through the crowd, and caught one of his hands. “Master, my baby!”
she sobbed. “The little one that was hurt!” So Carpenter said to the
crowd, “The sick child needs me. I must go in.” They started to
press after him, and he added, “You must not come into the room. The
child will need air.” He went inside, and knelt once more by the
couch, and put his hand on the little one's forehead. The mother, a
frail, dark Mexican woman, crouched at the foot, not daring to touch
either the man or the child, but staring from one to the other,
pressing her hands together in an agony of dread.
The little one opened his eyes, and gazed up. Evidently he liked
what he saw, for he kept on gazing, and a smile spread over his
features, a wistful and tender and infinitely sad little smile, of a
child who perhaps never had a good meal in his lifetime. “Nice man!”
he whispered; and the woman, hearing his voice again, began sobbing
wildly, and caught Carpenter's free hand and covered it with her
tears. “It is all right,” said he; “all right, all right! He will
get well--do not be afraid.” He smiled back at the child, saying:
“It is better now; you will not have so much pain.” To me he
remarked, “What is there so lovely as a child?”
The people thronging the doorway spread word what was going on, and
there were shouts of excitement, and presently the voice of a woman,
clamoring for admission. The throng made way, and she brought a
bundle in her arms, which being unfolded proved to contain a sick
baby. I never knew what was the matter with it; I don't suppose the
mother knew, nor did Carpenter seem to care. The woman knelt at his
feet, praying to him; but he bade her stand up, and took the child
from her, and looked into its face, and then closed his eyes in
prayer. When he handed back the burden, a few minutes later, she
gazed at it. Something had happened, or at least she thought it had
happened, for she gave a cry of joy, and fell at Carpenter's feet
again, and caught the hem of his garment with one hand and began to
kiss it. The rumor spread outside, and there were more people
clamoring. Before long, filtering into the room, came the lame, and
the halt, and the blind.
I had been reading not long ago of the miracles of Lourdes, so I
knew in a general way what to expect. I know that modern science
vindicates these things, demonstrating that any powerful stimulus
given to the unconscious can awaken new vital impulses, and heal not
merely the hysterical and neurotic, but sometimes actual physical
ailments. Of course, to these ignorant Mexicans and Italians, there
was no possible excitement so great as that caused by Carpenter's
appearance and behavior. I understood the thing clearly; and yet,
somehow, I could not watch it without being startled--thrilled in a
strange, uncomfortable way.
And later on I had company in these unaccustomed emotions; the crowd
gave way, and who should come into the room but Mary Magna! She did
not speak to either of us, but slipped to one side and stood in
silence--while the crowd watched her furtively out of the corner of
its eyes, thinking her some foreign princess, with her bold, dark
beauty and her costly attire. I went over to her, whispering, “How
did you get here?” She explained that, when we did not arrive at the
studios, she had called up the Stebbins home and learned about the
accident. “They warned me not to come here, because this man was a
terrible Bolshevik; he made a blood-thirsty speech to the mob. What
did he say?”
I started to tell; but I was interrupted by a piercing shriek. A
sick and emaciated young girl with paralyzed limbs had been carried
into the room. They had laid her on the couch, from which the child
had been taken away, and Carpenter had put his hands upon her. At
once the girl had risen up--and here she stood, her hands flung into
the air, literally screaming her triumphant joy. Of course the crowd
took it up--these primitive people are always glad of a chance to
make a big noise, so the whole room was in a clamor, and Carpenter
had hard work to extract himself from the throng which wished to
touch his hands and his clothing, and to worship him on their knees.
He came over to us, and smiled. “Is not this better than acting,
Mary?
“Yes, surely--if one can do it.”
Said he: “Everyone could do it, if they knew.”
“Is that really true?” she asked, with passionate earnestness.
“There is a god in every man, and in every woman.”
“Why don't they know it, then?”
“There is a god, and also a beast. The beast is old, and familiar,
and powerful; the god is new, and strange, and afraid. Because of
his fear, the beast kills him.”
“What is the beast?”
“His name is self; and he has many forms. In men he is greed; in
women he is vanity, and goes attired in much raiment--the chains,
and the bracelets, and the mufflers--”
“Oh, don't!” cried Mary, wildly.
“Very well, Mary; I won't.” And he didn't. But, looking at Mary, it
seemed that she was just as unhappy as if he had.
He turned to an old man who had hobbled into the room on crutches.
“Poor old comrade! Poor old friend!” His voice seemed to break with
pity. “They have worked you like an old mule, until your skin is
cracked and your joints grown hard; but they have not been so kind
to you as to an old mule--they have left you to suffer!”
To a pale young woman who staggered towards him, coughing, he cried:
“What can I do for you? They are starving you to death! You need
food--and I have no food to give!” He raised his arms, in sudden
wrath. “Bring forth the masters of this city, who starve the poor,
while they themselves riot in wantonness!”
But the members of the Chamber of Commerce and of the Bankers'
Association of Western City were not within hearing, nor are their
numbers as a rule to be found in the telephone book. Carpenter
looked about the place, now lined pretty well with cripples and
invalids. Only a couple of hours of spreading rumor had been needed
to bring them forth, unholy and dreadful secrets, dragged from the
dark corners and back alley-ways of these tenements. He gazed from
one crooked and distorted face to another, and put his hand to his
forehead with a gesture of despair. “No, no!” he said. “It is of no
use!” He lifted his voice, calling once more to the masters of the
city. “You make them faster than I can heal them! You make them by
machinery--and he who would help them must break the machine!”
He turned to me; and I was startled, for it was as if he had been
inside my mind. “I know, it will not be easy! But remember, I broke
the empire of Rome!”
That was his last flare. “I can do no more,” he whispered. “My power
is gone from me; I must rest.” And his voice gave way. “I beg you to
go, unhappy poor of the world! I have done all that I can do for you
tonight.”
And silently, patiently, as creatures accustomed to the voice of
doom, the sick and the crippled began to hobble and crawl from the
room.
XXII
He sat on the edge of the couch, gazing into space, lost in tragic
thought; and Mary and I sat watching him, not quite certain whether
we ought to withdraw with the rest. But he did not seem aware of our
presence, so we stayed.
In our world it is not considered permissible for people to remain
in company without talking. If the talk lags, we have to cast
hurriedly about in our minds for something to say--it is called
“making conversation.” But Carpenter evidently did not know about
this custom, and neither of us instructed him. Once or twice I stole
a glance at Mary, marvelling at her. All her life she had been a
conversational volcano, in a state of perpetual eruption; but now,
apparently she passed judgment on her own remarks, and found them
not worth making.
In the doorway of the room appeared the little boy who had been
knocked down by the car. He looked at Carpenter, and then came
towards him. When Carpenter saw him, a smile of welcome came upon
his face; he stretched out an arm, and the little fellow nestled in
it. Other children appeared in the doorway, and soon he had a group
about him, sitting on his knees and on the couch. They were little
gutter-urchins, but he, seemingly, was interested in knowing their
names and their relationships, what they learned in school, and what
games they played. I think he had Bertie's foot-ball crowd in mind,
for he said: “Some day they will teach you games of love and
friendship, instead of rivalry and strife.”
Presently the mother of the household appeared. She was distressed,
because it did not seem possible that a great man should be
interested in the prattle of children, when he had people like us,
evidently rich people, to talk to. “You will bother the master,” she
said, in Spanish. He seemed to understand, and answered, “Let the
children stay with me. They teach me that the world might be happy.”
So the prattle went on, and the woman stood in the doorway, with
other women behind her, all beaming with delight. They had known all
their lives there was something especially remarkable about these
children; and here was their pride confirmed! When the little ones
laughed, and the stranger laughed with them, you should have seen
the pleasure shining from a doorway full of dusky Mexican faces!
But after a while one of the children began to rub his eyes, and the
mother exclaimed--it was so late! The children had stayed awake
because of the excitement, but now they must go to bed. She bundled
them out of the room, and presently came back, bearing a glass of
milk and a plate with bread and an orange on it. The master might be
hungry, she said, with a humble little bow. In her halting English
she offered to bring something to us, but she did not suppose we
would care for poor people's food. She took it for granted that
“poor people's food” was what Carpenter would want; and apparently
she was right, for he ate it with relish. Meantime he tried to get
the woman to sit on the couch beside him; but she would not sit in
his presence--or was it in the presence of Mary and me? I had a
feeling, as she withdrew, that she might have been glad to chat with
him, if a million-dollar movie queen and a spoiled young club man
had not been there to claim prior rights.
XXIII
So presently we three were alone once more; and Mary, gazing
intently with those big dark eyes that the public knows so well,
opened up: “Tell me, Mr. Carpenter! Have you ever been in love?”
I was startled, but if Carpenter was, he gave no sign. “Mary,” he
said, “I have been in grief.” Then thinking, perhaps, that he had
been abrupt, he added: “You, Mary--you have been in love?”
She answered: “No.” I'm not sure if I said anything out loud, but my
thought was easy to read, and she turned upon me. “You don't know
what love is. But a woman knows, even though she doesn't act it.”
“Well, of course,” I replied; “if you want to go into metaphysics--”
“Metaphysics be damned!” said Mary, and turned again to Carpenter.
Said he: “A good woman like you--”
“_Me_?” cried Mary. And she laughed, a wild laugh. “Don't hit me
when you've got me down! I've sold myself for every job I ever got;
I sold myself for every jewel you saw on me this afternoon. You
notice I've got them off now!”
“I don't understand, Mary,” he said, gently. “Why does a woman like
you sell herself?”
“What else has she got? I was a rat in a tenement. I could have been
a drudge, but I wasn't made for that. I sold myself for a job in a
store, and then for ribbons to be pretty, and then for a place in
the chorus, and then for a speaking part--so on all the way. Now I
portray other women selling themselves. They get fancy prices, and
so do I, and that makes me a 'star.' I hope you'll never see my
pictures.”
I sat watching this scene, marvelling more than ever. That tone in
Mary Magna's voice was a new one to me; perhaps she had not used it
since she played her last “speaking part!” I thought to myself,
there was a crisis impending in the screen industry.
Said Carpenter: “What are you going to do about it, Mary?”
“What can I do? My contract has seven years to run.”
“Couldn't you do something honest? I mean, couldn't you tell an
honest story in your pictures?”
“Me? My God! Tell that to T-S, and watch his face! Why, they hunt
all the world over for some new kind of clothes for me to take off;
they search all history for some war I can cause, some empire I can
wreck. Me play an honest woman? The public would call it a joke, and
the screen people would call it indecent.”
Carpenter got up, and began to pace the room. “Mary,” said he, “I
once lived under the Roman empire--”
“Yes, I know. I was Cleopatra, and again I was Nero's mistress while
he watched the city burning.”
“Rome was rough, and crude, and poor, Mary. Rome was nothing to
this. This is Satan on my Father's throne, making new worlds for
himself.” He paced the room again, then turned and said: “I don't
understand this world. I must know more about it, if I am to save
it!” There was such grief, such selfless pity in his voice as he
repeated this: “I must know more!”
“You know everything!” exclaimed Mary, suddenly. “You are all
wisdom!”
But he went on, speaking as if to himself, pondering his problem:
“To serve others, yet not to indulge them; for the cause of their
enslavment is that they have accepted service without return. And
how shall one preach patience to the poor, when the masters make
such preaching a new means of enslavement?” He looked at me, as if
he thought that I could answer his question. Then with sudden energy
he exclaimed: “I must meet those who are in rebellion against
enslavement! Tomorrow I want to meet the strikers--all the strikers
in your city.”
“You'll have your hands full,” I said--for I was a coward, and
wanted to keep him out of it.
“How shall I find them?” he persisted.
“I don't know; I suppose their headquarters are at the Labor
Temple.”
“I will go there. Meantime, I fear I shall have to be alone. I need
to think about the things I have learned.”
“Where are you going to stay?”
“I don't know.”
Said Mary, hesitatingly: “My car is outside--”
He answered: “In ancient days I saw the young patricians drive
through the streets in their chariots; no, I shall not ride with
them again.”
Said I: “I have an apartment at the club, with plenty of room--”
“No, no, friend. I have seen enough of the masters of this city.
From now on, if you want to see me, you will find me among the
poor.”
“If I may meet you in the morning,” I said--“to show you to the
Labor Temple--” Yes, I would see him through!
“By all means,” said he. “But you must come early, for I cannot
delay.”
“Where shall I come?”
“Come here. I am sure these people will give me shelter.” He looked
about him. “I suspect that some of them sleep in this room; but they
have a little porch outside, and if they will let me stay there I
shall be alone, which is what I want now.” After a moment, he added,
“What I wish to do is to pray. Have you ever tried prayer, Mary?”
She answered, simply, “I wouldn't know how.”
“Come to me, and I will teach you,” he said.
XXIV
I went early next morning, but not early enough. The Mexican woman
told me that “the master” had waited, and finally had gone. He had
asked the way to the Labor Temple, and left word that I would find
him there. So I stepped back into my taxi, and told the driver to
take the most direct route.
Meantime I kept watch for my friend, and I did not have to watch
very long. There was a crowd ahead, the street was blocked, and a
premonition came to me: “Good Lord, I'm too late--he's got into some
new mess!” I leaned out of the window, and sure enough, there he was
standing on the tail-end of a truck, haranguing a crowd which packed
the street from one line of houses to the other. “And before he got
half way to the Labor Temple!” I thought to myself.
I got out, and paid the driver of the taxi, and pushed into the
crowd. Now and then I caught a few words of what Carpenter was
telling them, and it seemed quite harmless--that they were all
brothers, that they should love one another, and not do one another
injustice. What could there have been that made him think it
necessary to deliver this message before breakfast? I looked about,
noting that it was the Hebrew quarter of the city, plastered with
signs with queer, spattered-up letters. I thought: “Holy smoke! Is
he going to convert the Jews?”
I pushed my way farther into the crowd, and saw a policeman, and
went up to him. “Officer, what's this all about?” I spoke as one
wearing the latest cut of clothes, and he answered accordingly.
“Search me! They brought us out on a riot call, but when we got
here, it seems to have turned into a revival meeting.”
I got part of the story from this policeman, and part from a couple
of bystanders. It appeared that some Jewish lady, getting her
shopping done early, had complained of getting short weight, and the
butcher had ordered her out of his shop, and she had stopped to
express her opinion of profiteers, and he had thrown her out, and
she had stood on the sidewalk and shrieked until all the ladies in
this crowded quarter had joined her. Their fury against soaring
prices and wages that never kept up with them, had burst all bounds,
and they had set out to clean up the butcher-shop with the butcher.
So there was Carpenter, on his way to the Labor Temple, with another
mob to quell!
“You know how it is,” said the policeman. “It really does cost these
poor devils a lot to live, and they say prices are going down, but I
can't see it anywhere but in the papers.”
“Well,” said I, “I guess you were glad enough to have somebody do
this job.”
He grinned. “You bet! I've tackled crowds of women before this, and
you don't like to hit them, but they claw into your face if you
don't. I guess the captain will let this bird spout for a bit, even
if he does block the traffic.”
We listened for a minute. “Bear in mind, my friends, I am come among
you; and I shall not desert you. I give you my justice, I give you
my freedom. Your cause is my cause, world without end. Amen.”
“Now wouldn't that jar you?” remarked the “copper.” “Holy Christ, if
you'd hear some of the nuts we have to listen to on street-corners!
What do you suppose that guy thinks he can do, dressed up in
Abraham's nightshirt?”
Said Carpenter: “The days of the exploiter are numbered. The thrones
of the mighty are tottering, and the earth shall belong to them that
labor. He that toils not, neither shall he eat, and they that grow
fat upon the blood of the people--they shall grow lean again.”
“Now what do you think o' that?” demanded the guardian of authority.
“If that ain't regular Bolsheviki talk, then I'm dopy. I'll bet the
captain don't stand much more of that.”
Fortunately the captain's endurance was not put to the test. The
orator had reached the climax of his eloquence. “The kingdom of
righteousness is at hand. The word will be spoken, the way will be
made clear. Meantime, my people, I bid you go your way in peace. Let
there be no more disturbance, to bring upon you the contempt of
those who do not understand your troubles, nor share the heartbreak
of the poor. My people, take my peace with you!” He stretched out
his arms in invocation, and there was a murmur of applause, and the
crowd began slowly to disperse.
Which seemed to remind my friend the policeman that he had authority
to exercise. He began to poke his stick into the humped backs of
poor Jewish tailors, and into the ample stomachs of fat Jewish
housewives. “Come on now, get along with you, and let somebody else
have a bit o' the street.” I pushed my way forward, by virtue of my
good clothes, and got through the press about Carpenter, and took
him by the arm, saying, “Come on now, let's see if we can't get to
the Labor Temple.”
XXV
There was a crowd following us, of course; and I sought to keep
Carpenter busy in conversation, to indicate that the crowd was not
wanted. But before we had gone half a block I felt some one touch me
on the arm, and heard a voice, saying, “I beg pardon, I'm a reporter
for the 'Evening Blare'.”
Now, of course, I had known this must come; I had realized that I
would be getting myself in for it, if I went to join Carpenter that
morning. I had planned to warn him, to explain to him what our
newspapers are; but how could I have foreseen that he was going to
get into a riot before breakfast, and bring out the police reserves
and the police reporters?
“Excuse us,” I said, coldly. “We have something urgent--”
“I just want to get something of this gentleman's speech--”
“We are on our way to the Labor Temple. If you will come there in a
couple of hours, we will give you an interview.”
“But I must have a story for our first edition, that goes to press
before that.”
I had Carpenter by the arm, and kept him firmly walking. I could not
get rid of the reporter, but I was resolved to get my warning
spoken, regardless of anything. Said I: “This is a matter extremely
urgent for you to understand, Mr. Carpenter. This young man
represents a newspaper, and anything you say to him will be read in
the course of a few hours by perhaps a hundred thousand people. If
it is found especially senational, the Continental Press may put it
on its wires, and it will go to several hundred papers all over the
country--”
“Twelve hundred and thirty-seven papers,” corrected the young man.
“So you see, it is necessary that you should be careful what you
say--far more so than if you were speaking to a handful of Mexican
laborers or Jewish housewives.”
Said Carpenter: “I don't understand what you mean. When I speak, I
speak the truth.”
“Yes, of course,” I replied--and meantime I was racking my poor wits
figuring out how to present this strange acquaintance of mine most
tactfully to the world. I knew the reporter would not tarry long; he
would grab a few sentences, and rush away to telephone them in.
“I'll tell you what I'm free to tell,” I began. “This gentleman is a
healer, a man of very remarkable gifts. Mental healing, you
understand.”
“I get you,” said the reporter. “Some religion?”
“Mr. Carpenter teaches a new religion.”
“I see. A sort of prophet! And where does he come from?”
I tried to evade. “He has just arrived--”
But the blood-hound of the press was not going to be evaded. “Where
do you come from, sir?” he demanded, of Carpenter.
To which Carpenter answered, promptly: “From God.”
“From God? Er--oh, I see. From God! Most interesting! How long ago,
may I ask?”
“Yesterday.”
“Oh! That is indeed extraordinary! And this mob that you've just
been addressing--did you use some kind of mind cure on them?”
I could see the story taking shape; the headlines flamed before my
mind's eye--streamer heads, all the way across the sheet, after the
fashion of our evening papers:
PROPHET FRESH FROM GOD QUELLS MOB
XXVI
I came to a sudden decision in this crisis. The sensible thing to do
was to meet the issue boldly, and take the job of launching
Carpenter under proper auspices. He really was a wonderful man, and
deserved to be treated decently.
I addressed the reporter again. “Listen. This gentleman is a man of
remarkable gifts, and does not take money for them; so, if you are
going to tell about him at all, do it in a dignified way.”
“Of course! I had no other idea--”
“Your city editor might have another idea,” I remarked, drily.
“Permit me to introduce myself.” I gave him my name, and saw him
start.
“You mean _the_ Mr.--” Then, giving me a swift glance, he decided it
was not necessary to complete the question.
Said I: “Here is my card,” and handed it to him.
He glanced at it, and said, “I'll be very glad to explain matters to
the desk, and see that the story is handled exactly as you wish.”
“Thank you,” I replied. “Now, yesterday I was caught in that mob at
the picture theatre, and knocked nearly insensible. This gentleman
found me, and healed me almost instantly. Naturally, I am grateful,
and as I find that he is a teacher, who aids the poor, and will not
take money from anyone, I want to thank him publicly, and help to
make him known.”
“Of course, of course!” said the reporter; and before my mind's eye
flashed a new set of headlines:
WEALTHY CLUBMAN MIRACULOUSLY HEALED
Or perhaps it would be a double head:
CLUBMAN, SLUGGED BY MOB, HEALED BY PROPHET
WEALTHY SCION, VICTIM OF PICTURE RIOT, RESTORED BY MAN FRESH FROM
GOD
I thought that was sensation enough, and that the interview would
end; but alas for my hopes! Said that blood-hound of the press:
“Will you give public healings to the people, Mr. Carpenter?”
To which Carpenter answered: “I am not interested in giving
healings.”
“What? Why not?”
“Worldly and corrupt people ask me to do miracles, to prove my power
to them. But the proof I bring to the world is a new vision and a
new hope.”
“Oh, I see! Your religion! May I ask about it?”
“You are the first; the world will follow you. Say to the people
that I have come to understand the nature and causes of their mobs.”
“Mobs?” said the puzzled young blood-hound.
“I wish to understand a land which is governed by mobs; I wish to
know, who lives upon the madness of others.”