Samuel went home and faced a surprising experience. There was a dapper
and well-dressed young man waiting to see him. “My name is Pollard,” he
said, “and I'm from the Lockmanville 'Express.' I want to get a story
from you.”
“A story from me?” echoed the boy in perplexity.
“An interview,” explained the other. “I want to find out about that
meeting you're going to hold.”
And so Samuel experienced the great thrill, which comes sooner or later
to every social reformer. He sat in Mrs. Stedman's little parlor, and
told his tale yet again. Mr. Pollard was young and just out of college,
and his pencil fairly flew over his notebook. “Gosh!” he exclaimed. “But
this is hot stuff!”
To Samuel it was an extraordinary revelation. He was surprised that
the idea had not occurred to him before. What was the use of holding
meetings and making speeches, when one could have things printed in
the papers? In the papers everyone would read it; and they would get it
straight--there would be no chance of error. Moreover, they would read
it at their leisure, and have time to think it all over!
And after Mr. Pollard had gone, he rushed off in great excitement to
tell Everley about it. “You won't need to print those circulars,” he
said. “For I told him where the meeting was to be.”
But Everley only smiled at this. “We'll get out our stuff just the
same,” he said. “You'd better wait until you've seen what the 'Express'
prints.”
“What do you mean?” asked the boy. But Everley would not explain--he
merely told Samuel to wait. He did not seem to be as much excited as he
should have been.
Samuel went home again. And later on in the afternoon, while Mrs.
Stedman had gone out to the grocer's, there came a knock on the door,
and he opened it, and to his amazement found himself confronted by Billy
Finnegan.
“Hello, young fellow!” said Finnegan.
“Hello!” said Samuel.
“What's this I hear about your making a speech?” asked Finnegan.
“I'm going to,” was the reply. “But how did you know?”
“I got it from Callahan. Slattery told him.”
“Slattery! Has he heard about it?”
“Gee, young fellow! What do you think he's boss for?”
And Finnegan gazed around the room, to make sure that they were alone.
“Sammy,” he said, “I've come to give you a friendly tip; I hope you'll
have sense enough to take it.”
“What is it?” asked the other.
“Don't try to make any speech.”
“Why not?”
“Because you ain't a-going to be let to make it, Sammy.”
“But how can they stop me?”
“I dunno, Sammy. But they ain't a-going to let you.”
There was a pause.
“It's a crazy thing you're tryin' to do,” said the other. “And take my
word for it--somethin' will happen to you if you go on.”
“What will happen?”
“I dunno, my boy--maybe you'll fall into the river.”
“Fall into the river!”
“Yes; or else run your head into a slungshot some night, in a dark
alley. I can't tell you what--only you won't make the speech.”
Samuel was dumfounded. “You can't mean such things!” he gasped.
“Sure I mean them,” was the reply. “Why not?”
Samuel did not respond. “I don't know why you're tryin' to do this
thing,” went on the other, “nor who's backing you. But from what I can
make out, you've got the goods, and you've got them on most everybody in
the town. You've got Slattery, and you've got Pat McCullagh, and
you've got the machine. You've got Wygant and Hickman--you've even got
something on Bertie Lockman, haven't you?”
“I suppose I have,” said Samuel. “But I'm not going to tell that.”
“Well, they don't know what you're going to tell, and they won't take
any chances. They won't let you tell anything.”
“But can such things be done?” panted the boy.
“They're done all the time,” said the other. “Why, see--it stands to
reason. Wouldn't folks be finding out things like this, and wouldn't
they be tellin' them?”
“To be sure,” said Samuel. “That's what puzzled me.”
“Well,” said the bartender, “they ain't let to. Don't you see?”
“I see,” whispered the boy.
“There's a crowd that runs this town, Sammy; and they mean to go on
runnin' it. And don't you think they can't find ways of shuttin' up a
kid like you!”
“But Mr. Finnegan, it would be murder!”
“Well, they wouldn't have to do it themselves, would they? When Henry
Hickman wants a chicken for dinner, he don't have to wring its neck with
his own hands.”
Samuel could find nothing to reply to that. He sat dumb with horror.
“You see,” continued Finnegan after a bit, “I know about this game, and
I'm givin' you a friendly word. What the hell does a kid like you want
to be reformin' things for anyway?”
“What else can I do?” asked Samuel.
To which the other answered, “Do? Get yourself a decent job, and find
some girl you like and settle down. You'll never know what there is in
life, Sammy, till you've got a baby.”
But Samuel only shook his head. The plan did not appeal to him. “I'll
try to keep out of trouble,” he said, “but I MUST make that speech!”
So Finnegan went out, shaking his head and grumbling to himself. And
Samuel hurried off to see his lawyer friend again. The result of the
visit was that Everley exacted from him a solemn promise that he would
not go out of the house after dark.
“I know what was done in this town during the strike,” said the other,
“and I don't want to take any chances. Now that they have finished the
unions, there's nobody left but us.”
So Samuel stayed at home, and told Sophie and her mother all about his
various experiences, and about the people he had met. The child was
almost beside herself with delight.
“Oh, I knew that help would come!” she kept saying, “I knew that help
would come!”
Worn out as he was, the young reformer could hardly sleep that night,
for all the excitement. And early in the morning he was up and out
hunting for a copy of the “Express.”
He stood on the street-corner and opened it. He glanced at the first
page--there was nothing there. He glanced at the back page, and then
at one page after another, seeking for the one that was given up to the
story. But there was no such page. And then he went back and read over
the headings of each column--and still he did not find it. And then
he began a third time, reading carefully each tiny item. And so,
after nearly an hour's search, when he found himself lost in a maze of
advertisements, he brought himself to realize that there was not a line
of the story in the paper!
When Everley arrived at his office that morning, Samuel was waiting for
him on the steps. Seeing the paper in the other's hand, the young lawyer
laughed. “You found out, have you?” he said.
“It's not here!” cried Samuel.
“I knew just what would happen,” said the other. “But I thought I'd let
you see for yourself.”
“But what does it mean?” demanded the boy.
“It means,” was the answer, “that the Lockman estate has a mortgage of
one hundred thousand dollars on the Express.”
And Samuel's jaw fell, and he stood staring at his friend.
“Now you see what it is to be a Socialist!” laughed Everley.
And Samuel saw.