Three kinds of meetings were held by the strikers. Public meetings, open
to everybody, union meetings, open to any member of the several
organizations engaged in the strike, and secret sessions held by the
various Brotherhoods, to which only members of that particular order
were admitted.
Many things were said and done at these secret sessions that were never
printed, or even mentioned outside the lodge-room, save when a detective
happened to be a member, or when a member happened to be a detective.
At one of these meetings, held by the striking firemen, the head of that
organization startled the audience with the declaration that the strike
was going to end disastrously for the strikers. In fact, he said, the
strike was already lost. They were beaten. The only point to be
determined was as to the extent of the thrashing. This red rag, flung in
the faces of the "war faction," called forth hisses and hoots from the
no-surrender element. A number of men were on their feet instantly, but
none with the eloquence, or even the lung power to shut the chief off.
Many of the outraged members glanced over at Cowels, who always sat near
the little platform at the end of the hall in order that he might not
keep his admirers waiting when they called for a speech. The greatest
confusion prevailed during the address of the head of the house. Cowels,
the recognized leader of the war party, sat silently in his place,
though frequently called upon to defend the fighters. As their chief
went on telling them of the inevitable ruin that awaited the strikers,
the more noisy began to accuse him of selling them out. One man wanted
to know what he got for the job, but the master, feeling secure in that
he was doing his duty, gave no heed to what his traducers were saying.
Amid all the turmoil Cowels sat so quietly that some of the more
suspicious began to guess, audibly, that he was "in with the play." But
there was no play, and if there had been Cowels would not have been in
with it. Cowels was thinking. Suddenly he leaped upon his chair and
yelled: "Throw 'im out!" He did not use the finger of scorn upon the
master, or even look in his direction. He merely glared at the audience
and commanded it to "Throw 'im out!"
"We are fighting a losing fight," repeated the chief, "and you who fight
hardest here will be first to fall," and he looked at Cowels as he
spoke. "It could not be pleasant to me, even with your respectful
attention, to break this news to you. I do it because it is my duty. But
now, having said what I had to say, let me assure you that if a majority
of you elect to continue the fight, I will lead you, and I promise that
every man of you shall have his fill."
This last declaration was rather a cooler for Cowels. It took a vast
amount of wind out of his sails, but he was on his feet and so had to
make a speech. He was not very abusive, but managed to make it plain
that there were others ready and able to lead if their leader failed to
do his duty. When he had succeeded in getting his train of thought out
over the switches his hearers, especially the no-surrenderers, began to
enthuse. His speech was made picturesque by the introduction of short
rhymes, misquotations from dead poets, and tales that had never been
told in type. "If," he exclaimed dramatically, "to use a Shakesperian
simile, the galled wench be jaded, let him surrender his sword to some
one worthy of the steel."
The orator worked the Shakesperian pedal so hard that some of his
hearers expressed a desire to know more about the distinguished poet.
Finally, when he became too deep for them, a man with a strong clear
voice shouted a single word--the name of a little animal whose departure
from a sinking ship makes sailors seek the shore--and Cowels closed like
a snuff-box.
Now the casual observer would say of the great orator: he has money; his
family is not in want. But the statement would have been incorrect.
The Cowelses, like hundreds of other families, were without money,
without credit, and would shortly be without food. The last money they
had received from the Brotherhood had gone to pay the interest on the
money due the Benevolent Building Association, for fuel, and to pay the
milkman who was bringing milk for the baby. It would be forty or fifty
days before another assessment could be made and the money collected.
The outlook was gloomy. Mr. Hawkins had called again and offered ten
dollars a month for the little spare room on the second floor, but
Cowels would not consent.
But at the very moment when he was making this speech his wife was
returning empty-handed from the bakery. Bennie had been watching,
waiting at the window for her, and when she saw him staring at her, saw
the tears come into his innocent eyes, she took him in her arms and wept
as she had not wept before. They had breakfasted on bread and water. It
was now past noon and they were all hungry. She gave Bennie some of the
baby's milk, and then sat down to think. The door-bell rung. "I was just
passing by," said Mr. Hawkins, "and thought I'd stop and see if there
was any show to get that room. I work for the plumber in the next block,
so you see it would be handy for me."
"Would you pay in advance?" asked Mrs. Cowels.
"I shouldn't mind," said the plumber, "if it would be of any advantage
to you."
"Then you can have the room."
"Very well," said the man, apparently delighted with his bargain, and he
gave her a crisp ten-dollar note. He also gave Bennie a big, red apple,
and looked surprised when the boy began to bite great chunks out of it.
That evening when Cowels came home he found the house filled with the
fumes of boiled beef, and it put him in a good humor at once. He was
hungry, having had nothing all day but a glass of beer and a free lunch.
"They's a man up-stairs," said Bennie, shoving his empty plate up for
another load of boiled beef. Mrs. Cowels smiled a faint smile, and her
husband asked:
"Who is this fellow?"
"He's a plumber," was the reply, "and he seems like a very nice man."
"Did he pay a month in advance?"
"Yes."
"Well, I don't like the idea of having strangers in the house," said
Cowels, "and I wish you had not taken him in."
"I dislike it too, George," said Mrs. Cowels, "but the baker had refused
me a loaf of bread, the children were hungry and you might as well know
now that I can never see my babies suffer for want of food, and you
need not be surprised at anything I may do to supply their wants."
Cowels had never seen his wife display so much spirit and it surprised
him. "It's all very well," she went on, "to prate about honor and
loyalty to the Brotherhood, but an obligation that entails the suffering
of innocent women and children is not an honorable obligation and ought
not to exist. A man's first duty is to his family. My advice to you
would be to miss a few meetings and go and try to find something to do.
Think how we have denied ourselves in order to have a place of our own,
and now it's all to be taken from us, and all because of this senseless
and profitless strike."
"By George, she's a cracker-jack!" said Hawkins, who had been listening
down the stove-pipe.
Cowels made no reply to his wife, but he was thinking. In fact, he had
been thinking all the way home. He had been interrupted twice that day
while addressing the meeting. One fellow had asked who the devil
Shakespeare was, and if he had ever done anything for the Union. Another
man had said "rats," and the orator was sore.
Now, when he had thought it all over, he surprised his wife as much as
she had surprised him. "They're all a lot of unliterate ingrates," said
Cowels, "and for two cents I'd shake the whole show and go to work. If
they turn me down at the convention, and this strike is not settled,
I'll take an engine."
Mr. Hawkins gave a low whistle.
"No, you must never do that, George, after all you've said against such
things; it would not do."
"Then they must not drive me to it," said Cowels. "I've tried to show
them the way to success, even to lead them, and they have the nerve to
guy me. I'll fool 'em yet if they trifle with me."
"That's what I thought all along," mused Hawkins. "It was not the
Brotherhood that Mr. Cowels was working so hard for, but Mr. Cowels.
Well, he will be just as eager to succeed in another direction--he's
ambitious."