, and addedthat if they were going to move, American City was as good a placeas any. He had talked with enough of the rank and file to realizethat they were ready for action; all they needed was a battle-cryand an organization to guide them. 

Henderson, the big lumber-jack, spoke up. That was just the trouble;you couldn't get an organization for such a purpose. The authoritieswould get spies among you, they would find out what you were doing, and drive you underground. 

"Well, " cried Joe, "we'll go underground!"

"Yes, " agreed the other, "but then your organization goes bust. Nobody knows who to trust, everybody's accusing the rest of being aspy. "

"Hell!" said Joe Angell. "I've been in jail for the movement, I'lltake my chances of anybody's calling me a spy. What I'm not going todo is to sit down and see the workers driven to hell, because I'm sodamn careful about my precious organization. "

When others objected, Angell rushed on still more vehemently. Suppose they did fail in a mass-uprising, suppose they were drivento assassination and terrorism? At least they would teach theexploiters a lesson, and take a little of the joy out of theirlives. 

Peter thought it would be a good idea for him to pose as aconservative just now. "Do you really think the capitalists wouldgive up from fear?" he asked. 

And the other answered: "You bet I do! I tell you if we'd made itunderstood that every congressman who voted this country into warwould be sent to the front trenches, our country would still be atpeace. "

"But, " put in Peter, deftly, "it ain't the congressmen. It's peoplehigher up than them. "

"You bet, " put in Gus, the Swedish sailor. "You bet you! I name youone dozen big fellows in dis country--you make it clear if we don'tget peace dey all get killed--we get peace all right!"

So Peter had things where he wanted them. "Who are those fellows?"he asked, and got the crowd arguing over names. Of course theydidn't argue very long before somebody mentioned "Nelse" Ackerman, who was venomously hated by the Reds because he had put up a hundredthousand dollars of the Anti-Goober fund. Peter pretended not toknow about Nelse; and Jerry Rudd, a "blanket-stiff" whose head wasstill sore from being cracked open in a recent harvesters' strike, remarked that by Jesus, if they'd put a few fellows like that in thetrenches, there'd be some pacifists in Ameriky sure enough allright. 

It seemed almost as if Joe Angell had come there to back up Peter'spurpose. "What we want, " said he, "is a few fellows to fight as hardfor themselves as they fight for the capitalists. "

"Yes, " assented Henderson, grimly. "We're all so good--we wait tillour masters tell us we can kill. "

That was the end of the discussion; but it seemed quite enough toPeter. He watched his chance, and one by one he managed to slip hislittle notes into the coat-pockets of Joe Angell, Jerry Rudd, Henderson, and Gus, the sailor. And then Peter made his escape, trembling with excitement. The great dynamite conspiracy was on!"They must be got rid of!" he was whispering to himself. "They mustbe got rid of by any means! It's my duty I'm doing. "

Section 42

Peter had an appointment to meet Nell on a street corner at eleveno'clock that same night, and when she stepped off the street-car, Peter saw that she was carrying a suit-case. "Did you get your jobdone?" she asked quickly, and when Peter answered in theaffirmative, she added: "Here's your bomb!"

Peter's jaw fell. He looked so frightened that she hastened toreassure him. It wouldn't go off; it was only the makings of a bomb, three sticks of dynamite and some fuses and part of a clock. Thedynamite was wrapped carefully, and there was no chance of itsexploding--if he didn't drop it! But Peter wasn't much consoled. Hehad had no idea that Nell would go so far, or that he would actuallyhave to handle dynamite. He wondered where and how she had got it, and wished to God he was out of this thing. 

But it was too late now, of course. Said Nell: "You've got to getthis suit-case into the headquarters, and you've got to get it therewithout anybody seeing you. They'll be shut up pretty soon, won'tthey?"

"We locked up when we left, " said Peter. 

"And who has the key?"

"Grady, the secretary. "

"There's no way you can get it?"

"I can get into the room, " said Peter, quickly. "There's a fireescape, and the window isn't tight. Some of us that know about ithave got in that way when the place was locked. "

"All right, " said Nell. "We'll wait a bit; we mustn't take chancesof anyone coming back. "

They started to stroll along the street, Nell still carrying thesuit-case, as if distrusting the state of Peter's nerves, Meantimeshe explained, "I've got two pieces of paper that we've got to plantin the room. One's to be torn up and thrown into the trash-basket. It's supposed to be part of a letter about some big plan that's tobe pulled off, and it's signed `Mac. ' That's for McCormick, ofcourse. I had to type it, not having any sample of his handwriting. The other piece is a drawing; there's no marks to show what it is, but of course the police'll soon find out. It's a plan of oldAckerman's home, and there's a cross mark showing hissleeping-porch. Now, what we want to do is to fix this on McCormick. Is there anything in the room that belongs to him?"

Peter thought, and at last remembered that in the bookshelves weresome books which had been donated by McCormick, and which had hisname written in. That was the trick! exclaimed Nell. They would hidethe paper in one of these books, and when the police made a thoroughsearch they would find it. Nell asked what was in these books, andPeter thought, and remembered that one was a book on sabotage. "Putthe paper in that, " said Nell. "When the police find it, thenewspapers'll print the whole book. "

Peter's knees were trembling so that he could hardly walk, but hekept reminding himself that he was a "he-man, " a 100% American, andthat in these times of war every patriot must do his part. His partwas to help rid the country of these Reds, and he must not flinch. They made their way to the old building in which the I. W. W. Headquarters were located, and Peter climbed up on the fence andswung over to the fire-escape, and Nell very carefully handed thesuit-case to him, and Peter opened the damaged window and slippedinto the room. 

He knew just where the cupboard was, and quickly stored thesuit-case in the corner, and piled some odds and ends of stuff infront of it, and threw an old piece of canvas over it. He took outof his right-hand pocket a typewritten letter, and tore it intosmall pieces and threw them into the trash-basket. Then he took outof his left-hand pocket the other paper, with the drawing ofAckerman's house. He went to the bookcase and with shaking fingersstruck a match, picked out the little redbound book entitled"Sabotage, " and stuck the paper inside, and put the book back inplace. Then he climbed out on the fire-escape and dropped to theground, jumped over the fence, and hurried down the alley to whereNell was waiting for him. 

"It's for my country!" he was whispering to himself. 

Section 43

The job was now complete, except for getting McCormick to therendezvous next morning. Nell had prepared and would mail in thepostoffice a special delivery letter addressed to McCormick's home. This would be delivered about seven o'clock in the morning, andinside was a typewritten note, as follows:

"Mac: Come to Room 17 of the studios at eight in the morning. Veryimportant. Our plan is all ready, my part is done. Joe. "

Nell figured that McCormick would take this to be a message fromAngell. He wouldn't know what it was about, but he'd be all the morecertain to come and find out. The essential thing was that the raidby the detectives must occur the very minute the conspirators gottogether, for as soon as they compared notes they would becomesuspicious, and might scatter at once. McGivney must have his menready; he must be notified and have plenty of time to get themready. 

But there was a serious objection to this--if McGivney had time, hewould demand a talk with Peter, and Nell was sure that Petercouldn't stand a cross-questioning at McGivney's hands. Peter, needless to say, agreed with her; his heart threatened to collapseat the thought of such an ordeal. What Peter really wanted to do wasto quit the whole thing right there and then; but he dared not sayso, he dared not face the withering scorn of his confederate. Peterclenched his hands and set his teeth, and when he passed a streetlight he turned his face away, so that Nell might not read thehumiliating terror written there. But Nell read it all the same;Nell believed that she was dealing with a quivering, pasty-facedcoward, and proceeded on that basis; she worked out the plans, shegave Peter his orders, and she stuck by him to see that he carriedthem out. 

Peter had McGivney's home telephone number, which he was onlysupposed to use in the most desperate emergency. He was to use itnow, and tell McGivney that he had just caught some members of theI. W. W. , with Pat McCormick as their leader, preparing to blow upsome people with dynamite bombs. They had some bombs in a suit-casein their headquarters, and were just starting out with other bombsin their pockets. Peter must follow them, otherwise he would losethem, and some crime might be committed before he could interfere. McGivney must have his agents ready with automobiles to swoop downupon any place that Peter indicated. Peter would follow up theconspirators, and phone McGivney again at the first opportunity hecould find. 

Nell was especially insistent that when Peter spoke to McGivney hemust have only a moment to spare, no time for questions, and he mustnot stop to answer any. He must be in a state of tremblingexcitement; and Peter was sure that would be very easy! He rehearsedover to Nell every word he must say, and just how he was to cutshort the conversation and hang up the receiver. Then he went intoan all night drug-store just around the corner from theheadquarters, and from a telephone booth called McGivney's home. 

It was an apartment house, and after some delay Peter heard thevoice of his employer, surly with sleep. But Peter waked him upquickly. "Mr. McGivney, there's a dynamite plot!"

"_What_?"

"I. W. W. They've got bombs in a suit-case! They're starting off toblow somebody up tonight. "

"By God! What do you mean? Who?"

"I dunno yet. I only heard part of it, and I've got to go. They'restarting, I've got to follow them. I may lose them and it'll be toolate. You hear me, I've got to follow them!"

"I hear you. What do you want me to do?"

"I'll phone you again the first chance I get. You have your menready, a dozen of them! Have automobiles, so you can come quick. Youget me?"

"Yes, but--"

"I can't talk any more, I may lose them, I haven't a second! You beat your phone, and have your men ready--everything ready. You getme?"

"Yes, but listen, man! You sure you're not mistaken?"

"Yes, yes, I'm sure!" cried Peter, his voice mounting in excitement. "They've got the dynamite, I tell you--everything! It's a man namedNelse. "

"Nelse what?"

"The man they're going to kill. I've got to go now, you get ready. Good-bye!" And Peter hung up the receiver. He had got so excitedover the part he was playing that he sprang up and ran out of thedrug-store, as if he really had to catch up with some I. W. W. Conspirators carrying a dynamite bomb!

But there was Nell, and they strolled down the street again. Theycame to a small park, and sat on one of the benches, because Peter'slegs would no longer hold him up. Nell walked about to make surethere was no one on any of the other benches; then she came back andrehearsed the next scene with Peter. They must go over it mostcarefully, because before long the time was coming when Peterwouldn't have Nell to coach him, and must be prepared to stand onhis own legs. Peter knew that, and his legs failed him. He wanted toback down, and declare that he couldn't go ahead with it; he wantedto go to McGivney and confess everything. Nell divined what wasgoing on in his soul, and wished to save him the humiliation ofhaving it known. She sat close to him on the bench, and put her handon his as she talked to him, and presently Peter felt a magic thrillstealing over him. He ventured to put his arm about Nell, to getstill more of this delicious sensation; and Nell permitted theembraces, for the first time she even encouraged them. Peter was ahero now, he was undertaking a bold and desperate venture; he wasgoing to put it thru like a man, and win Nell's real admiration. "Our country's at war!" she exclaimed. "And these devils arestopping it!"

So pretty soon Peter was ready to face the whole world; Peter wasready to go himself and blow up the king of American City with adynamite bomb! In that mood he stayed thru the small hours of themorning, sitting on the bench clasping his girl in his arms, andwishing she would give a little more time to heeding hislove-making, and less to making him recite his lessons. 

Section 44

So the day began to break and the birds to sing. The sun rose onPeter's face gray with exhaustion and the Irish apples in Nell'scheeks badly faded. But the time for action had come, and Peter wentoff to watch McCormick's home until seven o'clock, when the specialdelivery letter was due to arrive. 

It came on time, and Peter saw McCormick come out of the house andset forth in the direction of the studios. It was too early for themeeting, so Peter figured that he would stop to get his breakfast;and sure enough "Mac" turned into, a little dairy lunch, and Peterhastened to the nearest telephone and called his boss. 

"Mr. McGivney, " he said, "I lost those fellows last night, but now Igot them again. They decided not to do anything till today. They'rehaving a meeting this morning and we've a chance to nab them all. "

"Where?" demanded McGivney. 

"Room seventeen in the studios; but don't let any of your men gonear there, till I make sure the right fellows are in. "

"Listen here, Peter Gudge!" cried McGivney. "Is this straight goods?"

"My God!" cried Peter. "What do you take me for? I tell you they'vegot loads of dynamite. "

"What have they done with it?"

"They've got some in their headquarters. About the rest I dunno. They carried it off and I lost them last night. But then I found anote in my pocket--they were inviting me to come in. "

"By God!" exclaimed the rat-faced man. 

"We've got the whole thing, I tell you! Have you got your men ready?"

"Yes. "

"Well then, have them come to the corner of Seventh and WashingtonStreets, and you come to Eighth and Washington. Meet me there justas quick as you can. "

"I get you, " was the answer, and Peter hung up, and rushed off tothe appointed rendezvous. He was so nervous that he had to sit onthe steps of a building. As time passed and McGivney didn't appear, wild imaginings began to torment him. Maybe McGivney hadn'tunderstood him correctly! Or maybe his automobile might break down!Or his telephone might have got out of order at precisely thecritical moment! He and his men would arrive too late, they wouldfind the trap sprung, and the prey escaped. 

Ten minutes passed, fifteen minutes, twenty minutes. At last anautomobile rushed up the street, and McGivney stepped out, and theautomobile sped on. Peter got McGivney's eye, and then stepped backinto the shelter of a doorway. McGivney followed. "Have you gotthem?" he cried. 

"I d-d-dunno!" chattered Peter. "They s-s-said they were c-coming ateight!"

"Let me see that note!" commanded McGivney; so Peter pulled out oneof Nell's notes which he had saved for himself:

"If you really believe in a bold stroke for the workers' rights, meet me in the studios, Room 17, tomorrow morning at eight o'clock. No names and no talk. Action!"

"You found that in your pocket?" demanded the other. 

"Y-yes, sir. "

"And you've no idea who put it there. "

"N-no, but I think Joe Angell--"

McGivney looked at his watch. "You've got twenty minutes yet, " besaid. 

"You got the dicks?" asked Peter. 

"A dozen of them. What's your idea now?"

Peter stammered out his suggestions. There was a little grocerystore just across the street from the entrance to the studiobuilding. Peter would go in there, and pretend to get something toeat, and would watch thru the window, and the moment he saw theright men come in, he would hurry out and signal to McGivney, whowould be in a drugstore at the next corner. McGivney must keep outof sight himself, because the "Reds" knew him as one of Guffey'sagents. 

It wasn't necessary to repeat anything twice. McGivney was keyed upand ready for business, and Peter hurried down the street, andstepped into the little grocery store without being observed byanyone. He ordered some crackers and cheese, and seated himself on abox by the window and pretended to eat. But his hands were tremblingso that he could hardly get the food into his mouth; and this wasjust as well, because his mouth was dry with fright, and crackersand cheese are articles of diet not adapted to such a condition. 

He kept his eyes glued on the dingy doorway of the old studiobuilding, and presently--hurrah!--he saw McCormick coming down thestreet! The Irish boy turned into the building, and a couple ofminutes later came Gus the sailor, and before another five minuteshad passed here came Joe Angell and Henderson. They were walkingquickly, absorbed in conversation, and Peter could imagine he heardthem talking about those mysterious notes, and who could be thewriter, and what the devil could they mean?

Peter was now wild with nervousness; he was afraid somebody in thegrocery store would notice him, and he made desperate efforts to eatthe crackers and cheese, and scattered the crumbs all over himselfand over the floor. Should he wait for Jerry Rudd, or should he takethose he had already? He had got up and started for the door, whenhe saw the last of his victims coming down the street. Jerry waswalking slowly, and Peter couldn't wait until he got inside. A carwas passing, and Peter took the chance to slip out and bolt for thedrug store. Before he had got half way there McGivney had seen him, and was on the run to the next corner. 

Peter waited only long enough to see a couple of automobiles comewhirling down the street, packed solid with husky detectives. Thenhe turned off and hurried down a side street. He managed to get acouple of blocks away, and then his nerves gave way entirely, and hesat down on the curbstone and began to cry--just the way littleJennie had cried when he told her he couldn't marry her! Peoplestopped to stare at him, and one benevolent old gentleman came upand tapped him on the shoulder and asked what was the trouble. Peter, between his tear-stained fingers, gasped: "My m-m-motherdied!" And so they let him alone, and after a while he got up andhurried off again. 

Section 45

Peter was now in a state of utter funk. He knew that he would haveto face McGivney, and he just couldn't do it. All he wanted wasNell; and Nell, knowing that he would want her, had agreed to be inthe park at half past eight. She had warned him not to talk to asoul until he had talked to her. Meantime she had gone home andrenewed her Irish roses with French rouge, and restored her energywith coffee and cigarettes, and now she was waiting for him, smilingserenely, as fresh as any bird or flower in the park that summermorning. She asked him in even tones how things had gone, and whenPeter began to stammer that he didn't think he could face McGivney, she proceeded to build up his courage once more. She let him put hisarms about her, even there in broad daylight; she whispered to himto get himself together, to be a man, and worthy of her. 

What had he to be afraid of, anyway? They hadn't a single thing onhim, and there was no possible way they could get anything. Hishands were clean all the way thru, and all he had to do was to stickit out; he must make up his mind in advance, that no matter whathappened, he would never break down, he would never vary from thestory he had rehearsed with her. She made him go over the storyagain; how on the previous evening, at the gathering in the I. W. W. Headquarters, they had talked about killing Nelse Ackerman as ameans of bringing the war to an end. And after the talk he had heardJoe Angell whisper to Jerry Rudd that he had the makings of a bombalready; he had a suit-case full of dynamite stored there in thecloset, and he and Pat McCormick had been planning to pull offsomething that very night. Peter had gone out, but had watchedoutside, and had seen Angell, Henderson, Rudd and Gus come out. Peter had noticed that Angell's pockets were stuffed, and hadassumed that they were going to do their dynamiting, so he hadphoned to McGivney from the drug-store. By this phoning he hadmissed the crowd, and then he had been ashamed and afraid to tellMcGivney, and had spent the night wandering in the park. But earlyin the morning he had found the note, and had understood that itmust have been slipped into his pocket, and that the conspiratorswanted him to come in on their scheme. That was all, except forthree or four sentences or fragments of sentences which Peter hadoverheard between Joe Angell and Jerry Rudd. Nell made him learnthese sentences by heart, and she insisted that he must not underany circumstances try to remember or be persuaded to rememberanything further. 

At last Peter was adjudged ready for the ordeal, and went to Room427 in the American House, and threw himself on the bed. He was soexhausted that once or twice he dozed; but then he would think ofsome new question that McGivney might ask him, and would start intowakefulness. At last he heard a key turn, and started up. Thereentered one of the detectives, a man named Hammett. "Hello, Gudge, "said he. "The boss wants you to get arrested. "

"Arrested!" exclaimed Peter. "Good Lord!" He had a sudden swiftvision of himself shut up in a cell with those Reds, and forced tolisten to "hard luck stories. "

"Well, " said Hammett, "we're arresting all the Reds, and if we skipyou, they'll be suspicious. You better go somewhere right away andget caught. "

Peter saw the wisdom of this, and after a little thought he chosethe home of Miriam Yankovitch. She was a real Red, and didn't likehim; but if he was arrested in her home, she would have to like him, and it would tend to make him "solid" with the "left wingers. " Hegave the address to Hammett, and added, "You better come as soon asyou can, because she may kick me out of the house. "

"That's all right, " replied the other, with a laugh. "Tell her thepolice are after you, and ask her to hide you. "

So Peter hurried over to the Jewish quarter of the city, and knockedon a door in the top story of a tenement house. The door was openedby a stout woman with her sleeves rolled up and her arms coveredwith soap-suds. Yes, Miriam was in. She was out of a job just now, said Mrs. Yankovitch. They had fired her because she talkedSocialism. Miriam entered the room, giving the unexpected visitor acold stare that said as plain as words: "Jennie Todd!"

But this changed at once when Peter told her that he had been to I. W. W. Headquarters and found the police in charge. They had made araid, and claimed to have discovered some kind of plot; fortunatelyPeter had seen the crowd outside, and had got away. Miriam took himinto an inside room and asked him a hundred questions which he couldnot answer. He knew nothing, except that he had been to a meeting atheadquarters the night before, and this morning he had gone there toget a book, and had seen the crowd and run. 

Half an hour later came a bang on the door, and Peter dived underthe bed. The door was burst open, and he heard angry voicescommanding, and vehement protests from Miriam and her mother. Tojudge from the sounds, the men began throwing the furniture this wayand that; suddenly a hand came under the bed, and Peter was grabbedby the ankle, and hauled forth to confront four policemen inuniform. 

It was an awkward situation, because apparently these policemenhadn't been told that Peter was a spy; the boobs thought they weregetting a real dynamiter! One grabbed each of Peter's wrists, andanother kept him and Miriam covered with a revolver, while thefourth proceeded to go thru his pockets, looking for bombs. Whenthey didn't find any, they seemed vexed, and shook him and hustledhim about, and made clear they would be glad of some pretext tobatter in his head. Peter was careful not to give them such apretext; he was frightened and humble, and kept declaring that hedidn't know anything, he hadn't done any harm. 

"We'll see about that, young fellow!" said the officer, as hesnapped the handcuffs on Peter's wrists. Then, while one of themremained on guard with the revolver, the other three proceeded toransack the place, pulling out the bureau-drawers and kicking thecontents this way and that, grabbing every scrap of writing theycould find and jamming it into a couple of suit-cases. There werebooks with red bindings and terrifying titles, but no bombs, and noweapons more dangerous than a carving knife and Miriam's tongue. Thegirl stood there with her black eyes flashing lightnings, and toldthe police exactly what she thought of them. She didn't know whathad happened in the I. W. W. Headquarters, but she knew thatwhatever it was, it was a frame-up, and she dared them to arresther, and almost succeeded in her fierce purpose. However, the policecontented themselves with kicking over the washtub and its contents, and took their departure, leaving Mrs. Yankovitch screaming in themidst of a flood. 

Section 46

They dragged Peter out thru a swarming tenement crowd, and clappedhim into an automobile, and whirled him away to police headquarters, where they entered him in due form and put him in a cell. He wasuneasy right away, because he had failed to arrange with Hammett howlong he was to stay locked up. But barely an hour had passed beforea jailer came, and took him to a private room, where he foundhimself confronted by McGivney and Hammett, also the Chief of Policeof the city, a deputy district attorney, and last but most importantof all--Guffey. It was the head detective of the Traction Trust whotook Peter in charge. 

"Now, Gudge, " said he, "what's this job you've been putting up onus?"

It struck Peter like a blow in the face. His heart went down, hisjaw dropped, he stared like an idiot. Good God!

But he remembered Nell's last solemn words: "Stick it out, Peter;stick it out!" So he cried: "What do you mean, Mr. Guffey?"

"Sit down in that chair there, " said Guffey. "Now, tell us what youknow about this whole business. Begin at the beginning and tell useverything--every word. " So Peter began. He had been at a meeting atthe I. W. W. Headquarters the previous evening. There had been along talk about the inactivity of the organization, and what couldbe done to oppose the draft. Peter detailed the arguments, thediscussion of violence, of dynamite and killing, the mention ofNelse Ackerman and the other capitalists who were to be put out ofthe way. He embellished all this, and exaggerated it greatly--itbeing the one place where Nell had said he could do no harm byexaggerating. 

Then he told how after the meeting had broken up he had noticedseveral of the men whispering among themselves. By pretending to begetting a book from the bookcase he had got close to Joe Angell andJerry Rudd; he had heard various words and fragments of sentences, "dynamite, " "suit-case in the cupboard, " "Nelse, " and so on. Andwhen the crowd went out he noticed that Angell's pockets werebulging, and assumed that he had the bombs, and that they were goingto do the job. He rushed to the drug-store and phoned McGivney. Ittook a long time to get McGivney, and when he had given his messageand run out again, the crowd was out of sight. Peter was in despair, he was ashamed to confront McGivney, be wandered about the streetsfor hours looking for the crowd. He spent the rest of the night inthe park. But then in the morning he discovered the piece of paperin his pocket, and understood that somebody had slipped it to him, intending to invite him to the conspiracy; so he had notifiedMcGivney, and that was all he knew. 

McGivney began to cross-question him. He had heard Joe Angelltalking to Jerry Rudd; had he heard him talking to anybody else? Hadhe heard any of the others talking? Just what had he heard JoeAngell say? Peter must repeat every word all over. This time, asinstructed by Nell, he remembered one sentence more, and repeatedthis sentence: "Mac put it in the `sab-cat. '" He saw the othersexchange glances. That's just what I heard, " said Peter--"just thosewords. I couldn't figure out what they meant?"

"Sab-cat?" said the Chief of Police, a burly figure with a brownmoustache and a quid of tobacco tucked in the corner of his mouth. "That means `sabotage, ' don't it?"

"Yes, " said the rat-faced man. 

"Do you know anything in the office that has to do with sabotage?"demanded Guffey of Peter. 

And Peter thought. "No, I don't, " he said. 

They talked among themselves for a minute or two. The Chief saidthey had got all McCormick's things out of his room, and might findsome clue to the mystery in these. Guffey went to the telephone, andgave a number with which Peter was familiar--that of I. W. W. Headquarters. "That you, Al?" he said. "We're trying to find ifthere's something in those rooms that has to do with sabotage. Haveyou found anything--any apparatus or pictures, or writing--anything?"Evidently the answer was in the negative, for Guffey said: "Goahead, look farther; if you get anything, call me at the chief'soffice quick. It may give us a lead. "

Then Guffey hung up the receiver and turned to Peter. "Now Gudge, "he said, "that's all your story, is it; that's all you got to tellus?"

"Yes, sir. "

"Well then, you might as well quit your fooling right away. Weunderstand that you framed this thing up, and we're not going to betaken in. "

Peter stared at Guffey, speechless; and Guffey, for his part, took acouple of steps toward Peter, his brows gathering into a terriblefrown, and his fists clenched. In a wave of sickening horror Peterremembered the scenes after the Preparedness Day explosion. Werethey going to put him thru that again?

"We'll have a show-down, Gudge, right here, " the head detectivecontinued. "You tell us all this stuff about Angell--his talk withJerry Rudd, and his pockets stuffed with bombs and all the rest ofit--and he denies every word of it. "

"But, m-m-my God! Mr. Guffey, " gasped Peter. "Of _course_ he'll denyit!" Peter could hardly believe his ears--that they were takingseriously the denial of a dynamiter, and quoting it to him!

"Yes, Gudge, " responded Guffey, "but you might as well know thetruth now as later--Angell is one of our men; we've had him plantedon these `wobblies' for the last year. "

The bottom fell out of Peter's world; Peter went tumbling heels overhead--down, down into infinite abysses of horror and despair. JoeAngell was a secret agent like himself! The Blue-eyed Angell, whotalked dynamite and assassination at a hundred radical gatherings, who shocked the boldest revolutionists by his recklesslanguage--Angell a spy, and Peter had proceeded to plant a"frame-up" on him!

Section 47

It was all up with Peter. He would go back into the hole! He wouldbe tortured for the balance of his days! In his ears rang theshrieks of ten thousand lost souls and the clang of ten thousandtrumpets of doom; and yet, in the midst of all the noise andconfusion, Peter managed somehow to hear the voice of Nell, whispering over and over again: "Stick it out, Peter; stick it out!"

He flung out his hands and started toward his accuser. "Mr. Guffey, as God is my witness, I don't know a thing about it but what I'vetold you. That's what happened, and if Joe Angell tells you anythingdifferent he's lying. "

"But why should he lie?"

"I don't know why; I don't know anything about it!"

Here was where Peter reaped the advantage of his lifelong trainingas an intriguer. In the midst of all his fright and his despair, Peter's subconscious mind was working, thinking of schemes. "MaybeAngell was framing something up on you! Maybe he was fixing someplan of his own, and I come along and spoiled it; I sprung it toosoon. But I tell you it's straight goods I've given you. " AndPeter's very anguish gave him the vehemence to check Guffey'scertainty. As he rushed on, Peter could read in the eyes of thedetective that he wasn't really as sure as he talked. 

"Did you see that suit-case?" he demanded. 

"No, I didn't see no suit-case!" answered Peter. "I don't even knowif there was a suit-case. I only know I heard Joe Angell say`suit-case, ' and I heard him say `dynamite. '"

"Did you see anybody writing anything in the place?"

"No, I didn't, " said Peter. "But I seen Henderson sitting at thetable working at some papers he had in his pocket, and I seen himtear something up and throw it into the trash-basket. " Peter saw theothers look at one another, and he knew that he was beginning tomake headway. 

A moment later came a diversion that helped to save him. Thetelephone rang, and the Chief of Police answered and nodded toGuffey, who came and took the receiver. "A book?" he cried, withexcitement in his tone. "What sort of a plan? Well, tell one of yourmen to take the car and bring that book and the plan here to thechief's office as quick as he can move; don't lose a moment, everything may depend on it. "

And then Guffey turned to the others. "He says they found a book onsabotage in the book-case, and in it there's some kind of a drawingof a house. The book has McCormick's name in it. "

There were many exclamations over this, and Peter had time to thinkbefore the company turned upon him again. The Chief of Police nowquestioned him, and then the deputy of the district attorneyquestioned him; still he stuck to his story. "My God!" he cried. "Would you think I'd be mad enough to frame up a job like this?Where'd I get all that stuff? Where'd I get that dynamite?"--Peteralmost bit off his tongue as he realized the dreadful slip he hadmade. No one had ever told him that the suit-case actually containeddynamite! How had he known there was dynamite in it? He wasdesperately trying to think of some way he could have heard; but, asit happened, no one of the five men caught him up. They all knewthat there was dynamite in the suit-case; they knew it withoverwhelming and tremendous certainty, and they overlooked entirelythe fact that Peter wasn't supposed to know it. So close to the edgeof ruin can a man come and yet escape!

Peter made haste to get away from that danger-spot. "Does Joe Angelldeny that he was whispering to Jerry Rudd?"

"He doesn't remember that, " said Guffey. "He may have talked withhim apart, but nothing special, there wasn't any conspiracy. "

"Does he deny that he talked about dynamite?"

"They may have talked about it in the general discussion, but hedidn't whisper anything. "

"But I heard him!" cried Peter, whose quick wits had thought up away of escape, "I know what I heard! It was just before they wereleaving, and somebody had turned out some of the lights. He wasstanding with his back to me, and I went over to the book-case rightbehind him. "

Here the deputy district attorney put in. He was a young man, atrifle easier to fool than the others. "Are you sure it was JoeAngell?" he demanded. 

"My God! Of course it was!" said Peter. "I couldn't have beenmistaken. " But he let his voice die away, and a note of bewildermentbe heard in it. 

"You say he was whispering?"

"Yes, he was whispering. "

"But mightn't it have been somebody else?"

"Why, I don't know what to say, " said Peter. "I thought for sure itwas Joe Angell; but I had my back turned, I'd been talking to Grady, the secretary, and then I turned around and moved over to thebook-case. "

"How many men were there in the room?"

"About twenty, I guess. "

"Were the lights turned off before you turned around, or after?"

"I don't remember that; it might have been after. " And suddenly poorbewildered Peter cried: "It makes me feel like a fool. Of course Iought to have talked to the fellow, and made sure it was Joe Angellbefore I turned away again; but I thought sure it was him. The ideait could be anybody else never crossed my mind. "

"But you're sure it was Jerry Rudd that was talking to him?"

"Yes, it was Jerry Rudd, because his face was toward me. "

"Was it Rudd or was it the other fellow that made the reply aboutthe `sab-cat'?" And then Peter was bewildered and tied himself up, and led them into a long process of cross-questioning; and in themiddle of it came the detective, bringing the book on sabotage withMcCormick's name written in the fly-leaf, and with the ground planof a house between the pages. 

They all crowded around to look at the plan, and the idea occurredto several of them at once: Could it be Nelse Ackerman's house? TheChief of Police turned to his phone, and called up the greatbanker's secretary. Would he please describe Mr. Ackerman's house;and the chief listened to the description. "There's a cross mark onthis plan--the north side of the house, a little to the west of thecenter. What could that be?" Then, "My God!" And then, "Will youcome down here to my office right away and bring the architect'splan of the house so we can compare them?" The Chief turned to theothers, and said, "That cross mark in the house is the sleepingporch on the second floor where Mr. Ackerman sleeps!"

So then they forgot for a while their doubts about Peter. It wasfascinating, this work of tracing out the details of the conspiracy, and fitting them together like a picture puzzle. It seemed quitecertain to all of them that this insignificant and scared little manwhom they had been examining could never have prepared so ingeniousand intricate a design. No, it must really be that some master mind, some devilish intriguer was at work to spread red ruin in AmericanCity!

Section 48

They dismissed Peter for the present, sending him back to his cell. He stayed there for two days with no one to advise him, and no hintas to his fate. They did not allow newspapers in the jail, but theyhad left Peter his money, and so on the second day he succeeded inbribing one of his keepers and obtaining a copy of the American City"Times, " with all the details of the amazing sensation spread out onthe front page. 

For thirty years the "Times" had been standing for law and orderagainst all the forces of red riot and revolution; for thirty yearsthe "Times" had been declaring that labor leaders and walkingdelegates and Socialists and Anarchists were all one and the samething, and all placed their reliance fundamentally upon oneinstrument, the dynamite bomb. Here at last the "Times" wasvindicated, this was the "Times" great day! They had made the mostof it, not merely on the front page, but on two other pages, withpictures of all the conspicuous conspirators, including Peter, andpictures of the I. W. W. Headquarters, and the suit-case, and thesticks of dynamite and the fuses and the clock; also of the "studio"in which the Reds had been trapped, and of Nikitin, the Russiananarchist who owned this den. Also there were columns of speculationabout the case, signed statements and interviews with leadingclergymen and bankers, the president of the Chamber of Commerce andthe secretary of the Real Estate Exchange. Also there was atwo-column, double-leaded editorial, pointing out how the "Times"had been saying this for thirty years, and not failing to connect upthe case with the Goober case, and the Lackman case, and the case ofthree pacifist clergymen who had been arrested several days beforefor attempting to read the Sermon on the Mount at a public meeting. 

And Peter knew that he, Peter Gudge, had done all this! The forcesof law and order owed it all to one obscure little secret serviceagent! Peter would get no credit, of course; the Chief of Police andthe district attorney were issuing solemn statements, taking thehonors to themselves, and with never one hint that they owedanything to the secret service department of the Traction Trust. That was necessary, of course; for the sake of appearances it had tobe pretended that the public authorities were doing the work, exercising their legal functions in due and regular form. It wouldnever do to have the mob suspect that these activities were beingfinanced and directed by the big business interests of the city. Butall the same, it made Peter sore! He and McGivney and the rest ofGuffey's men had a contempt for the public officials, whom theyregarded as "pikers"; the officials had very little money to spend, and very little power. If you really wanted to get anything done inAmerica, you didn't go to any public official, you went to the bigmen of affairs, the ones who had the "stuff, " and were used to doingthings quickly and efficiently. It was the same in this business ofspying as in everything else. 

Now and then Peter would realize how close he had come to ghastlyruin. He would have qualms of terror, picturing himself shut up inthe hole, and Guffey proceeding to torture the truth out of him. Buthe was able to calm these fears. He was sure this dynamiteconspiracy would prove too big a temptation for the authorities; itwould sweep them away in spite of themselves. They would have to gothru with it, they would have to stand by Peter. 

And sure enough, on the evening of the second day a jailer came andsaid: "You're to be let out. " And Peter was ushered thru the barreddoors and turned loose without another word. 

Section 49

Peter went to Room 427 of the American House and there was McGivneywaiting for him. McGivney said nothing about any suspicion of Peter, nor did Peter say anything--he understood that by-gones were to beby-gones. The authorities were going to take this gift which thefates had handed to them on a silver platter. For years they hadbeen wanting to get these Reds, and now magically and incredibly, they had got them!

"Now, Gudge, " said McGivney, "here's your story. You've beenarrested on suspicion, you've been cross-questioned and put thru thethird degree, but you succeeded in satisfying the police that youdidn't know anything about it, and they've released you. We'vereleased a couple of others at the same time, so's to cover you allright; and now you're to go back and find out all you can about theReds, and what they're doing, and what they're planning. They'reshouting, of course, that this is a `frame-up. ' You must find outwhat they know. You must be careful, of course--watch every step youtake, because they'll be suspicious for a while. We've been to yourroom and turned things upside down a bit, so that will help to makeit look all right. "

Peter sallied forth; but he did not go to see the Reds immediately. He spent an hour dodging about the city to make sure no one wasshadowing him; then he called up Nell at a telephone number she hadgiven him, and an hour later they met in the park, and she flew tohis arms and kissed him with rapturous delight. He had to tell hereverything, of course; and when she learned that Joe Angell was asecret agent, she first stared at him in horror, and then shelaughed until she almost cried. When Peter told how he had met thatsituation and got away with it, for the first time he was sure thathe had won her love. 

"Now, Peter, " she said, when they were calm again, we've got to getaction at once. The papers are full of it, and old Nelse Ackermanmust be scared out of his life. Here's a letter I'm going to mailtonight--you notice I've used a different typewriter from the one Iused last time. I went into a typewriter store, and paid them to letme use one for a few minutes, so they can never trace this letter tome. 

The letter was addressed to Nelson Ackerman at his home, and marked"Personal. " Peter read:

"This is a message from a friend. The Reds had an agent in yourhome. They drew a plan of your house. The police are hiding thingsfrom you, because they can't get the truth, and don't want you toknow they are incompetent. There is a man who discovered all thisplot, and you should see him. They won't let you see him if they canhelp it. You should demand to see him. But do not mention thisletter. If you do not get to the right man, I will write you again. If you keep this a secret, you may trust me to help you to the end. If you tell anybody, I will be unable to help you. "

"Now, " said Nell, "when he gets that letter he'll get busy, andyou've got to know what to do, because of course everything dependson that. " So Nell proceeded to drill Peter for his meeting with theKing of American City. Peter now stood in such awe of her judgmentthat he learned his lessons quite patiently, and promised solemnlythat he would do exactly what she said and nothing else. He reapedhis reward of kisses, and went home to sleep the sleep of the just. 

Next morning Peter set out to do some of his work for McGivney, sothat McGivney would have no ground for complaint. He went to seeMiriam Yankovich, and this time Miriam caught him by his two handsand wrung them, and Peter knew that he had atoned for his crimeagainst little Jennie. Peter was a martyr once more. He told how hehad been put thru the third degree; and she told how the water fromthe washtub had leaked thru the ceiling, and the plaster had fallen, and ruined the dinner of a poor workingman's family. 

Also, she told him all about the frame-up as the Reds saw it. Andrews, the lawyer, was demanding the right to see the prisoners, but this was refused, and they were all being held without bail. Onthe previous evening Miriam had attended a gathering at Andrews'home, at which the case was talked out. All the I. W. W. 's declaredthat the thing was the rankest kind of frame-up; the notes wereobviously fake, and the dynamite had undoubtedly been planted by thepolice. They had used it as a pretext to shut up the I. W. W. Headquarters, and to arrest a score of radicals. Worst of all, ofcourse, was the propaganda; the hideous stories with which they werefilling the papers. Had Peter seen this morning's "Times?" Aperfectly unmistakable incitement to mobs to gather and lynch theReds!

Section 50

From Miriam's, Peter went back to Room 427. It was Nell's idea thatNelse Ackerman would not lose a minute next morning; and sureenough, Peter found a note on the dressing-table: "Wait for me, Iwant to see you. "

Peter waited, and before long McGivney came in and sat down in frontof him, and began very solemnly: "Now Peter Gudge, you know I'm yourfriend. "

"Yes, of course. "

"I've stood by you, " said McGivney. "If it hadn't been for me, theboss would have had you in the hole right now, trying to sweat youinto confessing you planted that dynamite. I want you to know that, and I want you to know that I'm going to stand by you, and I expectyou to stand by me and give me a square deal. "

"Why, sure!" said Peter. "What is it?" Then McGivney proceeded toexplain: Old Nelse Ackerman had got the idea that the police wereholding back something from him. He was scared out of his wits aboutthis case, of course. He had himself shut up in a cupboard at night, and made his wife pull down the curtains of her limousine when shewent driving. And now he was insisting that he must have a talk withthe man who had discovered this plot against him. McGivney hated totake the risk of having Peter become acquainted with anybody, butNelse Ackerman was a man whose word was law. Really, he was Peter'semployer; he had put up a lot of the money for the secret servicework which Guffey was conducting, and neither Guffey or any of thecity authorities dared try to fool him. 

"Well, that's all right, " said Peter; "it won't hurt for me to seehim. "

"He's going to question you about this case, " said McGivney. "He'sgoing to try to find out everything he can. So you got to protectus; you got to make him understand that we've done everythingpossible. You got to put us right with him. "

Peter promised solemnly he would do so; but McGivney wasn'tsatisfied. He was in a state of trepidation, and proceeded to hammerand hammer at Peter, impressing upon him the importance ofsolidarity, of keeping faith with his fellows. It sounded exactlylike some of the I. W. W. 's talking among themselves!

"You may think, here's a chance to jump on us and climb out on top, but don't you forget it, Peter Gudge, we've got a machine, and inthe long run it's the machine that wins. We've broken many a fellowthat's tried to play tricks on us, and we'll break you. Old Nelsewill get what he wants out of you; he'll offer you a big price, nodoubt--but before long he'll be thru with you, and then you'll comeback to us, and I give you fair warning, by God, if you play usdirty, Guffey will have you in the hole in a month or two, andyou'll come out on a stretcher. "

So Peter pledged his faith again; but, seeing his chance, he added:"Don't you think Mr. Guffey ought to do something for me, because ofthat plot I discovered?"

"Yes, I think that, " said McGivney; "that's only fair. "

And so they proceeded to bargain. Peter pointed out all the dangershe had run, and all the credit which the others had got. Guffeyhadn't got credit in the papers, but he had got it with hisemployers, all right, and he would get still more if Peter stood byhim with the king of American City. Peter said it ought to be wortha thousand dollars, and he said he ought to have it right away, before he went to see the king. At which Guffey scowled ferociously. "Look here, Gudge! you got the nerve to charge us such a price forstanding by your frame-up?"

McGivney generally treated Peter as a coward and a feeble bluffer;but he had learned also that there was one time when the little mancompletely changed his nature, and that was when it was a questionof getting hold of some cash. That was the question now; and Petermet McGivney scowl for scowl. "If you don't like my frame-up, " hesnarled, "you go kick to the newspapers about it!"

Peter was the bulldog again, and had got his teeth in the otherbulldog's nose, and he hung right there. He had seen the rat-facedman pull money out of his clothes before this, and he knew that thistime, above all other times, McGivney would come prepared. So heinsisted--a thousand or nothing; and as before, his heart went downinto his boots when McGivney produced his wad, and revealed thatthere was more in the wad than Peter had demanded!

However, Peter consoled himself with the reflection that a thousanddollars was a tidy sum of money, and he set out for the home ofNelse Ackerman in a jovial frame of mind. Incidentally he decidedthat it might be the part of wisdom not to say anything to Nellabout this extra thousand. When women found out that you had money, they'd never rest till they had got every cent of it, or at leasthad made you spend it on them!

Section 51

Nelse Ackerman's home was far out in the suburbs of the city, upon aknoll surrounded by forest. It was a couple of miles from thenearest trolley line, which forced Peter to take a hot walk in thesun. Apparently the great banker, in selecting the site of hisresidence, had never once thought that anybody might want to get toit without an automobile. Peter reflected as he walked that if hecontinued to move in these higher circles, he too would have to jointhe motor-driving class. 

About the estate there ran a great bronze fence, ten feet high, withsharp, inhospitable spikes pointing outwards. Peter had read aboutthis fence a long time ago in the American City "Times"; it was soand so many thousand yards long, and had so and so many spikes, andhad cost so and so many tens of thousands of dollars. There were bigbronze gates locked tight, and a sign that said: "Beware the dogs!"Inside the gates were three guards carrying rifles and walking upand down; they were a consequence of the recent dynamite conspiracy, but Peter did not realize this, he took them for a regularinstitution, and a symbol of the importance of the man he was tovisit. 

He pressed a button by the side of the gate, and a lodgekeeper cameout, and Peter, according to orders, gave the name "Arthur G. McGillicuddy. " The lodge-keeper went inside and telephoned, and thencame back and opened the gate, just enough to admit Peter. "You'reto be searched, " said the lodge-keeper; and Peter, who had beenarrested many times, took no offense at this procedure, but found itone more evidence of the importance of Nelse Ackerman. The guardswent thru his pockets, and felt him all over, and then one of themmarched him up the long gravel avenue thru the forest, climbed aflight of marble steps to the palace on the knoll, and turned himover to a Chinese butler who walked on padded slippers. 

If Peter had not known that this was a private home he would havethought it was an art gallery. There were great marble columns, andpaintings bigger than Peter, and tapestries with life-size horses;there were men in armor, and battle axes and Japanese dancingdevils, and many other strange sights. Ordinarily Peter would havebeen interested in learning how a great millionaire decorated hishouse, and would have drunk deep of the joy of being amid suchluxury. But now all his thoughts were taken up with his dangerousbusiness. Nell had told him what to look for, and he looked. Mounting the velvet-carpeted staircase, he noted a curtain behindwhich a man might hide, and a painting of a Spanish cavalier on thewall just opposite. He would make use of these two sights. 

They went down a hall, like a corridor in the Hotel de Soto, and atthe end of it the butler tapped softly upon a door, and Peter wasushered into a big apartment in semi-darkness. The butler retiredwithout a sound, closing the door behind him and Peter stoodhesitating, looking about to get his bearings. From the other sideof the room he heard three faint coughs, suggesting a sick man. There was a four-poster bed of some dark wood, with a canopy over itand draperies at the side, and a man in the bed, sitting propped upwith pillows. There were more coughs, and then a faint whisper, "This way. " So Peter crossed over and stood about ten feet from thebed, holding his hat in his hands; he was not able to see very muchof the occupant of the bed, nor was he sure it would be respectfulfor him to try to see. 

"So you're--(cough) what's your name?"

"Gudge, " said Peter. 

"You are the man--(cough) that knows about the Reds?"

"Yes, sir. "

The occupant of the bed coughed every two or three minutes thru theconversation that followed, and each time Peter noticed that he puthis hand up to his mouth as if he were ashamed of the noise. Gradually Peter got used to the twilight, and could see that NelseAckerman was an old man with puffy, droopy cheeks and chin, and darkpuffy crescents under his eyes. He was quite bald, and had on hishead a skull cap of embroidered black silk, and a short, embroideredjacket over his night shirt. Beside the bed stood a table coveredwith glasses and bottles and pill-boxes, and also a telephone. Everyfew minutes this telephone would ring, and Peter would waitpatiently while Mr. Ackerman settled some complex problem ofbusiness. "I've told them my terms, " he would say with irritation, and then be would cough; and Peter, who was sharply watching everydetail of the conduct of the rich, noted that he was too polite evento cough into the telephone. "If they will pay a hundred andtwenty-five thousand dollars on account, I will wait, but not a centless, " Nelse Ackerman would say. And Peter, awe-stricken, realizedthat he had now reached the very top of Mount Olympus, he was at thehighest point he could hope to reach until he went to heaven. 

The old man fixed his dark eyes on his visitor. "Who wrote me thatletter?" whispered the husky voice. 

Peter had been expecting this. "What letter, sir?"

"A letter telling me to see you. "

"I don't know anything about it, sir. "

"You mean--(cough) you didn't write me an anonynious letter?"

"No, sir, I didn't. "

"Then some friend of yours must have written it. "

"I dunno that. It might have been some enemy of the police. "

"Well, now, what's this about the Reds having an agent in my home?"

"Did the letter say that?"

"It did. "

"Well, sir, that's putting it too strong. I ain't sure, it's just anidea I've had. It'll need a lot of explaining. "

"You're the man who discovered this plot, I understand?"

"Yes, sir. "

"Well, take a chair, there, " said the banker. There was a chair nearthe bedside, but it seemed to Peter too close to be respectful, sohe pulled it a little farther away, and sat down on the front sixinches of it, still holding his hat in his hands and twisting itnervously. "Put down that hat, " said the old man, irritably. SoPeter stuck the hat under his chair, and said: "I beg pardon, sir. "

Section 52

The old plutocrat was feeble and sick, but his mind was all there, and his eyes seemed to be boring Peter through. Peter realized thathe would have to be very careful--the least little slip would befatal here. 

"Now, Gudge, " the old man began, "I want you to tell me all aboutit. To begin with, how did you come to be among these Reds? Begin atthe beginning. "

So Peter told how he had happened to get interested in the radicalmovement, laying particular stress upon the dangerousness of theseReds, and his own loyalty to the class which stood for order andprogress and culture in the country. "It ought to be stopped, Mr. Ackerman!" he exclaimed, with a fine show of feeling; and the oldbanker nodded. Yes, yes, it ought to be stopped!

"Well, " said Peter, "I said to myself, `I'm going to find out aboutthem fellows. ' I went to their meetings, and little by little Ipretended to get converted, and I tell you, Mr. Ackerman, our policeare asleep; they don't know what these agitators are doing, whatthey're preaching. They don't know what a hold they've got on themobs of the discontented!"

Peter went on to tell in detail about the propaganda of socialrevolution, and about conspiracies against law and order, and theproperty and even the lives of the rich. Peter noticed that when theold man took a sip of water his hand trembled so that he couldhardly keep the water from spilling; and presently, when the phonerang again, his voice became shrill and imperious. "I understandthey're applying for bail for those men. Now Angus, that's anoutrage! We'll not hear to anything like that! I want you to see thejudge at once, and make absolutely certain that those men are heldin jail. "

Then again the old banker had a coughing fit. "Now, Gudge, " he said, "I know more or less about all that. What I want to know is aboutthis conspiracy against me. Tell me how you came to find out aboutit. "

And Peter told; but of course he embellished it, in so far as itrelated to Mr. Ackerman--these fellows were talking about Mr. Ackerman all the time, they had a special grudge against him. 

"But why?" cried the old man. "Why?"

"They think you're fighting them, Mr. Ackerman. "

"But I'm not! That's not true!"

"Well, they say you put up money to hang Goober. They callyou--you'll excuse me?"

"Yes, yes, of course. "

"They call you the `head money devil. ' They call you the financialking of American City. "

"King!" cried the banker. "What rubbish! Why, Gudge, that's foolnewspaper talk! I'm a poor man today. There are two dozen men inthis city richer than I am, and who have more power. Why--" But theold man fell to coughing and became so exhausted that he sank backinto his pillows until he recovered his breath. Peter waitedrespectfully; but of course he wasn't fooled. Peter had carried onbargaining many times in his life, and had heard people proclaimtheir poverty and impotence. 

"Now, Gudge, " the old man resumed. "I don't want to be killed; Itell you I don't want to be killed. "

"No, of course not, " said Peter. It was perfectly comprehensible tohim that Mr. Ackerman didn't want to be killed. But Mr. Ackermanseemed to think it necessary to impress the idea upon him; in thecourse of the conversation he came back to it a number of times, andeach time he said it with the same solemn assurance, as if it were abrand new idea, and a very unusual and startling idea. "I don't wantto be killed, Gudge; I tell you I don't want to let those fellowsget me. No, no; we've got to circumvent them, we've got to takeprecautions--every precaution--I tell you every possibleprecaution. "

"I'm here for that purpose, Mr. Ackerman, " said Peter, solemnly. "I'll do everything. We'll do everything, I'm sure. "

"What's this about the police?" demanded the banker. "What's thisabout Guffey's bureau? You say they're not competent?"

"Well now, I'll tell you, Mr. Ackerman, " said Peter, "It's a littleembarrassing. You see, they employ me--"

"Nonsense!" exclaimed the other. "_I_ employ you! I'm putting up themoney for this work, and I want the facts!--I want them all. "

"Well, " said Peter, "they've been very decent to me--"

"I say tell me everything!" exclaimed the old man. He was a mostirritable old man, and couldn't stand for a minute not having whathe asked for. "What's the matter with them?"

Peter answered, as humbly as he could: "I could tell you a greatdeal that'd be of use to you, Mr. Ackerman, but you got to keep itbetween you and me. "

"All right!" said the other, quickly. "What is it?"

"If you give a hint of it to anybody else, " persisted Peter, "thenI'll get fired. "

"You'll not get fired, I'll see to that. If necessary I'll hire youdirect. "

"Ah, but you don't understand, Mr. Ackerman. It's a machine, and youcan't run against it; you gotta understand it, you gotta handle itright. I'd like to help you, and I know I can help you, but yougotta let me explain it, and you gotta understand some things. "

"All right, " said the old man. "Go ahead, what is it?"

"Now, " said Peter, "it's like this. These police and all thesefellows mean well, but they don't understand; it's too complicated, they ain't been in this movement long enough. They're used todealing with criminals; but these Reds, you see, are cranks. Criminals ain't organized, at least they don't stand together; butthese Reds do, and if you fight 'em, they fight back, and they makewhat they call `propaganda. ' And that propaganda is dangerous--ifyou make a wrong move, you may find you've made 'em stronger thanthey were before. "

"Yes, I see that, " said the old man. "Well?"

"Then again, the police dunno how dangerous they are. You try totell them things, they won't really believe you. I've known for along time there was a group of these people getting together to killoff all the rich men, the big men all over the country. They've beenspying on these rich men, getting ready to kill them. They know alot about them that you can't explain their knowing. That's how Igot the idea they had somebody in your house, Mr. Ackerman. "

"Tell me what you mean. Tell me at once. "

"Well, sir, every once in a while I pick up scraps of conversation. One day I heard Mac--"

"Mac?"

"That's McCormick, the one who's in jail. He's an I. W. W. Leader, and I think the most dangerous of all. I heard him whispering toanother fellow, and it scared me, because it had to do with killinga rich man. He'd been watching this rich man, and said he was goingto shoot him down right in his own house! I didn't hear the name ofthe man--I walked away, because I didn't want him to think I wastrying to listen in. They're awful suspicious, these fellows; if youwatch Mac you see him looking around over his shoulder every minuteor two. So I strolled off, and then I strolled back again, and hewas laughing about something, and I heard him say these words; Iheard him say, `I was hiding behind the curtain, and there was aSpanish fellow painted on the wall, and every time I peeked out thatbugger was looking at me, and I wondered if he wasn't going to giveme away. '"

And Peter stopped. His eyes had got used to the twilight now, and hecould see the old banker's eyes starting out from the crescents ofdark, puffy flesh underneath. "My God!" whispered Nelse Ackerman. 

"Now, that was all I heard, " said Peter. "And I didn't know what itmeant. But when I learned about that drawing that Mac had made ofyour house, I thought to myself, Jesus, I bet that was Mr. Ackermanhe was waiting to shoot!"

"Good God! Good God!" whispered the old man; and his tremblingfingers pulled at the embroidery on the coverlet. The telephonerang, and he took up the receiver, and told somebody he was too busynow to talk; they would have to call him later. He had anothercoughing spell, so that Peter thought he was going to choke, and hadto help him get some medicine down his throat. Peter was a littlebit shocked to see such obvious and abject fear in one of the gods. After all, they were just men, these Olympians, as much subject topain and death as Peter Gudge himself!

Also Peter was surprised to find how "easy" Mr. Ackerman was. Hemade no lofty pretence of being indifferent to the Reds. He puthimself at Peter's mercy, to be milked at Peter's convenience. AndPeter would make the most of this opportunity. 

"Now, Mr. Ackerman, " he began, "You can see it wouldn't be any useto tell things like that to the police. They dunno how to handlesuch a situation; the honest truth is, they don't take these Redsserious. They'll spend ten times as much money to catch a plainburglar as they will to watch a whole gang like this. "

"How can they have got into my home?" cried the old man. 

"They get in by ways you'd never dream of, Mr. Ackerman. They havepeople who agree with them. Why, you got no idea, there's somepreachers that are Reds, and some college teachers, and some richmen like yourself. "

"I know, I know, " said Ackerman. "But surely--"

"How can you tell? You may have a traitor right in your own family. "

So Peter went on, spreading the Red Terror in the soul of this oldmillionaire who did not want to be killed. He said again that he didnot want to be killed, and explained his reluctance in some detail. So many people were dependent upon him for their livings, Petercould have no conception of it! There were probably a hundredthousand men with their families right here in American City, whosejobs depended upon plans which Ackerman was carrying, and whichnobody but Ackerman could possibly carry. Widows and orphans lookedto him for protection of their funds; a vast net-work ofresponsibilities required his daily, even his hourly decisions. Andsure enough, the telephone rang, and Peter heard Nelse Ackermandeclare that the Amalgamated Securities Company would have to putoff a decision about its dividends until tomorrow, because he wastoo busy to sign certain papers just then. He hung up the receiverand said: "You see, you see! I tell you, Gudge, we must not let themget me!"

Section 53

They came down to the question of practical plans, and Peter wasready with suggestions. In the first place, Mr. Ackerman must giveno hint either to the police authorities or to Guffey that he wasdissatisfied with their efforts. He must simply provide for aninterview with Peter now and then, and he and Peter, quiteprivately, must take certain steps to get Mr. Ackerman thatprotection which his importance to the community made necessary. Thefirst thing was to find out whether or not there was a traitor inMr. Ackerman's home, and for that purpose there must be a spy, afirst-class detective working in some capacity or other. The onlytrouble was, there were so few detectives you could trust; they werenearly all scoundrels, and if they weren't scoundrels, it wasbecause they didn't have sense enough to be--they were boobs, andany Red could see thru them in five minutes. 

"But I tell you, " said Peter, "what I've thought. I've got a wifethat's a wonder, and just now while we were talking about it, Ithought, if I could only get Edythe in here for a few days, I'd findout everything about all the people in your home, your relatives aswell as your servants. "

"Is she a professional detective?" asked the banker. 

"Why no, sir, " said Peter. "She was an actress, her name was EdytheEustace; perhaps you might have heard of her on the stage. "

"No, I'm too busy for the theatre, " said Mr. Ackerman. 

"Of course, " said Peter. "Well, I dunno whether she'd be willing todo it; she don't like having me mix up with these Reds, and she'sbeen begging me to quit for a long time, and I'd just about promisedher I would. But if I tell her about your trouble maybe she might, just as a favor. "

But how could Peter's wife be introduced into the Ackerman householdwithout attracting suspicion? Peter raised this question, pointingout that his wife was a person of too high a social class to come asa servant. Mr. Ackerman added that he had nothing to do withengaging his servants, any more than with engaging the bookkeepersin his bank. It would look suspicious for him to make a suggestionto his housekeeper. But finally he remarked that he had a niece whosometimes came to visit him, and would come at once if requested, and would bring Edythe Eustace as her maid. Peter was sure thatEdythe would be able to learn this part quickly, she had acted itmany times on the stage, in fact, it had been her favorite role. Mr. Ackerman promised to get word to his niece, and have her meet Edytheat the Hotel de Soto that same afternoon. 

Then the old banker pledged his word most solemnly that he would notwhisper a hint about this matter except to his niece. Peter was mosturgent and emphatic; he specified that the police were not to betold, that no member of the household was to be told, not even Mr. Ackerman's private secretary. After Mr. Ackerman had had this dulyimpressed upon him, he proceeded in turn to impress upon Peter theidea which he considered of most importance in the world: "I don'twant to be killed, Gudge, I tell you I don't want to be killed!" AndPeter solemnly promised to make it his business to listen to allconversations of the Reds in so far as they might bear upon Mr. Ackerman. 

When he rose to take his departure, Mr. Ackerman slipped histrembling fingers into the pocket of his jacket, and pulled out acrisp and shiny note. He unfolded it, and Peter saw that it was afive hundred dollar bill, fresh from the First National Bank ofAmerican City, of which Mr. Ackerman was chairman of the board ofdirectors. "Here's a little present for you, Gudge, " he said. "Iwant you to understand that if you protect me from these villains, I'll see that you are well taken care of. From now on I want you tobe my man. "

"Yes, sir, " said Peter, "I'll be it, sir. I thank you very much, sir. " And he thrust the bill into his pocket, and bowed himself stepby step backwards toward the door. "You're forgetting your hat, "said the banker. 

"Why, yes, " said the trembling Peter, and he came forward again, andgot his hat from under the chair, and bowed himself backward again. 

"And remember, Gudge, " said the old man, "I don't want to be killed!I don't want them to get me!"

Section 54

Peter's first care when he got back into the city was to go to Mr. Ackerman's bank and change that five hundred dollar bill. Thecashier gazed at him sternly, and scrutinized the bill carefully, but he gave Peter five one hundred dollar bills without comment. Peter tucked three of them away in a safe hiding-place, and put theother two in his pocketbook, and went to keep his appointment withNell. 

He told her all that had happened, and where she was to meet Mr. Ackerman's niece. "What did he give you?" Nell demanded, at once, and when Peter produced the two bills, she exclaimed, "My God! theold skint-flint!" "He said there'd be more, " remarked Peter. 

"It didn't cost him anything to say that, " was Nell's answer. "We'llhave to put the screws on him. " Then she added, "You'd better let metake care of this money for you, Peter. "

"Well, " said Peter, "I have to have some for my own expenses, youknow. "

"You've got your salary, haven't you?"

"Yes, that's true, but--"

"I can keep it safe for you, " said Nell, "and some day when you needit you'll be glad to have it. You've never saved anything yourself;that's a woman's job. "

Peter tried to haggle with her, but it wasn't the same as hagglingwith McGivney; she looked at him with her melting glances, and itmade Peter's head swim, and automatically he put out his hand andlet her take the two bills. Then she smiled, so tenderly that hemade bold to remind her, "You know, Nell, you're my wife now!"

"Yes, yes, " she answered, "of course. But we've got to get rid ofTed Crothers somehow. He watches me all the time, and I have no endof trouble making excuses and getting away. "

"How're you're going to get rid of him?" asked Peter, hungrily. 

"We'll have to skip, " she answered; "just as soon as we have pulledoff our new frame-up--"

"Another one?" gasped Peter, in dismay. 

And the girl laughed. "You wait!" she said. "I'm going to pull somereal money out of Nelse Ackerman this time! Then when we've made ourkilling, we'll skip, and be fixed for life. You wait--and don't talklove to me now, because my mind is all taken up with my plans, and Ican't think about anything else. "

So they parted, and Peter went to see McGivney in the AmericanHouse. "Stand up to him!" Nell had said. But it was not easy to do, for McGivney pulled and hauled him and turned him about, upside downand inside outwards, to know every single thing that had happenedbetween him and Nelse Ackerman. Lord, how these fellows did hang onto their sources of graft! Peter repeated and insisted that hereally had played entirely fair--he hadn't told Nelse Ackerman athing except just the truth as he had told it to Guffey andMcGivney. He had said that the police were all right, and thatGuffey's bureau was stepping right on the tail of the Reds all thetime. 

"And what does he want you to do?" demanded the rat-faced man. 

Peter answered, "He just wanted to make sure that he was learningeverything of importance, and he wanted me to promise him that hewould get every scrap of information that I collected about the plotagainst him; and of course I promised him that we'd bring it all tohim. "

"You going to see him any more?" demanded McGivney. 

"He didn't say anything about that. "

"Did he get your address?"

"No, I suppose if he wants me he'll let you know, the same asbefore. "

"All right, " said McGivney. "Did he give you any money?"

"Yes, " said Peter, "he gave me two hundred dollars, and he saidthere was plenty more where that came from, so that we'd work hardto help him. He said he didn't want to get killed; he said that acouple of dozen times, I guess. He spent more time saying that thananything else. He's sick, and he's scared out of his wits. "

So at last McGivney condescended to thank Peter for hisfaithfulness, and went on to give him further orders. 

The Reds were raising an awful howl. Andrews, the lawyer, hadsucceeded in getting a court order to see the arrested men, and ofcourse the prisoners had all declared that the case was a put-upjob. Now the Reds were preparing to send out a circular to theirfellow Reds all over the country, appealing for publicity, and forfunds to fight the "frame-up. "

They were very secret about it, and McGivney wanted to know wherethey were getting their money. He wanted a copy of the circular theywere printing, and to know where and when the circulars were to bemailed. Guffey had been to see the post office authorities, and theywere going to confiscate the circulars and destroy them all withoutletting the Reds know it. 

Peter rubbed his hands with glee. That was the real business! Thatwas going after these criminals in the way Peter had been urging!The rat-faced man answered that it was nothing to what they weregoing to do in a few days. Let Peter keep on his job, and he wouldsee! Now, when the public was wrought up over this dynamiteconspiracy, was the time to get things done. 

Section 55

Peter took a street car to the home of Miriam Yankovitch, and on theway he read the afternoon edition of the American City "Times. " Theeditors of this paper were certainly after the Reds, and no mistake!They had taken McCormick's book on Sabotage, just as Nell hadpredicted, and printed whole chapters from it, with the mostmenacing sentences in big type, and some boxed up in little framesand scattered here and there over the page so that no one couldpossibly miss them. They had a picture of McCormick taken in thejail; he hadn't had a chance to shave for several days, and probablyhadn't felt pleasant about having his picture taken--anyhow, helooked ferocious enough to frighten the most skeptical, and Peterwas confirmed in his opinion that Mac was the most dangerous Red ofthem all. 

Columns and columns of material this paper published about the case, subtly linking it up with all the other dynamitings andassassinations in American history, and with German spy plots andbomb plots. There was a nation-wide organization of these assassins, so the paper said; they published hundreds of papers, with millionsof readers, all financed by German gold. Also, there was adouble-leaded editorial calling on the citizens to arise and savethe republic, and put an end to the Red menace once for all. Peterread this, and like every other good American, he believed everyword that he read in his newspaper, and boiled with hatred of theReds. 

He found Miriam Yankovitch away from home. Her mother was in a stateof excitement, because Miriam had got word that the police weregiving the prisoners the "third degree, " and she had gone to theoffices of the Peoples' Council to get the radicals together and tryto take some immediate action. So Peter hurried over to theseoffices, where he found some twenty-five Reds and Pacifistsassembled, all in the same state of excitement. Miriam was walkingup and down the room, clasping and unclasping her hands, and hereyes looked as if she had been crying all day. Peter remembered hissuspicion that Miriam and Mac were lovers. He questioned her. Theyhad put Mac in the "hole, " and Henderson, the lumber-jack, was laidup in the hospital as a result of the ordeal he had undergone. 

The Jewish girl went into details, and Peter found himselfshuddering--he had such a vivid memory of the third degree himself!He did not try to stop his shuddering, but took to pacing up anddown the room like Miriam, and told them how it felt to have yourwrists twisted and your fingers bent backward, and how damp andhorrible it was in the "hole. " So he helped to work them into astate of hysteria, hoping that they would commit some overt action, as McGivney wanted. Why not storm the jail and set free theprisoners?

Little Ada Ruth said that was nonsense; but might they not getbanners, and parade up and down in front of the jail, protestingagainst this torturing of men who had not been convicted of anycrime? The police would fall on them, of course, the crowds wouldmob them and probably tear them to pieces, but they must dosomething. Donald Gordon answered that this would only make themimpotent to keep up the agitation. What they must try to get was astrike of labor. They must send telegrams to the radical press, andgo out and raise money, and call a mass-meeting three days fromdate. Also, they must appeal to all the labor unions, and see if itwas possible to work up sentiment for a general strike. 

Peter, somewhat disappointed, went back and reported to McGivneythis rather tame outcome. But McGivney said that was all right, hehad something that would fix them; and he revealed to Peter astartling bit of news. Peter had been reading in the papers aboutGerman spies, but he had only half taken it seriously; the war was along way off, and Peter had never seen any of that German gold thatthey talked so much about--in fact, the Reds were in a state ofperpetual poverty, one and all of them stinting himself eternally toput up some portion of his scant earnings to pay for pamphlets andcirculars and postage and defence funds, and all the expenses of anactive propaganda organization. But now, McGivney declared, therewas a real, sure-enough agent of the Kaiser in American City! Thegovernment had pretty nearly got him in his nets, and one of thethings McGivney wanted to do before the fellow was arrested was toget him to contribute some money to the radical cause. 

It wasn't necessary to point out to Peter the importance of this. Ifthe authorities could show that the agitation on behalf of McCormickand the rest had been financed by German money, the public wouldjustify any measures taken to bring it to an end. Could Petersuggest to McGivney the name of a German Socialist who might bepersuaded to approach this agent of the Kaiser, and get him tocontribute money for the purpose of having a general strike calledin American City? Several of the city's big manufacturing plantswere being made over for war purposes, and obviously the enemy hadmuch to gain by strikes and labor discontent. Guffey's men had beentrying for a long time to get Germans to contribute to the GooberDefense fund, but here was an even better opportunity. 

Peter thought of Comrade Apfel, who was one of the extremeSocialists, and a temporary Pacifist like most Germans. Apfel workedin a bakery, and his face was as pasty as the dough he kneaded, butit would show a tinge of color when be rose in the local to denouncethe "social patriots, " those party members who were lending theiraid to British plans for world domination. McGivney said he wouldsend somebody to Apfel at once, and give him the name of theKaiser's agent as one who might be induced to contribute to theradical defense fund. Apfel would, of course, have no idea that theman was a German agent; he would go to see him, and ask him formoney, and McGivney and his fellow-sleuths would do the rest. Petersaid that was fine, and offered to go to Apfel himself; but therat-faced man answered no, Peter was too precious, and no chancemust be taken of directing Apfel's suspicions against him. 

Section 56

Peter had received a brief scrawl from Nell, telling him that it wasall right, she had gone to her new job, and would soon have results. So Peter went cheerfully about his own duties of trying to hold downthe protest campaign of the radicals. It was really quiteterrifying, the success they were having, in spite of all the bestefforts of the authorities. Bundles of circulars appeared at theirgatherings as if by magic, and were carried away and distributedbefore the authorities could make any move. Every night at the LaborTemple, where the workers gathered, there were agitators howlingtheir heads off about the McCormick case. To make matters worse, there was an obscure one cent evening paper in American City whichcatered to working-class readers, and persisted in publishingevidence tending to prove that the case was a "frame-up. " The Redshad found out that their mail was being interfered with, and wereraising a terrific howl about that--pretending, of course, that itwas "free speech" they cared about!

The mass meeting was due for that evening, and Peter read anindignant editorial in the American City "Times, " calling upon theauthorities to suppress it. "Down with the Red Flag!" the editorialwas headed; and Peter couldn't see how any red-blooded, 100%American could read it, and not be moved to do something. 

Peter said that to McGivney, who answered: "We're going to dosomething; you wait!" And sure enough, that afternoon the paperscarried the news that the mayor of American City had notified theowners of the Auditorium that they would be held strictlyresponsible under the law for all incendiary and seditiousutterances at this meeting; thereupon, the owners of the Auditoriumhad cancelled the contract. Furthermore, the mayor declared that nocrowds should be gathered on the street, and that the police wouldbe there to see to it, and to protect law and order. Peter hurriedto the rooms of the Peoples' Council, and found the radicalsscurrying about, trying to find some other hall; every now and thenPeter would go to the telephone, and let McGivney know what hallthey were trying to get, and McGivney would communicate with Guffey, and Guffey would communicate with the secretary of the Chamber ofCommerce, and the owner of this hall would be called up and warnedby the president of the bank which held a mortgage on the hall, orby the chairman of the board of directors of the PhilharmonicOrchestra which gave concerts there. 

So there was no Red mass meeting that night--and none for many anight thereafter in American City! Guffey's office had got itsGerman spy story ready, and next morning, here was the entire frontpage of the American City "Times" given up to the amazing revelationthat Karl von Stroeme, agent of the German government, and reputedto be a nephew of the German Vice-chancellor, had been arrested inAmerican City, posing as a Swedish sewing-machine agent, but inreality having been occupied in financing the planting of dynamitebombs in the buildings of the Pioneer Foundry Company, now beingequipped for the manufacture of machine-guns. Three of von Stroeme'sconfederates had been nabbed at the same time, and a mass of papersfull of important revelations--not the least important among thembeing the fact that only yesterday von Stroeme had been caughtdealing with a German Socialist of the ultra-Red variety, anofficial of the Bread and Cake-Makers' Union Number 479, by the nameof Ernst Apfel. The government had a dictagraph record ofconversations in which von Stroeme had contributed one hundreddollars to the Liberty Defense League, an organization which theReds had got up for the purpose of carrying on agitation for therelease of the I. W. W. S arrested in the dynamite plot against thelife of Nelse Ackerman. Moreover it was proven that Apfel had takenthis money and distributed it among several German Reds, who hadturned it in to the defense fund, or used it in paying for circularscalling for a general strike. 

Peter's heart was leaping with excitement; and it leaped even fasterwhen he had got his breakfast and was walking down Main Street. Hesaw crowds gathered, and American flags flying from all thebuildings, just as on the day of the Preparedness parade. It causedPeter to feet queer spasms of fright; he imagined another bomb, buthe couldn't resist the crowds with their eager faces and contagiousenthusiasm. Presently here came a band, with magnificent martialmusic, and here came soldiers marching--tramp, tramp, tramp--lineafter line of khaki-clad boys with heavy packs upon their backs andshiny new rifles. Our boys! Our boys! God bless them!

It was three regiments of the 223rd Division, coming from CampLincoln to be entrained for the war. They might better have beenentrained at the camp, of course, but everyone had been clamoringfor some glimpse of the soldiers, and here they were with theirmusic and their flags, and their crowds of flushed, excitedadmirers--two endless lines of people, wild with patriotic fervor, shouting, singing, waving hats and handkerchiefs, until the wholestreet became a blur, a mad delirium. Peter saw these closelypressed lines, straight and true, and the legs that moved likeclock-work, and the feet that shook the ground like thunder. He sawthe fresh, boyish faces, grimly set and proud, with eyes fixedahead, never turning, even tho they realized that this might betheir last glimpse of their home city, that they might never comeback from this journey. Our boys! Our boys! God bless them! Peterfelt a choking in his throat, and a thrill of gratitude to the boyswho were protecting him and his country; he clenched his hands andset his teeth, with fresh determination to punish the evil men andwomen--draft-dodgers, slackers, pacifists and seditionists--who werefailing to take their part in this glorious emprise. 

Section 57

Peter went to the American House and met McGivney, and was put towork on a job that precisely suited his mood. The time had come foraction, said the rat-faced man. The executive committee of the I. W. W. Local had been drafting an appeal to the main organization forhelp, and the executive committee was to meet that evening; Peterwas to get in touch with the secretary, Grady, and find out wherethis meeting was to be, and make the suggestion that all themembership be gathered, and other Reds also. The business men of thecity were going to pull off their big stroke that night, saidMcGivney; the younger members of the Chamber of Commerce and theMerchants' and Manufacturers' Association had got together andworked out a secret plan, and all they wanted was to have the Redscollected in one place. 

So Peter set out and found Shawn Grady, the young Irish boy who keptthe membership lists and other papers of the organization, in aplace so secret that not even Peter had been able to find them. Peter brought the latest news about the sufferings of Mac in the"hole, " and how Gus, the sailor, had joined Henderson in thehospital. He was so eloquent in his indignation that presently Gradytold him about the meeting for that evening, and about the place, and Peter said they really ought to get some of their friendstogether, and work out some way to get their protest literaturedistributed quickly, because it was evident they could no longer usethe mails. What was the use of resolutions of executive committees, when what was wanted was action by the entire membership? Grady saidall right, they would notify the active members and sympathizers, and he gave Peter the job of telephoning and travelling about towngetting word to a dozen people. 

At six o'clock that evening Peter reported the results to McGivney, and then he got a shock. "You must go to that meeting yourself, "said the rat-faced man. "You mustn't take any chance of theirsuspecting you. "

"But, my God!" cried Peter. "What's going to happen there?"

"You don't need to worry about that, " answered the other. "I'll seethat you're protected. "

The gathering was to take place at the home of Ada Ruth, thepoetess, and McGivney had Peter describe this home to him. Beyondthe living-room was a hallway, and in this hallway was a big clothescloset. At the first alarm Peter must make for this place. He mustget into the closet, and McGivney would be on hand, and they wouldpen Peter up and pretend to club him, but in reality would protecthim from whatever happened to the rest. Peter's knees began totremble, and he denounced the idea indignantly; what would happen tohim if anything were to happen to McGivney, or to his automobile, and were to fail to get there in time? McGivney declared that Peterneed not worry--he was too valuable a man for them to take anychances with. McGivney would be there, and all Peter would have todo was to scream and raise a rumpus, and finally fall unconscious, and McGivney and Hammett and Cummings would carry him out to theirautomobile and take him away!

Peter was so frightened that he couldn't eat any dinner, butwandered about the street talking to himself and screwing up hiscourage. He had to stop and look at the American flags, still wavingfrom the buildings, and read the evening edition of the AmericanCity "Times, " in order to work up his patriotic fervor again. As heset out for the home of the little cripple who wrote pacifistpoetry, he really felt like the soldier boys marching away to war. 

Ada Ruth was there, and her mother, a dried-up old lady who knewnothing about all these dreadful world movements, but whosepleadings had no effect upon her inspired daughter; also Ada'scousin, a lean old-maid school teacher, secretary of the Peoples'Council; also Miriam Yankovitch, and Sadie Todd, and Donald Gordon. On the way Peter had met Tom Duggan, and the mournful poet revealedthat he had composed a new poem about Mac in the "hole. " Immediatelyafterwards came Grady, the secretary, his pockets stuffed with hispapers. Grady, a tall, dark-eyed, impulsive-tempered Irish boy, waswhat the Socialists called a "Jimmie Higgins, " that is, one of thefellows who did the hard and dreary work of the movement, who werealways on hand no matter what happened, always ready to have somenew responsibility put upon their shoulders. Grady had no use forthe Socialists, being only interested in "industrial action, " but hewas willing to be called a "Jimmie Higgins"; he had said that Peterwas one too, and Peter had smiled to himself, thinking that a"Jimmie Higgins" was about the last thing in the world he ever wouldbe. Peter was on the way to independence and prosperity, and it didnot occur to him to reflect that he might be a "Jimmie Higgins" tothe "Whites" instead of to the Reds!

Grady now pulled out his papers, and began to talk over with DonaldGordon the proceedings of the evening. He had had a telegram fromthe national headquarters of the I. W. W. , promising support, andhis thin, hungry face lighted up with pride as he showed this. Thenhe announced that "Bud" Connor was to be present--a well-knownorganizer, who had been up in the oil country with McCormick, andbrought news that the workers there were on the verge of a bigstrike. Then came Mrs. Jennings, a poor, tormented little woman whowas slowly dying of a cancer, and whose husband was suing her fordivorce because she had given money to the I. W. W. With her, andhelping her along, came "Andy" Adams, a big machinist, who had beenkicked out of his lodge for talking too much "direct action. " Hepulled from his pocket a copy of the "Evening Telegraph, " and read afew lines from an editorial, denouncing "direct action" as meaningdynamiting, which it didn't, of course, and asking how long it wouldbe before the friends of law and order in American City would use alittle "direct action" of their own. 

Section 58

So they gathered, until about thirty were present, and then themeeting speedily got down to business. It was evident, said Grady, that the authorities had deliberately framed-up the dynamiteconspiracy, in order to have an excuse for wiping out the I. W. W. Organization; they had closed the hall, and confiscated everything, typewriters and office furniture and books--including a book onSabotage which they had turned over to the editor of the "EveningTimes"! There was a hiss of anger at this. Also, they had taken tointerfering with the mail of the organization; the I. W. W. Werehaving to get out their literature by express. They were fightingfor their existence, and they must find some way of getting thetruth to people. If anybody had any suggestions to make, now was thetime. 

There came one suggestion after another; and meantime Peter sat asif his chair were full of pins. Why didn't they come--the youngermembers of the Chamber of Commerce and the Merchants' andManufacturers' Association--and do what they were going to dowithout any further delay? Did they expect Peter to sit there allnight, trembling with alarm--and he not having any dinner besides?

Suddenly Peter gave a jump. Outside came a yell, and Donald Gordon, who was making a speech, stopped suddenly, and the members of thecompany stared at one another, and some sprang to their feet. Therewere more yells, rising to screams, and some of the company made forthe front doors, and some for the back doors, and yet others for thewindows and the staircase. Peter wasted no time, but dived into theclothes closet in the hallway back of the living-room, and got intothe farthest corner of this closet, and pulled some of the clotheson top of him; and then, to make him safer yet, came several otherpeople piling on top of him. 

From his place of refuge he listened to the confusion that reigned. The place was a bedlam of women's shrieks, and the curses offighting men, and the crash of overturning furniture, and of clubsand monkey-wrenches on human heads. The younger members of theChamber of Commerce and the Merchants' and Manufacturers'Association had come in sufficient force to make sure of theirpurpose. There were enough to crowd the room full, and to pack allthe doorways, and two or three to guard each window, and a flyingsquadron to keep watch for anybody who jumped from the roof or triedto hide in the trees of the garden. 

Peter cowered, and listened to the furious uproar, and presently heheard the cries of those on top of him, and realized that they werebeing pulled off and clubbed; he felt hands reach down and grab him, and he cringed and cried in terror; but nothing happened to him, andpresently he glanced up and he saw a man wearing a black mask, buteasily to be recognized as McGivney. Never in all his life had Peterbeen gladder to see a human face than he was to see that masked faceof a rat! McGivney had a club in his hand, and was dealing ferociousblows to the clothes heaped around Peter. Behind McGivney wereHammett and Cummings, covering the proceedings, and now and thencarefully putting in a blow of their own. 

Most of the fighting inside the house and outside came quickly to anend, because everybody who fought was laid out or overpowered. Thenseveral of the agents of Guffey, who had been studying these Redsfor a year or two and knew them all, went about picking out the oneswho were especially wanted, and searching them for arms, and thenhandcuffing them. One of these men approached Peter, who instantlyfell unconscious, and closed his eyes; then Hammett caught him underthe armpits and Cummings by the feet, and McGivney walked alongsideas a bodyguard, remarking now and then, "We want this fellow, we'lltake care of him. "

They carried Peter outside, and in the darkness he opened his eyesjust enough to see that the street was lined with automobiles, andthat the Reds were being loaded aboard. Peter's friends carried himto one car and drove him away, and then Peter returned toconsciousness, and the four of them sat up and laughed to splittheir sides, and slapped one another on the back, and mentioned thesatisfactory things they had seen. Had Hammett noticed that sliceGrady had got over the eyes, and the way the blood had run all overhim? Well, he wanted to be a Red--they had helped him be one--insideand out! Had McGivney noticed how "Buck" Ellis, one of their men, had put the nose of the hobo poet out of joint? And young Ogden, sonof the president of the Chamber of Commerce, had certainly managedto show how he felt about these cattle, the female ones as well asthe males; when that Yankovich slut had slapped his face, he hadcaught her by the breasts and nearly twisted them off, and she hadscreamed and fainted!

Yes, they had cleaned them out. But that wasn't all of it, they weregoing to finish the job tonight, by God! They were going to givethese pacifists a taste of the war, they were going to put an end tothe Red Terror in American City! Peter might go along if he likedand see the good work; they were going into the country, and itwould be dark, and if he kept a mask on he would be quite safe. AndPeter said yes; his blood was up, he was full of the spirit of thehunt, he wanted to be in at the death, regardless of everything. 

Section 59

The motor purred softly, and the car sped as if upon wings thru thesuburbs of American City, and to the country beyond. There were carsin front, and other cars behind, a long stream of white lightsflying out into the country. They came to a grove of big pine trees, which rose two or three feet thick, like church arches, and coveredthe ground beneath them with a soft, brown carpet. It was awell-known picnic place, and here all the cars were gathering byappointment. Evidently it had all been pre-arranged, with thatefficiency which is the pride of 100% Americans. A man with a blackmask over his face stood in the center of the grove, and shouted hisdirections thru a megaphone, and each car as it swept in rangeditself alongside the next car in a broad circle, more than a hundredfeet across. These cars of the younger members of the Chamber ofCommerce and the Merchants' and Manufacturers' Association were wellbehaved--they were accustomed to sliding precisely into placeaccording to orders of a megaphone man, when receptions were beinggiven, or when the younger members and their wives andfiancees, clad in soft silks and satins, came rolling up totheir dinner-parties and dances. 

The cars came and came, until there was just room enough for thelast one to slide in. Then at a shouted command, "Number one!" agroup of men stepped out of one of the cars, dragging a handcuffedprisoner. It was Michael Dubin, the young Jewish tailor who hadspent fifteen days in jail with Peter. Michael was a student anddreamer, and not used to scenes of violence; also, he belonged to arace which expresses its emotions, and consequently is offensive to100% Americans. He screamed and moaned while the masked menun-handcuffed him, and took off his coat and tore his shirt in theback. They dragged him to a tree in the center of the ring, asomewhat smaller tree, just right for his wrists to meet around andbe handcuffed again. There he stood in the blinding glare of thirtyor forty cars, writhing and moaning, while one of the black-maskedmen stripped off his coat and got ready for action. He produced along black-snake whip, and stood poised for a moment; then in abooming voice the man with the megaphone shouted, "Go!" and the whipwhistled thru the air and was laid across the back of Michael, andtore into the flesh so that the blood leaped into sight. There was ascream of anguish, and the victim began to twist and turn and kickabout as if in his death-throes. Again the whip whistled, and againyou heard the thud as it tore into the flesh, and another red stripeleaped to view. 

Now the younger members of the Chamber of Commerce and theMerchants' and Manufacturers' Association were in excellentcondition for this evening's labor. They were not pale and thin, underfed and overworked, as were their prisoners; they were sleekand rosy, and ashine with health. It was as if long years ago theirfathers had foreseen the Red menace, and the steps that would haveto be taken to preserve 100% Americanism; the fathers had imported agame which consisted of knocking little white balls around a fieldwith various styles and sizes of clubs. They had built magnificentclub-houses out here in the suburbs, and had many hundreds of acresof ground laid out for this game, and would leave their occupationsof merchanting and manufacturing early in the afternoon, in order torepair to these fields and keep their muscles in condition. Theywould hold tournaments, and vie with one another, and tell over thestories of the mighty strokes which they had made with their clubs, and of the hundreds of strokes they had made in a single afternoon. So the man with the black-snake whip was "fit, " and didn't need tostop for breath. Stroke after stroke he laid on, with a splendidrhythmic motion; he kept it up easily, on and on. Had he forgotten?

Did he think this was a little white ball he was swinging down upon?He kept on and on, until you could no longer count the welts, untilthe whole back of Michael Dubin was a mass of raw and bleedingflesh. The screams of Michael Dubin died away, and his convulsivestruggling ceased, and his head hung limp, and he sunk lower andlower upon the tree. 

At last the master of ceremonies stepped forward and ordered a halt, and the man with the whip wiped the sweat from his forehead with hisshirt-sleeve, and the other men unchained the body of Michael Dubin, and dragged it a few feet to one side and dumped it face downward inthe pine-leaves. 

"Number two!" called the master of ceremonies, in a clear, compelling voice, as if he were calling the figures of a quadrille;and from another car another set of men emerged, dragging anotherprisoner. It was Bert Glikas, a "blanket-stiff" who was a member ofthe I. W. W. 's executive committee, and had had two teeth knockedout in a harvest-strike only a couple of weeks previously. Whilethey were getting off his coat, he managed to get one hand free, andhe shook it at the spectators behind the white lights of theautomobiles. "God damn you!" he yelled; and so they tied him up, anda fresh man stepped forward and picked up the whip, and spit on hishands for good luck, and laid on with a double will; and at everystroke Glikas yelled a fresh curse; first in English, and then, asif he were delirious, in some foreign language. But at last hiscurses died away, and he too sank insensible, and was unhitched anddragged away and dumped down beside the first man. "Number three!"called the master of ceremonies. 

Section 60

Now Peter was sitting in the back seat of his car, wearing the maskwhich McGivney had given him, a piece of cloth with two holes forhis eyes and another hole for him to breathe thru. Peter hated theseReds, and wanted them punished, but he was not used to bloodysights, and was finding this endless thud, thud of the whip on humanflesh rather more than he could stand. Why had he come? This wasn'this part of the job of saving his country from the Red menace. Hehad done his share in pointing out the dangerous ones; he was a manof brains, not a man of violence. Peter saw that the next victim wasTom Duggan with his broken and bloody nose, and in spite of himself, Peter started with dismay. He realized that without intending it hehad become a little fond of Tom Duggan. For all his queerness, Duggan was loyal, he was a good fellow when you had got underneathhis surly manners. He had never done anything except just togrumble, and to put his grumbles into verses; they were making amistake in whipping him, and for a moment Peter had a crazy impulseto interfere and tell them so. 

The poet never made a sound. Peter got one glimpse of his face inthe blazing white light, and in spite of the fact that it wassmashed and bloody, Peter read Tom Duggan's resolve--he would diebefore they would get a moan out of him. Each time the lash fell youcould see a quiver all over his form; but there was never a sound, and he stood, hugging the tree in a convulsive grip. They lashed himuntil the whip was spattering blood all over them, until blood wasrunning to the ground. They had taken the precaution to bring alonga doctor with a little black case, and he now stepped up andwhispered to the master of ceremonies. They unfastened Duggan, andbroke the grip of his arms about the tree, and dumped him downbeside Glikas. 

Next came the turn of Donald Gordon, the Socialist Quaker, whichbrought a bit of cheap drama. Donald took his religion seriously; hewas always shouting his anti-war sentiments in the name of Jesus, which made him especially obnoxious. Now he saw a chance to get offone of his theatrical stunts; he raised his two manacled hands intothe air as if he were praying, and shouted in piercing tones:"Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do!"

A murmur started in the crowd; you could hear it mounting to a roar. "Blasphemy!" they cried. "Stop his dirty mouth!" It was the samemouth that had been heard on a hundred platforms, denouncing the warand those who made money out of the war. They were here now, the menwho had been denounced, the younger members of the Chamber ofCommerce and the Merchants' and Manufacturers' Association, the bestpeople of the city, those who were saving the country, and chargingno more than the service was worth. So they roared with fury at thissacreligious upstart. A man whose mask was a joke, because he was soburly and hearty that everybody in the crowd knew him, took up thebloody whip. It was Billy Nash, secretary of the "Improve AmericaLeague, " and the crowd shouted, "Go to it, Billy! Good eye, oldboy!" Donald Gordon might tell God that Billy Nash didn't know whathe was doing, but Billy thought that he knew, and he meant before hegot thru to convince Donald that he knew. It didn't take very long, because there was nothing much to the young Quaker but voice, and hefainted at the fourth or fifth stroke, and after the twentiethstroke the doctor interfered. 

Then came the turn of Grady, secretary of the I. W. W. , and here aterrible thing happened. Grady, watching this scene from one of thecars, had grown desperate, and when they loosed the handcuffs to getoff his coat, he gave a sudden wrench and broke free, striking downone man after another. He had been brought up in the lumber country, and his strength was amazing, and before the crowd quite realizedit, he was leaping between two of the cars. A dozen men sprang uponhim from a dozen directions, and he went down in the midst of a wildmelee. They pinned him with his face mashed into the dirt, and fromthe crowd there rose a roar as from wild beasts in the night-time, "String him up! String him up!" One man came running with a rope, shouting, "Hang him!"

The master of ceremonies tried to protest thru his megaphone, butthe instrument was knocked out of his hands, and he was hauled toone side, and presently there was a man climbing up the pine treeand hanging the rope over a limb. You could not see Grady for thejostling throng about him, but suddenly there was a yell from thecrowd, and you saw him quite plainly--he shot high up into the air, with the rope about his neck and his feet kicking wildly. Underneath, men danced about and yelled and waved their hats in theair, and one man leaped up and caught one of the kicking feet andhung onto it. 

Then, above all the din, a voice was heard thru the megaphone, "Lethim down a bit! Let me get at him!" And those who held the rope gaveway, and the body came down toward the ground, still kicking, and aman took out a clasp-knife, and cut the clothing away from the body, and cut off something from the body; there was another yell from thecrowd, and the men in the automobiles slapped their knees andshrieked with satisfaction. Those in the car with Peter whisperedthat it was Ogden, son of the president of the Chamber of Commerce;and all over town next day and for weeks thereafter men would nudgeone another, and whisper about what Bob Ogden had done to the bodyof Shawn Grady, secretary of the "damned wobblies. " And every onewho nudged and whispered about it felt certain that by this meansthe Red Terror had been forever suppressed, and 100% Americanismvindicated, and a peaceful solution of the problem of capital andlabor made certain. 

Strange as it might seem, there was one member of the I. W. W. Whoagreed with them. One of the victims of that night had learned hislesson! When Tom Duggan was able to sit up again, which was sixweeks later, he wrote an article about his experience, which waspublished in an I. W. W. Paper, and afterwards in pamphlet form wasread by many hundreds of thousands of workingmen. In it the poetsaid:

"The preamble of the I. W. W. Opens with the statement that theemploying class and the working class have nothing in common; but onthis occasion I learned that the preamble is mistaken. On thisoccasion I saw one thing in common between the employing class andthe working class, and that thing was a black-snake whip. The buttend of the whip was in the hands of the employing class, and thelash of the whip was on the backs of the working class, and thus toall eternity was symbolized the truth about the relationship of theclasses!"

Section 61

Peter awoke next morning with a vivid sense of the pain and terrorof life. He had been clamoring to have those Reds punished; butsomehow or other he had thought of this punishment in an abstractway, a thing you could attend to by a wave of the hand. He hadn'tquite realized the physical side of it, what a messy and bloody jobit would prove. Two hours and more he had listened to the thud of awhip on human flesh, and each separate stroke had been a blow uponhis own nerves. Peter had an overdose of vengeance; and now, themorning after, his conscience was gnawing at him. He had known everyone of those boys, and their faces rose up to haunt him. What hadany of them done to deserve such treatment? Could he say that he hadever known a single one of them to do anything as violent as thething they had all suffered?

But more than anything else Peter was troubled by fear. Peter, theant, perceived the conflict of the giants becoming more ferocious, and realized the precariousness of his position under the giants'feet. The passions of both sides were mounting, and the fiercertheir hate became, the greater the chance of Peter's beingdiscovered, the more dreadful his fate if he were discovered. It wasall very well for McGivney to assure him that only four of Guffey'smen knew the truth, and that all these might be trusted to thedeath. Peter remembered a remark he had heard Shawn Grady make, andwhich had caused him to lose his appetite for more than one meal. "They've got spies among us, " the young Irishman had said. "Well, sooner or later we'll do a bit of spying of our own!"

And now these words came back to Peter like a voice from the grave. Suppose one of the Reds who had money were to hire somebody to get ajob in Guffey's office! Suppose some Red girl were to try Peter'sdevice, and seduce one of Guffey's men--by no means a difficulttask! The man mightn't even mean to reveal that Peter Gudge was asecret agent; he might just let it slip, as little Jennie had letslip the truth about Jack Ibbetts! Thus Mac would know who hadframed him up; and what would Mac do to Peter when he got out onbail? When Peter thought of things like that he realized what itmeant to go to war; he saw that he had gained nothing by staying athome, he might as well have been in the front-line trenches! Afterall, this was war, class-war; and in all war the penalty for spyingis death, Also Peter was worried about Nell. She had been in her new positionfor nearly a week, and he hadn't heard a word from her. She hadforbidden him to write, for fear he might write somethinginjudicious. Let him just wait, Edythe Eustace would know how totake care of herself. And that was all right, Peter had no doubtabout the ability of Edythe Eustace to take care of herself. Whattroubled him was the knowledge that she was working on another"frame-up, " and he stood in fear of the exuberance of herimagination. The last time that imagination had been pregnant, ithad presented him with a suit-case full of dynamite. What it mightbring forth next time he did not know, and was afraid to think. Nellmight cause him to be found out by Guffey; and that would be nearlyas horrible as to be found out by Mac!

Peter got his morning "Times, " and found a whole page about thewhipping of the Reds, portraying the job as a patriotic dutyheroically performed; and that naturally cheered Peter upconsiderably. He turned to the editorial page, and read a two column"leader" that was one whoop of exultation. It served still more tocure Peter's ache of conscience; and when he read on and found aseries of interviews with leading citizens, giving cordialendorsement to the acts of the "vigilantes, " Peter became ashamed ofhis weakness, and glad that he had not revealed it to anyone. Peterwas trying his best to become a real "he-man, " a 100% red-bloodedAmerican, and he had the "Times" twice each day, morning andevening, to guide, sustain and inspire him. 

Peter had been told by McGivney to fix himself up and pose as one ofthe martyrs of the night's affair, and this appealed to his sense ofhumor. He cut off the hair from a part of his head, and stuck someraw cotton on top, and plastered it over with surgical tape. Hestuck another big wad of surgical tape across his forehead, and acriss-cross of it on his cheek, and tied up his wrist in anexcellent imitation of a sprain. Thus rigged out he repaired to theAmerican House, and McGivney rewarded him with a hearty laugh, andthen proceeded to give some instructions which, entirely restoredPeter's usual freshness of soul. Peter was going up on Mount Olympusagain!

The rat-faced man explained in detail. There was a lady of greatwealth--indeed, she was said to be several times a millionaire--whowas an openly avowed Red, a pacifist of the most malignant variety. Since the arrest of young Lackman she had come forward and put upfunds to finance the "People's Council, " and the "Anti-ConscriptionLeague, " and all the other activities which for the sake ofconvenience were described by the term "pro-German. " The onlytrouble was this lady was so extremely wealthy it was hard to doanything to her. Her husband was a director in a couple of NelseAckerman's banks, and had other powerful connections. The husbandwas a violent, anti-Socialist, and a buyer of liberty bonds; hequarrelled with his wife, but nevertheless he did not want to seeher in jail, and this made an embarrassing situation for the policeand the district attorney's office, and even for the Federalauthorities, who naturally did not want to trouble one of thecourtiers of the king of American City. "But something's got to bedone, " said McGivney. "This camouflaged German propaganda can't goon. " So Peter was to try to draw Mrs. Godd into some kind of "overtaction. "

"Mrs. Godd?" said Peter. It seemed to him a singular coincidencethat one of the dwellers on Mount Olympus should bear that name. Thegreat lady lived on a hilltop out in the suburbs, not so far fromthe hilltop of Nelse Ackerman. One of the adventures looked forwardto by Reds and pacifists in distress was to make a pilgrimage tothis palace and obtain some long, green plasters to put over theirwounds. Now was the time at all times for Peter to go, saidMcGivney. Peter had many wounds to be plastered, and Mrs. Godd wouldbe indignant at the proceedings of last night, and would no doubtexpress herself without restraint. 

Section 62

Peter hadn't been so excited since the time when he had waited tomeet young Lackman. He had never quite forgiven himself for thiscostly failure, and now he was to have another chance. He took atrolley ride out into the country, and walked a couple of miles tothe palace on the hilltop, and mounted thru a grove of trees andmagnificent Italian gardens. According to McGivney's injunctions, hesummoned his courage, and went to the front door of the statelymansion and rang the bell. 

Peter was hot and dusty from his long walk, the sweat had madestreaks down his face and marred the pristine whiteness of hisplasters. He was never a distinguished-looking person at best, andnow, holding his damaged straw hat in his hands, he looked not sofar from a hobo. However, the French maid who came to the door wasevidently accustomed to strange-looking visitors. She didn't orderPeter to the servant's entrance, nor threaten him with the dogs; shemerely said, "Be seated, please. I will tell madame"--putting theaccent on the second syllable, where Peter had never heard itbefore. 

And presently here came Mrs. Godd in tier cloud of Olympianbeneficence; a large and ample lady, especially built for the roleof divinity. Peter felt suddenly awe-stricken. How had he dared comehere? Neither in the Hotel de Soto, with its many divinities, nor inthe palace of Nelse Ackerman, the king, had he felt such a sense ofhis own lowliness as the sight of this calm, slow-moving great ladyinspired. She was the embodiment of opulence, she was "the realthing. " Despite the look of kindliness in her wide-open blue eyes, she impressed him with a feeling of her overwhelming superiority. Hedid not know it was his duty as a gentleman to rise from his chairwhen a lady entered, but some instinct brought him to his feet andcaused him to stand blinking as she crossed to him from the oppositeend of the big room. 

"How do you do?" she said in a low, full voice, gazing at himsteadily out of the kind, wide-open blue eyes. Peter stammered, "Howd-dy do, M--Mrs. Godd. "

In truth, Peter was almost dumb with bewilderment. Could it really, possibly be that this grand personage was a Red? One of the thingsthat had most offended him about all radicals was their noisiness, their aggressiveness; but here was a grand serenity of looks andmanner, a soft, slow voice--here was beauty, too, a skin unlined, despite middle years, and glowing with health and a fine cleanness. Nell Doolin had had a glowing complexion, but there was always a lotof powder stuck on, and when you investigated closely, as Peter haddone, you discovered muddy spots in the edges of her hair and on herthroat. But Mrs. Godd's skin shone just as the skin of a goddesswould be expected to shine, and everything about her was of a divineand compelling opulence. Peter could not have explained just what itwas that gave this last impression so overwhelmingly. It was notthat she wore many jewels, or large ones, for Mrs. James had beatenher at that; it was not her delicate perfume, for Nell Doolinscattered more sweetness on the air; yet somehow even poor, ignorantPeter felt the difference--it seemed to him that none of Mrs. Godd'scostly garments had ever been worn before, that the costly rugs onthe floor had never been stepped on before, the very chair on whichhe sat had never been sat on before!

Little Ada Ruth had called Mrs. Godd "the mother of all the world;"and now suddenly she became the mother of Peter Gudge. She had readthe papers that morning, she had received a half dozen telephonecalls from horrified and indignant Reds, and so a few words sufficedto explain to her the meaning of Peter's bandages and plasters. Sheheld out to him a beautiful cool hand, and quite without warning, tears sprang into the great blue eyes. 

"Oh, you are one of those poor boys! Thank God they did not killyou!" And she led him to a soft couch and made him lie down amidsilken pillows. Peter's dream of Mount Olympus had come literallytrue! It occurred to him that if Mrs. Godd were willing to playpermanently the role of mother to Peter Gudge, he would be willingto give up his role of anti-Red agent with its perils and itsnervous strains; he would forget duty, forget the world's strife andcare; he would join the lotus-eaters, the sippers of nectar on MountOlympus!

She sat and talked to him in the soft, gentle voice, and the kindblue eyes watched him, and Peter thought that never in all his lifehad he encountered such heavenly emotions. To be sure, when he hadgone to see Miriam Yankovich, old Mrs. Yankovich had been just askind, and tears of sympathy had come into her eyes just the same. But then, Mrs. Yankovich was nothing but a fat old Jewess, who livedin a tenement and smelt of laundry soap and partly completedwashing; her hands had been hot and slimy, and so Peter had not beenin the least grateful for her kindness. But to encounter tenderemotions in these celestial regions, to be talked to maternally andconfidentially by this wonderful Mrs. Godd in soft white chiffonsjust out of a band-box _this _was quite another matter!

Section 63

Peter did not want to set traps for this mother of Mount Olympus, hedidn't want to worm any secrets from her. And as it happened, hefound that he did not have to, because she told him everything rightaway, and without the slightest hesitation. She talked just as the"wobblies" had talked in their headquarters; and Peter, when hethought it over, realized that there are two kinds of people who canafford to be frank in their utterance--those who have nothing tolose, and those who have so much to lose that they cannot possiblylose it. 

Mrs. Godd said that what had been done to those men last night was acrime, and it ought to be punished if ever a crime was punished, andthat she would like to engage detectives and get evidence againstthe guilty ones. She said furthermore that she sympathized with theReds of the very reddest shade, and if there were any color redderthan Red she would be of that color. She said all this in her quiet, soft voice. Tears came into her eyes now and then, but they werewell-behaved tears, they disappeared of their own accord, andwithout any injury to Mrs. Godd's complexion, or any apparent effectupon her self-possession. 

Mrs. Godd said that she didn't see how anybody could fail to be aRed who thought about the injustices of present-day society. Only afew days before she had been in to see the district attorney, andhad tried to make a Red out of him! Then she told Peter how therehad come to see her a man who had pretended to be a radical, but shehad realized that he didn't know anything about radicalism, and hadtold him she was sure he was a government agent. The man had finallyadmitted it, and showed her his gold star--and then Mrs. Godd hadset to work to convert him! She had argued with him for an hour ortwo, and then had invited him to go to the opera with her. "And doyou know, " said Mrs. Godd, in an injured tone, "he wouldn't go! Theydon't want to be converted, those men; they don't want to listen toreason. I believe the man was actually afraid I might influencehim. "

"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!

Section 64

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!

Section 65

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 little 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. 

Section 66

They went to the office of the secret service department of theTraction Trust, a place where Peter had never been allowed to comehitherto. It was on the fourteenth floor of the Merchant's TrustBuilding, and the sign on the door read: "The American City Land &Investment Company. Walk In. " When you walked in, you saw aconventional real estate office, and it was only when you hadpenetrated several doors that you came to the secret rooms whereGuffey and his staff conducted the espionage work of the bigbusiness interests of the city. 

Peter was hustled into one of these rooms, and there stood Guffey;and the instant Guffey saw him, he bore down upon him, shaking hisfist. "You stinking puppy!" he exclaimed. "You miserable littlewhelp! You dirty, sneaking hound!" He added a number of otherdescriptive phrases taken from the vocabulary of the kennel. 

Peter's knees were shaking, his teeth were chattering, and hewatched every motion of Guffey's angry fingers, and every grimace ofGuffey's angry features. Peter had been fully prepared for the mosthorrible torture he had experienced yet; but gradually he realizedthat he wasn't going to be tortured, he was only going to be scoldedand raged at, and no words could describe the wave of relief in hissoul. In the course of his street-rat's life Peter had been calledmore names than Guffey could think of if he spent the next monthtrying. If all Guffey was going to do was to pace up and down theroom, and shake his fist under Peter's nose every time he passedhim, and compare him with every kind of a domestic animal, Petercould stand it all night without a murmur. 

He stopped trying to find out what it was that had happened, becausehe saw that this only drove Guffey to fresh fits of exasperation. Guffey didn't want to talk to Peter, he didn't want to hear thesound of Peter's whining gutter-pup's voice. All he wanted was topour out his rage, and have Peter listen in abject abasement, andthis Peter did. But meantime, of course, Peter's wits were workingat high speed, he was trying to pick up hints as to what the devilit could mean. One thing was quite clear--the damage, whatever itwas, was done; the jig was up, it was all over but the funeral. Theyhad taken Peter's money to pay for the funeral, and that was allthey hoped to get out of him. 

Gradually came other hints. "So you thought you were going intobusiness on your own!" snarled Guffey, and his fist, which was underPeter's nose, gave an upward poke that almost dislocated Peter'sneck. 

"Aha!" thought Peter. "Nelse Ackerman has given me away!"

"You thought you were going to make your fortune and retire for lifeon your income!"

Yes, that was it, surely! But what could Nelse Ackerman have toldthat was so very bad?

"You were going to have a spy of your own, set up your own bureau, and kick me out, perhaps!"

"My God!" thought Peter. "Who told that?"

Then suddenly Guffey stopped in front of him. "Was that what youthought?" he demanded. He repeated the question, and it appearedthat he really wanted an answer, and so Peter stammered, "N-n-no, sir. " But evidently the answer didn't suit Guffey, for he grabbedPeter's nose and gave it a tweak that brought the tears into hiseyes. 

"What was it then?" A nasty sneer came on the head detective'sface, and he laughed at Peter with a laugh of venomous contempt. "Isuppose you thought she really loved you! Was it that? You thoughtshe really loved you?" And McGivney and Hammett and Guffey ha-ha-edtogether, and to Peter it seemed like the mockery of demons in theundermost pit of hell. Those words brought every pillar of Peter'sdream castle tumbling in ruins about his ears. Guffey had found outabout Nell!

Again and again on the automobile ride to Guffey's office Peter hadreminded himself of Nell's command, "Stick it out, Peter! Stick itout!" He had meant to stick it out in spite of everything; but nowin a flash he saw that all was lost. How could he stick it out whenthey knew about Nell, and when Nell, herself, was no longer stickingit out?

Guffey saw these thoughts plainly written in Peter's face, and hissneer turned into a snarl. "So you think you'll tell me the truthnow, do you? Well, it happens there's nothing left to tell!"

Again he turned and began pacing up and down the room. The pressureof rage inside him was so great that it took still more time to workit off. But finally the head detective sat down at his desk, andopened the drawer and took out a paper. "I see you're sitting there, trying to think up some new lie to tell me, " said he. And Peter didnot try to deny it, because any kind of denial only caused a freshaccess of rage. "All right, " Guffey said, "I'll read you this, andyou can see just where you stand, and just how many kinds of a boobyou are. "

So he started to read the letter; and before Peter had heard onesentence, he knew this was a letter from Nell, and he knew that thecastle of his dreams was flat in the dust forever. The ruins ofSargon and Nineveh were not more hopelessly flat!

"Dear Mr. Guffey, " read the letter, "I am sorry to throw you down, but fifty thousand dollars is a lot of money, and we all get tiredof work and need a rest. This is to tell you that Ted Crothers hasjust broke into Nelse Ackerman's safe in his home, and we have gotsome liberty bonds and some jewels which we guess to be worth fiftythousand dollars, and you know Ted is a good judge of jewels. 

"Now of course you will find out that I was working in Mr. Ackerman's home and you will be after me hot-foot, so I might aswell tell you about it, and tell you it won't do you any good tocatch us, because we have got all the inside dope on the Gooberframe-up, and everything else your bureau has been pulling off inAmerican City for the last year. You can ask Peter Gudge and he'lltell you. It was Peter and me that fixed up that dynamiteconspiracy, but you mustn't blame Peter, because he only did what Itold him to do. He hasn't got sense enough to be really dangerous, and he will make you a perfectly good agent if you treat him kindand keep him away from the women. You can do that easy enough if youdon't let him get any money, because of course he's nothing much onlooks, and the women would never bother with him if you didn't payhim too much. 

"Now Peter will tell you how we framed up that dynamite job, and ofcourse you wouldn't want that to get known to the Reds, and you maybe sure that if Ted and me get pinched, we'll find some way to letthe Reds know all about it. If you keep quiet we'll never say aword, and you've got a perfectly good dynamite conspiracy, with allthe evidence you need to put the Reds out of business, and you canjust figure it cost you fifty thousand dollars, and it was cheap atthe price, because Nelse Ackerman has paid a whole lot more for yourwork, and you never got anything half as big as this. I know you'llbe mad when you read this, but think it over and keep your shirt on. I send it to you by messenger so you can get hold of Nelse Ackermanright quick, and have him not say anything to the police; becauseyou know how it is--if those babies find it out, it will get to theReds and the newspapers, and it'll be all over town and do a lot ofharm to your frame-up. And you know after those Reds have got beatenup and Shawn Grady lynched, you wouldn't like to have any rumor getout that that dynamite was planted by your own people. Ted and mewill keep out of sight, and we won't sell the jewels for a while, and everything will be all right. 

"Yours respectfully, "Edythe. 

"P. S. It really ain't Peter's fault that he's silly about women, and he would have worked for you all right if it hadn't been for mygood looks!"

Section 67

So there it was. When Peter had heard this letter, he understoodthat there was no more to be said, and he said it. His own weighthad suddenly become more than he could support, and he saw a chairnearby and slipped into it, and sat with eyes of abject miseryroaming from Guffey to McGivney, and from McGivney to Hammett, andthen back to Guffey again. 

The head detective, for all his anger, was a practical man; he couldnot have managed the very important and confidential work of theTraction Trust if he had not been. So now he proceeded to get downto business. Peter would please tell him everything about thatdynamite frame-up; just how they had managed it and just who knewabout it. And Peter, being also a practical man, knew that there wasno use trying to hide anything. He told the story from beginning toend, taking particular pains to make clear that he and Nell alonewere in the secret---except that beyond doubt Nell had told herlover, Ted Crothers. It was probably Crothers that got the dynamite. From the conversation that ensued Peter gathered that this young manwith the face of a bull-dog was one of the very fanciestsafecrackers in the country, and no doubt he was the real brains ofthe conspiracy; he had put Nell up to it, and managed every step. Suddenly Peter remembered all the kisses which Nell had given him inthe park, and he found a blush of shame stealing over him. Yes, there was no doubt about it, he was a boob where women wereconcerned!

Peter began to plead for himself, Really it wasn't his fault becauseNell had got a hold on him. In the Temple of Jimjambo, when he wasonly a kid, he had been desperately in love with her. She was notonly beautiful, she was so smart; she was the smartest woman he hadever known. McGivney remarked that she had been playing with Petereven then--she had been in Guffey's pay at that time, collectingevidence to put Pashtian el Kalandra in jail and break up the cultof Eleutherinian Exoticism. She had done many such jobs for thesecret service of the Traction Trust, while Peter was stilltraveling around with Pericles Priam selling patent medicine. Nellhad been used by Guffey to seduce a prominent labor leader inAmerican City; she had got him caught in a hotel room with her, andthus had broken the back of the biggest labor strike ever known inthe city's history. 

Peter felt suddenly that he had a good defense. Of course a womanlike that had been too much for him! It was Guffey's own fault if hehired people like that and turned them loose! It suddenly dawned onPeter--Nell must have found out that he, Peter, was going to meetyoung Lackman in the Hotel de Soto, and she must have gone theredeliberately to ensnare him. When McGivney admitted that that waspossibly true, Peter felt that he had a case, and proceeded to urgeit with eloquence. He had been a fool, of course, every kind of foolthere was, and he hadn't a word to say for himself; but he hadlearned his lesson and learned it thoroughly. No more women for him, and no more high life, and if Mr. Guffey would give him anotherchance--

Guffey, of course, snorted at him. He wouldn't have a pudding-headlike Peter Gudge within ten miles of his office! But Peter onlypleaded the more abjectly. He really did know the Reds thoroughly, and where could Mr. Guffey find anybody that knew them as well? TheReds all trusted him; he was a real martyr--look at the plasters allover him now! And he had just added another Red laurel to hisbrow--he had been to see Mrs. Godd, and had had the seat of histrousers kicked by Mr. Godd, and of course he could tell that story, and maybe he could catch some Reds in a conspiracy against Mr. Godd. Anyhow, they had that perfectly good case against McCormick and therest of the I. W. Ws. And now that things had gone so far, surelythey couldn't back down on that case! All that was necessary was toexplain matters to Mr. Ackerman--

Peter realized that this was an unfortunate remark. Guffey was onhis feet again, pacing up and down the room, calling Peter the namesof all the barnyard animals, and incidentally revealing that he hadalready had an interview with Mr. Ackerman, and that Mr. Ackermanwas not disposed to receive amicably the news that the secretservice bureau which he had been financing, and which was supposedto be protecting him, had been the means of introducing into hishome a couple of high-class criminals who had cracked his safe andmade off with jewels that they guessed were worth fifty thousanddollars, but that Mr. Ackerman claimed were worth eighty-fivethousand dollars. Peter was informed that he might thank his luckystars that Guffey didn't shut him in the hole for the balance of hislife, or take him into a dungeon and pull him to pieces inch byinch. As it was, all he had to do was to get himself out of Guffey'soffice, and take himself to hell by the quickest route he couldfind. "Go on!" said Guffey. "I mean it, get out!"

And so Peter got to his feet and started unsteadily toward the door. He was thinking to himself: "Shall I threaten them? Shall I say I'llgo over to the Reds and tell what I know?" No, he had better not dothat; the least hint of that might cause Guffey to put him in thehole! But then, how was it possible for Guffey to let him go, totake a chance of his telling? Right now, Guffey must be thinking tohimself that Peter might go away, and in a fit of rage or of despairmight let out the truth to one of the Reds, and then everythingwould be ruined forever. No, surely Guffey would not take such achance! Peter walked very slowly to the door, he opened the doorreluctantly, he stood there, holding on as if he were too weak tokeep his balance; he waited--waited--

And sure enough, Guffey spoke. "Come back here, you mut!" And Peterturned and started towards the head detective, stretching out hishands in a gesture of submission; if it had been in an Easterncountry, he would have fallen on his knees and struck his foreheadthree times in the dust. "Please, please, Mr. Guffey!" he wailed. "Give me another chance!"

"If I put you to work again, " snarled Guffey, "will you do what Itell you, and not what you want to do yourself?"

"Yes, yes, Mr. Guffey. "

"You'll do no more frame-ups but my frame-ups?"

"Yes, yes, Mr. Guffey. "

"All right, then, I'll give you one more chance. But by God, if Ifind you so much as winking at another girl, I'll pull your eyeteeth out!"

And Peter's heart leaped with relief. "Oh, thank you, thank you, Mr. Guffey!"

"I'll pay you twenty dollars a week, and no more, " said Guffey. "You're worth more, but I can't trust you with money, and you cantake it or leave it. "

"That'll be perfectly satisfactory, Mr. Guffey, " said Peter. 

Section 68

So there was the end of high life for Peter Gudge. He moved no morein the celestial circles of Mount Olympus. He never again saw theChinese butler of Mr. Ackerman, nor the French parlor-maid of Mrs. Godd. He would no more be smiled at by the two hundred andtwenty-four boy angels of the ceiling of the Hotel de Soto lobby. Peter would eat his meals now seated on a stool in front of a lunchcounter, he would really be the humble proletarian, the "JimmieHiggins" of his role. He put behind him bright dreams of anaccumulated competence, and settled down to the hard day's work ofcultivating the acquaintance of agitators, visiting their homes andwatching their activities, getting samples of the literature theywere circulating, stealing their letters and address-books andnote-books, and taking all these to Room 427 of the American House. 

These were busy times just now. In spite of the whippings and thelynchings and the jailings--or perhaps because of these verythings--the radical movement was seething. The I. W. Ws. Hadreorganized secretly, and were accumulating a defense fund for theirprisoners; also, the Socialists of all shades of red and pink werebusy, and the labor men had never ceased their agitation over theGoober case. Just now they were redoubling their activities, becauseMrs. Goober was being tried for her life. Over in Russia a mob ofAnarchists had made a demonstration in front of the AmericanLegation, because of the mistreatment of a man they called "Guba. "At any rate, that was the way the news came over the cables, and thenews-distributing associations of the country had been so successfulin keeping the Goober case from becoming known that the editors ofthe New York papers really did not know any better, and printed thename as it came, "Guba!" which of course gave the radicals a finechance to laugh at them, and say, how much they cared about labor!

The extreme Reds seemed to have everything their own way in Russia. Late in the fall they overthrew the Russian government, and tookcontrol of the country, and proceeded to make peace with Germany;which put the Allies in a frightful predicament, and introduced anew word into the popular vocabulary, the dread word "Bolshevik. "After that, if a man suggested municipal ownership of ice-wagons, all you had to do was to call him a "Bolshevik" and he was done for. 

However, the extremists replied to this campaign of abuse by takingup the name and wearing it as a badge. The Socialist local ofAmerican City adopted amid a storm of applause a resolution to callitself the "Bolshevik local, " and the "left-wingers" had everythingtheir own way for a time. The leader in this wing was a man namedHerbert Ashton, editor of the American City "Clarion, " the party'spaper. A newspaper-man, lean, sallow, and incredibly bitter, Ashtonapparently had spent all his life studying the intrigues ofinternational capital, and one never heard an argument advanced thathe was not ready with an answer. He saw the war as a strugglebetween the old established commercialism of Great Britain, whosegovernment he described as "a gigantic trading corporation, " and thenewly arisen and more aggressive commercialism of Germany. 

Ashton would take the formulas of the war propagandists and treatthem as a terrier treats a rat. So this was a war for democracy! Thebankers of Paris had for the last twenty years been subsidizing theRussian Tsars, who had shipped a hundred thousand exiles to Siberiato make the world safe for democracy! The British Empire also hadgone to war for democracy--first in Ireland, then in India andEgypt, then in the Whitechapel slums! No, said Ashton, the workerswere not to be fooled with such bunk. Wall Street had loaned somebillions of dollars to the Allied bankers, and now the Americanpeople were asked to shed their blood to make the world safe forthose loans!

Peter had been urging McGivney to put an end to this sort ofagitation, and now the rat-faced man told him that the time foraction had come. There was to be a big mass meeting to celebrate theBolshevik revolution, and McGivney warned Peter to keep out of sightat that meeting, because there might be some clubbing. Peter leftoff his red badge, and the button with the clasped hands and went upinto the gallery and lost himself in the crowd. He saw a great many"bulls" whom he knew scattered thru the audience, and also he sawthe Chief of Police and the head of the city's detective bureau. When Herbert Ashton was half way thru his tirade, the Chief strodeup to the platform and ordered him under arrest, and a score ofpolicemen put themselves between the prisoner and the howlingaudience. 

Altogether they arrested seven people; and next morning, when theysaw how much enthusiasm their action had awakened in the newspapers, they decided to go farther yet. A dozen of Guffey's men, withanother dozen from the District Attorney's office, raided the officeof Ashton's paper, the "Clarion, " kicked the editorial staffdownstairs or threw them out of the windows, and proceeded to smashthe typewriters and the printing presses, and to carry off thesubscription lists and burn a ton or two of "literature" in the backyard. Also they raided the headquarters of the "Bolshevik local, "and placed the seven members of the executive committee underarrest, and the judge fixed the bail of each of them at twenty-fivethousand dollars, and every day for a week or two the American City"Times" would send a man around to Guffey's office, and Guffey wouldfurnish him with a mass of material which Peter had prepared, showing that the Socialist program was one of terrorism and murder. 

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, and laborleaders who bad 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. The 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 risen again tomake 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 DonaldGordon 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. 

Rosie Stern was her name, and she was a solid little Jewish workinggirl, with bold black eyes, and a mass of shining black hair, andflaming cheeks and a flashing smile. She was dressed as if she knewabout her beauty, and really appreciated it; so Peter wasn'tsurprised when Miriam, introducing her, remarked that Rosie wasn't aRed and didn't like the Reds, but had just come to help her, and tosee what a pacifist meeting was like. Perhaps Peter might help tomake a Red out of her! And Peter was very glad indeed, for he wasnever more bored with the whining of pacifists than now when ourboys were hurling the Germans back from the Marne and writing theirnames upon history's most imperishable pages. 

Rosie was something new and unforeseen, and Peter went right afterher, and presently he realized with delight that she was interestedin him. Peter knew, of course, that he was superior to all thiscrowd, but he wasn't used to having the fact recognized, and asusual when a woman smiled upon him, the pressure of his self-esteemrose beyond the safety point. Rosie was one of those people who takethe world as it is and get some fun out of it, so while the pacifistmeeting went on, Peter sat over in the corner and told her inwhispers his funny adventures with Pericles Priam and in the Templeof Jimjambo. Rosie could hardly repress her laughter, and her blackeyes flashed, and before the evening was over their hands hadtouched several times. Then Peter offered to escort her and Miriam, and needless to say they took Miriam home first. The tenementstreets were deserted at this late hour, so they found a chance forswift embraces, and Peter went home with his feet hardly touchingthe ground. 

Rosie worked in a paper-box factory, and next evening Peter took herout to dinner, and their eager flirtation went on. But Rosie showeda tendency to retreat, and when Peter pressed her, she told him thereason. She had no use for Reds; she was sick of the jargon of theReds, she would never love a Red. Look at Miriam Yankovich--what awreck she had made of her life! She had been a handsome girl, shemight have got a rich husband, but now she had had to be cut topieces! And look at Sadie Todd, slaving herself to death, and AdaRuth with her poems that made you tired. Rosie jeered at them all, and riddled them with the arrows of her wit, and of course Peter inhis heart agreed with everything she said; yet Peter had to pretendto disagree, and that made Rosie cross and spoiled their fun, andthey almost quarreled. 

Under these circumstances, naturally it was hard for Peter not togive some hint of his true feeling. After he had spent all of hismoney on Rosie and a lot of his time and hadn't got anywhere, hedecided to make some concession to her--he told her he would give uptrying to make a Red out of her. Whereupon Rosie made a face at him. "Very kind indeed of you, Mr. Gudge! But how about my making a`White' out of you?" And she went on to inform him that she wanteda fellow that could make money and take care of a girl. Peteranswered that he was making money all right. Well, how was he makingmoney, asked Rosie. Peter wouldn't tell, but he was making it, andhe would prove it by taking her to the theater every night. 

So the little duel went on, evening after evening. Peter got moreand more crazy about this black-eyed beauty, and she got more andmore coquettish, and more and more impatient with his radicalleanings. Rosie's father had brought her as a baby from Kisheneff, but she was 100% American all the same, so she told him; those boysin khaki who were over there walloping the Huns were the boys forher, and she was waiting for one of them to come back. What was thematter with Peter that he wasn't doing his part? Was he adraft-dodger? Rosie had never had anything to do with slackers, andwasn't keen for the company of a man who couldn't give an account ofhimself. Only that day she had been reading in the paper about theatrocities committed by the Huns. How could any man with red bloodin his veins sympathize with these pacifists and traitors? And ifPeter didn't sympathize with them, why did he travel round with themand give them his moral support? When Peter made a feeble effort atrepeating some of the pacifists' arguments, Rosie just said, "Oh, fudge! You've got too much sense to talk that kind of stuff to me. "And Peter knew, of course, that he _had_ too much sense, and it washard to keep from letting Rosie see it. He had just lost one girlbecause of his Red entanglements. Was it up to him to lose another?

For a couple of weeks they sparred and fought. Rosie would let Peterkiss her, and Peter's head would be quite turned with desire. Hedecided that she was the most wonderful girl he had ever known; evenNell Doolin had nothing on her. But then once more she would pinPeter down on this business of his Redness, and would spurn him, andrefuse to see him any more. At last Peter admitted to her that hehad lost his sympathy with the Reds, she had converted him, and hedespised them. So Rosie replied that she was delighted; they wouldgo at once to see Miriam Yankovich, and Peter would tell her, andtry to convert her also. Peter was then in a bad dilemma; he had toinsist that Rosie should keep his conversion a secret. But Rosiebecame indignant, she set her lips and declared that a conversionthat had to be kept secret was no conversion at all, it was simply alow sham, and Peter Gudge was a coward, and she was sick of him! Sopoor Peter went away, heartbroken and bewildered. 

Section 72

There was only one way out of this plight for Peter, and that wasfor him to tell Rosie the truth. And why should he not do it? He waswild about her, and he knew that she was wild about him, and onlyone thing--his great secret--stood in the way of their perfectbliss. If he told her that great secret, he would be a hero ofheroes in her eyes; he would be more wonderful even than the men whowere driving back the Germans from the Marne and writing their namesupon history's most imperishable pages! So why should he not tell?

He was in her room one evening, and his arms were about her, and shehad almost but not quite yielded. "Please, please, Peter, " shepleaded, "stop being one of those horrid Reds!" And Peter couldstand it no longer. He told her that he really wasn't a Red, but asecret agent employed by the very biggest business men of AmericanCity to keep track of the Reds and bring their activities to naught. And when he told this, Rosie stared at him in consternation. Sherefused to believe him; when he insisted, she laughed at him, andfinally became angry. It was a silly yarn, and did he imagine hecould string her along like that?

So Peter, irritated, set out to convince her. He told her aboutGuffey and the American City Land & Investment Company; he told herabout McGivney, and how he met McGivney regularly at Room 427 of theAmerican House. He told her about his thirty dollars a week, and howit was soon to be increased to forty, and he would spend it all onher. And perhaps she might pretend to be converted by him, andbecome a Red also, and if she could satisfy McGivney that she wasstraight, he would pay her too, and it would be a lot better thanworking ten and a half hours a day in Isaac & Goldstein's paper boxfactory. 

At last Peter succeeded in convincing the girl. She was subdued andfrightened; she hadn't been prepared for anything like that, shesaid, and would have to have a little time to think it over. Peterthen became worried in turn. He hoped she wouldn't mind, he said, and set to work to explain to her how important his work was, how ithad the sanction of all the very best people in the city--not merelythe great bankers and business men, but mayors and public officialsand newspaper editors and college presidents, and great Park Avenueclergymen like the Rev. De Willoughby Stotterbridge of the Church ofthe Divine Compassion. And Rosie said that was all right, of course, but she was a little scared and would have to think it over. Shebrought the evening to an abrupt end, and Peter went home muchdisconcerted. 

Perhaps an hour later there came a sharp tap on the door of hislodging-house room, and he went to the door, and found himselfconfronted by David Andrews, the lawyer, Donald Gordon, and JohnDurand, the labor giant, president of the Seamen's Union. They nevereven said, "Howdy do, " but stalked into the room, and Durand shutthe door behind him, and stood with his back to it, folded his armsand glared at Peter like the stone image of an Aztec chieftain. Sobefore they said a word Peter knew what had happened. He knew thatthe jig was up for good this time; his career as savior of thenation was at an end. And again it was all on account of awoman--all because he hadn't taken Guffey's advice about winking!

But all other thoughts were driven from Peter's mind by one emotion, which was terror. His teeth began giving their imitation of an angrywoodchuck, and his knees refused to hold him; he sat down on theedge of the bed, staring from one to another of these three stoneAztec faces. "Well, Gudge, " said Andrews, at last, "so you're thespy we've been looking for all this time!"

Peter remembered Nell's injunction, "Stick it out, Peter! Stick itout!"

"Wh-wh-what do you mean, Mr. Andrews?"

"Forget it, Gudge, " said Andrews. "We've just been talking withRosie, and Rosie was our spy. "

"She's been lying to you!" Peter cried. 

But Andrews said: "Oh rubbish! We're not that easy! Miriam Yankovichwas listening behind the door, and heard your talk. "

So then Peter knew that the case was hopeless, and there was nothingleft but to ascertain his fate. Had they come just to scold him andappeal to his conscience? Or did they plan to carry him away andstrangle him and torture him to death? The latter was the terrorthat had been haunting Peter from the beginning of his career, andwhen gradually be made out that the three Aztecs did not intendviolence, and that all they hoped for was to get him to admit howmuch he had told to his employers--then there was laughter insidePeter, and he broke down and wept tears of scalding shame, and saidthat it had all been because McCormick had told that cruel lie abouthim and little Jennie Todd. He had resisted the temptation for ayear, but then he had been out of a job, and the Goober DefenseCommittee had refused him any work; he had actually been starving, and so at last he had accepted McGivney's offer to let him knowabout the seditious activities of the extreme Reds. But he had neverreported anybody who hadn't really broken the law, and he had nevertold McGivney anything but the truth. 

Then Andrews proceeded to examine him. Peter denied that he had everreported anything about the Goober case. He denied most strenuouslythat he had ever had anything to do with the McCormick "frame-up. "When they tried to pin him down on this case and that, he suddenlysummoned his dignity and declared that Andrews had no right tocross-question him, he was a 100%, red-blooded American patriot, andhad been saving his country and his God from German agents andBolshevik traitors. 

Donald Gordon almost went wild at that. "What you've been doing wasto slip stuff into our pamphlet about conscientious objectors, so asto get us all indicted!"

"That's a lie!" cried Peter. "I never done nothing of the kind!"

"You know perfectly well you rubbed out those pencil marks that Idrew through that sentence in the pamphlet. "

"I never done it!" cried Peter, again and again. 

And suddenly big John Durand clenched his hands, and his face becameterrible with his pent-up rage. "You white-livered little sneak!" hehissed. "What we ought to do with you is to pull the lying tongueout of you!" He took a step forward, as if he really meant to do it. 

But David Andrews interfered. He was a lawyer, and knew thedifference between what he could do and what Guffey's men could do. "No, no, John, " he said, "nothing like that. I guess we've got allwe can get out of this fellow. We'll leave him to his own conscienceand his Jingo God. Come on, Donald. " And he took the white-facedQuaker boy with one hand, and the big labor giant with the other, and walked them out of the room, and Peter heard them tramping downthe stairs of his lodging house, and he lay on his bed and buriedhis face in the pillows, and felt utterly wretched, because oncemore he had been made a fool of, and as usual it was a woman thathad done it. 

Section 73

Peter could see it all very clearly when he came to figure over thething; he could see what a whooping jackass he had been. He mighthave known that it was up to him to be careful, at this time of alltimes, when he was suspected of having rubbed out Donald Gordon'spencil marks. They had picked out a girl whom Peter had never seenbefore, and she had come and posed as Miriam's friend, and hadproceeded to take Peter by the nose and lead him to the edge of theprecipice and shove him over. And now she would be laughing at him, telling all her friends about her triumph, and about Peter's thirtydollars a week that he would never see again. 

Peter spent a good part of the night getting up the story that hewas to tell McGivney next morning. He wouldn't mention Rosie Stern, of course; he would say that the Reds had trailed him to Room 427, and it must be they had a spy in Guffey's office. Peter repeatedthis story quite solemnly, and again realized too late that he hadmade a fool of himself. It wasn't twenty-four hours before every Redin American City knew the true, inside history of the unveiling ofPeter Gudge as a spy of the Traction Trust. The story occupied acouple of pages in that week's issue of the "Clarion, " and includedPeter's picture, and an account of the part that Peter had played invarious frame-ups. It was nearly all true, and the fact that it wasguess-work on Donald Gordon's part did not make it any the betterfor Peter. Of course McGivney and Guffey and all his men read thestory, and knew Peter for the whooping jackass that Peter knewhimself. 

"You go and get yourself a job with a pick and shovel, " saidMcGivney, and Peter sorrowfully took his departure. He had only afew dollars in his pocket, and these did not last very long, and hehad got down to his last nickel, and was confronting the wolf ofstarvation again, when McGivney came to his lodging house room witha new proposition. There was one job left, and Peter might take itif he thought he could stand the gaff. 

It was the job of state's witness. Peter had been all thru the Redmovement, he knew all these pacifists and Socialists andSyndicalists and I. W. Ws. Who were now in jail. In some cases theevidence of the government was far from satisfactory; so Peter mighthave his salary back again, if he were willing to take the witnessstand and tell what he was told to tell, and if he could manage tosit in a courtroom without falling in love with some of the ladyjurors, or some of the lady spies of the defense. These deadlyshafts of sarcasm Peter did not even feel, because he was sofrightened by the proposition which McGivney put up to him. To comeout into the open and face the blinding glare of the Red hate! Toplace himself, the ant, between the smashing fists of the battlinggiants!

Yes, it might seem dangerous, said McGivney, for a cowardly littlewhelp like himself; but then a good many men had had the nerve to doit, and none of them had died yet. McGivney himself did not pretendto care very much whether Peter did it or not; he put the matter upto him on Guffey's orders. The job was worth forty dollars a week, and he might take it or leave it. 

And there sat Peter, with only a nickel and a couple of pennies inhis pocket, and the rent for his room two weeks over-due, and hislandlady lying in wait in the hallway like an Indian with atomahawk. Peter objected, what about all those bad things in hisearly record, Pericles Priam and the Temple of Jimjambo, which hadruined him as a witness in the Goober case. McGivney answered drylythat he couldn't let himself out with that excuse; he was invited topose as a reformed "wobbly, " and the more crimes and rascalities hehad in his record, the more convinced the jury would be that he hadbeen a real "wobbly. "

Peter asked, just when would he be expected to appear? And McGivneyanswered, the very next week. They were trying seventeen of the"wobblies" on a conspiracy charge, and Peter would be expected totake the stand and tell how he had heard them advocate violence, andheard them boast of having set fire to barns and wheat fields, andhow they had put phosphorus bombs into haystacks, and copper nailsinto fruit trees, and spikes into sawmill logs, and emery powderinto engine bearings. Peter needn't worry about what he would haveto say, McGivney would tell him everything, and would see himthoroughly posted, and he would find himself a hero in thenewspapers, which would make clear that he had done everything fromthe very highest possible motives of 100% Americanism, and that nosoldier in the war had been performing a more dangerous service. 

To Peter it seemed they might say that without troubling theirconscience very much. But McGivney went on to declare that heneedn't be afraid; it was no part of Guffey's program to give theReds the satisfaction of putting his star witness out of business. Peter would be kept in a safe place, and would always have abody-guard. While he was in the city, giving his testimony, theywould put him up at the Hotel de Soto. 

And that of course settled it. Here was poor Peter, with only anickel and two coppers in his pocket, and before him stood a chariotof fire with magic steeds, and all he had to do was to step in, andbe whirled away to Mount Olympus. Peter stepped in!

Section 74

McGivney took him to Guffey's office, and Guffey wasted no time uponpreliminaries, but turned to his desk, and took out a longtypewritten document, a complete account of what the prosecutionmeant to prove against the seventeen I. W. Ws. First, Peter toldwhat he himself had seen and heard--not very much, but a beginning, a hook to hang his story upon. The I. W. W. Hall was the meetingplace for the casual and homeless labor of the country, the"bindle-stiffs" who took the hardest of the world's hard knocks, andsometimes returned them. There was no kind of injustice thesefellows hadn't experienced, and now and then they had given blow forblow. Also there were loose talkers among them, who worked off theirfeelings by threats of vengeance upon their enemies. Now and then areal criminal came along, and now and then a paid inciter, a PeterGudge or a Joe Angell. Peter told the worst that he had heard, andall he knew about the arrested men, and Guffey wrote it all down, and then proceeded to build upon it. This fellow Alf Guinness hadhad a row with a farmer in Wheatland County; there had been a barnburned nearby, and Guffey would furnish an automobile and a coupleof detectives to travel with Peter, and they would visit the sceneof that fire and the nearby village, and familiarize themselves withthe locality, and Peter would testify how he had been with Guinnesswhen he and a half dozen of the defendants had set fire to thatbarn. 

Peter hadn't intended anything quite so serious as that, but Guffeywas so business-like, and took it all so much as a matter of course, that Peter was afraid to show the white feather. After all, this waswar-time; hundreds of men were giving up their lives every day inthe Argonne, and why shouldn't Peter take a little risk in order toput out of business his country's most dangerous enemies?

So Peter and his two detectives blew themselves to a joy ride in thecountry. And then Peter was brought back and made comfortable in aroom on the twelfth floor of the Hotel de Soto, where he diligentlystudied the typewritten documents which McGivney brought him, andthoroughly learned the story he was to tell. There was always one ofGuffey's men walking up and down in the hallway outside with a gunon his hip, and they brought Peter three meals a day, not forgettinga bottle of beer and a package of cigarettes. Twice a day Peter readin the newspapers about the heroic deeds of our boys over there, andalso about the latest bomb plots which had been discovered all overthe country, and about various trials under the espionage act. 

Also, Peter had the thrill of reading about himself in a realnewspaper. Hitherto he had been featured in labor papers, andSocialist papers like the "Clarion, " which did not count; but nowthe American City "Times" came out with a long story of how thedistrict attorney's office had "planted" a secret agent with the I. W. W. , and how this man, whose name was Peter Gudge, had beenworking as one of them for the past two years, and was going toreveal the whole story of I. W. W. Infamy on the witness stand. 

Two days before the trial Peter was escorted by McGivney and anotherdetective to the district attorney's office, and spent the best partof the day in conference with Mr. Burchard and his deputy, Mr. Stannard, who were to try the case. McGivney had told Peter that thedistrict attorney was not in the secret, he really believed thatPeter's story was all true; but Peter suspected that this wascamouflage, to save Mr. Burchard's face, and to protect him in casePeter ever tried to "throw him down. " Peter noticed that whenever heleft any gap in his story, the district attorney and the deputy toldhim to fill it, and he managed to guess what to fill it with. 

Henry Clay Burchard came from the far South, and followed a style oforatory long since gone out of date. He wore his heavy black hair alittle long, and when he mounted the platform he would pull out thetremulo stop, stretching out his hands and saying in tones ofquivering emotion: "The ladies, God bless them!" Also he would say:"I am a friend of the common man. My heart beats with sympathy forthose who constitute the real backbone of America, the toilers ofthe shop and farm. " And then all the banqueters of the Chamber ofCommerce and the Merchants' and Manufacturers' Association wouldapplaud, and would send their checks to the campaign fund of thisfriend of the common man. Mr. Burchard's deputy, Mr. Stannard, was alegal fox who told his chief what to do and how to do it; a dried-uplittle man who looked like a bookworm, and sat boring you thru withhis keen eyes, watching for your weak points and preparing to pierceyou thru with one of his legal rapiers. He would be quite friendlyabout it--he would joke with you in the noon hour, assuming that youwould of course understand it was all in the line of business, andno harm meant. 

Section 75

The two men heard Peter's story and changed it a little, and thenheard him over again and pronounced him all right, and Peter wentback to his hotel room and waited in trepidation for his hour in thelimelight. When they took him to court his knees were shaking, butalso he had a thrill of real importance, for they had provided himwith a body-guard of four big huskies; also he saw two "bulls" whomhe recognized in the hallway outside the court-room, and many othersscattered thru the audience. The place was packed with Redsympathizers, but they had all been searched before they wereallowed to enter, and were being watched every moment during thetrial. 

When Peter stepped into the witness box he felt as Tom Duggan andDonald Gordon must have felt that night when the white glare fromthirty or forty automobiles was beating upon them. Peter felt theconcentrated Red hate of two or three hundred spectators, and nowand then their pent-up fury would break restraint; there would be amurmur of protest, or perhaps a wave of sneering laughter, and thebailiff would bang on the table with his wooden mallet, and thejudge would half rise from his seat, and declare that if thathappened again he would order the court-room cleared. 

Not far in front of Peter at a long table sat the seventeendefendants, looking like trapped rats, and every one of theirthirty-four rat eyes were fixed upon Peter's face, and never movedfrom it. Peter only glanced that way once; they bared their rats'teeth at him, and he quickly looked in another direction. But therealso he saw a face that brought him no comfort; there sat Mrs. Godd, in her immaculate white chiffons, her wide-open blue eyes fixed uponhis face, her expression full of grief and reproach. "Oh, Mr. Gudge!" she seemed to be saying. "How can you? Mr. Gudge, is thisPeace. . . Justice. . . Truth. . . Law?" And Peter realized with apang that he had cut himself off forever from Mount Olympus, andfrom the porch chair with the soft silken pillows! He turned awaytoward the box where sat the twelve jurymen and women. One old ladygave him a benevolent smile, and a young farmer gave him a sly wink, so Peter knew that he had friends in that quarter--and after all, they were the ones who really counted in this trial. Mrs. Godd wasas helpless as any "wobbly, " in the presence of this august court. 

Peter told his story, and then came his cross-questioning, and whoshould rise and start the job but David Andrews, suave and humorousand deadly. Peter had always been afraid of Andrews, and now hewinced. Nobody had told him he was to face an ordeal like this!Nobody had told him that Andrews would be allowed to question himabout every detail of these crimes which he said he had witnessed, and about all the conversations that had taken place, and who elsewas present, and what else had been said, and how he had come to bethere, and what he had done afterwards, and what he had had to eatfor breakfast that morning. Only two things saved Peter, first theconstant rapid-fire of objections which Stannard kept making, togive Peter time to think; and second, the cyclone-cellar whichStannard had provided for him in advance. "You can always fail toremember, " the deputy had said; "nobody can punish you forforgetting something. " So Peter would repeat the minute details of aconversation in which Alf Guinness had told of burning down thebarn, but he didn't remember who else had heard the conversation, and he didn't remember what else had been said, nor what was thedate of the conversation. 

Then came the blessed hour of noon, with a chance for Peter to getfixed up again before the court resumed at two. He was questionedagain by Stannard, who patched up all the gaps in his testimony, andthen again he failed to remember things, and so avoided the trapswhich Andrews set for his feet. He was told that he had "done fine, "and was escorted back to the Hotel de Soto in triumph, and there fora week he stayed while the defense made a feeble effort to answerhis testimony. Peter read in the papers the long speeches in whichthe district attorney and the deputy acclaimed him as a patriot, protecting his country from its "enemies within;" also he read abrief reference to the "tirade" of David Andrews, who had called hima "rat" and a "slinking Judas. " Peter didn't mind that, ofcourse--it was all part of the game, and the calling of names is apretty sure sign of impotence. 

Less easy to accept placidly, however, was something which came toPeter that same day--a letter from Mrs. Godd! It wasn't written tohim, but he saw Hammett and another of the "bulls" chucklingtogether, and he asked what was the joke, and they told him thatMrs. Godd had somehow found out about Guffey, and had written him aletter full of insults, and Guffey was furious. Peter asked what wasin it, and they told him, and later on when he insisted, theybrought it and showed it to him, and Peter was furious too. On veryexpensive stationery with a stately crest at the top, the mother ofMount Olympus had written in a large, bland, girlish hand heropinion of "under cover" men and those who hired them:

"You sit like a big spider and weave a net to catch men and destroythem. You destroy alike your victims and your tools. The poor boy, Peter Gudge, whom you sent to my home--my heart bleeds when I thinkof him, and what you have put him up to! A wretched, feeble-mindedvictim of greed, who ought to be sent to a hospital for deformedsouls, you have taken him and taught him a piece of villainy torecite, so that he may send a group of sincere idealists to prison. "

That was enough! Peter put down the letter--he would not dignifysuch stuff by reading it. He realized that he would have to put hismind on the problem of Mrs. Godd once more. One woman like that, inher position of power, was more dangerous than all the seventeen"wobblies" who had been haled before the court. Peter inquired, andlearned that Guffey had already been to see Nelse Ackerman about it, and Mr. Ackerman had been to see Mr. Godd, and Mr. Godd had been tosee Mrs. Godd. Also the "Times" had an editorial referring to the"nest of Bolshevism" upon Mount Olympus, and all Mrs. Godd's friendswere staying away from her luncheon-parties--so she was being madeto suffer for her insolence to Peter Gudge!

"A hospital for deformed souls, " indeed! Peter was so upset that hisjoy in life was not restored even by the news that the jury hadfound the defendants guilty on the first ballot. He told McGivneythat the strain of this trial had been too much for his nerves, andthey must take care of him; so an automobile was provided, and Peterwas taken to a secret hiding place in the country to recuperate. 

Hammett went with him, and Hammett was a first-class gunman, andPeter stayed close by him; in the evening he stayed up in the secondstory of the farm-house, lest perchance one of the "wobblies" shouldtake too literally the testimony Peter had given concerning theirhabit of shooting at their enemies out of the darkness. Peter knewhow they all must hate him; he read in the paper how the judgesummoned the guilty men before him and sentenced them, incidentallyforcing them to listen to a scathing address, which was published infull in the "Times. " The law provided a penalty of from one tofourteen years, and the judge sentenced sixteen of them to fourteenyears, and one to ten years, thus tempering justice with mercy. 

Then one day McGivney sent an automobile, and Peter was brought toGuffey's office, and a new plan was unfolded to him. They hadarrested another bunch of "wobblies" in the neighboring city ofEldorado, and Peter was wanted there to repeat his testimony. Ithappened that he knew one of the accused men, and that would besufficient to get his testimony in--his prize stuff about theburning barns and the phosphorus bombs. He would be taken care ofjust as thoroughly by the district attorney's office of EldoradoCounty; or better yet, Guffey would write to his friend SteveEllman, who did the detective work for the Home and FiresideAssociation, the big business organization of that city. 

Peter hemmed and hawed. This was a pretty hard and dangerous kind ofwork, it really played the devil with a man's nerves, sitting upthere in the hotel room all day, with nothing to do but smokecigarettes and imagine the "wobblies" throwing bombs at you. Also, it wouldn't last very long; it ought to be better paid. Guffeyanswered that Peter needn't worry about the job's lasting; if hecared to give this testimony, he might have a joy ride from one endof the country to the other, and everywhere he would live on the fatof the land, and be a hero in the newspapers. 

But still Peter hemmed and hawed. He had learned from the AmericanCity "Times" how valuable a witness he was, and he ventured todemand his price, even from the terrible Guffey; he stuck it out, inspite of Guffey's frowns, and the upshot was that Guffey said, Allright, if Peter would take the trip he might have seventy-fivedollars a week and expenses, and Guffey would guarantee to keep himbusy for not less than six months. 

Section 76

So Peter went to Eldorado, and helped to send eleven men to thepenitentiary for periods varying from three to fourteen years. Thenhe went to Flagland, and testified in three different trials, andadded seven more scalps to his belt. By this time he got to realizethat the worst the Reds could do was to make faces at him and showthe teeth of trapped rats. He learned to take his profession moreeasily, and would sometimes venture to go out for an evening'spleasure without his guards. When he was hidden in the country hewould take long walks. Regardless of the thousands of blood-thirstyReds on his trail. 

It was while Peter was testifying in Flagland that a magic word wasflashed from Europe, and the whole city went mad with joy. Everyone, from babies to old men, turned out on the streets and waved flagsand banged tin cans and shouted for peace with victory. When it waslearned that the newspapers had fooled them, they waited three days, and then turned out and went thru the same performance again. Peterwas a bit worried at first, for fear the coming of peace might endhis job of saving the country; but presently he realized that therewas no need for concern, the smashing of the Reds was going on justthe same. 

They had some raids on the Socialists while Peter was in Flagland, and the detectives told him he might come along for the fun of it. So Peter armed himself with a black-jack and a revolver, and helpedto rush the Socialist headquarters. The war was over, but Peter feltjust as military as if it were still going on; when he got thelittle Jewish organizer of the local pent up in a corner behind hisdesk and proceeded to crack him over the head, Peter understoodexactly how our boys had felt in the Argonne. When he discovered thethrill of dancing on typewriter keys with his boots, he evenunderstood how the Huns had felt. 

The detectives were joined by a bunch of college boys, who took tothat kind of thing with glee. Having got their blood up, theydecided they might as well clean out the Red movement entirely, sothey rushed a place called the "International Book-Shop, " kept by aHawaiian. The proprietor dodged into the kitchen of a Chineserestaurant next door, and put on an apron; but no one had ever seena Chinaman with a black mustache, so they fell on him and brokeseveral of the Chinaman's sauce-pans over his head. They took thecontents of the "International Book-Shop" into the back yard andstarted a bon-fire with it, and detectives and college boys on alark joined hands and danced an imitation of the Hawaiian hula-hulaaround the blaze. 

So Peter lived a merry life for several months. He had one or twojourneys for nothing, because an obstinate judge refused to admitthat anything that any I. W. W. Had ever said or done anywherewithin the last ten years was proper testimony to be introducedagainst a particular I. W. W. On trial. But most judges were willingto co-operate with the big business men in ridding the country ofthe Red menace, and Peter's total of scalps amounted to over ahundred before his time was up, and Guffey sent him his last cheekand turned him loose. 

That was in the city of Richport, and Peter having in an insidepocket something over a thousand dollars in savings, felt that hehad earned a good time. He went for a stroll on the Gay White Way ofthe city, and in front of a moving picture palace a golden-hairedgirl smiled at him. This was still in the days of two andthree-fourths per cent beer, and Peter invited her into a saloon tohave a glass, and when he opened his eyes again it was dark, and hehad a splitting headache, and he groped around and discovered thathe was lying in a dark corner of an alleyway. Terror gripped hisheart, and he clapped his hand to the inside pocket where his wallethad been, and there was nothing but horrible emptiness. So Peter wasruined once again, and as usual it was a woman that had done it!

Peter went to the police-station, but they never found the woman, orif they did, they divided with her and not with Peter. He threwhimself on the mercy of the sergeant at the desk, and succeeded inconvincing the sergeant that he, Peter, was a part of the machineryof his country's defense, and the sergeant agreed to stand sponsorfor ten words to Guffey. So Peter sat himself down with a pencil andpaper, and figured over it, and managed to get it into ten words, asfollows: "Woman again broke any old job any pay wire fare. " And itappeared that Guffey must have sat himself down with a pencil andpaper and figured over it also, for the answer came back in tenwords, as follows: "Idiot have wired secretary chamber commerce willgive you ticket. "

So Peter repaired forthwith to the stately offices of the Chamber ofCommerce, and the hustling, efficient young business-man secretarysent his clerk to buy Peter a ticket and put him on the train. In atime of need like that Peter realized what it meant to have thebacking of a great and powerful organization, with stately officesand money on hand for all emergencies, even when they arose bytelegraph. He took a new vow of sobriety and decency, so that hemight always have these forces of law and order on his side. 

Section 77

Peter was duly scolded, and put to work as an "office man" at hisold salary of twenty dollars a week. It was his duty to consult withGuffey's many "operatives, " to tell them everything he knew aboutthis individual Red or that organization of Reds. He would use hisinside knowledge of personalities and doctrines and movements tohelp in framing up testimony, and in setting traps for too ardentagitators. He could no longer pose as a Red himself, but sometimesthere were cases where he could do detective work without beingrecognized; when, for example, there was a question of fixing ajuror, or of investigating the members of a panel. 

The I. W. Ws. Had been put out of business in American City, but theSocialists were still active, in spite of prosecutions andconvictions. Also there was a new peril looming up; the returnedsoldiers were coming back, and a lot of them were dissatisfied, presuming to complain of their treatment in the army, and of thelack of good jobs at home, and even of the peace treaty which thePresident was arranging in Paris. They had fought to make the worldsafe for democracy, and here, they said, it had been made safe forthe profiteers. This was plain Bolshevism, and in its most dangerousform, because these fellows had learned to use guns, and couldn'tvery well be expected to become pacifists right off the bat. 

There had been a great labor shortage during the war, and some ofthe more powerful unions had taken the general rise in prices as anexcuse for demanding higher wages. This naturally had made themembers of the Chamber of Commerce and the Merchants' andManufacturers' Association indignant, and now they saw their chanceto use these returned soldiers to smash strikes and to break theorganizations of the labor men. They proceeded to organize thesoldiers for this purpose; in American City the Chamber of Commercecontributed twenty-five thousand dollars to furnish the club-roomsfor them, and when the trolley men went on strike the cars were runby returned soldiers in uniform. 

There was one veteran, a fellow by the name of Sydney, who objectedto this program. He was publishing a paper, the "Veteran's Friend, "and began to use the paper to protest against his comrades acting aswhat he called "scabs. " The secretary of the Merchants' andManufacturers' Association sent for him and gave him a straighttalking to, but he went right ahead with his campaign, and soGuffey's office was assigned the task of shutting him up. Peter, while he could not take an active part in the job, was the one whoguided it behind the scenes. They proceeded to plant spies inSydney's office, and they had so many that it was really a joke;they used to laugh and say that they trod on one another's toes. Sydney was poor, and had not enough money to run his paper, so heaccepted any volunteer labor that came along. And Guffey sent himplenty of volunteers--no less than seven operatives--one keepingSydney's books, another helping with his mailing, two more helpingto raise funds among the labor unions, others dropping in every dayor two to advise him. Nevertheless Sydney went right ahead with hisprogram of denouncing the Merchants' and Manufacturers' Association, and denouncing the government for its failure to provide farms andjobs for the veterans. 

One of Guffey's "under cover operatives"--that was the technicalterm for the Peter Gudges and Joe Angells--was a man by the name ofJonas. This Jonas called himself a "philosophic anarchist, " andposed as the reddest Red in American City; it was his habit to riseup in radical meetings and question the speaker, and try to tempthim to justify violence and insurrection and "mass-action. " If herepudiated these ideas, then Jonas would denounce him as a"mollycoddle, " a "pink tea Socialist, " a "labor faker. " Other peoplein the audience would applaud, and so Guffey's men would find outwho were the real Red sympathizers. 

Peter had long suspected Jonas, and now he was sent to meet him inRoom 427 of the American House, and together they framed up a job onSydney. Jonas wrote a letter, supposed to come from a German"comrade, " giving the names of some papers in Europe to which theeditor should send sample copies of his magazine. This letter wasmailed to Sydney, and next morning Jonas wandered into the office, and Sydney showed him the letter, and Jonas told him that these werelabor papers, and the editors would no doubt be interested to knowof the feelings of American soldiers since the war. Sydney sat downto write a letter, and Jonas stood by his side and told him what towrite: "To my erstwhile enemies in arms I send fraternal greetings, and welcome you as brothers in the new co-operative commonwealthwhich is to be"--and so on, the usual Internationalist patter, whichall these agitators were spouting day and night, and which ran offthe ends of their pens automatically. Sydney mailed these letters, and the sample copies of the magazine, and Guffey's office tippedoff the postoffice authorities, who held up the letters. Thebook-keeper, one of Guffey's operatives, went to the Federalattorney and made affidavit that Sydney had been carrying on aconspiracy with the enemy in war-time, and a warrant was issued, andthe offices of the magazine were raided, the subscription-listsconfiscated, and everything in the rooms dumped out into the middleof the floor. 

So there was a little job all Peter's own; except that Jonas, thescoundrel, claimed it for his, and tried to deprive Peter of thecredit! So Peter was glad when the Federal authorities looked thecase over and said it was a bum job, and they wouldn't monkey withit. However, the evidence was turned over to District-attorneyBurchard, who wasn't quite so fastidious, and his agents madeanother raid, and smashed up the office again, and threw thereturned soldier into jail. The judge fixed the bail at fifteenthousand dollars, and the American City "Times" published the storywith scare-headlines all the way across the front page--how theeditor of the "Veteran's Friend" had been caught conspiring with theenemy, and here was a photographic copy of his treasonable letter, and a copy of the letter of the mysterious German conspirator withwhom he had been in relations! They spent more than a year tryingthat editor, and although he was out on bail, Guffey saw to it thathe could not get a job anywhere in American City; his paper wassmashed and his family near to starvation. 

Section 78

Peter had now been working faithfully for six or eight months, andall that time he religiously carried out his promise to Guffey anddid not wink at a woman. But that is an unnatural life for a man, and Peter was lonely, his dreams were haunted by the faces of NellDoolin and Rosie Stern, and even of little Jennie Todd. One dayanother face came back to him, the face of Miss Frisbie, the littlemanicurist who had spurned him because he was a Red. Now suddenlyPeter realized that he was no longer a Red! On the contrary, he wasa hero, his picture had been published in the American City "Times, "and no doubt Miss Frisbie had seen it. Miss Frisbie was a good girl, a straight girl, and surely all right for him to know!

So Peter went to the manicure parlor, and sure enough, there was thelittle golden-haired lady; and sure enough, she had read all abouthim, she had been dreaming that some day she might meet himagain--and so Peter invited her to go to a picture show. On the wayhome they became very chummy, and before a week went by it was as ifthey had been friends for life. When Peter asked Miss Frisbie if hemight kiss her, she answered coyly that he might, but after he hadkissed her a few times she explained to him that she was aself-supporting woman, alone and defenseless in the world, and shehad nobody to speak for her but herself; she must tell him that shehad always been a respectable woman, and that she wanted him to knowthat before he kissed her any more. And Peter thought it over anddecided that he had sowed his full share of wild oats in this life;he was ready to settle down, and the next time he saw Miss Frisbiehe told her so, and before the evening was by they were engaged. 

Then Peter went to see Guffey, and seated himself on the edge of thechair alongside Guffey's desk, and twisted his hat in his hands, andflushed very red, and began to stammer out his confession. Heexpected to be received with a gale of ridicule; he was immenselyrelieved when Guffey said that if Peter had really found a good girland wanted to marry her, he, Guffey, was for it. There was nothinglike the influence of a good woman, and Guffey much preferred hisoperatives should be married men, living a settled and respectablelife. They could be trusted then, and sometimes when a womanoperative was needed, they had a partner ready to hand. If Peter hadgot married long ago, he might have had a good sum of money in thebank by now. 

Peter ventured to point out that twenty dollars a week was notexactly a marrying salary, in the face of the present high cost ofliving. Guffey answered that that was true, and he would raise Peterto thirty dollars right away--only first he demanded the right totalk to Peter's fiancee, and judge for himself whether shewas worthy. Peter was delighted, and Miss Frisbie had a private andconfidential interview with Peter's boss. But afterwards Peterwasn't quite so delighted, for he realized what Guffey had done. Peter's future wife had been told all about Peter's weakness, andhow Peter's boss looked to her to take care of her husband and makehim walk the chalkline. So a week after Peter had entered the holybonds of matrimony, when he and Mrs. Gudge had their first littlefamily tiff, Peter suddenly discovered who was going to be top dogin that family. He was shown his place once for all, and he tookit, --alongside that husband who described his domestic arrangementsby saying that he and his wife got along beautifully together, theyhad come to an arrangement by which he was to have his way on allmajor issues, and she was to have her way on all minor issues, andso far no major issues had arisen. 

But really it was a very good thing; for Gladys Frisbie Gudge was anexcellent manager, and set to work making herself a nest as busilyas any female beaver. She still hung on to her manicurist job, forshe had figured it out that the Red movement must be just aboutdestroyed by now, and pretty soon Peter might find himself withoutwork. In the evenings she took to house-hunting, and during her noonhour, without consulting Peter she selected the furniture and thewall-paper, and pretty nearly bought out the stock of afive-and-ten-cent store to equip the beaver's nest. 

Gladys Frisbie Gudge was a diligent reader of the fashion magazines, and kept herself right up to the minute with the styles; also shehad got herself a book on etiquette, and learned it by heart fromcover to cover, and now she took Peter in hand and taught it to him. Why must he always be a "Jimmie Higgins" of the "Whites?" Whyshould he not acquire the vocabulary of an educated man, the artsand graces of the well-to-do? Gladys knew that it is thesesubtleties which determine your salary in the long run; so everySunday morning she would dress him up with a new brown derby and anew pair of brown kid gloves, and take him to the Church of theDivine Compassion, and they would listen to the patriotic sermon ofthe Rev. De Willoughby Stotterbridge, and Gladys would bow her headin prayer, and out of the corner of her eye would get points oncostumes from the lady in the next pew. And afterwards they wouldjoin the Sunday parade, and Gladys would point out to Peter themarks of what she called "gentility. " In the evenings they would gowalking, and she would stop in front of the big shop-windows, ortake him into the hotel lobbies where the rich could be seen free ofcharge. Peter would be hungry, and would want to go to a cheaprestaurant and fill himself up with honest grub; but Gladys, who hadthe appetite of a bird, would insist on marching him into thedining-room of the Hotel de Soto and making a meal upon a cup ofbroth and some bread and butter--just in order that they might gazeupon a scene of elegance and see bow "genteel" people ate theirfood. 

Section 79

And just as ardently as Gladys Frisbie Gudge adored the rich, soardently did she object to the poor. If you pinned her down to it, she would admit that there had to be poor; there could not begentility, except on the basis of a large class of ungentility. Thepoor were all right in their place; what Gladys objected to wastheir presuming to try to get out of their place, or to criticisetheir betters. She had a word by which she summed up everything thatshe despised in the world, and that word was "common;" she used itto describe the sort of people she declined to meet, and she used itin correcting Peter's manners and his taste in hats. To be "common"was to be damned; and when Gladys saw people who were indubitablyand inescapably "common, " presuming to set themselves up and formstandards of their own, she took it as a personal affront, shebecame vindictive and implacable towards them. Each and every one ofthem became to her a personal enemy, an enemy to something far moreprecious than her person, an enemy to the thing she aspired tobecome, to her ideal. 

Peter had once been like that himself, but now he was socomfortable, he had a tendency to become lazy and easy-going. It waswell, therefore, that he had Gladys to jack him up, and keep him onhis job. Gladys at first did not meet any Reds face to face, sheknew them only by the stories that Peter brought home to her whenhis day's work was done. But each new group that he was houndingbecame to Gladys an assemblage of incarnate fiends, and while shesat polishing the finger-nails of stout society ladies who were toosleepy to talk, Gladys' busy mind would be working over schemes tofoil these fiends. 

Sometimes her ideas were quite wonderful. She had a woman'sintuition, the knowledge of human foibles, all the intricatesubtleties of the emotional life; she would bring to Peter a programfor the undoing of some young radical, as complete as if she hadknown the man or woman all her life. Peter took her ideas toMcGivney, and then to Guffey, and the result was that her talentswere recognized, and by the lever of a generous salary she was priedloose from the manicure parlor. Guffey sent her to make theacquaintance of the servants in the household of a certain rich manwho was continually making contributions to the Direct PrimaryAssociation and other semi-Red organizations, and who was believedto have a scandal in his private life. So successful was Gladys atthis job that presently Guffey set her at the still more delicatetask of visiting rich ladies, and impressing upon them theseriousness of the Red peril, and persuading them to meet thecontinually increasing expenses of Guffey's office. 

Just now was a busy time in the anti-Red campaign. For nearly twoyears, ever since the Bolshevik revolution in Russia, there had beengradually developing a split in the Socialist movement, and the"under-cover" operatives of the Traction Trust, as well as those ofthe district attorney's office and of the Federal government, hadbeen working diligently to widen this split and develop dissensionsin the organization. There were some Socialists who believed inpolitics, and were prepared to devote their lives to the slow andtedious job of building up a party. There were others who wereimpatient, looking for a short cut, a general strike or a massinsurrection of the workers which would put an end to the slavery ofcapitalism. The whole game of politics was rotten, these wouldargue; a politician could find more ways to fool the workers in aminute than the workers could thwart in a year. They pointed to theGerman Socialists, those betrayers of internationalism. There werepeople who called themselves Socialists right here in American Citywho wanted to draw the movement into the same kind of trap!

This debate was not conducted in the realm of abstractions; the twowings of the movement would attack one another with bitterness. The"politicians" would denounce the "impossibilists, " calling them"anarchists;" and the other side, thus goaded, would accuse theirenemies of being in the hire of the government. Peter would supplyMcGivney with bits of scandal which the "under cover" men wouldstart going among the "left-wingers;" and in the course of the longwrangles in the local these accusations would come out. HerbertAshton would mention them with his biting sarcasm, or "Shorty"Gunton would shout them in one of his tirades--"hurling them intohis opponents teeth, " as he phrased it. 

"Shorty" Gunton was a tramp printer, a wandering agitator who wasall for direct action, and didn't care a hang who knew it. "Violence?" he would say. "How many thousand years shall we submitto the violence of capitalist governments, and never have the rightto reply?" And then again he would say, "Violence? Yes, of coursewe must repudiate violence--until we get enough of it!" Peter hadlistened to "Shorty's" railings at the "compromisers" and the"political traders, " and had thought him one of the most dangerousmen in American City. But later on, after the episode of Joe Angellhad opened Peter's eyes, he decided that "Shorty" must also be asecret agent like himself. 

Peter was never told definitely, but he picked up a fact here andthere, and fitted them together, and before long his suspicion hadbecome certainty. The "left wing" Socialists split off from theparty, and called a convention of their own, and this convention inturn split up, one part forming the Communist Party, and anotherpart forming the Communist Labor Party. While these two conventionswere in session, McGivney came to Peter, and said that the Federalgovernment had a man on the platform committee of the CommunistParty, and they wanted to write in some phrases that would makemembership in that party in itself a crime, so that everybody whoheld a membership card could be sent to prison without furtherevidence. These phrases must be in the orthodox Communist lingo, andthis was where Peter's specialized knowledge was needed. 

So Peter wrote the phrases, and a couple of days later he read inthe newspapers an account of the convention proceedings. Theplatform committee had reported, and "Shorty" Gunton had submitted aminority report, and had made a fiery speech in the convention, withthe result that his minority report was carried by a narrow margin. This minority report contained all the phrases that Peter hadwritten. A couple of months later, when the government had its caseready, and the wholesale raids upon the Communists took place, "Shorty" Gunton was arrested, but a few days later he made adramatic escape by sawing his way thru the roof of the jail!

Section 80

The I. W. W. Had bobbed up again in American City, and had venturedto open another headquarters. Peter did not dare go to the placehimself, but he coached a couple of young fellows whom McGivneybrought to him, teaching them the Red lingo, and how to worm theirway into the movement. Before long one of them was secretary of thelocal; and Peter, directing their activities. Received reports twicea week of everything the "wobblies" were planning and doing. Peterand Gladys were figuring out another bomb conspiracy to directattention to these dangerous men, when one day Peter picked up themorning paper and discovered that a kind Providence had deliveredthe enemy into his hands. 

Up in the lumber country of the far Northwest, in a little towncalled Centralia, the "wobblies" had had their headquarters raidedand smashed, just as in American City. They had got themselvesanother meeting-place, and again the members of the Chamber ofCommerce and the Merchants' and Manufacturers' Association had helda secret meeting and resolved to wipe them out. The "wobblies" hadappealed to the authorities for protection, and when protection wasrefused, they had printed a leaflet appealing to the public. But thebusiness men went ahead with their plans. They arranged for a paradeof returned soldiers on the anniversary of Armistice Day, and theydiverted this parade out of its path so that it would pass in frontof the I. W. W. Headquarters. Some of the more ardent memberscarried ropes, symbolic of what they meant to do; and they broughtthe parade to a halt in front of the headquarters, and set up a yelland started to rush the hall. They battered in the door, and hadpushed their way half thru it when the "wobblies" opened fire frominside, killing several of the paraders. 

Then, of course, the mob flew into a frenzy of fury. They beat themen in the hall, some of them into insensibility; they flung theminto jail, and battered and tortured them, and took one of them outof jail and carried him away in an automobile, and after they hadmutilated him as Shawn Grady had been mutilated, they hanged himfrom a bridge. Of course they saw to it that the newspaper storieswhich went out from Centralia that night were the right kind ofstories; and next morning all America read how a group of "wobblies"had armed themselves with rifles, and concealed themselves on theroof of the I. W. W. Headquarters, and deliberately and in coldblood had opened fire upon a peaceful parade of unarmed warveterans. 

Of course the country went wild, and the Guffeys and McGivneys andGudges all over the United States realized that their chance hadcome. Peter instructed the secretary of the I. W. W. Local ofAmerican City to call a meeting for that evening, to adopt aresolution declaring the press stories from Centralia to be lies. Atthe same time another of Guffey's men, an ex-army officer stillwearing his, uniform, caused a meeting of the American Legion to besummoned; he made a furious address to the boys, and at nine o'clockthat night some two-score of them set out, armed with bigmonkey-wrenches from their automobiles, and raided the I. W. W. Headquarters, and battered the members over the head with themonkey-wrenches, causing several to leap from the window and breaktheir legs. Next morning the incident was reported in the AmericanCity "Times" with shouts of glee, and District-attorney Burchardissued a public statement to the effect that no effort would be madeto punish the soldier boys; the "wobblies" had wanted "directaction, " and they had got it, and it would be assumed that they weresatisfied. 

Then the members of the American Legion, encouraged by thisapplause, and instigated by Guffey's ex-army officer, proceeded toinvade and wreck every radical meeting-place in the city. Theysmashed the "Clarion" office and the Socialist Party headquartersagain, and confiscated more tons of literature. They wrecked acouple of book-stores, and then, breaking up into small groups, theyinspected all the news-stands in the city, and wherever they foundRed magazines like the Nation or the New Republic, they tore up thecopies and threatened the agents with arrest. They invaded the roomsof a literary society called the Ruskin Club, frequented mostly byamiable old ladies, and sent some of these elderly dames intohysterics. They discovered the "Russian Peoples' Club, " which hadhitherto been overlooked because it was an educational organization. But of course no Russian could be trusted these days--all of themwere Bolsheviks, or on the way to becoming Bolsheviks, which was thesame thing; so Guffey organized a raid on this building, and sometwo hundred Russians were clubbed and thrown downstairs or out ofwindows, and an elderly teacher of mathematics had his skullcracked, and a teacher of music had some teeth knocked out. 

There were several million young Americans who had been put intomilitary uniform, and had guns put into their hands, and been putthru target practice and bayonet drill, and then had not seen anyfighting. These fellows were, as the phrase has it, "spoiling for afight;" and here was their chance. It was just as much fun as trenchwarfare, and had the advantage of not being dangerous. When theraiding parties came back, there were no missing members, and nocasualties to be telegraphed to heartbroken parents. Some fool womengot together and tried to organize a procession to protest againstthe blockade of Russia; the raiders fell upon these women, andwrecked their banners, and tore their clothing to bits, and thepolice hustled what was left of them off to jail. It happened that awell-known "sporting man, " that is to say a race-track frequenter, came along wearing a red necktie, and the raiders, taking him for aBolshevik, fell upon him and pretty nearly mauled the life out ofhim. After that there was protest from people who thought it unwiseto break too many laws while defending law and order, so thedistrict attorney's office arranged to take on the young soldierboys as deputy sheriffs, and give them all badges, legal and proper. 

Section 81

Peter Gudge often went along on these hunting parties. Peter, curiously enough, discovered in himself the same "complex" as thebalked soldier boys. Peter had been reading war news for five years, but had missed the fighting; and now he discovered that he liked tofight. What had kept him from liking to fight in the past was thedanger of getting hurt; but now that there was no such danger, hecould enjoy it. In past times people had called him a coward, and hehad heard it so often that he had come to believe it; but now herealized that it was not true, he was just as brave as anybody elsein the crowd. 

The truth was that Peter had not had a happy time in his youth, hehad never learned, like the younger members of the Chamber ofCommerce and the Merchants' and Manufacturers' Association, to knocka little white ball about a field with various shapes and sizes ofclubs. Peter was like a business man who has missed his boyhood, andthen in later years finds the need of recreation, and takes up someform of sport by the orders of his physician. It became Peter's, form of sport to stick an automatic revolver in his hip-pocket, andtake a blackjack in his hand, and rush into a room where thirty orforty Russians or "Sheenies" of all ages and lengths of beard werestruggling to learn the intricacies of English spelling. Peter wouldgive a yell, and see this crowd leap and scurry hither and thither, and chase them about and take a whack at a head wherever he saw one, and jump into a crowd who were bunched together like sheep, tryingto hide their heads, and pound them over the exposed parts of theiranatomy until they scattered into the open again. He liked to get alot of them started downstairs and send them tumbling heels overhead; or if he could get them going out a window, that was moreexhilarating yet, and he would yell and whoop at them. He learnedsome of their cries--outlandish gibberish it was--and he would cursethem in their own language. He had a streak of the monkey in him, and as he got to know these people better he would imitate theirantics and their gestures of horror, and set a whole room full ofthe "bulls" laughing to split their sides. There was a famous"movie" comedian with big feet, and Peter would imitate this man, and waddle up to some wretched sweat-shop worker and boot him in thetrousers' seat, or step on his toes, or maybe spit in his eye. So hebecame extremely popular among the "bulls, " and they would insist onhis going everywhere with them. 

Later on, when the government set to work to break up the CommunistParty and the Communist Labor Party, Peter's popularity and prestigeincreased still more. For now, instead of just raiding and smashing, the police and detectives would round up the prisoners and arrestthem by hundreds, and carry them off and put them thru"examinations. " And Peter was always needed for this; his specialknowledge made him indispensable, and he became practically the bossof the proceedings. It had been arranged thru "Shorty" Gunton andthe other "under cover" men that the meetings of the Communist andCommunist Labor parties should be held on the same night; and allover the country this same thing was done, and next morning theworld was electrified by the news that all these meetings had beenraided at the same hour, and thousands of Reds placed under arrest. In American City the Federal government had hired a suite of about adozen rooms adjoining the offices of Guffey, and all night and nextmorning batches of prisoners were brought in, until there were aboutfour hundred in all. They were crowded into these rooms with barelyspace to sit down; of course there was an awful uproar, moaning andscreaming of people who had been battered, and a smell that beat themonkey cage at the zoological gardens. 

The prisoners were kept penned up in this place for several weeks, and all the time more were being brought in; there were so many thatthe women had to be stored in the toilets. Many of the prisonersfell ill, or pretended to fall ill, and several of them went insane, or pretended to go insane, and several of them died, or pretended todie. And of course the parlor Reds and sympathizers were busyoutside making a terrible fuss about it. They had no more papers, and could not hold any more meetings, and when they tried tocirculate literature the post-office authorities tied them up; butstill somehow they managed to get publicity, and Peter's "undercover" men would report to him who was doing this work, and Peterwould arrange to have more raids and more batches of prisonersbrought in. In one of the "bomb-plots" which had been unveiled inthe East they had discovered some pink paper, used either forprinting leaflets, or for wrapping explosives, one could not besure. Anyhow, the secret agencies with which Guffey was connectedhad distributed samples of this paper over the country, and any timethe police wanted to finish some poor devil, they would find thisdeadly "pink paper" in his possession, and the newspapers wouldbrand him as one of the group of conspirators who were sendinginfernal machines thru the mails. 

Section 82

Peter was so busy these days that he missed several nights' sleep, and hardly even stopped to eat. He had his own private room, wherethe prisoners were brought for examination, and he had half a dozenmen under his orders to do the "strong arm" work. It was his task toextract from these prisoners admissions which would justify theirbeing sent to prison if they were citizens, or being deported ifthey were aliens. There was of course seldom any way to distinguishbetween citizens and aliens; you just had to take a chance on it, proceeding on the certainty that all were dangerous. Many years ago, when Peter had been working for Pericles Priam, they had spentseveral months in a boarding house, and you could tell when therewas going to be beef-steak for dinner, because you heard the cookpounding it with the potato-masher to "tender it up;" and Peterlearned this phrase, and, now used the process upon his alien Reds. When they came into the room, Peter's men would fall upon them andbeat them and cuff them, knocking them about from one fist toanother. If they were stubborn and would not "come across, " Peterwould take them in hand himself, remembering how successful Guffeyhad been in getting things out of him by the twisting of wrists andthe bending back of fingers. 

It was amazing how clever and subtle some of these fellows were. They were just lousy foreign laborers, but they spent all theirspare time reading; you would find large collections of books intheir rooms when you made your raids, and they knew exactly what youwanted, and would parry your questions. Peter would say: "You're anAnarchist, aren't you?" And the answer would be: "I'm not anAnarchist in the sense of the word you mean"--as if there could betwo meanings of the word "Anarchist!" Peter would say, "You believein violence, do you not?" And then the fellow would becomeimpertinent: "It is you who believe in violence, look at my facethat you have smashed. " Or Peter would say, "You don't like thisgovernment, do you?" And the answer would be, "I always liked ituntil it treated me so badly"--all kinds of evasions like that, andthere would be a stenographer taking it down, and unless Peter couldget something into the record that was a confession, it would not bepossible to deport that Red. So Peter would fall upon him and"tender him up" until be would answer what he was told to answer; ormaybe Peter would prepare an interview as he wanted it to be, andthe detectives would grab the man's hand and make him sign it; ormaybe Peter would just sign it himself. 

These were harsh methods, but there was no way to help it, the Redswere so cunning. They were secretly undermining the government, andwas the government to lie down and admit its helplessness? Theanswer of 100% Americanism was thundered from every wood and templedhill in the country; also from every newspaper office. The answerwas "No!" 100% Americanism would find a way to preserve itself fromthe sophistries of European Bolshevism; 100% Americanism had workedout its formula: "If they don't like this country, let them go backwhere they come from. " But of course, knowing in their hearts thatAmerica was the best country in the world, they didn't want to goback, and it was necessary to make them go. 

Peter was there for that purpose, and his devoted wife was by hisside, egging him on with her feminine implacability. Gladys hadalways been accustomed to refer to these people as "cattle, " andnow, when she smelled them herded together in these office rooms forseveral weeks, she knew that she was right, and that no fate couldbe too stern for them. Presently with Peter's help she discoveredanother bomb-plot, this time against the Attorney-General of thecountry, who was directing these wholesale raids. They grabbed fourItalian Anarchists in American City, and kept them apart in specialrooms, and for a couple of months Peter labored with them to getwhat he wanted out of them. Just as Peter thought be had succeeded, his efforts were balked by one of them jumping out of the window. The room being on the fourteenth story, this Italian Anarchist wasno longer available as a witness against himself. The incident setthe parlor Bolsheviks all over the country to raging, and causedDavid Andrews to get some kind of court injunction, and make a lotof inconvenience to Guffey's office. 

However, the work went on; the Reds were gradually sorted out, andsome who proved not to be Reds were let go again, and others wereloaded onto special Red trains and taken to the nearest ports. Someof them went in grim silence, others went with furious cursings, andyet others with wailings and shriekings; for many of them hadfamilies, and they had the nerve to demand that the governmentshould undertake to ship their families also, or else to take careof their families for them! The government, naturally, admitted nosuch responsibility. The Reds had no end of money for printingseditious literature, so let them use it to take care of their own!

In these various raids and examinations Peter of course met a greatmany of the Reds whom he had once known as friends and intimates. Peter had been wont to imagine himself meeting them, and to trembleat the bare idea; but now he found that he rather enjoyed it. He wasentirely delivered from that fear of them, which had formerlyspoiled his appetite and disturbed his sleep. He had learned thatthe Reds were poor creatures who did not fight back; they had noweapons, and many of them did not even have muscles; there wasreally nothing to them but talk. And Peter knew that he had thepower of organized society behind him, the police and the courts andthe jails, if necessary the army with its machine guns and airplanesand poison gas. Not merely was it safe to pound these people, totread on their toes and spit in their eyes; it was safe also toframe up anything on them, because the newspapers would always backyou up, and the public would of course believe whatever it read inits newspapers. 

No, Peter was no longer afraid of the Reds! He made up his mind thathe was not even afraid of Mac, the most dangerous Red of them all. Mac was safely put away in jail for twenty years, and although hiscase had been appealed, the court had refused to grant a stay ofsentence or to let him out on bail. As it happened, Peter got aglimpse into Mac's soul in jail, and knew that even that proud, grimspirit was breaking. Mac in jail had written a letter to one of hisfellow-Reds in American City, and the post-office authorities hadintercepted the letter, and Guffey had shown it to Peter. "Write tous!" Mac had pleaded. "For God's sake, write to us! The worst horrorof being in jail is that you are forgotten. Do at least let us knowthat somebody is thinking about us!"

So Peter knew that he was the victor, he was "top dog. " And when hemet these Reds whom he had been so afraid of, he took pleasure inletting them feel the weight of his authority, and sometimes of hisfist. It was amusing to see the various ways in which they behavedtoward him. Some would try to plead with him, for the sake of oldtimes; some would cringe and whine to him; some would try to reasonwith him, to touch his conscience. But mostly they would be haughty, they would glare at him with hate, or put a sneer of contempt ontheir faces. So Peter would set his "bulls" to work to improve theirmanners, and a little thumb-bending and wrist-twisting would soon dothe work. 

Section 83

Among the first load to be brought in was Miriam Yankovich. Miriamhad joined the Communist Party, and she had been born in Russia, sothat was all there was to her case. Peter, knew, of course that itwas Miriam who had set Rosie Stern after him and brought about hisdownfall. Still, he could not help but be moved by her appearance. She looked haggard and old, and she had a cough, and her eyes werewild and crazy. Peter remembered her as proud and hot-tempered, butnow her pride was all gone--she flung herself on her knees beforehim, and caught hold of his coat, sobbing hysterically. It appearedthat she had a mother and five young brothers and sisters who weredependent upon her earnings; all her money had been consumed byhospital expenses, and now she was to be deported to Russia, andwhat would become of her loved ones?

Peter answered, what could he do? She had violated the law, they hadher membership card in the Communist Party, and she had admittedthat she was alien born. He tried to draw away, but she clung tohim, and went on sobbing and pleading. At least she ought to have achance to talk with her old mother, to tell her what to do, where togo for help, how to communicate with Miriam in future. They weresending her away without allowing her to have a word with her lovedones, without even a chance to get her clothing!

Peter, as we know, had always been soft-hearted towards women, sonow he was embarrassed. In the handling of these cattle he wascarrying out the orders of his superiors; he had no power to grantfavors to any one, and he told Miriam this again and again. But shewould not listen to him. "Please, Peter, please! For God's sake, Peter! You know you were once a little in love with me, Peter--youtold me so--"

Yes, that was true, but it hadn't done Peter much good. Miriam badbeen interested in Mac--in Mac, that most dangerous devil, who hadgiven Peter so many anxious hours! She had brushed Peter to oneside, she had hardly been willing to listen to what he said; and nowshe was trying to use that love she had spurned!

She had got hold of his hand, and he could not get it away from herwithout violence. "If you ever felt a spark of love for a woman, "she cried, "surely you cannot deny such a favor--such a littlefavor! Please, Peter, for the sake of old times!"

Suddenly Peter started, and Miriam too. There came a voice from thedoorway. "So this is one of your lady friends, is it?" And therestood Gladys, staring, rigid with anger, her little hands clenched. "So this is one of your Red sweethearts, one of your nationalizedwomen?" And she stamped her foot. "Get up, you hussy! Get up, youslut!" And as Miriam continued to kneel, motionless with surprise, Gladys rushed at her, and clutched two handfuls of her heavy blackhair, and pulled so that Miriam fell prone on the floor. "I'll teachyou, you free lover!" she screamed. "I'll teach you to make love tomy husband!" And she dragged Miriam about by that mop of black hair, kicking her and clawing her, until finally several of the bulls hadto interfere to save the girl's life. 

As a matter of fact Gladys had been told about Peter's shameful pastbefore she married him; Guffey had told her, and she had told Peterthat Guffey had told her, she had reminded Peter of it many, manytimes. But the actual sight of one of these "nationalized women" haddriven her into a frenzy, and it was a week before peace wasrestored in the Gudge family. Meantime poor Peter was buffeted bystorms of emotion, both at home and in his office. They were gettingready the first Red train, and it seemed as if every foreign Redthat Peter had ever known was besieging him, trying to get at himand harrow his soul and his conscience. Sadie Todd's cousin, who hadbeen born in England, was shipped out on this first train, and alsoa Finnish lumberman whom Peter had known in the I. W. W. , and aBohemian cigar worker at whose home he had several times eaten, andfinally Michael Dubin, the Jewish boy with whom he had spent fifteendays in jail, and who had been one of the victims of the black-snakewhippings. 

Michael made no end of wailing, because he had a wife and threebabies, and he set up the claim that when the "bulls" had raided hishome they had stolen all his savings, two or three hundred dollars. Peter, of course, insisted that he could do nothing; Dubin was a Redand an alien, and he must go. When they were loading them on thetrain, there was Dubin's wife and half a hundred other women, shrieking and wringing their hands, and trying to break thru theguards to get near their loved ones. The police had to punch them inthe stomachs with their clubs to hold them back, and in spite of allthese blows, the hysterical Mrs. Dubin succeeded in breaking thruthe guards, and she threw herself under the wheels of the train, andthey were barely able to drag her away in time to save her life. Scenes like this would, of course, have a bad effect upon thepublic, and so Guffey called up the editors of all the newspapers, and obtained a gentleman's agreement that none of them would printany details. 

Section 84

All over the country the Red trains were moving eastward, loadedwith "wobblies" and communists, pacifists and anarchists, and ahundred other varieties of Bolsheviks. They got a shipload togetherand started them off for Russia--the "Red Ark" it was called, andthe Red soap-boxers set tip a terrific uproar, and one Red clergymancompared the "Red Ark" to the Mayflower! Also there was some Redofficial in Washington, who made a fuss and cancelled a whole blockof deportation orders, including some of Peter's own cases. This, naturally, was exasperating to Peter and his wife; and on top of itcame another incident that was still more humiliating. 

There was a "pink" mass meeting held in American City, to protestagainst the deportations. Guffey said they would quite probably raidthe meeting, and Peter must go along, so as to point out the Reds tothe bulls. The work was in charge of a police detective by the nameof Garrity, head of what was called the "Bomb Squad"; but this mandidn't know very much, so he had the habit of coming to Peter foradvice. Now he had the whole responsibility of this meeting, and heasked Peter to come up on the platform with him, and Peter went. Here was a vast audience--all the Red fury which had been pent upfor many months, breaking loose in a whirlwind of excitement. Herewere orators, well dressed and apparently respectable men, not inany way to be distinguished from the born rulers of the country, coming forward on the platform and uttering the most treasonablesentences, denouncing the government, denouncing the blockadeagainst Russia, praising the Bolshevik government of Russia, declaring that the people who went away in the "Soviet Ark" werefortunate, because they were escaping from a land of tyranny into aland of freedom. At every few sentences the orator would be stoppedby a storm of applause that broke from the audience. 

And what was a poor Irish Catholic police detective to make of aproposition like that? Here stood an orator declaring: "Whenever anyform of government becomes destructive to these ends, it is theright of the people to alter or to abolish it, and to institute newgovernment, laying its foundations on such principles and organizingits powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effecttheir safety and happiness. " And Garrity turned to Peter. "What doyou think of that?" he said, his good-natured Irish face blank withdismay. 

Peter thought it was the limit. Peter knew that thousands of men allover America had been sent to prison for saying things lessdangerous than that. Peter had read many sets of instructions fromthe office of the Attorney-General of the United States, and knewofficially that that was precisely the thing you were never underany circumstances permitted to say, or to write, or even to think. So Peter said to Garrity: "That fellow's gone far enough. You betterarrest him. " Garrity spoke to his men, and they sprang forward onthe platform, and stopped the orator and placed him and all hisfellow-orators under arrest, and ordered the audience out of thebuilding. There were a couple of hundred policemen and detectives onhand to carry out Garrity's commands, and they formed a line withtheir clubs, and drove the crowd before them, and carted thespeakers off in a patrol wagon. Then Peter went back to Guffey'soffice, and told what he had done--and got a reception that remindedhim of the time Guffey had confronted him with the letter from NellDoolin! "Who do you think that was you pinched?" cried Guffey. "He's the brother of a United States senator! And what do you thinkhe was saying? That was a sentence from the Declaration ofIndependence!"

Peter couldn't "get it"; Peter was utterly lost. Could a man goahead and break the law, just because he happened to be a brother ofa United States senator? And what difference did it make whether athing was in the Declaration of Independence, if it was seditious, if it wasn't allowed to be said? This incident brought Guffey andthe police authorities of the city so much ridicule that Guffey gotall his men together and read them a lecture, explaining to themjust what were the limits of the anti-Red activities, just who itwas they mustn't arrest, and just what it was they couldn't keeppeople from saying. For example, a man couldn't be arrested forquoting the Bible. 

"But Jesus Christ, Guffey, " broke in one of the men, "have all of usgot to know the Bible by heart?"

There was a laugh all round. "No, " Guffey admitted, "but at least becareful, and don't arrest anybody for saying anything that sounds asif it came from the Bible. "

"But hell!" put in another of the men, who happened to be anex-preacher. "That'll tie us up tighter than a jail-sentence! Lookwhat's in the Bible!"

And he proceeded to quote some of the things, and Peter knew that hehad never heard any Bolshevik talk more outrageous than that. Itmade one realize more than ever how complicated was this Redproblem; for Guffey insisted, in spite of everything, that everyword out of the Bible was immune. "Up in Winnipeg, " said he, "theyindicted a clergyman for quoting two passages from the prophetIsaiah, but they couldn't face it, they had to let the fellow go. "And the same thing was true of the Declaration of Independence;anybody might read it, no matter how seditious it was. And the samething was true of the Constitution, even tho the part called theBill of Rights declared that everybody in America might do all thethings that Guffey's office was sending them to jail for doing!

This seemed a plain crazy proposition; but Guffey explained it as amatter of politics. If they went too far, these fellows would go outand capture the votes from them, and maybe take away the governmentfrom them, and where would they be then? Peter had never paid anyattention to politics before this, but both he and Gladys realizedafter this lecture that they must broaden their view-point. It wasnot enough to put the Reds in jail and crack their skulls, you hadto keep public sympathy for what you were doing, you had to make thepublic understand that it was necessary, you had to carry on whatwas called "propaganda, " to keep the public aware of the odiousnessof these cattle, and the desperate nature of their purposes. 

The man who perceived that most clearly was the Attorney-General ofthe country, and Guffey in his lecture pointed out the double natureof his activities. Not merely was the Attorney-General breaking upthe Communist and the Communist Labor parties and sending theirmembers to jail; he was using the funds of his office to send out anendless stream of propaganda, to keep the country frightened aboutthese Red plots. Right now he had men in American City working overthe data which Guffey had collected, and every week or two he wouldmake a speech somewhere, or would issue a statement to thenewspapers, telling of new bomb plots and new conspiracies tooverthrow the government. And how clever he was about it! He wouldget the pictures of the very worst-looking of the Reds, picturestaken after they had been kept in jail for weeks without a shave, and with the third degree to spoil their tempers; and these pictureswould be spread on a sheet with the caption: "MEN LIKE THESE WOULDRULE YOU. " This would be sent to ten thousand country newspapers allover the nation, and ninety-nine hundred would publish it, andninety-nine million Americans would want to murder the Reds nextmorning. So successful had this plan proven that theAttorney-General was expecting to be nominated for President bymeans of it, and all the agencies of his department were working tothat end. 

The same thing was being done by all the other agencies of bigbusiness all over the country. The "Improve America League" ofAmerican City was publishing full-page advertisements in the"Times, " and the "Home and Fireside Association" of Eldorado wasdoing the same thing in the Eldorado "Times, " and the "Patriot'sDefense Legion" was doing the same thing in the Flagland "Banner. "They were investigating the records of all political candidates, andif any of them showed the faintest tinge of pink, Guffey's officewould set to work to rake up their records and get up scandals onthem, and the business men would contribute a big campaign fund, andthese candidates would be snowed under at the polls. That was thekind of work they were doing, and all Guffey's operatives must bearin mind the importance of it, and must never take any step thatwould hamper this political campaign, this propaganda on behalf oflaw and order. 

Section 85

Peter went out from this conference a sober man, realizing for thefirst time his responsibilities as a voter, and a shepherd to othervoters. Peter agreed with Gladys that his views had been too narrow;his conception of the duties of a secret agent had been of thepre-war order. Now he must realize that the world was changed; now, in this new world made safe for democracy, the secret agent was thereal ruler of society, the real master of affairs, the trustee, asit were, for civilization. Peter and his wife must take up this newrole and make themselves fit for it. They ought of course not bemoved by personal considerations, but at the same time they mustrecognize the fact that this higher role would be of great advantageto them; it would enable them to move up in the world, to meet thebest people. Thru five or six years of her young life Gladys had satpolishing the fingernails and fondling the soft white hands of thegenteel; and always a fire of determination had burnt in her breast, that some day she would belong to this world of gentility, she wouldmeet these people, not as an employee, but as an equal, she wouldnot merely hold their hands, but would have them hold hers. 

Now the chance had come. She had a little talk with Guffey, andGuffey said it would be a good idea, and he would speak to BillyNash, the secretary of the "Improve America League"; and he did so, and next week the American City "Times" announced that on thefollowing Sunday evening the Men's Bible Class of the BethlehemChurch would have an interesting meeting. It would be addressed byan "under cover" operative of the government, a former Red who hadbeen for many years a most dangerous agitator, but had seen theerror of his ways, and had made amends by giving his services to thegovernment in the recent I. W. W. Trials. 

The Bethlehem Church didn't amount to very much, it was an obscuresect like the Holy Rollers; but Gladys had been shrewd, and hadinsisted that you mustn't try to climb to the top of the mountain inone step. Peter must first "try it on the dog, " and if he failed, there would be no great harm done. 

But Gladys worked just as hard to make a success of this lecture asif they had been going into real society. She spent several daysgetting up her costume and Peter's, and she spent a whole daygetting her toilet ready, and before they set out she spent at leastan hour putting the finishing touches upon herself in front of amirror, and seeing that Peter was proper in every detail. When Mr. Nash introduced her personally to the Rev. Zebediah Muggins, andwhen this apostle of the second advent came out upon the platformand introduced her husband to the crowded working-class audience, Gladys was so a-quiver with delight that it was more a pain than apleasure. 

Peter did not do perfectly, of course. He lost himself a few times, and stammered and floundered about; but he remembered Glady'sadvice--if he got stuck, to smile and explain that he had neverspoken in public before. So everything went along nicely, andeverybody in the Men's Bible Class was aghast at the incrediblerevelations of this ex-Red and secret agent of law and order. Sonext week Peter was invited again--this time by the Young Saints'League; and when he had made good there, he was drafted by the Ad. Men's Association, and then by the Crackers and Cheese Club. By thistime he had acquired what Gladys called "savwaa fair"; his famespread rapidly, and at last came the supreme hour--he was summonedto Park Avenue to address the members of the Friendly Society, aparish organization of the Church of the Divine Compassion!

This was the goal upon which the eyes of Gladys had been fixed. Thiswas the time that really counted, and Peter was groomed andrehearsed all over again. Their home was only a few blocks from thechurch, but Gladys insisted that they must positively arrive in ataxi-cab, and when they entered the Parish Hall and the Rev. DeWilloughby Stotterbridge, that exquisite almost-English gentleman, came up and shook hands with them, Gladys knew that she had at lastarrived. The clergyman himself escorted her to the platform, andafter he had introduced Peter, he seated himself beside her, thusdefinitely putting a seal upon her social position. 

Peter, having learned his lecture by heart, having found out justwhat brought laughter and what brought tears and what broughtpatriotic applause, was now an assured success. After the lecture heanswered questions, and two clerks in the employ of Billy Nashpassed around membership cards of the "Improve America League, "membership dues five dollars a year, sustaining membershiptwenty-five dollars a year, life membership two hundred dollarscash. Peter was shaken hands with by members of the most exclusivesocial set in American City, and told by them all to keep it up--hiscountry needed him. Next morning there was an account of his lecturein the "Times, " and the morning after there was an editorial abouthis revelations, with the moral: "Join the Improve America League. "

Section 86

That second morning, when Peter got to his office, he found a letterwaiting for him, a letter written on very conspicuous and expensivestationery, and addressed in a woman's tall and sharp-pointedhandwriting. Peter opened it and got a start, for at the top of theletter was some kind of crest, and a Latin inscription, and thewords: "Society of the Daughters of the American Revolution. " Theletter informed him by the hand of a secretary that Mrs. WarringSammye requested that Mr. Peter Gudge would be so good as to callupon her that afternoon at three o'clock. Peter studied the letter, and tried to figure out what kind of Red this was. He was impressedby the stationery and the regal tone, but that word "Revolution" wasone of the forbidden words. Mrs. Warren Sammye must be one of the"Parlor Reds, " like Mrs. Godd. 

So Peter took the letter to McGivney, and said suspiciously, "Whatkind of a Red plot is this?"

McGivney read the letter, and said, "Red plot? How do you mean?"

"Why, " explained Peter, "it says `Daughters of the AmericanRevolution. '"

And McGivney looked at him; at first he thought that Peter wasjoking, but when he saw that the fellow was really in earnest, heguffawed in his face. "You boob!" he said. "Didn't you ever hear ofthe American Revolution? Don't you know anything about the Fourth ofJuly?"

Just then the telephone rang and interrupted them, and McGivneyshoved the letter to him saying, "Ask your wife about it!" So whenGladys came in, Peter gave her the letter, and she was much excited. It appeared that Mrs. Warring Sammye was a very tip-top society ladyin American City, and this American Revolution of which she was adaughter was a perfectly respectable revolution that had happened along time ago; the very best people belonged to it, and it was legaland proper to write about, and even to put on your letterheads. Peter must go home and get himself into his best clothes at once, and telephone to the secretary that he would be pleased to call uponMrs. Warring Sammye at the hour indicated. Incidentally, there werea few more things for Peter to study. He must get a copy of thesocial register, "Who's Who in American City, " and he must get ahistory of his country, and learn about the Declaration ofIndependence, and what was the difference between a revolution thathad happened a long time ago and one that was happening now. 

So Peter went to call on the great society lady in her grey stonemansion, and found her every bit as opulent as Mrs. Godd, with theaddition that she respected her own social position; she did notmake the mistake of treating Peter as an equal, and so it did notoccur to Peter that he might settle down permanently in her home. Her purpose was to tell Peter that she had heard of his lectureabout the Red menace, and that she was chairman of the Board ofDirectors of the Lady Patronesses of the Home for Disabled WarVeterans in American City, and she wanted to arrange to have Peterdeliver this lecture to the veterans. And Peter, instructed inadvance by Gladys, said that he would be very glad to donate thislecture as a patriotic contribution. Mrs. Warring Sammye thanked himgravely in the name of his country, and said she would let him knowthe date. 

Peter went home, and Gladys made a wry face, because the lecture wasto be delivered before a lot of good-for-nothing soldiers in somehall, when it had been her hope that it was to be delivered to theDaughters themselves, and in Mrs. Warring Sammye's home. However, tohave attracted Mrs. Warring Sammye's attention for anything was initself a triumph. So Gladys was soon cheerful again, and she toldPeter about Mrs. Warring Sammye's life; one picked up such valuableknowledge in the gossip at the manicure parlors, it appeared. 

Then, being in a friendly mood, Gladys talked to Peter abouthimself. They had mounted to a height from which they could lookback upon the past and see it as a whole, and in the intimacy andconfidence of their domestic partnership they could draw lessonsfrom their mistakes and plan their future wisely. Peter had mademany blunders--he must surely admit that. Did Peter admit that? Yes, Peter did. But, continued Gladys, he had struggled bravely, and hehad the supreme good fortune to have secured for himself thatgreatest of life's blessings, the cooperation of a good and capablewoman. Gladys was very emphatic about this latter, and Peter agreedwith her. He agreed also when she stated that it is the duty of agood and capable wife to protect her husband for the balance oftheir life's journey, so that he would be able to avoid the trapswhich his enemies set for his feet. Peter, having learned by bitterexperience, would never again go chasing after a pretty face, andwake up next morning to find his pockets empty. Peter admitted thistoo. As this conversation progressed, he realized that the tour oftriumph his life had become was a thing entirely of his wife'screation; at least, he realized that there would be no use in tryingto change his wife's conviction on the subject. Likewise he meeklyaccepted her prophecies as to his future conduct; he would bringhome his salary at the end of each week, and his wife would use it, together with her own salary, to improve the appearance and tone ofboth of them, and to aid them to climb to a higher social position. 

Peter, following his wife's careful instructions, has already becomemore dignified in his speech, more grave in his movements. She tellshim that the future of society depends on his knowledge and hisskill, and he agrees to this also. He has learned what you can doand what you had better not do; he will never again cross thedead-line into crime, or take chances with experiments in blackmail. He will try no more free lance work under the evil influence of lowcreatures like Nell Doolin, but will stand in with the "machine, "and bear in mind that honesty is the best policy. So he willsteadily progress; he will meet the big men of the country, and willgo to them, not cringing and twisting his hat in his hands, but withquiet self-possession. He will meet the agents of theAttorney-General aspiring to become President, and will furnish themwith material for their weekly Red scares. He will meet legislatorswho want to unseat elected Socialists, and governors who wish tojail the leaders of "outlaw" strikes. He will meet magazine writersgetting up articles, and popular novelists looking for local Redcolor. 

But Peter's best bid of all will be as a lecturer. He will be ableto travel all over the country, making a sensation. Did he know why?No, Peter answered, he was not sure he did. Well, Gladys could tellhim; it was because he was romantic. Peter didn't know just whatthis word meant, but it sounded flattering, so he smiled sheepishly, showing his crooked teeth, and asked how Gladys found out that hewas romantic. The reply was a sudden order for him to stand up andturn around slowly. 

Peter didn't like to get up from his comfortable Morris chair, buthe did what his wife asked him. She inspected him on all sides andexclaimed, "Peter, you must go on a diet; you're gettingombongpoing!" She said this in horrified tones, and Peter wasfrightened, because it sounded like a disease. But Gladys added:"You can not be a romantic figure on a lecture platform if you'vegot a bay-window!"

Peter found it interesting to be talked about, so he asked again whyGladys thought he was romantic. There were several reasons, shesaid, but the main one was that he had been a dangerous criminal, and had reformed, which pleased the church people; he had made ahappy ending by marriage, which pleased those who read novels. 

"Is that so?" said Peter, guilelessly, and she assured him that itwas. "And what else?" he asked, and she explained that he had knownintimately and at first hand those dreadful and dangerous people, those ogres of the modern world, the Bolsheviks, about whom theaverage man and woman learned only thru the newspapers. And notmerely did be tell a sensational story, but he ended it with amoney-making lesson. The lesson was "Contribute to the ImproveAmerica League. Make out your checks to the Home and FiresideAssociation. The existence of your country depends upon yoursustaining the Patriot's Defense Legion. " So the fame of Peter'slecture would spread, and the Guffeys and Billy Nashes of every cityand town in America would clamor for him to come, and when he came, the newspapers would publish his picture, and he and his wife wouldbe welcomed by leaders of the best society. They would become sociallions, and would see the homes of the rich, and gradually become oneof the rich. 

Gladys looked her spouse over again, as they started to theirsleeping apartment. Yes, he was undoubtedly putting on"ombongpoing"; he would have to take up golf. He was wearing alittle American flag dangling from his watch chain, and she wonderedif that wasn't a trifle crude. Gladys herself now wore a realdiamond ring, and had learned to say "vahse" and "baahth. " Sheyawned prettily as she took off her lovely brown "tailor-made, " andreflected that such things come with ease and security. 

Both she and Peter now had these in full measure. They had lost allfear of ever finding themselves out of a job. They had come tounderstand that the Red menace is not to be so easily exterminated;it is a distemper that lurks in the blood of society, and breaks outevery now and then in a new rash. Gladys had come to agree with theReds to this extent, that so long as there is a class of the richand prosperous, so long will there be social discontent, so longwill there be some that make their living by agitating, denouncingand crying out for change. Society is like a garden; each year whenyou plant your vegetables there springs up also a crop of weeds, andyou have to go down the rows and chop off the heads of these weeds. Gladys' husband is an expert gardener, he knows how to chop weeds, and be knows that society will never be able to dispense with hisservices. So long as gardening continues, Peter will be a headweedchopper, and a teacher of classes of young weedchoppers. 

Ah, it was fine to have married such a man! It was the reward a goodwoman received for helping her husband, making him into a goodcitizen, a patriot and an upholder of law and order: For always, ofcourse, those who own the garden would see that their headweedchopper was taken care of, and had his share of the best thatthe garden produced. Gladys stood before her looking-glass, braidingher hair for the night, and thinking of the things she would askfrom this garden. She and Peter had earned, and they would demand, the sweetest flowers, the most luscious fruits. Suddenly Gladysstretched wide her arms in an ecstasy of realization. "We're aSuccess, Peter! We're a Success! We'll have money and all the lovelythings it will buy! Do you realize, Peter, what a hit you've made?"

Peter saw her face of joy, but he was a tiny bit frightened anduncertain, because of this unusual sharing of the honors. So Gladyswas impelled to affection, mingled with pity. She held out her armsto him. "Poor, dear Peter! He's had such a hard life! It was cruelhe didn't have me sooner to help him!"

And then Gladys reflected for a moment, and was moved to anotheroutburst. "Just think, Peter, how wonderful it is to be an American!In America you can always rise if you do your duty! America is theland of the free! Your example of a poor boy's success ought toconvince even the fool Reds that they're wrong--that any boy canrise if he works hard! Why, I've heard it said that in America thepoorest boy can rise to be President! How would you like to bePresident, Peter?"

Peter hesitated. He doubted if he was equal to that big a job, buthe knew that it would not please Gladys for him to say so. Hemurmured, "Perhaps--some day--"

"Anyhow, Peter, " his wife continued, "I'm for this country! I'm anAmerican!"

And this time Peter didn't have to hesitate. "You bet!" he said, andadded his favorite formula--"100%!"

APPENDIX

A little experimenting with the manuscript of "100%" has revealed tothe writer that everybody has a series of questions they wishimmediately to ask: How much of it is true? To what extent have thebusiness men of America been compelled to take over the detectionand prevention of radicalism? Have they, in putting down the Reds, been driven to such extreme measures as you have here shown?

A few of the incidents in "100%" are fictional, for example thestory of Nell Doolin and Nelse Ackerman; but everything that hassocial significance is truth, and has been made to conform to factspersonally known to the writer or to his friends. Practically allthe characters in "100%" are real persons. Peter Gudge is a realperson, and has several times been to call upon the writer in thecourse of his professional activities; Guffey and McGivney are realpersons, and so is Billy Nash, and so is Gladys Frisbie. 

To begin at the beginning: the "Goober case" parallels in its mainoutlines the case of Tom Mooney. If you wish to know about thiscase, send fifteen cents to the Mooney Defense Committee, PostOffice Box 894, San Francisco, for the pamphlet, "Shall MooneyHang, " by Robert Minor. The business men of San Francisco raised amillion dollars to save the city from union labor, and the Mooneycase was the way they did it. It happened, however, that the judgebefore whom Mooney was convicted weakened, and wrote to theAttorney-General of the State to the effect that he had becomeconvinced that Mooney was convicted by perjured testimony. Butmeantime Mooney was in jail, and is there still. Fremont Older, editor of the San Francisco "Call, " who has been conducting aninvestigation into this case, has recently written to the author:"Altogether, it is the most amazing story I have ever had anythingto do with. When all is known that I think can be known, it will beshown clearly that the State before an open-eyed community was ableto murder a man with the instruments that the people have providedfor bringing about justice. There isn't a scrap of testimony ineither of the Mooney or Billings cases that wasn't perjured, exceptthat of the man who drew the blue prints of Market Street. "

To what extent has the detection and punishment of radicalism inAmerica passed out of the hands of public authorities and into thehands of "Big Business?" Any business man will of course agree thatwhen "Big Business" has interests to protect, it must and willprotect them. So far as possible it will make use of the publicauthorities; but when thru corruption or fear of politics thesefail, "Big Business" has to act for itself. In the Colorado coalstrike the coal companies raised the money to pay the state militia, and recruited new companies of militia from their privatedetectives. The Reds called this "Government by Gunmen, " and thewriter in his muckraking days wrote a novel about it, "King Coal. "The man who directed the militia during this coal strike was A. C. Felts of the Baldwin-Felts Detective Agency, who was killed just theother day while governing several coal counties in West Virginia. 

You will find this condition in the lumber country of Washington andOregon, in the oil country of Oklahoma and Kansas, in the coppercountry of Michigan, Montana and Arizona, and in all the big coaldistricts. In the steel country of Western Pennsylvania you willfind that all the local authorities are officials of the steelcompanies. If you go to Bristol, R. I. , you will find that theNational India Rubber Company has agreed to pay the salaries oftwo-thirds of the town's police force. 

In every large city in America the employers' associations haveraised funds to hold down the unions and smash the Reds, and thesefunds are being expended in the way portrayed in "100%. " In LosAngeles the employers' association raised a million dollars, and theresult was the case of Sydney R. Flowers, briefly sketched in thisstory under the name of "Sydney. " The reader who wishes the detailsof this case is referred to Chapter LXVI of "The Brass Cheek. "Flowers has been twice tried, and is about to be tried a third time, and our District-Attorney is quoted as saying that he will be triedhalf a dozen times if necessary. At the last trial there wereproduced a total of twenty-five witnesses against Flowers, and outof these nineteen were either Peter Gudges and McGivneys, or elsepolice detectives, or else employees of the local political machine. A deputy United States attorney, talking to me about the case, toldme that he had refused to prosecute it because he realized that the"Paul letter, " upon which the arrest had been based, was a frame-up, and that he was quite sure he knew who had written it. He also toldme that there had been formed in Los Angeles a secret committee offifty of the most active rich men of the town; that he could notfind out what they were doing, but they came to his offices anddemanded the secret records of the government; and that when herefused to prosecute Flowers they had influence enough to have thegovernor of California telegraph to Washington in protest. Questioned on the witness stand, I repeated these statements, andthe deputy United States attorney was called to the stand andattributed them to my "literary imagination. "

In the old Russian and Austrian empires the technique of trappingagitators was well developed, and the use of spies and "under cover"men for the purpose of luring the Reds into crime was completelyworked out. We have no English equivalent for the phrase "agentprovocateur, " but in the last four years we have put thousands ofthem at work in America. In the case against Flowers three witnesseswere produced who had been active among the I. W. Ws. , trying toincite crime, and were being paid to give testimony for the state. One of these men admitted that he had himself burned some fortybarns, and was now receiving three hundred dollars a month andexpenses. At the trial of William Bross Lloyd in Chicago, chargedwith membership in the Communist party, a similar witness wasproduced. Santeri Nourteva, of, the Soviet Bureau in New York, hascharged that Louis C. Fraina, editor of the "Revolutionary Age, " wasa government agent, and Fraina wrote into the platform of theCommunist party the planks which were used in prosecuting anddeporting its members. On December 27, 1919, the chief of the Bureauof Investigation of the Department of Justice in Washington sent tothe head of his local bureau in Boston a telegram containing thefollowing sentences: "You should arrange with your under coverinformants to have meetings of the Communist Party and CommunistLabor Party held on the night set. I have been informed by some ofthe bureau officers that such arrangements will be made. " So muchevidence of the activity of the provocateur was produced beforeFederal Judge G. W. Anderson that he declared as follows: "What doesappear beyond reasonable dispute is that the Government owns andoperates some part of the Communist Party. "

It appears that Judge Anderson does not share the high opinion ofthe "under cover" operative set forth by the writer of "100%. " SaysJudge Anderson: "I cannot adopt the contention that Government spiesare any more trustworthy, or less disposed to make trouble in orderto profit therefrom, than are spies in private industry. Except intime of war, when a Nathan Hale may be a spy, spies are alwaysnecessarily drawn from the unwholesome and untrustworthy classes. Aright-minded man refuses such a job. The evil wrought by the spysystem in industry has, for decades, been incalculable. Until it iseliminated, decent human relations cannot exist between employersand employees, or even among employees. It destroys trust andconfidence; it kills human kindliness; it propagates hate. "

To what extent have the governmental authorities of America beenforced to deny to the Reds the civil rights guaranteed to goodAmericans by the laws and the constitution? The reader who iscurious on this point may send the sum of twenty-five cents to theAmerican Civil Liberties Union, 138 West 13th Street, New York, forthe pamphlet entitled, "Report upon the Illegal Practices of theUnited States Department of Justice, " signed by twelve eminentlawyers in the country, including a dean of the Harvard Law school, and a United States attorney who resigned because of hisold-fashioned ideas of law. This pamphlet contains sixty-sevenpages, with numerous exhibits and photographs. The practices setforth are listed under six heads: Cruel and unusual punishments;arrests without warrant; unreasonable searches and seizures;provocative agents; compelling persons to be witnesses againstthemselves; propaganda by the Department of Justice. The reader mayalso ask for the pamphlet entitled "Memorandum Regarding thePersecution of the Radical Labor Movement in the United States;"also for the pamphlet entitled "War Time Prosecution and MobViolence, " dated March, 1919, giving a list of cases which occupiesforty pages of closely printed type. Also he might read "The Case ofthe Rand School, " published by the Rand School of Social Science, 7East Fifteenth Street, New York, and the pamphlets published by theNational Office of the Socialist Party, 220 South Ashland Blvd. , Chicago, dealing with the prosecutions of that organization. 

To what extent has it been necessary to torture the Reds in prisonin America? Those who are interested are advised to write to HarryWeinberger, 32 Union Square, New York, for the pamphlet entitled"Twenty Years Prison, " dealing with the case of Mollie Steimer, andthree others who were sentenced for distributing a leafletprotesting against the war on Russia; also to the American CivilLiberties Union for the pamphlet entitled "Political Prisoners inFederal Military Prisons, " also the pamphlet, "Uncle Sam: Jailer, "by Winthrop D. Lane, reprinted from the "Survey;" also the pamphletentitled "The Soviet of Deer Island, Boston Harbor, " published bythe Boston Branch of the American Civil Liberties Union; also forthe publications of the American Industrial Company, and theAmerican Freedom Foundation, 166 West Washington St. , Chicago. 

There may be some reader with a sense of humor who asks about thebrother of a United States senator being arrested for reading aparagraph from the Declaration of Independence. This gentleman wasthe brother of United States Senator France of Maryland, andcuriously enough, the arrest took place in the city of Philadelphia, where the Declaration of Independence was adopted. There may be somereader who is curious about a clergyman being indicted and arrestedin Winnipeg for having quoted the prophet Isaiah. The paragraph fromthe indictment in question reads as follows: "That J. S. Woodsworth, on or about the month of June, in the year of our Lord one thousandnine hundred and nineteen, at the City of Winnipeg, in the Provinceof Manitoba, unlawfully and seditiously published seditious libelsin the words and figures following: `Woe unto them that decreeunrighteous decrees, and that write grievousness which they haveprescribed; to turn aside the needy from judgment, and to take awaytheir right from the poor of my people that widows may be their preyand that they may rob the fatherless. . . . And they shall buildhouses and inhabit them, and they shall plant vineyards and eat thefruit of them. They shall not build and another inhabit, they shallnot plant and another eat; for as the days of a tree are the days ofmy people. And mine elect shall long enjoy the work of their hands. '"

There has been reference in this book to the Centralia case. No onecan consider that he understands the technique of holding down theReds until he has studied this case, and therefore every friend of"Big Business" should send fifty cents, either to the I. W. W. Headquarters, 1001 West Madison Street, Chicago, or to the"Liberator, " New York, or to the "Appeal to Reason, " Girard, Kansas, for the booklet, "The Centralia Conspiracy, " by Ralph Chaplin, whoattended the Centralia trial, and has collected all the details andpresents them with photographs and documents. Many other storiesabout the I. W. W. Have been told in the course of "100%. " Thereader will wish to know, are these men really so dangerous, andhave the business men of America been driven to treat them as heredescribed. The reader may again address the I. W. W. NationalHeadquarters for a four-page leaflet with the quaint title, "WithDrops of Blood the History of the Industrial Workers of the Worldhas Been Written. " Despite the fact that it is a bare record ofcases, there are many men serving long terms in prison in the UnitedStates for the offense of having in their possession a copy of thisleaflet, "With Drops of Blood. " But the readers of this book, beingall of them 100% Americans engaged in learning the technique ofsmashing the Reds, will, I feel sure, not be interfered with by thebusiness men. Also I trust that the business men will not object tomy reprinting a few paragraphs from the leaflet, in order to makethe public realize how dangerously these Reds can write. I will, ofcourse, not follow their incendiary example and spatter my page withbig drops of imitation blood. I quote:

"We charge that I. W. W. Members have been murdered, and mentionhere a few of those who have lost their lives:

"Joseph Michalish was shot to death by a mob of so-called citizens. Michael Hoey was beaten to death in San Diego. Samuel Chinn was sobrutally beaten in the county jail at Spokane, Washington, that hedied from the injuries. Joseph Hillstrom was judicially murderedwithin the walls of the penitentiary at Salt Lake City, Utah. AnnaLopeza, a textile worker, was shot and killed, and two other FellowWorkers were murdered during the strike at Lawrence, Massachusetts. Frank Little, a cripple, was lynched by hirelings of the CopperTrust at Butte, Montana. John Looney, A. Robinowitz, Hugo Gerlot, Gustav Johnson, Felix Baron, and others were killed by a mob ofLumber Trust gunmen on the Steamer Verona at the dock at Everett, Washington. J. A. Kelly was arrested and re-arrested at Seattle, Washington; finally died from the effects of the frightful treatmenthe received. Four members of the I. W. W. Were killed at Grabow, Louisiana, where thirty were shot and seriously wounded. Two memberswere dragged to death behind an automobile at Ketchikan, Alaska. 

"These are but a few of the many who have given up their lives onthe altar of Greed, sacrificed in the ages-long struggle forIndustrial Freedom. 

"We charge that many thousands of members of this organization havebeen imprisoned, on most occasions arrested without warrant and heldwithout charge. To verify this statement it is but necessary thatyou read the report of the Commission on Industrial Relationswherein is given testimony of those who know of conditions atLawrence, Massachusetts, where nearly 900 men and women were throwninto prison during the Textile Workers' Strike at that place. Thissame report recites the fact that during the Silk Workers' Strike atPaterson, New Jersey, nearly 1, 900 men and women were cast into jailwithout charge or reason. Throughout the northwest these kinds ofoutrages have been continually perpetrated against members of the I. W. W. County jails and city prisons in nearly every state in theUnion have held or are holding members of this organization. 

"We charge that members of the I. W. W. Have been tarred andfeathered. Frank H. Meyers was tarred and feathered by a gang ofprominent citizens at North Yakima, Washington. D. S. Dietz wastarred and feathered by a mob led by representatives of the LumberTrust at Sedro, Wooley, Washington. John L. Metzen, attorney for theIndustrial Workers of the World, was tarred and feathered andseverely beaten by a mob of citizens of Staunton, Illinois. AtTulsa, Oklahoma, a mob of bankers and other business men gathered upseventeen members of the I. W. W. , loaded them in automobiles, carried them out of town to a patch of woods, and there tarred andfeathered and beat them with rope. 

"We charge that members of the Industrial Workers of the World havebeen deported, and cite the cases of Bisbee, Arizona, where 1, 164miners, many of them members of the I. W. W. , and their friends, were dragged out of their homes, loaded upon box cars, and sent outof the camp. They were confined for months at Columbus, New Mexico. Many cases are now pending against the copper companies and businessmen of Bisbee. A large number of members were deported from Jerome, Arizona. Seven members of the I. W. W. Were deported from Florence, Oregon, and were lost for days in the woods, Tom Lassiter, acrippled news vender, was taken out in the middle of the night andbadly beaten by a mob for selling the Liberator and other radicalpapers. 

"We charge that members of the I. W. W. Have been cruelly andinhumanly beaten. Hundreds of members can show scars upon theirlacerated bodies that were inflicted upon them when they werecompelled to run the gauntlet. Joe Marko and many others weretreated in this fashion at San Diego, California. James Rowan wasnearly beaten to death at Everett, Washington. At Lawrence, Massachusetts, the thugs of the Textile Trust beat men and women whohad been forced to go on strike to get a little more of the goodthings of life. The shock and cruel whipping which they gave onelittle Italian woman caused her to give premature birth to a child. At Red Lodge, Montana, a member's home was invaded and he was hungby the neck before his screaming wife and children. At Franklin, NewJersey, August 29, 1917, John Avila, an I. W. W. , was taken in broaddaylight by the chief of police and an auto-load of business men toa woods near the town and there hung to a tree. He was cut downbefore death ensued, and badly beaten. It was five hours beforeAvila regained consciousness, after which the town "judge" sentencedhim to three months at hard labor. 

"We charge that members of the I. W. W. Have been starved. Thisstatement can be verified by the conditions existing in most anycounty jail where members of the I. W. W. Are confined. A veryrecent instance is at Topeka, Kansas, where members were compelledto go on a hunger strike as a means of securing food for themselvesthat would sustain life. Members have been forced to resort to thehunger strike as a means of getting better food in many places. Youare requested to read the story written by Winthrop D. Lane, whichappears in the Sept. 6, 1919, number of `The Survey. ' This story isa graphic description of the county jails in Kansas. 

"We charge that I. W. W. Members have been denied the right ofcitizenship, and in each instance the judge frankly told theapplicants that they were refused on account of membership in theIndustrial Workers of the World, accompanying this with abusiveremarks; members were denied their citizenship papers by judgeHanford at Seattle, Washington, and judge Paul O'Boyle at Scranton, Pennsylvania. 

"We charge that members of the I. W. W. Have been denied theprivilege of defense. This being an organization of working men whohad little or no funds of their own, it was necessary to appeal tothe membership and the working class generally for funds to providea proper defense. The postal authorities, acting under orders fromthe Postmaster-General at Washington, D. C. , have deliberatelyprevented the transportation of our appeals, our subscription lists, our newspapers. These have been piled up in the postoffices and wehave never received a return of the stamps affixed for mailing. 

"We charge that the members of the I. W. W. Have been held inexorbitant bail. As an instance there is the case of Pietro Pierreheld in the county jail at Topeka, Kansas. His bond was fixed at$5, 000, and when the amount was tendered it was immediately raisedto $10, 000. This is only one of the many instances that could berecorded. 

"We charge that members of the I. W. W. Have been compelled tosubmit to involuntary servitude. This does not refer to membersconfined in the penitentiaries, but would recall the reader'sattention to an I. W. W. Member under arrest in Birmingham, Alabama, taken from the prison and placed on exhibition at a fair given inthat city where admission of twenty-five cents was charged to seethe I. W. W. "

Finally, for the benefit of the reader who asks how it happens thatsuch incidents are not more generally known to the public, I willreprint the following, from pages 382-383 of "The Brass Check, "dealing with the "New York Times, " and its treatment of the writer'snovel, "Jimmie Higgins":

"In the last chapters. Of this story an American soldier isrepresented as being tortured in an American military prison. Saysthe `Times':

"`Mr. Sinclair should produce the evidence upon which he bases hisastounding accusations, if he has any. If he has simply written onhearsay evidence, or, worse still, let himself be guided by hiscraving to be sensational, he has laid himself open not only tocensure but to punishment. '

"In reply to this, I send to the `Times' a perfectly respectfulletter, citing scores of cases, and telling the `Times' wherehundreds of other cases may be found. The `Times' returns thisletter without comment. A couple of months pass, and as a result ofthe ceaseless agitation of the radicals, there is a congressionalinvestigation, and evidence of atrocious cruelties is forced intothe newspapers. The `Times' publishes an editorial entitled, `PrisonCamp Cruelties, ' the first sentence of which reads: `The fact thatAmerican soldiers confined in prison-camps have been treated withextreme brutality may now be regarded as established. ' So again Iwrite a polite letter to the `Times, ' pointing out that I think theyowe me an apology. And how does the `Times' treat that? It alters myletter without my permission. It cuts out my request for an apology, and also my quotation of its own words calling for my punishment!The `Times, ' caught in a hole, refuses to let me remind its readersthat it wanted me `punished' for telling the truth! `All the Newsthat's Fit to Print!'"