She drove him out of the house, and Peter went, though with many
misgivings. He wandered about the streets, not knowing what to do
with himself, looking back over the blunders he had made and
tormenting himself with that most tormenting of all thoughts: how
different my life might have been, if only I had had sense enough to
do this, or not to do that! Dinner time came, and Peter blew himself
to a square meal, but even that did not comfort him entirely. He
pictured Sadie coming home at this hour. Was Jennie telling her or
not?
There was a big mass meeting called by the Goober Defense Committee
that evening, and Peter attended, and it proved to be the worst
thing he could have done. His mind was in no condition to encounter
the fierce passions of this crowded assemblage. Peter had the
picture of himself being exposed and denounced; he wasn’t sure yet
that it mightn’t happen to him. And here was this meeting--thousands
of workingmen, horny handed blacksmiths, longshoremen with shoulders
like barns and truckmen with fists like battering rams, long-haired
radicals of a hundred dangerous varieties, women who waved red
handkerchiefs and shrieked until to Peter they seemed like gorgons
with snakes instead of hair.
Such were the mob-frenzies engendered by the Goober case; and Peter
knew, of course, that to all these people he was a traitor, a
poisonous worm, a snake in the grass. If ever they were to find out
what he was doing--if for instance, someone were to rise up and
expose him to this crowd--they would seize him and tear him to
pieces. And maybe, right now, little Jennie was telling Sadie; and
Sadie would tell Andrews, and Andrews would become suspicious, and
set spies on Peter Gudge! Maybe they had spies on him already, and
knew of his meetings with McGivney!
Haunted by such terrors, Peter had to listen to the tirades of
Donald Gordon, of John Durand, and of Sorensen, the longshoremen’s
leader. He had to listen to exposure after exposure of the tricks
which Guffey had played; he had to hear the district attorney of the
county denounced as a suborner of perjury, and his agents as
blackmailers and forgers. Peter couldn’t understand why such things
should be permitted--why these speakers were not all clapped into
jail. But instead, he had to sit there and listen; he even had to
applaud and pretend to approve! All the other secret operatives of
the Traction Trust and of the district attorney’s office had to
listen and pretend to approve! In the hall Peter had met Miriam
Yankovich, and was sitting next to her. “Look,” she said, “there’s a
couple of dicks over there. Look at the mugs on them!”
“Which?” said Peter.
And she answered: “That fellow that looks like a bruiser, and that
one next to him, with the face of a rat.” Peter looked, and saw that
it was McGivney; and McGivney looked at Peter, but gave no sign.
The meeting lasted until nearly midnight. It subscribed several
thousand dollars to the Goober defense fund, and adopted ferocious
resolutions which it ordered printed and sent to every local of
every labor union in the country. Peter got out before it was over,
because he could no longer stand the strain of his own fears and
anxieties. He pushed his way thru the crowd, and in the lobby he ran
into Pat McCormick, the I. W. W. leader.
There was more excitement in this boy’s grim face than Peter had
ever seen there before. Peter thought it was the meeting, but the
other rushed up to him, exclaiming: “Have you heard the news?”
“What news?”
“Little Jennie Todd has killed herself!”
“My God!” gasped Peter, starting back.
“Ada Ruth just told me. Sadie found a note when she got home. Jennie
had left--she was going to drown herself.”
“But what--why?” cried Peter, in horror.
“She was suffering so, her health was so wretched, she begs Sadie
not to look for her body, not to make a fuss--they’ll never find
her.”
And horrified and stunned as Peter was, there was something inside
him that drew a deep breath of relief. Little Jennie had kept her
promise! Peter was, safe!