a mass-meeting of the strikers this Saturday evening. It had been
planned some days ago, and now was to be turned into a protest
against police violence and “government by injunction.” There was a
cheap afternoon paper which professed sympathy with the workers, and
this published a manifesto, signed by a number of labor leaders,
summoning their followers to make clear that they would no longer
submit to “Cossack rule.”
It appeared now that these leaders were considering inviting
Carpenter to become one of the speakers at their meeting. Two of
them came up to me. I had heard this stranger speak, and did I think
he could hold an audience? I gave assurance; he was a man of
dignity, and would do them credit. They were afraid the newspapers
would represent him as a freak, but of course their meeting would
hardly fare very well in the papers anyhow. One of them asked,
cautiously, how much of an extremist was he? Labor leaders were
having a hard time these days to hold down the “reds,” and the
employers were not giving them any help. Did I think Carpenter would
support the “reds”? I answered that I didn't know the labor movement
well enough to judge, but one thing they could be sure of, he was a
man of peace, and would not preach any sort of violence.
The matter was settled a little later, when Mary Magna drove up to
the Labor Temple in her big limousine. Mary, for the first time in
the memory of anyone who knew her, was without her war-paint;
dressed like a Quakeress--a most uncanny phenomenon! She had not a
single jewel on; and before long I learned why--she had taken all
she owned to a jeweler that morning, and sold them for something
over six thousand dollars. She brought the money to the fund for the
babies of the strikers; nor did she ask anyone else to hand it in
for her. It was Mary's fashion to look the world in the eye and say
what she was doing.
T-S was still hanging about, and at first he tried to check this
insane extravagance, but then he thought it over and grinned,
saying, “I git my tousand dollars back in advertising!” When I
pointed out to him what would be the interpretation placed by
newspaper gossip on Mary's intervention in the affairs of Carpenter,
he grinned still more widely. “Ain't he got a right to be in love
vit Mary? All de vorld's in love vit Mary!” And of course, there was
a newspaper reporter standing by his side, so that this remark went
out to the world as semi-official comment!
You understand that by this time the second edition of the papers
was on the streets, and it was known that the new prophet was at the
Labor Temple. Curiosity seekers came filtering in, among them half a
dozen more reporters, and as many camera men. After that, poor
Carpenter could get no peace at all. Would he please say if he was
going to do any more healing? Would he turn a little more to the
light--just one second, thank you. Would he mind making a group with
Miss Magna and Mr. T-S and the “wealthy young scion”? Would he
consent to step outside for some moving pictures, before the light
got too dim? It was a new kind of mob--a ravening one, making all
dignity and thought impossible. In the end I had to mount guard and
fight the publicity-hounds away. Was it likely this man would go out
and pose for cameras, when he had just refused fifteen hundred
dollars a week from Mr. T-S to do that very thing? And then more
excitement! Had he really refused such an offer? The king of the
movies admitted that he had!
We live in an age of communication; we can send a bit of news half
way round the world in a few seconds, we can make it known to a
whole city in a few hours. And so it was with this “prophet fresh
from God”; in spite of himself, he was seized by the scruff of the
neck and flung up to the pinnacle of fame! He had all the marvels of
a lifetime crowded into one day--enough to fill a whole newspaper
with headlines!
And the end was not yet. Suddenly there was a commotion in the
crowd, and a man pushed his way through--Korwsky, the secretary of
the tailor's union, who, learning of Carpenter's miracles, had
rushed all the way home, and got a friend with a delivery wagon, and
brought his half-grown son post-haste. He bore him now in his arms,
and poured out to Carpenter the pitiful tale of his paralyzed limbs.
Such a gentle, good child he was; no one ever heard a complaint; but
he had not been able to stand up for five years.
So, of course, Carpenter put his hands upon the child, and closed
his eyes in prayer; and suddenly he put him down to the ground and
cried: “Walk!” The lad stared at him, for one wild moment, while
people caught their breath; then, with a little choking cry, he took
a step. There came a shout from the spectators, and then--Bang!--a
puff as if a gun had gone off, and a flash of light, and clouds of
white smoke rolling to the ceiling.
Women screamed, and one or two threatened to faint; but it was
nothing more dangerous than the cameraman of the Independent Press
Service, who had hired a step-ladder, and got it set up in a corner
of the room, ready for any climax! A fine piece of stage management,
said his jealous rivals; others in the crowd were sure it was a put
up job between Carpenter and Korwsky. But the labor leaders knew the
little tailor, and they believed. After that there was no doubt
about Carpenter's being a speaker at the mass-meeting!
XXXII
It came time when the rest of us were ready for dinner, but
Carpenter said that he wanted to pray. Apparently, whenever he was
tired, and had work to do he prayed. He told me that he would find
his own way to Grant Hall, the place of the mass-meeting; but
somehow, I didn't like the idea of his walking through the streets
alone. I said I would call for him at seven-thirty and made him
promise not to leave the Labor Temple until that hour.
I cast about in my mind for a body-guard, and bethought me of old
Joe. His name is Joseph Camper, and he played centre-rush with my
elder brother in the days before they opened up the game, and when
beef was what counted. Old Joe has shoulders like the biggest hams
in a butcher shop, and you can trust him like a Newfoundland dog. I
knew that if I asked him not to let anybody hurt my friend, he
wouldn't--and this regardless of the circumstance of my friend's
not wearing pants. Old Joe knows nothing about religion or
sociology--only wrestling and motor-cars, and the price of wholesale
stationery.
So I phoned him to meet me, and we had dinner, and at seven-thirty
sharp our taxi crew drew up at the Labor Temple. Half a minute
later, who should come walking down the street but Everett, T-S's
secretary! “I thought I'd take the liberty,” he said,
apologetically. “I thought Mr. Carpenter might say something worth
while, and you'd be glad to have a transcript of his speech.”
“Why, that's very kind of you,” I answered, “I didn't know you were
interested in him.”
“Well, I didn't know it myself, but I seem to be; and besides, he
told me to follow him.”
I went upstairs, and found the stranger waiting in the room where I
had left him. I put myself on one side of him, and the
ex-centre-rush on the other, with Everett respectfully bringing up
the rear, and so we walked to Grant Hall. Many people stared at us,
and a few followed, but no one said anything--and thank God, there
was nothing resembling a mob! I took my prophet to the stage
entrance of the hall, and got him into the wings; and there was a
pathetically earnest lady waiting to give him a tract on the horrors
of vivisection, and an old gentleman with a white beard and palsied
hands, inviting him to a spiritualistic seance. Funniest of all,
there was Aunt Caroline's prophet, the author of the “Eternal
Bible,” with his white robes and his permanent wave, and his little
tribute of carrots and onions wrapped in a newspaper. I decided that
these were Carpenter's own kind of troubles, and I left him to
attend to them, and strolled out to have a look at the audience.
The hall was packed, both the floor and the galleries; there must
have been three thousand people. I noted a big squad of police, and
wondered what was coming; for in these days you can never tell
whether any public meeting is to be allowed to start, and still less
if it is to be allowed to finish. However, the crowd was orderly,
the only disturber being some kind of a Socialist trying to sell
literature.
I saw Mary Magna come in, with Laura Lee, another picture actress,
and Mrs. T-S. They found seats; and I looked for the magnate, and
saw him talking to some one near the door. I strolled back to speak
to him, and recognized the other man as Westerly, secretary of the
Merchants' and Manufacturers' Association. I knew what he was there
for--to size up this new disturber Of the city's peace, and perhaps
to give the police their orders.
It was not my wish to overhear the conversation, but it worked out
that way, partly because it is hard not to overhear T-S, and partly
because I stopped in surprise at the first words: “Good Gawd, Mr.
Vesterly, vy should I vant to give money to strikers? Dat's nuttin'
but fool newspaper talk. I vent to see de man, because Mary Magna
told me he vas a vunderful type, and I said I'd pay him a tousand
dollars on de contract. You know vot de newspapers do vit such
tings!”
“Then the man isn't a friend of yours?” said the other.
“My Gawd, do I make friends vit every feller vot I hire because he
looks like a character part?”
At this point there came up Rankin, one of T-S's directors. “Hello!”
said he. “I thought I'd come to hear your friend the prophet.”
“Friend?” said T-S. “Who told you he's a friend o' mine?”
“Why, the papers said--”
“Vell, de papers 're nutty!”
And then came one of the strikers who had been in the
soup-kitchen--a fresh young fellow, proud to know a great man. “How
dy'do, Mr. T-S? I hear our friend, Mr. Carpenter, is going--”
“Cut out dis friend stuff!” cried T-S, irritably. “He may be
yours--he ain't mine!”
I strolled up. “Hello, T-S!” I said.
“Oh, Billy! Hello!”
“So you've denied him three times!”
“Vot you mean?”
“Three times--and the cock hasn't crowed yet! That man's a prophet
for sure, T-S!”
The magnate pretended not to understand, but the deep flush on his
features gave him away.
“How dy'do, Mr. Westerly,” I said. “What do you think of Mr. T-S in
the role of the first pope?”
“You mean he's going to act?” inquired the other, puzzled.
“Come off!” exclaimed Rankin, who knew better, of course.
“He's going to be St. Peter,” I insisted, “and hold the keys to the
golden gate. He's planning a religious play, you know, for this
fellow Carpenter. Maybe he might cast Mr. Westerly for a part--say
Pontius Pilate.”
“Ha, ha, ha!” said the secretary of our “M. and M.” “Pretty good!
Ha, ha, ha! Gimme a chance at these bunk-shooters--I'll shut 'em up,
you bet!”
XXXIII
The chairman of the meeting was a man named Brown, the president of
the city's labor council. He was certainly respectable enough, prosy
and solemn. But he was deeply moved on this question of clubbing
strikers' heads; and you could see that the crowd was only waiting
for a chance to shout its indignation. The chairman introduced the
president of the Restaurant Workers, a solid citizen whom you would
have taken for a successful grocer. He told about what had happened
last night at Prince's; and then he told about the causes of the
strike, and the things that go on behind the scenes in big
restaurants. I had been to Prince's many times in my life, but I had
never been behind the scenes, nor had I ever before been to a
labor-meeting. I must admit that I was startled. The things they put
into the hashes! And the distressing habit of unorganized waiters,
when robbed of their tips or otherwise ill-treated, to take it out
by spitting into the soup!
A couple of other labor men spoke, and then came James, the
carpenter with a religious streak. He had a harsh, rasping voice,
and a way of poking a long bony finger at the people he was
impressing. He was desperately in earnest, and it caused him to
swallow a great deal, and each time his Adam's apple would jump up.
“I'm going to read you a newspaper clipping,” he began; and I
thought it was Judge Wollcott's injunction again, but it was a story
about one of our social leaders, Mrs. Alinson Pakenham, who has four
famous Pekinese spaniels, worth six thousand dollars each, and
weighing only eight ounces--or is it eighty ounces?--I'm not sure,
for I never was trusted to lift one of the wretched little brutes.
Anyhow, their names are Fe, Fi, Fo, and Fum, and they have each
their own attendant, and the four have a private limousine in which
to travel, and they dine off a service of gold plate. And here were
hundreds of starving strikers, with their wives, also starving; and
a couple of thousand other workers in factories and on ranches who
were in process of having their wages “deflated.” The orator quoted
a speech of Algernon de Wiggs before the Chamber of Commerce,
declaring that the restoration of prosperity, especially in
agriculture, depended upon “deflation,” and this alone; and suddenly
James, the carpenter with a religious streak, launched forth:
“Go to now, you rich men, weep and howl for your miseries that are
coming upon you! Your riches are corrupted, and your garments are
moth-eaten! Your gold and silver is cankered; and the rust on it
shall be a witness against you, and shall eat your flesh as if it
were fire. You have heaped treasure together for the last days.
Behold the hire of the laborers, who have reaped your fields; you
have kept it back by fraud, and the cries of the reapers have
entered into the ears of the Lord! You have lived in pleasure on the
earth, and been wanton; you have nourished your hearts, as in a day
of slaughter. You have condemned and killed the just--”
At this point in the tirade, my old friend the ex-centre-rush, who
was standing in the wings with me, turned and whispered: “For God's
sake, Billy, what kind of a Goddamn Bolshevik stunt is this,
anyhow?”
I answered: “Hush, you dub! He's quoting from the Bible!”
XXXIV
President Brown of the Western City Labor Council arose to perform
his next duty as chairman. Said he:
“The next speaker is a stranger to most of you, and he is also a
stranger to me. I do not know what his doctrine is, and I assume no
responsibility for it. But he is a man who has proven his friendship
for labor, not by words, but by very unusual deeds. He is a man of
remarkable personality, and we have asked him to make what
suggestions he can as to our problems. I have pleasure in
introducing Mr. Carpenter.”
Whereupon the prophet fresh from God arose from his chair, and come
slowly to the front of the platform. There was no applause, but a
silence made part of curiosity and part of amazement. His figure,
standing thus apart, was majestic; and I noted a curious thing--a
shining as of light about his head. It was so clear and so beautiful
that I whispered to Old Joe: “Do you see that halo?”
“Go on, Billy!” said the ex-centre-rush. “You're getting nutty!”
“But it's plain as day, man!”
I felt some one touch my arm, and saw the little lady of the
anti-vivisection tracts peering past me. “Do you see his aura?” she
whispered, excitedly.
“Is that what it is?”
“Yes. It's purple. That denotes spirituality.”
I thought to myself, “Good Lord, am I getting to be that sort?”
Carpenter began to speak, quietly, in his grave, measured voice. “My
brothers!” He waited for some time, as if that were enough; as if
all the problems of life would be solved, if only men would
understand those two words. “My brothers: I am, as your chairman
says, a stranger to this world of yours. I do not understand your
vast machines and your complex arts. But I know the souls of men and
women; when I meet greed, and pride, and cruelty, the enslavements
of the flesh, they cannot lie to me. And I have walked about the
streets of your city, and I know myself in the presence of a people
wandering in a wilderness. My children!--broken-hearted, desolate,
and betrayed--poorest when you are rich, loneliest when you throng
together, proudest when you are most ignorant--my people, I call you
into the way of salvation!”
He stretched out his arms to them, and on his face and in his whole
look was such anguish, that I think there was no man in that whole
great throng so rooted in self-esteem that he was not shaken with
sudden awe. The prophet raised his hands in invocation: “Let us
pray!” He bowed his head, and many in the audience did the same.
Others stared at him in bewilderment, having long ago forgotten how
to pray. Here and there some one snickered.
“Oh, God, Our Father, we, Thy lost children, return to Thee, the
Giver of Life. We bring our follies and our greeds, and cast them at
Thy feet. We do not like the life we have lived. We wish to be those
things which for long ages we have dreamed in vain. Wilt Thou show
the way?”
His hands sank to his sides, and he raised his head. “Such is the
prayer. What is the answer? It has been made known: Ask, and it
shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be
opened unto you. For everyone that asketh receiveth; and he that
seeketh findeth; and to him that knocketh it shall be opened.--These
are ancient words, by many forgotten. What do they mean? They mean
that we are children of our Father, and not slaves of earthly
masters. Would a man make a slave of his own child? And shall man be
more righteous than his Creator?
“My brothers: You are hungry, and in need, and your children cry for
bread; do I bid you feed them upon words? Not so; but the life of
men is made by the will of men, and that which exists in steel and
stone existed first in thought. If your thought is mean and base,
your world is a place of torment; if your thought is true and
generous, your world is free.
“There was once a man who owned much land, and upon it he built
great factories, and many thousand men toiled for him, and he grew
fat upon the product of their labor, and his heart was high. And it
came to pass that his workers rebelled; and he hired others, and
they shot down the workers, so that the rest returned to their
labor. And the master said: The world is mine, and none can oppose
me. But one day there arose among the workers a man who laughed. And
his laughter spread, until all the thousands were laughing; they
said, We are laughing at the thought that we should work and you
take the fruit of our labor. He ordered his troops to shoot them,
but his troops were also laughing, and he could not withstand the
laughter of so many men; he laughed also, and said, let us end this
foolish thing.
“Is there a man among you who can say, I am worthy of freedom? That
man shall save the world. And I say to you: Make ready your hearts
for brotherhood; for the hour draws near, and it is a shameful thing
when man is not worthy of his destiny. A man may serve with his
body, and yet be free, but he that is a slave in his soul admires
the symbols of mastery, and lusts after its fruits.
“What are the fruits of mastery? They are pride and pomp, they are
luxury and wantoness and the shows of power. And who is there among
you that can say to himself, these things have no roots in my heart?
That man is great, and the deliverance of the world is the act of
his will.”
XXXV
The speaker paused, and turned; his gaze swept the platform, and
those seated on it. Said he: “You are the representatives of
organized labor. I do not know your organization, therefore I ask:
For what are you united? Is it to follow in the footsteps of your
masters, and bind others as they have bound you?”
He waited for an answer, and the chairman, upon whom his gaze was
fixed, cried, “No!” Others also cried, “No!” and the audience took
it up with fervor. Carpenter turned to them. “Then I say to you:
Break down in your hearts and in the hearts of your fellows the
worship of those base things which mastership has brought into the
world. If a man pile up food while others starve, is not this evil?
If a woman deck herself with clothing to her own discomfort, is not
this folly? And if it be folly, how shall it be admired by you, to
whom it brings starvation and despair?
“Before me sit young women of the working class. Say to yourselves:
I tear from my fingers the jewels which are the blood and tears of
my fellow-men; I wash the paint from my face, and from my head and
my bosom I take the silly feathers and ribbons. I dare to be what I
am. I dare to speak truth in a world of lies. I dare to deal
honestly with men and women.
“Before me sit young men of the working-class. I say to you: Love
honest women. Do not love harlots, nor imitations of harlots. Do not
admire the idle women of the ruling class, nor those who ape them,
and thereby glorify them. Do not admire languid limbs and pouting
lips and the signs of haughtiness and vanity, your own enslavements.
“A tree is known by the fruit it gives; and the masters are known by
the lives they give to their servants. They are known by misery and
unemployment, by plague and famine, by wars, and the slaughter of
the people. Let judgment be pronounced upon them!
“You have heard it said: Each for himself, and the devil take the
hindmost. But I say to you: Each for all, and the hindmost is your
charge. I say to you: If a man will not work, let him be the one
that hungers; if he will not serve, let him be your criminal. For if
one man be idle, another man has been robbed; and if any man make
display of wealth, that man has the flesh of his brothers in his
stomach. Verily, he that lives at ease while others starve has
blood-guilt upon him; and he that despises his fellows has committed
the sin for which there is no pardon. He that lives for his own
glory is a wolf, and vengeance will hunt him down; but he that loves
justice and mercy, and labors for these things, dwells in the bosom
of my Father.
“Do not think that I am come to bring you ease and comfort; I am
come to bring strife and discontent to this world. For the time of
martyrdom draws near, and from your Father alone can you draw the
strength to endure your trials. You are hungry, but you will be
starved; you are prisoned in mills and mines, but you will be walled
up in dungeons; you are beaten with whips, but you will be beaten
with clubs, your flesh will be torn by bullets, your skin will be
burned with fire and your lungs poisoned with deadly gases--such is
the dominion of this world. But I say to you, resist in your hearts,
and none can conquer you, for in the hearts of men lies the past and
the future, and there is no power but love.
“You say: The world is evil, and men are base; why should I die for
them? Oh, ye of little faith, how many have died for you, and would
you cheat mankind? If there is to be goodness in the world, some one
must begin; who will begin with me?
“My brothers: I am come to lead you into the way of justice. I bid
you follow; not in passion and blind excitement, but as men firm in
heart and bent upon service. For the way of self-love is easy, while
the way of justice is hard. But some will follow, and their numbers
will grow; for the lives of men have grown ill beyond enduring, and
there must be a new birth of the spirit. Think upon my message; I
shall speak to you again, and the compulsion of my law will rest
upon you. The powers of this world come to an end, but the power of
good will is everlasting, and the body can sooner escape from its
own shadow than mankind can escape from brotherhood.”
He ceased, and a strange thing happened. Half the crowd rose to its
feet; and they cried, “Go, on!” Twice he tried to retire to his
seat, but they cried, “Go on, go on!” Said he, “My brothers, this is
not my meeting, there are other speakers--” But they cried, “We want
to hear you!” He answered, “You have your policies to decide, and
your leaders must have their say. But I will speak to you again
to-morrow. I am told that your city permits street speaking on
Western City Street on Sundays. In the morning I am going to church,
to see how they worship my Father in this city of many mobs; but at
noon I will hold a meeting on the corner of Fifth and Western City
Streets, and if you wish, you may hear me. Now I ask you to excuse
me, for I am weary.” He stood for a moment, and I saw that, although
he had never raised his voice nor made a violent gesture, his eyes
were dark and hollow with fatigue, and drops of sweat stood upon his
forehead.
He turned and left the platform, and Old Joe and I hurried around to
join him. We found him with Korwsky the little Russian tailor whose
son he had healed. Korwsky claimed him to spend the night at his
home; the friend with the delivery wagon was on hand, and they were
ready to start. I asked Carpenter to what church he was going in the
morning, and he startled me by the reply, “St. Bartholomew's.” I
promised that I would surely be on hand, and then Old Joe and I set
out to walk home.
“Well?” said I. “What do you think of him?”