§ 26
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!
