§ 12
Peter waited until after dark, in order to indulge his sense of the
romantic; also he flattered his self-importance by looking carefully
about him as he walked down the street. He did not know just who would
be shadowing him, but Peter wanted to be sleuthy.
Also he had a bit of genuine anxiety. He had told the truth when
he said to Guffey that he didn't know what a "Red" was; but since then
he had been making in quiries, and now he knew. A "Red" was a fellow who
sympathized with labor unions and with strikes; who wanted to murder the
rich and divide their property, and believed that the quickest way to do
the dividing was by means of dynamite. All "Reds" made bombs, and
carried concealed weapons, and perhaps secret poisons — who could tell?
And now Peter was going among them, he was going to become one of them!
It was almost too interesting, for a fellow who aimed above everything
to be comfortable. Something in him whispered, "Why not skip; get out of
town and be done with it?" But then he thought of the rewards and honors
that Guffey had promised him., Also there was the spirit of curiosity;
he might skip at any time, but first he would like to know a bit more
about being a "dick."
He came to the number which had been given him, a tiny bungalow
in a poor neighborhood, and rang the doorbell. It was answered by a
girl, and at a glance Peter saw that it was the girl who had spoken to
him. She did not wait for him to announce himself, but cried
impulsively, "Mr. Gudge! Oh, I'm so glad you've come!" She added,
"Comrade!" — just as if Peter were a well-known friend. And then, "But
are you a comrade?"
"How do you mean?" asked Peter.
"You're not a Socialist? Well, we'll make one of you." She
brought him in and showed him to a chair, saying, "I know what they did
to you; and you stood out against them! Oh, you were wonderful!
Wonderful!"
Peter was at a loss what to say. There was in this girl's
voice a note of affection, as well as of admiration; and Peter in his
hard life had had little experience with emotions of this sort. Peter
had watched the gushings and excitements of girls who were seeking
flirtations; but this girl's attitude he felt at once was not
flirtatious. Her voice tho soft, was just a trifle too solemn for a
young girl; her deep-set, wistful grey eyes rested on Peter with the
solicitude of a mother whose child has just escaped a danger.
She called: "Sadie, here's Mr. Gudge." And there entered another
girl, older, taller, but thin and pale like her sister. Jennie and Sadie
Todd were their names, Peter learned; the older was a stenographer, and
supported the family. The two girls were in a state of intense concern.
They started to question Peter about his experiences, but he had only
talked for a minute or two before the elder went to the telephone. There
were various people who must see Peter at once, important people who
were to be notified as soon as he turned up. She spent some time at the
phone, and the people she talked with must have phoned to others,
because for the next hour or two there was a constant stream of visitors
coming in, and Peter had to tell his story over and over again.
The first to come was a giant of a man with tight-set mouth and
so powerful a voice that it frightened Peter. He was not surprised to
learn that this man was the leader of one of the most radical of the
city's big labor unions, the seamen's. Yes, he was a "Red," all right;
he corresponded to Peter's imaginings — a grim, dangerous man, to be
pictured like Samson, seizing the pillars of society and pulling them
down upon his head. "They've got you scared, my boy," he said, noting
Peter's hesitating answers to his questions.
"Well, they've had me scared for forty-five years, but I've never let
them know it yet." Then, in order to cheer Peter up and strengthen his
nerves, he told how he, a runaway seaman, had been hunted thru the
Everglades of Florida with bloodhounds, and tied to a tree and beaten
into insensibility.
Then came David Andrews, whom Peter had heard of as one of the
lawyers in the Goober case, a tall, distinguished-looking man with keen,
alert features. What was such a man doing among these outcasts? Peter
decided that he must be one of the shrewd ones who made money out of
inciting the discontented. Then came a young girl, frail and sensitive,
slightly crippled. As she crossed the room to shake his hand tears
rolled down her cheeks, and Peter stood embarrassed, wondering if she
had just lost a near relative, and what was he to say about it. From her
first words he gathered, to his great consternation, that she had been
moved to tears by the story of what he himself had endured.
Ada Ruth was a poet, and this was a new type for Peter; after
much groping in his mind he set her down for one of the dupes of the
movement — a poor little sentimental child, with no idea of the
wickedness by which she was surrounded. With her came a Quaker boy with
pale, ascetic face and black locks which he had to shake back from his
eyes every now and then; he wore a Windsor tie, and a black felt hat,
and other marks of eccentricity and from his speeches Peter gathered
that he was ready to blow up all the governments of the world in the
interests of Pacificism. The same was true of McCormick, an I. W. W.
leader who had just served sixty days in jail, a
silent young Irishman with drawn lips and restless black
eyes, who made Peter uneasy by watching him closely and
saying scarcely a word.
