The respectable newspapers of American City of course did not waste
their space upon fantastic accusations brought by radicals, charging
the police authorities with using torture upon witnesses. But there
was a Socialist paper published every week in American City, and
this paper had a long account of Peter’s experiences on the front
page, together with his picture. Also there were three labor papers
which carried the story, and the Goober Defense Committee prepared a
circular about it and mailed out thousands of copies all over the
country. This circular was written by Donald Gordon, the Quaker boy.
He brought Peter a proof of it, to make sure that he had got all the
details right, and Peter read it, and really could not help being
thrilled to discover what a hero he was. Peter had not said anything
about his early career, and whoever among the Goober Defense
Committee had learned those details chose to be diplomatically
silent. Peter smiled to himself as he thought about that. They were
foxy, these people! They were playing their hand for all it was
worth--and Peter admired them for that. In Donald Gordon’s narrative
Peter appeared as a poor workingman; and Peter grinned. He was used
to the word “working,” but when he talked about “working people,” he
meant something different from what these Socialists meant.
The story went out, and of course all sorts of people wanted to meet
Peter, and came to the home of the Todd girls. So Peter settled down
to his job of finding out all he could about these visitors, their
names and occupations, their relations to the radical movement.
Guffey had advised him not to make notes, for fear of detection, but
Peter could not carry all this in his head, so he would retire to
his room and make minute notes on slips of paper, and carefully sew
these up in the lining of his coat, with a thrill of mystery.
Except for this note-taking, however, Peter’s sleuthing was easy
work, for these people all seemed eager to talk about what they were
doing; sometimes it frightened Peter--they were so open and defiant!
Not merely did they express their ideas to one another and to him,
they were expressing them on public platforms, and in their
publications, in pamphlets and in leaflets--what they called
“literature.” Peter had had no idea their “movement” was so
widespread or so powerful. He had expected to unearth a secret
conspiracy, and perhaps a dynamite-bomb or two; instead of which,
apparently, he was unearthing a volcano!
However, Peter did the best he could. He got the names and details
about some forty or fifty people of all classes; obscure workingmen
and women, Jewish tailors, Russian and Italian cigar-workers,
American-born machinists and printers; also some “parlor
Reds”--large, immaculate and shining ladies who came rolling up to
the little bungalow in large, immaculate and shining automobiles,
and left their uniformed chauffeurs outside for hours at a time
while they listened to Peter’s story of his “third degree.” One
benevolent lady with a flowing gray veil, who wafted a sweet perfume
about the room, suggested that Peter might be in need, and pressed a
twenty dollar bill into his hand. Peter, thrilled, but also
bewildered, got a new sense of the wonders of this thing called “the
movement,” and decided that when Guffey got thru with him he might
turn into a “Red” in earnest for a while.
Meantime he settled down to make himself comfortable with the Todd
sisters. Sadie went off to her work before eight o’clock every
morning, and that was before Peter got up; but Jennie stayed at
home, and fixed his breakfast, and opened the door for his visitors,
and in general played the hostess for him. She was a confirmed
invalid; twice a week she went off to a doctor to have something
done to her spine, and the balance of the time she was supposed to
be resting, but Peter very seldom saw her doing this. She was always
addressing circulars, or writing letters for the “cause,” or going
off to sell literature and take up collections at meetings. When she
was not so employed, she was arguing with somebody--frequently with
Peter--trying to make him think as she did.
Poor kid, she was all wrought up over the notions she had got about
the wrongs of the working classes. She gave herself no peace about
it, day or night, and this, of course, was a bore to Peter, who
wanted peace above all things. Over in Europe millions of men were
organized in armies, engaged in slaughtering one another. That, of
course, was, very terrible, but what was the good of thinking about
it? There was no way to stop it, and it certainly wasn’t Peter’s
fault. But this poor, deluded child was acting all the time as if
she were to blame for this European conflict, and had the job of
bringing it to a close. The tears would come into her deep-set grey
eyes, and her soft chin would quiver with pain whenever she talked
about it; and it seemed to Peter she was talking about it all the
time. It was her idea that the war must be stopped by uprisings on
the part of the working people in Europe. Apparently she thought
this might be hastened if the working people of American City would
rise up and set an example!