When Shotwell arrived, dinner had already been announced, and Palla
and Ilse Westgard were in the unfurnished drawing-room, the former on
a step-ladder, the latter holding that collapsible machine with one
hand and Palla's ankle with the other.
Palla waved a tape-measure in airy salute: "I'm trying to find out how
many yards it takes for my curtains," she explained. But she climbed
down and gave him her hand; and they went immediately into the
dining-room.
"What's all this nonsense about the Red Flag Club?" he inquired, when
they were seated. "Do you and Ilse really propose going to that dirty
anarchist joint?"
"How do you know it's dirty?" demanded Palla, "--or do you mean it's
only morally dingy?"
Both she and Ilse appeared to be in unusually lively spirits, and they
poked fun at him when he objected to their attending the meeting in
question.
"Very well," he said, "but there may be a free fight. There was a row
on Fifth Avenue this evening, where some of those rats were parading
with red flags."
Palla laughed and cast a demure glance at Ilse.
"What is there to laugh at?" demanded Jim. "There was a small riot on
Fifth Avenue! I met several men at the club who witnessed it."
The sea-blue eyes of Ilse were full of mischief. He was aware of
Palla's subtle exhilaration, too.
"Why hunt for a free fight?" he asked.
"Why avoid one if it's free?" retorted Ilse, gaily.
They all laughed.
"Is that your idea of liberty?" he asked Palla.
"What is all human progress but a free fight?" she retorted. "Of
course," she added, "Ilse means an intellectual battle. If they
misbehave otherwise, I shall flee."
"I don't see why you want to go to hear a lot of Reds talk bosh," he
remarked. "It isn't like you, Palla."
"It _is_ like me. You see you don't really know me, Jim," she added
with smiling malice.
"The main thing," said Ilse, "is for one to be one's self. Palla and I
are social revolutionists. Revolutionists revolt. A revolt is a row.
There can be no row unless people fight."
He smiled at their irresponsible gaiety, a little puzzled by it and a
little uneasy.
"All right," he said, as coffee was served; "but it's just as well
that I'm going with you."
The ex-girl-soldier gave him an amused glance, lighted a cigarette,
glanced at her wrist-watch, then rose lightly to her graceful,
athletic height, saying that they ought to start.
So they went away to pin on their hats, and Jim called a taxi.
* * * * *
The hall was well filled when they arrived. There was a rostrum, on
which two wooden benches faced a table and a chair in the centre. On
the table stood a pitcher of drinking water, a soiled glass, and a jug
full of red carnations.
A dozen men and women occupied the two benches. At the table a man
sat writing. He held a lighted cigar in one hand; a red silk
handkerchief trailed from his coat pocket.
* * * * *
As Ilse and Palla seated themselves on an empty bench and Shotwell
found a place beside them, somebody on the next bench beyond leaned
over and bade them good evening in a low voice.
"Mr. Brisson!" exclaimed Palla, giving him her hand in unfeigned
pleasure.
Brisson shook hands, also, with Ilse, cordially, and then was
introduced to Jim.
"What are you doing here?" he inquired humorously of Palla. "And, by
the way,"--dropping his voice--"these Reds don't exactly love me, so
don't use my name."
Palla nodded and whispered to Jim: "He secured all that damning
evidence at the Smolny for our Government."
Brisson and Ilse were engaged in low-voiced conversation: Palla
ventured to look about her.
The character of the gathering was foreign. There were few American
features among the faces, but those few were immeasurably superior
in type--here and there the intellectual, spectacled visage of
some educated visionary, lured into the red tide and left there
drifting;--here and there some pale girl, carelessly dressed, seated
with folded hands, and intense gaze fixed on space.
But the majority of these people, men and women, were foreign in
aspect--round, bushy heads with no backs to them were everywhere;
muddy skins, unhealthy skins, loose mouths, shifty eyes!--everywhere
around her Palla saw the stigma of degeneracy.
She said in a low voice to Jim: "These poor things need to be properly
housed and fed before they're taught. Education doesn't interest empty
stomachs. And when they're given only poison to stop the pangs--what
does civilisation expect?"
He said: "They're a lot of bums. The only education they require is
with a night-stick."
"That's cruel, Jim."
"It's law."
"One of your laws which does not appeal to me," she remarked, turning
to Brisson, who was leaning over to speak to her.
"There are half a dozen plain-clothes men in the audience," he said.
"There are Government detectives here, too. I rather expect they'll
stop the proceedings before the programme calls for it."
Jim turned to look back. A file of policemen entered and carelessly
took up posts in the rear of the hall. Hundreds of flat-backed heads
turned, too; hundreds of faces darkened; a low muttering arose from
the benches.
Then the man at the table on the rostrum got up abruptly, and pulled
out his red handkerchief as though to wipe his face.
At the sudden flourish of the red fabric, a burst of applause came
from the benches. Orator and audience were _en rapport_; the former
continued to wave the handkerchief, under pretence of swabbing his
features, but the intention was so evident and the applause so
enlightening that a police officer came part way down the aisle and
held up a gilded sleeve.
"Hey!" he called in a bored voice, "Cut that out! See!"
"That man on the platform is Max Sondheim," whispered Brisson. "He'll
skate on thin ice before he's through."
Sondheim had already begun to speak, ignoring the interruption from
the police:
"The Mayor has got cold feet," he said with a sneer. "He gave us a
permit to parade, but when the soldiers attacked us his police clubbed
us. That's the kind of government we got."
"Shame!" cried a white-faced girl in the audience.
"Shame?" repeated Sondheim ironically. "What's shame to a cop? They
got theirs all the same----"
"That's enough!" shouted the police captain sharply. "Any more of that
and I'll run you in!"
Sondheim's red-rimmed eyes measured the officer in silence for a
moment.
"I have the privilege," he said to his audience, "of introducing to
you our comrade, Professor Le Vey."
"Le Vey," whispered Brisson in Palla's ear. "He's a crack-brained
chemist, and they ought to nab him."
The professor rose from one of the benches on the rostrum and came
forward--a tall, black-bearded man, deathly pale, whose protruding,
bluish eyes seemed almost stupid in their fixity.
"Words are by-products," he said, "and of minor importance. Deeds
educate. T. N. T., also, is a byproduct, and of no use in conversation
unless employed as an argument--" A roar of applause drowned his
voice: he gazed at the audience out of his stupid pop-eyes.
"Tyranny has kicked you into the gutter," he went on. "Capital makes
laws to keep you there and hires police and soldiers to enforce those
laws. This is called civilisation. Is there anything for you to do
except to pick yourselves out of the gutter and destroy what kicked
you into it and what keeps you there?"
"No!" roared the audience.
"Only a clean sweep will do it," said Le Vey. "If you have a single
germ of plague in the world, it will multiply. If you leave a single
trace of what is called civilisation in the world, it will hatch out
more tyrants, more capitalists, more laws. So there is only one
remedy. Destruction. Total annihilation. Nothing less can purify this
rotten hell they call the world!"
Amid storms of applause he unrolled a manuscript and read without
emphasis:
"Therefore, the Workers of the World, in council assembled, hereby
proclaim at midnight to-night, throughout the entire world:
"1. That all debts, public and private, are cancelled.
"2. That all leases, contracts, indentures and similar instruments,
products of capitalism, are null and void.
"3. All statutes, ordinances and other enactments of capitalist
government are repealed.
"4. All public offices are declared vacant.
"5. The military and naval organisations will immediately dissolve
and reorganise themselves upon a democratic basis for speedy
mobilisation.
"6. All working classes and political prisoners will be immediately
freed and all indictments quashed.
"7. All vacant and unused land shall immediately revert to the people
and remain common property until suitable regulations for its
disposition can be made.
"8. All telephones, telegraphs, cables, railroads, steamship lines and
other means of communication and transportation shall be immediately
taken over by the workers and treated henceforth as the property of
the people.
"9. As speedily as possible the workers in the various industries will
proceed to take over these industries and organise them in the spirit
of the new epoch now beginning.
"10. The flag of the new society shall be plain red, marking our unity
and brotherhood with similar republics in Russia, Germany, Austria and
elsewhere----"
"That'll be about all from you, Professor," interrupted the police
captain, strolling down to the platform. "Come on, now. Kiss your
friends good-night!"
A sullen roar rose from the audience; Le Vey lifted one hand:
"I told you how to argue," he said in his emotionless voice. "Anybody
can talk with their mouths." And he turned on his heel and went back
to his seat on the bench.
Sondheim stood up:
"Comrade Bromberg!" he shouted.
A small, shabby man arose from a bench and shambled forward. His hair
grew so low that it left him practically no forehead. Whiskers blotted
out the remainder of his features except two small and very bright
eyes that snapped and sparkled, imbedded in the hairy ensemble.
"Comrades," he growled, "it has come to a moment when the only law
worth obeying is the law of force!----"
"You bet!" remarked the police captain, genially, and, turning his
back, he walked away up the aisle toward the rear of the hall, while
all around him from the audience came a savage muttering.
Bromberg's growling voice grew harsher and deeper as he resumed: "I
tell you that there is only one law left for proletariat and tyrant
alike! It is the law of force!"
As the audience applauded fiercely, a man near them stood up and
shouted for a hearing.
"Comrade Bromberg is right!" he cried, waving his arms excitedly.
"There is only one real law in the world! The fit survive! The unfit
die! The strong take what they desire! The weak perish. That is the
law of life! That is the----"
An amazing interruption checked him--a clear, crystalline peal of
laughter; and the astounded audience saw a tall, fresh, yellow-haired
girl standing up midway down the hall. It was Ilse Westgard, unable to
endure such nonsense, and quite regardless of Brisson's detaining hand
and Shotwell's startled remonstrance.
"What that man says is absurd!" she cried, her fresh young voice still
gay with laughter. "He looks like a Prussian, and if he is he ought to
know where the law of force has landed his nation."
In the ominous silence around her, Ilse turned and gaily surveyed the
audience.
"The law of force is the law of robbers," she said. "That is why this
war has been fought--to educate robbers. And if there remain any
robbers they'll have to be educated. Don't let anybody tell you that
the law of force is the law of life!----"
"Who are you?" interrupted Bromberg hoarsely.
"An ex-soldier of the Death Battalion, comrade," said Ilse cheerfully.
"I used a rifle in behalf of the law of education. Sometimes bayonets
educate, sometimes machine guns. But the sensible way is to have a
meeting, and everybody drink tea and smoke cigarettes and discuss
their troubles without reserve, and then take a vote as to what is
best for everybody concerned."
And she seated herself with a smile just as the inevitable uproar
began.
All around her now men and women were shouting at her; inflamed faces
ringed her; gesticulating fists waved in the air.
"What are you--a spy for Kerensky?" yelled a man in Russian.
"The bourgeoisie has its agents here!" bawled a red-haired Jew. "I
offer a solemn protest----"
"Agent provocateur!" cried many voices. "Pay no attention to her! Go
on with the debate!"
An I. W. W.--a thin, mean-faced American--half arose and pointed an
unwashed finger at Ilse.
"A Government spy," he said distinctly. "Keep your eye on her,
comrades. There seems to be a bunch of them there----"
"Sit down and shut up!" said Shotwell, sharply. "Do you want to start
a riot?"
"You bet I'll start something!" retorted the man, showing his teeth
like a rat. "What the hell did you come here for----"
"Silence!" bawled Bromberg, hoarsely, from the platform. "That woman
is recognised and known. Pay no attention to her, but listen to me. I
tell you that your law is the law of hatred!----"
Palla attempted to rise. Jim tried to restrain her: she pushed his arm
aside, but he managed to retain his grasp on her arm.
"Are you crazy?" he whispered.
"That man lies!" she said excitedly. "Don't you hear him preaching
hatred?"
"Well, it's not your business----"
"It _is_! That man is lying to these ignorant people! He's telling
them a vile untruth! Let me go, Jim----"
"Better keep cool," whispered Brisson, leaning over. "We're all in
dutch already."
Palla said to him excitedly: "I'm afraid to stand up and speak, but
I'm going to! I'd be a coward to sit here and let that man deceive
these poor people----"
"Listen to Bromberg!" motioned Ilse, her blue eyes frosty and her
cheeks deeply flushed.
The orator had come down into the aisle. Every venomous word he was
uttering now he directed straight at the quartette.
"Russia is showing us the way," he said in his growling voice. "Russia
makes no distinctions but takes them all by the throat and wrings
their necks--aristocrats, bourgeoisie, cadets, officers, land owners,
intellectuals--all the vermin, all the parasites! And that is the law,
I tell you! The unfit perish! The strong inherit the earth!----"
Palla sprang to her feet: "Liar!" she said hotly. "Did not Christ
Himself tell us that the meek shall inherit the earth!"
"Christ?" thundered Bromberg. "Have you come here to insult us with
legends and fairy-tales about a god?"
"Who mentioned God?" retorted Palla in a clear voice. "Unless we
ourselves are gods there is none! But Christ did live! And He was as
much a god as we are. And no more. But He was wiser! And what He told
us is the truth! And I shall not sit silent while any man or woman
teaches robbery and murder. That's what you mean when you say that the
law of the stronger is the only law! If it is, then the poor and
ignorant are where they belong----"
"They won't be when they learn the law of life!" roared Bromberg.
"There is only one law of life!" cried Palla, turning to look around
her at the agitated audience. "The only law in the world worth
obedience is the Law of Love and of Service! No other laws amount to
anything. Under that law every problem you agitate here is already
solved. There is no injustice that cannot be righted under it! There
is no aspiration that cannot be realised!"
She turned on Bromberg, her hazel eyes very bright, her face surging
with colour.
"You came here to pervert the exhortation of Karl Marx, and unite
under the banner of envy and greed every unhappy heart!
"Very well. Others also can unite to combat you. A league of evil is
not the only league that can be formed under this roof. Nor are the
soldiers and police the only or the better weapons to use against you.
What you agitators and mischief makers are really afraid of is that
somebody may really educate your audiences. And that's exactly what
such people as I intend to do!"
A score or more of people had crowded around her while she was
speaking. Shotwell and Brisson, too, had risen and stepped to her
side. And the entire audience was on its feet, craning hundreds of
necks and striving to hear and see.
Somewhere in the crowd a shrill American voice cried: "Throw them guys
out! They got Wall Street cash in their pockets!"
Sondheim levelled a finger at Brisson:
"Look out for that man!" he said. "He published those lies about
Lenine and Trotsky, and he's here from Washington to lie about us in
the newspapers!"
The I. W. W. lurched out of his seat and shoved against Shotwell.
"Get the hell out o' here," he snarled; "--go on! Beat it! And take
your lady-friends, too."
Brisson said: "No use talking to them. You'd better take the ladies
out while the going is good."
But as they moved there was an angry murmur: the I. W. W. gave Palla a
violent shove that sent her reeling, and Shotwell knocked him
unconscious across a bench.
Instantly the hall was in an uproar: there was a savage rush for
Brisson, but he stopped it with levelled automatic.
"Get the ladies out!" he said coolly to Shotwell, forcing a path
forward at his pistol's point.
Plain clothes men were active, too, pushing the excited Bolsheviki
this way and that and clearing a lane for Palla and Ilse.
Then, as they reached the rear of the hall, there came a wild howl
from the audience, and Shotwell, looking back, saw Sondheim unfurl a
big red flag.
Instantly the police started for the rostrum. The din became deafening
as he threw one arm around Palla and forced her out into the street,
where Ilse and Brisson immediately joined them.
Then, as they looked around for a taxi, a little shrimp of a man came
out on the steps of the hall and spat on the sidewalk and cursed them
in Russian.
And, as Palla, recognising him, turned around, he shook his fists at
her and at Ilse, promising that they should be attended to when the
proper moment arrived.
Then he spat again, laughed a rather ghastly and distorted laugh, and
backed into the doorway behind him.
They walked east--there being no taxi in sight. Ilse and Brisson led;
Palla followed beside Jim.
"Well," said the latter, his voice not yet under complete control,
"don't you think you'd better keep away from such places in the
future?"
She was still very much excited: "It's abominable," she exclaimed,
"that this country should permit such lies to be spread among the
people and do nothing to counteract this campaign of falsehood! What
is going to happen, Jim, unless educated people combine to educate the
ignorant?"
"How?" he asked contemptuously.
"By example, first of all. By the purity and general decency of their
own lives. I tell you, Jim, that the unscrupulous greed of the
educated is as dangerous and vile as the murderous envy of the
Bolsheviki. We've got to reform ourselves before we can educate
others. And unless we begin by conforming to the Law of Love and
Service, some day the Law of Hate and Violence will cut our throats
for us."
"Palla," he said, "I never dreamed that you'd do such a thing as you
did to-night."
"I was afraid," she said with a nervous tightening of her arm under
his, "but I was still more afraid of being a coward."
"You didn't have to answer that crazy anarchist!"
"Somebody had to. He lied to those poor creatures. I--I couldn't stand
it!--" Her voice broke a little. "And if there is truly a god in me,
as I believe, then I should show Christ's courage ... lacking His
wisdom," she added so low that he scarcely heard her.
Ilse, walking ahead with Brisson, looked back over her shoulder at
Palla laughing.
"Didn't I tell you that there are some creatures you can't educate?
What do you think of your object lesson, darling?"