"You know that means that you must be here every evening in the week,
from half past seven to ten o'clock. You'll want to be away sometimes,
Theodore."
"Yes, I s'pose I will, but I'm ready to stay here all the same until
night school begins again."
"Very well, then we'll let it be so, and we'll try to have the room
ready for our opening in a week or two--as soon as we have enough
books and papers to begin with." Mr. Scott locked the door as he
spoke, and the two went downstairs.
Theodore's face was full of satisfaction over the promised
reading-room, but it clouded a little as his teacher said,
"You mustn't be disappointed, Theodore, if very few boys spend their
evenings in this room for a while. Most of the boys in this
neighbourhood are so used to loafing about the streets, that they like
that best, especially in hot weather, and, of course, few of them care
much for reading. They will have to be educated up to it."
"S'pose that's so," replied the boy, thoughtfully, "but they'll like
it next winter when it's cold an' stormy outside," he added.
"Yes," assented the gentleman, adding, as he turned to depart, "Theo,
Mrs. Rawson will be home to-morrow. Don't you want to come and take
supper with us, and hear what she has to say about Nan, and the little
one?"
"Oh, yes, thank you, sir," cried Theodore, with a happy smile.
"All right, then, we shall expect you," and with a pleasant
"Good-night," Mr. Scott went away.
Theodore rather dreaded the supper with Mrs. Rawson, but he forgot to
be shy or ill at ease when she began to tell him about the delightful
old farmhouse, and the happy times that Nan and the baby were having
there. She told him everything she could think of that would be of
interest to him, and he listened to it all with an eager face, and a
glad heart. If Little Brother must be far away from him, Theodore was
happy in the assurance that the child was in such a beautiful place,
and that already he had begun to grow stronger and brighter.
XV. A STRIKE
"No cars a-runnin'! What's up?" exclaimed Jimmy, the next morning, as
he and Theodore passed down Tremont street.
"There's a strike on. Didn't you hear 'bout it yesterday?" replied
Theo.
"No. My! But there'll be a time if all the cars stop."
"A pretty bad time--'specially for the folks that live outside the
city," Theodore answered, soberly.
When, after taking his breakfast at the stand, he went back through
Tremont street, groups of men and boys were standing about in every
corner, and everywhere the strike was the one topic of conversation.
There were groups of motormen and conductors here and there, some
looking grave and anxious, and some careless and indifferent.
As the morning advanced the throngs in the streets increased. Belated
business men hurried along, and clerks and saleswomen with flushed
faces and anxious eyes, tried impatiently to force their way through
the crowds to get to their places of business.
Theodore noticed the large number of rough-looking men and boys on the
streets, and that most of them seemed full of suppressed excitement.
Now and then as he passed some of these, he caught a low-spoken
threat, or an exultant prophecy of lively times to come. It all made
him vaguely uneasy, and he had to force himself to go about his work
instead of lingering outside to see what would happen.
In one office, while he was busy over the brasses, three gentlemen
were discussing the situation, and the boy, as he rubbed and polished,
listened intently to what was said.
"What do the fellows want? What's their grievance, anyhow?" inquired
one man, impatiently, as he flicked the ashes from his cigar.
"Shorter hours and better pay," replied a second.
"Of course. That's what strikers always want," put in a third. "They
seem to think they're the only ones to be considered."
"Well, I must confess that I rather sympathise with the men this
time," said the second speaker. "I hold that they ought to have
shorter hours."
"There are plenty that will be glad enough to take their places,
though."
"I suppose so, but all the same I maintain that these companies that
are amply able to treat their men better, ought to do so. I believe in
fair play. It pays best in the end to say nothing of the right and
wrong of it."
"Think the company will give in?" questioned one.
"Guess not. I hear that the superintendent has telegraphed to New York
and Chicago for men."
"There'll be trouble if they come!" exclaimed the first speaker.
"I believe," said another man, joining the group, "I believe that
Sanders is responsible for all this trouble--or the most of it,
anyhow. He's a disagreeable, overbearing fellow who--even when he
grants a favor, which is seldom enough--does it in a mean,
exasperating fashion that takes all the pleasure out of it. I had some
dealings with him once, and I never want anything more to do with
him. If he'd been half-way decent to the men there would never have
been any strike, in my opinion."
Sanders was the superintendent of the road where the trouble was.
"You're right about Sanders," said another. "I always have wondered
how he could keep his position. These strikes though, never seem to me
to do any real good to the cause of the strikers, and a great many of
the men realise that too, but these walking delegate fellows get
'round 'em and persuade 'em that a strike is going to end all their
troubles--and so it goes. I saw that little sneak--Tom Steel--buttonholing
the motormen, and cramming them with his lies, as I came along just
now. There's always mischief where Tom Steel is."
By this time Theodore had finished his work, and he left the office,
his head full of strikes, superintendents, and walking delegates, and
wherever he went that day, the strike was the only subject discussed.
He stopped work earlier than usual, finding himself infected with the
prevailing unrest and excitement. He found the sidewalks of the
principal business streets thronged with men, women and boys, all
pressing in one direction.
"Come along, Tode!" cried a shrill voice at his elbow, and he turned
to find Jimmy Hunt, his round face all alight with anticipation of
exciting episodes to follow. Jimmy began talking rapidly.
"They've been smashin' cars, Tode, an' haulin' off the motormen an'
conductors that want to keep on workin'. There's three cars all
smashed up near the sheds, an' the strikers say they'll wreck every
one that's run out to-day."
"It's a shame!" declared Theo, indignantly; yet boy-like, if there was
to be a mob fight, he wanted to be on hand and see it all, and he took
care not to let Jimmy get far ahead of him.
As they went on, the crowd continually increased until it became so
dense that the boys had to worm their way through it inch by inch.
They pressed on, however, and when further progress was impossible,
they found standing room on the very front close to the car-track.
It had been a noisy, blustering crowd as it surged along the street,
but now that it had come to a standstill, a sudden breathless silence
fell upon it, and all eyes turned in one direction, gazing eagerly,
intently up the track. Suddenly, a low, hoarse cry broke from a
hundred throats.
"It's comin'! It's comin'!" and far up the street a car appeared.
The faces of the men grew more hard and determined. Those of the
women became pale and terrified. The two boys peered eagerly forward,
their hearts beating quickly, with dread mingled with a sort of wild
excitement.
"Look, Theo--Look!" whispered Jimmy, pointing to some men who were
hastily digging up cobble-stones from the street. "There's Carrots,
too," he added.
"Wonder who that little chap is--the one that seems to have so much to
say to the car men," Theo replied, thoughtfully.
"That's Tom Steel. You've heard of him, hain't ye?" A man at Theo's
elbow was speaking. "He's responsible for this strike, I think, an' I
hope he'll get his pay for it too," he added, grimly.
Theodore glanced up into the grave face of the speaker and recognised
him as a motorman. Evidently, he was more bitter against the strikers
than against the company.
The car was now close at hand, and all at once as with a single
impulse, there was a surging forward, and the crowd closed in blocking
the track with a solid mass of human beings. The motorman set his
teeth hard, and rang the gong loudly, insistently. The conductor
hastened through the car and stood beside him. The only passenger was
a policeman, who stood on the rear platform calmly gazing at the sea
of angry, excited faces on either side.
"This car's got to stop!" shouted a big, brawny fellow, springing onto
the step and giving the motorman a threatening glance.
"This car ain't a-goin' to stop!" retorted the motorman, grimly, as he
released the brake.
"We'll see about that," and with the words the big fellow seized the
man's arms and wrenched his hand off the lever.
The conductor sprang to the assistance of his comrade while the
policeman ran forward and pushed the man roughly off the car.
In the same instant, Theo saw Carrots snatch a box from a bootblack
near him and with a wild yell of defiance, hurl it through one of the
car windows. The shrill, taunting cry of the boy, mingled with the
crash of the breaking glass, and the sight of the policeman's upraised
club, aroused the mob to sudden fury. At once there arose a wild
hubbub of shouts, yells and cries, followed by a shower of
cobble-stones, and a fierce rush upon the three men on the car, and in
two minutes the car was a shattered wreck; the motorman and conductor
were being hustled through the crowd with threats and warnings, while
the policeman's club had been wrenched from his grasp. He drew his
pistol, but with a howl of fury it was knocked from his hand, and the
next moment he lay senseless upon the ground, felled by a savage blow
from his own club.
The taste of conflict, the sight of blood, had roused to a fierce
flame the smouldering spirit of lawlessness and insurrection in the
mob. A savage rage seemed to have taken possession of the men as, with
frantic haste and mad delight, they tore up cobble-stones and built a
huge barricade across the track. When it was completed, Carrots darted
up on top of it and waved a red handkerchief above his head. A hoarse
roar of approval broke from the mob, but Steel sternly ordered the boy
down and hissed in his ear,
"You fool! You might have spoiled everything by that! Don't ye show
that again till I give the signal--d'ye hear?"
Carrots nodded with an evil gleam in his narrow eyes, that made Theo
shiver.
"Come on, now. We've done enough for once," Steel added, and keeping
his hand on the arm of the boy the two disappeared in the throng that
was slowly melting away.
Then, with a long breath, Jimmy turned to Theodore.
"My!" he exclaimed, in a tone of shuddering satisfaction. "It's awful,
ain't it, Theo! S'pose he's dead?" He gazed with half fearful interest
toward the policeman who had been clubbed and about whom a group had
gathered.
"Looks like it. There comes some more p'lice. They'll take care of
him. Come on, Jimmy, le's go home."
"Oh, no, Theo, don't go home, yet. Le's go an' see what's goin' on
over there," and Jimmy turned into a cross street through which the
greater portion of the crowd was pressing.
"There's something the matter over at the depot," said Theodore, as he
followed, half willingly and half reluctantly, in Jimmy's eager
footsteps.
About the depot there was usually a constant stream of cars coming and
going, but to-day the streets looked bare and deserted.
When the boys reached the square only two cars were in sight and these
two were approaching, one behind the other, on the same track. As they
drew near, they were seen to contain each six or eight policemen,
fully armed and with stern, resolute faces. The mob again howled and
hooted at the motormen and conductors, and showered them with dirt and
small stones, but made no attempt to stop the cars.
No cars were run after dark that evening, and the next day they were
run only at intervals of an hour and each one carried a heavily armed
guard. The strikers and their lawless sympathisers continued to throng
the streets and to threaten all car-men who remained on duty. Now and
then a car window was broken or an obstruction placed on the tracks,
but there was no serious outbreak, and it was rumoured that a
compromise between the company and the strikers was under
consideration and that the trouble would soon be at an end.
So a week slipped away. One morning Theodore was on his way from one
office to another when he heard the sound of drum and fife and saw a
body of the strikers marching up Washington street. Every boy within
sight or hearing at once turned in after the procession, and Theodore
followed with the rest.
It was about ten o'clock in the morning and the streets were full of
shoppers, many of them ladies who had been afraid to venture out
during the past week.
As if they had risen out of the ground, scores of rough-looking men
and street boys began to push and jostle the shoppers on the narrow
sidewalks until many of the frightened women took refuge in the
stores, and the shopkeepers, fearful of what might follow, began
hastily putting up their shutters and making ready to close their
stores, if necessary. These signs of apprehension gave great delight
to the rougher element in the streets, and they yelled and hooted
uproariously at the cautious shopkeepers, but they did not
stop. Steadily, swiftly they followed that body of men marching with
dark, determined faces to the sound of the fife and the drum.
"Where are they going?" Theo asked of a man at his side and the reply
was,
"To the car-house, I reckon. They're ripe for mischief now."
"What's stirred 'em up again--anything new?" the boy questioned.
"Many of the strikers have been discharged and new men brought
on--five hundred of them--from New York and Chicago. I'm afraid we
haven't seen the worst of the troubles yet."
"Look! Look!" cried a boy, close beside Theodore, and the latter
looking ahead, saw a squad of mounted officers coming through a cross
street. Without stopping to parley they charged into the marching
strikers and dispersed them, silencing the fife and drum, and when the
furious mob of followers and sympathisers yelled threats and defiance
at the officers, the latter charged into the mob riding up to the
pavement and forcing the people back into the stores and dwellings
behind them.
This was as fuel to the fire of anger and insurrection. Deep and dire
threats passed from lip to lip, and evil purpose hardened into grim
determination as the mob slowly surged in the direction of the
car-house, after the officers had passed on. The throng was far more
quiet now, and far more dangerous. Again and again, Theodore caught
glimpses of Tom Steel's insignificant face, and like a long, dark
shadow, Carrots followed ever at his heels.
No cars were running now, but the boy heard low-spoken references to
new men and "scabs," and "the will of the people," as, almost without
effort of his own, he was borne onward with the throng.
At a little distance from the car-house the strikers again drew
together and stood mostly in gloomy silence, their eyes ever turning
toward the closed doors of the great building before them. The vast
crowd waited, too, in a silence that seemed to throb and pulse with
intense and bitter feeling. The strikers had stopped in the middle of
the street, and around them on every side, except toward the
car-house, the crowd pressed and surged like a vast human sea. There
were not many women in the number gathered there, and the few who were
there were of the lowest sort, but men and boys--largely tramps,
roughs and street boys--were there in countless numbers, mingled with
not a few of the better class.
Slowly the minutes passed, until an hour had gone by, and it began to
be whispered about that the company dared not run any cars. Still the
men waited, and the crowd waited too. But at last some grew weary of
inaction, and when Steel proposed that they spend the time barricading
the tracks, his suggestion met with a quick response.
From a neighbouring street the men brought Belgian blocks and piled
them on the track. They pulled down tree boxes and broke off branches
of trees, and when an ice wagon came along they took possession of the
huge blocks of ice and capped their barricade with these.
Suddenly the doors of the car-house were thrown open, and a car rolled
slowly out.
There was an instant of breathless silence, followed by a roar like
that of a thousand savage beasts, as the strikers saw that new men
were running the car, and that it carried half a score of policemen,
armed to the teeth.
As it approached the barricade some of the officers sprang off and
began to throw down the obstructions, the others standing ready to
fire upon the mob if necessary. The crowd showered bitter words and
taunts upon the officers, but did not venture to molest them. The
motorman stood with his hand on the lever, ready to start the car the
moment the track should be clear. Carrots, with a pack of street Arabs
at his heels, jeered at the new motorman, climbing up on the car and
taunting him, until, at last, his patience was exhausted, and he
suddenly lifted his foot and kicked one of the boys off the car. The
boy fell heavily to the ground, and instantly the shrill voice of
Carrots was uplifted, crying frantically,
"He's killed Billy Green! He's killed Billy Green! Pitch in to him,
boys! Pitch into him!"
Billy Green was already picking himself up, with no worse injury than
a cut in his cheek, but the mob took up the cry, and,
"Pitch into him! Pitch into him! Kill him! Kill him!" was shouted by
hundreds of savage voices as the crowd pressed about the car. They
tried to drag the motorman off, in spite of the guards, they smashed
the car windows, they tore out the cushions, they beat the policemen,
and wrenched their clubs out of their hands. Finally several of the
officers drew their pistols and fired into the air.
At this the crowd fell back for a second, and the turmoil of shouts
and cries that had been deafening a moment before, died away in sudden
silence--a threatening, dangerous silence as of a wild beast about to
spring.
Into this instant of silence broke a new cry from the outskirts of the
crowd.
"It's the mayor. Make way for the mayor!"
"No, it's the bishop. Make way for the bishop! Stand back! Stand
back!"
At this cry, Theodore turned like a flash and gazed in the direction
in which all eyes were turning. There was no mistake. The bishop was
surely one of the occupants of a carriage that was slowly forcing its
way through the throng.
With his heart beating with a wild joy; his eyes glowing; the colour
coming and going in his cheeks, Theodore stood still until the
carriage stopped. Then sliding through the smallest spaces, darting
between feet, this way and that, the boy managed somehow to reach the
side of the carriage, where he stood with his hand on one of the
wheels, his eager, burning gaze fastened on the face he loved so
well. Instinctively he pulled off his cap, but he made no attempt to
attract the attention of the bishop. He uttered no word or sound. He
only stood with all his loving heart in his eyes, and looked.
The bishop's expression was very grave, as he gazed over that vast sea
of faces. He turned to speak to the gentleman who sat beside him, and
as he did so, his eyes fell on Theodore's eloquent upturned
countenance. A quick, bright smile flashed across his face, and
reaching down, he laid his hand for a moment gently upon the boy's
bared head.
Before he could speak the silence was again broken by a cry from many
lips--a cry of warning now, rather than a threat, though again the
words were,
"Stop the car! Stop the car! The bishop! The bishop!"
The bishop's carriage had come to a standstill directly across the
track, the crowd being here so dense that it was impossible for the
driver to go even a yard farther.
The policemen had cleared the barricade from the track, and then
sprung hastily on the car again. Evidently they had not noticed the
dangerous position of the carriage, and now the motorman started the
car forward. The man was a stranger in the city. He knew nothing about
the bishop--cared nothing about him. He was there to run that car, and
he meant to do it or die in the attempt, so when the crowd shouted,
"The bishop! The bishop!" he yelled in reply,
"Get out of the way then if you don't want him hurt. This car's
a-going through, bishop or no bishop!"
The car was already in motion. The crowd pushed and struggled and
tried to fall back and let the carriage pass over the track, but it
was impossible, so closely were the people packed together there.
[Illustration: "Stop the car!"]
On the car came, while for an instant the crowd waited with tense
breath for what should follow.
"Loyal unto death." The words rang through Theodore's brain, as in
that instant he sprang swiftly forward and flung himself across the
track directly in front of the slowly moving car. A cry of horror
broke from the throng and a score of hands were stretched forth to
draw the boy from his dangerous position, but he clung to the fender
and would not be removed.
"Stop the car!" he pleaded. "Oh stop the car or the bishop will be
killed!"
Never a thought of his own danger had the boy,--for he would have
given his young life freely and joyfully for his bishop, but the
sacrifice was not needed. The police, now seeing the danger, forced
the furious motorman to stop the car until the crowd had had time to
fall back and the carriage had safely crossed the track. Then the car
passed on followed by threatening glances and menacing words from the
angry throng.
But now the bishop arose in the carriage, and as he stood in the
majesty of his great height with the light of a pure heart and a holy
life illumining his face--once again a hush fell upon that vast
gathering, and when the rich voice rolled out upon the still air,
uttering its message of heavenly love, and strong, sweet counsels of
peace and justice, the hearts of the people were melted within
them. Hard, brutal men and rude street boys listened, feeling a
strange power that they could not understand, thrilling their souls,
and compelling them, in spite of their own wills, to follow the
counsels of this servant of God.
No other man in that great city was honoured and loved by rich and
poor alike, as was the bishop. To no other would such a crowd in such
a mood have hearkened, but they stood in silence and listened
breathlessly as if they feared to lose a single word. They listened as
if they knew that never again would such a message come to them from
those lips. Stern, bitter faces softened, and hard eyes dimmed with
tears as the burning, melting words fell on the listening ears. Women
wept, and men forgot their hatreds and their grievances. Only here and
there an evil face grew more evil as the bishop's words worked upon
the hearts and consciences of that vast throng.
Tom Steel dropped his mask of careless indifference, as he tried to
stem the tide by whispering sneers and taunts to one and another, but
they would have none of his counsels now, and after a while he slunk
away with a black scowl on his face and evil words on his lips, and
still beside him slouched the gaunt, ragged figure with its crown of
rough red hair; and no one bade them stay; no one listened to their
wicked whispers, for the bishop's words were filling every ear and
every heart.
At last, the bishop stretched forth his hands and pronounced a tender
blessing upon them all, and then he drove slowly away, and when he was
gone rough men looked into each other's faces, half wondering, half
ashamed, as they moved away. They had no desire now for rioting and
lawlessness--for deeds of blood and violence. The Spirit of God had
touched their hearts. The atmosphere in which the bishop lived and
moved and had his being had for the time enveloped even these. No
wonder then, that it had wrought such a transformation in the heart
and life of one little street boy.