JIMMIE HIGGINS DALLIES WITH CUPID
I
The strike was over when Jimmie came out of jail; it had been
settled by the double-barrelled device of raising the wages of the
men and putting their leaders behind bars. Jimmie presented himself
at his old place of working, and the boss told him to go to hell; so
Jimmie went to Hubbardtown, and stood in the long line of men
waiting at the gate of the engine company. Jimmie knew about
black-lists, so when his time came to be questioned, he said his
name was Joe Aronsky, and he had last worked in a machine-shop in
Pittsburg; he had come to Hubbardtown because he had heard of high
pay and good treatment. While he was answering these questions, he
noticed a man sitting in the corner of the room studying his face,
and he saw the boss turn and glance in that direction. The man shook
his head, and the boss said: “Nothin' doin'.” So Jimmie understood
that the Hubbard Engine Company was taking measures to keep its
shops clear of the agitators from Leesville.
He spent a couple of days trying other places in his home town, but
all in vain--they had him spotted. At the brewery they were slower
than elsewhere--they took him on for two hours. Then they found out
his record, and “fired” him; and Jimmie “kidded” the boss, saying
that they were too late--he had already given a Socialist leaflet to
every man in the room!
On Jefferson Street, an out of the way part of the town, was a
bicycle-shop kept by an old German named Kumme. One of the comrades
told Jimmie that he wanted a helper, and Jimmie went there and got a
job at two dollars a day. That was poor pay at present prices, but
Jimmie liked the place, because his boss was a near-Socialist, a
pacifist--for all countries except Germany. He got round it by
saying that every nation had a right to defend itself; and Germany
was the nation which had been attacked in this war. A good part of
the energies of the old man went into proving this to his customers;
if there were any customers who did not like it, they could go
elsewhere.
Those who came were largely Germans, and so Jimmie was kept fully
supplied with arguments against the munitions industry, which they
called a trade in murder, and in favour of the programme of “Feed
America First”. Among those who frequented the place was Jerry
Coleman, who was still on the job, and as well supplied with
ten-dollar bills as ever. He had now revealed himself as an
organizer for a new propaganda society, called “Labour's National
Peace Council”. Inasmuch as Labour and Peace were the phrases upon
which Jimmie lived, he saw no reason why he should not back this
organization. Coleman assured Jimmie he hated the Kaiser, but that
the German “people” must be defended. So Jimmie became, without
having the least idea of it, one of the agencies whereby the Kaiser
was subsidizing social discontent in America.
But Jimmie was more careful now in his agitations. He had brought
such distress into his home by his jail sentence, that he had been
forced to make promises to Lizzie. Her anxiety for her children
could no longer be kept to herself; and this caused a certain amount
of friction between them, and sent Jimmie out grumbling at his lot
in life. What was the use of trying to educate a woman, who could
see no farther than her own kitchen-stove? When you wanted to be a
world-saviour, to walk tip-toe on the misty mountain-tops of
heroism, she dragged you down and chained you to the commonplace,
taking all the zest and fervour out of your soul! The memories of
“seam-squirrels” and of thin coffee and ill-smelling and greasy soup
had slipped somewhat into the background of Jimmie's mind, and he
lived again the sublime hour when he had confronted the court and
stood for the fundamental rights of an American citizen. He wanted
to have that act of daring appreciated at its true value. Poor,
blind, home-keeping Lizzie, who could not fulfil these deeper needs
of her husband's soul!
Jimmie had been, so far in his married life, as well domesticated as
could be expected of a proletarian propagandist. He had yearned to
own a home of his own, and meantime had manifested his repressed
wish by getting a big packing-box and some broken shingles, and
building a model play-house for Jimmie Junior in the back yard. He
had even found time on his tired and crowded Sundays to start a
garden in midsummer, the season when the local was least active. But
now, of course, the war had come to obsess his mind, driving him to
terror for the future of humanity, tempting him to martyrdoms and
domestic irritations.
II
It was at this critical period in Jimmie's life that there appeared
in Leesville a vivid young person by the name of Evelyn Baskerville.
Evelyn was no tired kitchen slave--with her fluffy brown hair, her
pert little dimples, her trim figure, her jaunty hat with a turkey
feather stuck on one side of her head. Evelyn was a stenographer and
proclaimed herself an advanced feminist; at her first visit she set
the local upside down. It happened to be “social evening”, when all
the men smoked, and this “free” young thing took a cigarette from
her escort and puffed it all over the place. This, of course, would
not have made a stir in great centres of culture such as London and
Greenwich Village; but in Leesville it was the first time that the
equality of women had been interpreted to mean that the women should
adopt the vices of the men.
Then Evelyn had produced from her handbag some leaflets on Birth
Control, and proposed that the local should undertake their
distribution. This was a new subject in Leesville, and while the
members supposed it was all right, they found it embarrassing to
have the matter explained too fully in open meeting. Evelyn wanted a
“birth strike”, as the surest means of ending the war; she wanted
the Worker to take up this programme, and did not conceal her
contempt for reactionaries in the movement who still wanted to
pretend that babies were brought by storks. The delicate subject was
finally “tabled”, and when the meeting adjourned and the members
walked home, everyone was talking about Miss Baskerville--the men
mostly talking with the men, and the women with the women.
Pretty soon it became evident that the vivid and dashing young
person was setting her cap for Comrade Gerrity, the organizer. As
Gerrity was an eligible young bachelor, that was all right. But
then, a little later, it began to be suspected that she had designs
upon Comrade Claudel, the Belgian jeweller. Doubtless she had a
right to make her choice between them; but some of the women were of
the opinion that she took too long to choose; and finally one or two
malicious ones began to say that she had no intention of
choosing--she wanted both.
And then fell a thunderbolt into Jimmie's life. It was just after
his arrest when fame still clung to him; and after the meeting
Comrade Baskerville came up and engaged him in conversation. How did
it feel to be a jailbird? When he told her that it felt fine, she
bade him not be too proud--she had served thirty days for picketing
in a shirt-waist strike! As she looked at him, her pretty brown eyes
sparkled with mischief, and her wicked little dimples lost no
curtain-calls. Poor, humble Jimmie was stirred to his shoe-tips, for
he had never before received the attentions of such a fascinating
creature--unless perchance it had been to sell her a newspaper, or
to beg the price of a sandwich in his tramp days. Here was one of
the wonderful things about the Socialist movement, that it broke
down the barriers of class, and gave you exciting glimpses of higher
worlds of culture and charm!
Comrade Baskerville continued to flash her dimples and her wit at
Jimmie, despite the fact that Comrade Gerrity and Comrade Claudel
and several other moths were hovering about the candle-flame, and
all the women in the local watching out of the corners of their
eyes. Finally, to Jimmie's unutterable consternation, the vivid
young goddess of Liberty inquired, “Wouldn't you like to walk home
with me, Comrade Higgins?” He stammered, “Yes”; and they went out,
the young goddess plying him with questions about conditions in the
jail, and displaying most convincing erudition on the subject of the
economic aspects of criminology--at the same time seeming entirely
oblivious to the hoverings of the other moths, and the disgust of
the unemancipated ladies of Local Leesville.
III
They walked down the street together, and first Comrade Baskerville
shivered with horror at the “seam-squirrels”, and then exclaimed
with delight over the conversion of “Dead-eye Mike” to Socialism,
and then made merry over the singing of the Internationale in the
police-station. Had she discovered a “character” in this seemingly
insignificant little machinist? At any rate, she plied him with
questions about his past life and his ideas. When he told her of his
starved and neglected childhood, she murmured sympathetically, and
it seemed to the fascinated Jimmie that here was a woman who
understood instinctively all the cravings of his soul. She laid her
hand on his arm, and it was as if an angel were touching
him--strange little thrills ran like currents of electricity all
over him.
Yes, Comrade Baskerville could appreciate his sufferings, because
she had suffered too. She had had a stepmother, and had run away
from home at an early age and fought her own way. That was why she
stood so firmly for woman's emancipation--she knew the slavery of
her sex through bitter experience. There were many men who believed
in sex-equality as a matter of words, but had no real conception of
it in action; as for the women--well, you might see right here in
the local the most narrow, bourgeois ideas dominating their minds.
Jimmie did not know what ideas Comrade Baskerville meant, but he
knew that her voice was musical and full of quick changes that made
him shiver.
He was supposed to be taking her home; but he had no idea where she
lived, and apparently she had no idea either, for they just wandered
on and on, talking about all the wonderful new ideas that were
stirring the minds of men and women. Did Comrade Higgins believe in
trial marriages? Comrade Higgins had never heard of this wild idea
before, but he listened, and bravely concealed his dismay. What
about the children? The eager feminist answered there need not be
any children. Unwanted children were a crime! She proposed to get
the working-class women together and instruct them in the technique
of these delicate matters; and meantime, lacking the women, she was
willing to explain it to any inwardly embarrassed and quaking man
who would lend his ear.
Suddenly she stopped and cried, “Where are we?” And there came a
peal of merry laughter, as she discovered they had gone far astray.
They turned and set off in the right direction, and meantime the
lecture on advanced feminism continued. Poor Jimmie was in a
panic--tumbled this way and that. He had considered himself a
radical, because he believed in expropriating the expropriators; but
these plans for overthrowing the conventions and disbanding the
home--these left him aghast. And trilled into his ear by a vivid and
amazing young thing with a soft hand upon his arm and a faint
intoxicating perfume all about her! Why was she telling these things
to him? What did she mean? What? WHAT?
IV
They came to the house where she lived. It was late at night, and
the street was deserted. It was up to Jimmie to say good night, but
somehow he did not know how to say it. Comrade Evelyn gave him her
hand, and for some reason did not take it away again. Of course it
would not have been polite for Jimmie to have pushed it away. So he
held it, and looked at the shadowy form before him, and felt his
knees shaking. “Comrade Higgins,” said the brave, girlish voice, “we
shall be friends, shall we not?” And of course, Jimmie answered that
they would--always! And the girlish voice replied, “I am GLAD!” And
then suddenly it whispered, “Good night!” and the shadowy form
turned and flitted into the house.
Jimmie walked away with the strangest tumult in his soul. It was
something which the poets had been occupied for centuries in trying
to portray, but Jimmie Higgins had no acquaintance with the poets,
and so it was a brand new thing to him, he was left to experience
the shock of it and to resolve the problems of it all alone. To be
rolled and tossed about like a man in a blanket at a college
ragging! To be a prey to bewilderment and fear, hope and longing,
despair and rebellion, delicious excitement, angry self-contempt
and tormenting doubt! Truly did that poet divine who first conceived
the symbol of the mischievous little god, who steals upon an
unsuspecting man and shoots him through the heart with a sharp and
tormenting arrow!
The worst of it was, Jimmie couldn't tell Lizzie about it. The first
time in four years that he had had a trouble he could not tell
Lizzie! He even felt ashamed, as he came home and crawled into
bed--as if he had done some dreadful wrong to Lizzie; and yet, he
would have been puzzled to tell just what the wrong was, or how he
could have avoided it. It was not he who had made the young feminist
so delicious and sweet and frank and amazing. It was not he who had
made the little god, and brewed the poison for the arrow's tip. No,
it was some power greater than himself that had prepared this
situation, some power cruel and implacable, which plots against
domestic tranquillity; perhaps it was some hireling of capitalism,
which will not permit a propagandist of social justice to do his
work in peace of soul.
Jimmie tried to hide what was going on; and of course--poor, naive
soul--he had never learned to hide anything in his life, and now was
too late to begin. The next time the local met, the women were
saying that they were disappointed in Comrade Higgins; they had
thought he was really devoted to the cause, but they saw now he was
like all the rest of the men--his head had been turned by one smile
on a pretty face. Instead of attending to his work, he was following
that Baskerville creature about, gazing at her yearningly, like a
moon-calf, making a ninny of himself before the whole room. And he
with a wife and three babies at home, waiting for him and thinking
he was hustling for the cause. When the meeting adjourned, and the
Baskerville creature accepted the invitation of Comrade Gerrity to
escort her home, the dismay of Comrade Higgins was so evident as to
be ludicrous to the whole room.
V
In the interest of common decency it was necessary for the women of
the local to take action on this matter. At least, a couple of them
thought so, and quite independently and without pre-arrangement they
called on Lizzie next day and told her that she should come more
frequently to meetings, and keep herself acquainted with the new
ideas of advanced feminism. And so when Jimmie came home that night,
he found his wife dissolved in tears and there was a most harrowing
scene.
For poor Elizabeth Huszar, pronounced Eleeza Betooser, had had no
chance whatever to familiarize herself with the new ideas of
advanced feminism. Her notions of “free unions” had been derived
from a quite different world, whose ideas were not new, but on the
contrary very, very old, and were “advanced” only on the road to
perdition. She judged Jimmie's behaviour according to thoroughly old
standards, and she was broken-hearted, overwhelmed with grief and
shame. He was like all the rest of men--and when she had fondly
thought he was different! He despised her and spit upon her--a woman
he had picked up in a brothel.
Poor Jimmie was stunned. He was conscious of no disrespect for
Lizzie, it had not occurred to him to think that she might take the
matter that way. But so she had taken it, beyond doubt, and with
intensity that frightened him. He would not have believed that so
many tears could stream from one woman's eyes--nor that his good,
broad-faced, honest wife could be so abject in her misery. “Oh, I
knowed it, I knowed it all along--it would be that way! I hadn't
never ought to married you--you know I told you so?”
“But, Lizzie!” pleaded the husband. “You're mistaken. That hadn't
nothin' to do with it.”
She turned upon him wildly, her fingers stuck out as if she would
claw him. “You mean to tell me if you hadn't 'a married a woman off
the street, you'd 'a gone chasin' a fluffy-haired girl? If you'd 'a
had a decent wife, that you knowed had some rights--”
“Lizzie!” he protested in consternation. “Listen here--”
But she was not to be stopped. “Everybody said I was a fool; but I
went an' done it, 'cause you swore you'd never hold it up to me! An'
I went an' had them children”--Lizzie swept her arm at the
children, as if to wipe them off the earth, to which they had come
by a cruel mistake.
Jimmie Junior, who was old enough to know that something serious was
happening, and whose instinct was all against being wiped off the
earth, began to howl wildly; and that set off the little ones--soon
they were all three of them going at the top of their lungs.
“Boo-hoo-hoo!”
It was truly a terrible climax to a romance. Jimmie, almost
distracted, seized the hand of his injured spouse. “It's all
nonsense!” he cried. “What they been tellin' you! I ain't done a
thing, Lizzie! I only walked home with her one night.”
But Lizzie answered that one night was plenty enough--she knew that
from intimate and hateful experience. “And I know them fluffy-headed
kind that frizzes their hair. What does she want to walk home at
night with married men fer? And talkin' about the things she does--”
“She don't mean no harm, Lizzie--she's tryin' to help workin' women.
It's what's called birth control--she wants to teach women--”
“If she wants to TEACH women, why don't she TALK to the women!
What's she all the time talkin' to MEN fer? You think you can tell
me tales like that--me, that's been what I have?” And Lizzie went
off into another fit, worse than ever.
VI
Jimmie found that it was with romance as with martyrdom--there was
a lot of trouble about it which the romancers did not mention. He
really felt quite dreadful, for he had a deep regard for this mother
of his little ones, and he would not have made her suffer for
anything. And she was right, too, he had to admit--her shots went
deep home. “How'd you feel, if you was to find out I'd been walkin'
home with some man?” When it was put to him that way, he realized
that he would have felt very badly indeed.
A flood of old emotions came back to him. He went in memory with his
group of roystering friends to the house of evil where he had first
met Elizabeth Huszar, pronounced Eleeza Betooser. She had taken him
to her room, and instead of making herself agreeable in the usual
way, had burst into tears. She had been ill-treated, and was
wretchedly lonely and unhappy. Jimmie asked why she did not quit the
life, and she answered that she had tried more than once, but she
could not earn a living wage; and anyhow, because she was big and
handsome, the bosses would never let her alone, and what was the
difference, if you couldn't keep away from the men?
They sat on the bed and talked, and Jimmie told her a little about
his life, and she told about hers--a pitiful and moving story. She
had been brought to America as an infant; her father had been killed
in an accident, and her mother had supported several children by
scrub-work. Lizzie had grown up in a slum on the far east side of
New York, and she could not remember a time when she had not been
sexually preyed upon; lewd little boys had taught her tricks, and
men would buy her with candy or food. And yet there had been
something in her struggling for decency; of her own volition she had
tried to go to school, in spite of her rags; and then, when she was
thirteen she had answered an advertisement for work as a nursemaid.
That story had made an especial impression upon Jimmie--it was truly
a most pitiful episode.
Her place of employment had been a “swell” apartment, with a
hall-boy and an elevator--the most wonderful place that Lizzie had
ever beheld; it was like living in Heaven, and she had tried so hard
to do what she was told, and be worthy of her beautiful mistress and
the lovely baby. But she had been there only two days when the
mistress had discovered vermin on the baby, and had come to Lizzie
and insisted on examining her head. And of course she had found
something. “Them's only nits!” Lizzie had said; she had never heard
of anybody who did not have “nits” in their hair. But the beautiful
lady had called her a vile creature, and ordered her to pack up her
things and get out of the house at once. And so Lizzie had had to
wait until she became an inmate of a brothel before anybody took the
trouble to teach her how to get the “nits” out of her hair, and how
to bathe, and to clean her finger-nails and otherwise be physically
decent.
Jimmie recalled all that, and he fell on his knees before his wife,
and caught her two hands by main force, and swore to her that he had
not done any wrong; he went on to tell her exactly what wrong he had
done, which was the best way to convince her that he had not done
any worse. He vowed again and again that he would never, never dally
with Cupid again--he would see Comrade Baskerville at once and tell
her it was “all off”.
And so Lizzie looked up through her tears. “No,” she said, “you
don't need to see her at all!”
“What shall I do, then?'”
“Just let her alone--don't tell her nothin'. She'll know it's off
all right.”
VII
But when you have a dead romance, you cannot leave it to rot on the
highway; you are driven irresistibly to bury it decently. In spite
of his solemn promises, Jimmie found himself thinking all the time
about Comrade Baskerville, and how he would act when he met her next
time--all the noble and dignified speeches he would make to her. He
must manage to be alone with her; for of course he could not say
such things with the jealous old hags of the local staring at him.
The best thing, he decided, would be to tell her the frank and
honest truth; to tell her about Lizzie, and how good and worthy she
had been, and how deeply he realized his duty to her. And then tears
would come into Comrade Baskerville's lovely eyes, and she would
tell him that she honoured his high sense of marital responsibility.
They must renounce; but of course they would be dear and true
friends--always, always. Jimmie was holding her hands, in his fancy,
as he said these affecting words: Always! Always! He knew that he
would have to let go of the hands, but he was reluctant to do so,
and he had not quite got to the point of doing it when, walking down
Jefferson Street on his way home from work--behold, in front of him
a trim, eager little figure, tripping gaily, with a jaunty hat with
a turkey-feather stuck on one side! Jimmie knew the figure a block
away, and as he saw it coming nearer, his heart leaped up and hit
him in the bottom part of his neck, and all his beautiful speeches
flew helter-skelter out of his head.
She saw him, and the vivid, welcoming smile came upon her face. She
came up to him, and their hands clasped. “Why!” she cried. “What a
pleasant meeting!”
Jimmie gulped twice, and then began, “Comrade Baskerville--” And
then he gulped again, and began, “Comrade Baskerville--”
She stopped him. “I'm not Comrade Baskerville,” she declared.
He could not get the meaning of these unexpected words.
“What?” he said.
“Haven't you heard the news?” she said, and beamed on him. “I'm
Comrade Mrs. Gerrity.”
He stared at her, utterly bewildered. “I've been that for
twenty-four whole hours! Congratulate me!”
Little by little the meaning of the words began to dawn in Jimmie's
stupid head. “Comrade Mrs. Gerrity!” he echoed. “But--but--I thought
you didn't believe in marriage.”
There came the most bewitching smile, a smile decorated with two
rows of pearly white teeth. “Don't you understand, Comrade Higgins?
No woman believes in marriage--until she meets the right man.”
This was much too subtle. Jimmie was still gaping open-mouthed.
“But then, I thought--I thought--” he stopped again; for in truth,
he had not known quite what he thought, and anyway, it seemed futile
to try to formulate it now.
But, of course, she knew, without his telling her; she knew the
meaning of his look of dismay, and of his stammering words. Being a
kind little creature, she laid her hand on his arm. “Comrade
Higgins,” she said, “don't think I'm too mean!”
“Mean?” he cried. “Why, no! What? How--”
“Try to imagine you were a girl, Comrade Higgins. You can't propose
to a man, can you?”
“Why, no--that is--”
“That is, not if you want him to accept! You have to make him do it.
And maybe he's shy, and don't do it, and you have to put the idea in
his head for him. Or maybe he's not sure he wants you, and you have
to make him realize how very desirable you are! Maybe you have to
scare him, making him think you're going to run off with somebody
else! Don't you see how it is with a girl?”
Jimmie was still bady dazed, but he saw enough to enable him to
stammer, “Yes.” And Comrade Baskerville--that is, Comrade Mrs.
Gerrity--gave him her hand again.
“Comrade Higgins,” she said, “you're a dear, sweet fellow, and you
won't be too angry with me, will you? We'll be friends, won't we,
Comrade Higgins?”
And Jimmie clasped the soft, warm hand, and gazed into the shining
brown eyes, and he made a part of the wonderful speech which he had
been planning as he walked. He said: “Always! Always!”