Peter had been made so bold by Nell’s flattery and what she had said
about his importance, that he did not go back to McGivney to take
his second scolding about the Lackman case. He was getting tired of
McGivney’s scoldings; if McGivney didn’t like his work, let McGivney
go and be a Red for a while himself. Peter walked the streets all
day and a part of the night, thinking about Nell, and thrilling over
the half promises she had made him.
They met next day in the park. No one was following them, and they
found a solitary place, and Nell let him kiss her several times, and
in between the kisses she unfolded to him a terrifying plan. Peter
had thought that he was something of an intriguer, but his
self-esteem shriveled to nothingness in the presence of the superb
conception which had come to ripeness in the space of twenty-four
hours in the brain of Nell Doolin, alias Edythe Eustace.
Peter had been doing the hard work, and these big fellows had been
using him, handing him a tip now and then, and making fortunes out
of the information he brought them. McGivney had let the cat out of
the bag in this case of Lackman; you might be sure they had been
making money, big money, out of all the other cases. What Peter must
do was to work up something of his own, and get the real money, and
make himself one of the big fellows. Peter had the facts, he knew
the people; he had watched in the Goober case exactly how a
“frame-up” was made, and now he must make one for himself, and one
that would pay. It was a matter of duty to rid the country of all
these Reds; but why should he not have the money as well?
Nell had spent the night figuring over it, trying to pick out the
right person. She had hit on old “Nelse” Ackerman, the banker.
Ackerman was enormously and incredibly wealthy; he was called the
financial king of American City. Also he was old, and Nell happened
to know he was a coward; he was sick in bed just now, and when a man
is sick he is still more of a coward. What Peter must do was to
discover some kind of a bomb-plot against old “Nelse” Ackerman.
Peter might talk up the idea among some of his Reds and get them
interested in it, or he might frame up some letters to be found upon
them, and hide some dynamite in their rooms. When the plot was
discovered, it would make a frightful uproar, needless to say; the
king would hear of it, and of Peter’s part as the discoverer of it,
and he would unquestionably reward Peter. Perhaps Peter might
arrange to be retained as a secret agent to protect the king from
the Reds. Thus Peter would be in touch with real money, and might
hire Guffey and McGivney, instead of their hiring him.
If Peter had stood alone, would he have dared so perilous a dream as
this? Or was he a “piker”; a little fellow, the victim of his own
fears and vanities? Anyhow, Peter was not alone; he had Nell, and it
was necessary that he should pose before Nell as a bold and
desperate blade. Just as in the old days in the Temple, it was
necessary that Peter should get plenty of money, in order to take
Nell away from another man. So he said all right, he would go in on
that plan; and proceeded to discuss with Nell the various
personalities he might use.
The most likely was Pat McCormick. “Mac,” with his grim, set face
and his silent, secretive habits, fitted perfectly to Peter’s
conception of a dynamiter. Also “Mac” was Peter’s personal enemy;
“Mac” had just returned from his organizing trip in the oil fields,
and had been denouncing Peter and gossiping about him in the various
radical groups. “Mac” was the most dangerous Red of them all! He
must surely be one of the dynamiters!
Another likely one was Joe Angell, whom Peter had met at a recent
gathering of Ada Ruth’s “Anti-conscription League.” People made
jokes about this chap’s name because he looked the part, with his
bright blue eyes that seemed to have come out of heaven, and his
bright golden hair, and even the memory of dimples in his cheeks.
But when Joe opened his lips, you discovered that he was an angel
from the nether regions. He was the boldest and most defiant of all
the Reds that Peter had yet come upon. He had laughed at Ada Ruth
and her sentimental literary attitude toward the subject of the
draft. It wasn’t writing poems and passing resolutions that was
wanted; it wasn’t even men who would refuse to put on the uniform,
but men who would take the guns that were offered to them, and drill
themselves, and at the proper time face about and use the guns in
the other direction. Agitating and organizing were all right in
their place, but now, when the government dared challenge the
workers and force them into the army, it was men of action that were
needed in the radical movement.
Joe Angell had been up in the lumber country, and could tell what
was the mood of the real workers, the “huskies” of the timberlands.
Those fellows weren’t doing any more talking; they had their secret
committees that were ready to take charge of things as soon as they
had put the capitalists and their governments out of business.
Meantime, if there was a sheriff or prosecuting attorney that got
too gay, they would “bump him off.” This was a favorite phrase of
“Blue-eyed Angell.” He would use it every half hour or so as he told
about his adventures. “Yes,” he would say; “he got gay, but we
bumped him off all right.”