§ 27
Yes, Peter was safe, but it bad been a close call,
and he still had painful scenes to play his part in. He
had to go back to the Todd home and meet the frantic Sadie, and weep and
be horrified with the rest of them. It would have been suspicious if he
had not done this; the "comrades" would never have forgiven him. Then to
his dismay, he found that Sadie had somehow come to a positive
conviction as to Jennie's trouble. She penned Peter up in a corner and
accused him of being responsible; and there was poor Peter, protesting
vehemently that be was innocent, and wishing that the floor would open
up and swallow him.
In the midst of his protestations a clever scheme occurred to
him. He lowered his voice in shame. There was a man, a young man, who
used to come to see Jennie off and on. "Jennie asked me not to tell."
Peter hesitated a moment, and added his master-stroke. "Jennie explained
to me that she was a free-lover; she told me all about free love. I told
her I didn't believe in it, but you know, Sadie, when Jennie believed in
anything, she would stand by it and act on it. So I felt certain it
wouldn't do any good for me to butt in."
Sadie almost went out of her mind at this. She glared at Peter.
"Slanderer! Devil!" she cried. "Who was this man?"
Peter answered, "He went by the name of Ned. That's
what Jennie called him. It wasn't my business to pin her
down about him."
"It wasn't your business to look out for an innocent
child?"
"Jennie herself said she wasn't an innocent child, she
knew exactly what she was doing — all Socialists did it."
And to this parting shot he added that he hadn't thought
it was decent, when he was a guest in a home, to spy on the morals of
the people in it. When Sadie persisted in doubting him, and even in
calling him names, he took the easiest way out of the difficulty — fell
into a rage and stormed out of the house.
Peter felt pretty certain that Sadie would not spread the story
very far; it was too disgraceful to her sister and to herself; and maybe
when she had thought it over she might come to believe Peter's story;
maybe she herself was a "free lover." McGivney had certainly said that
all Socialists were, and he had been studying them a lot. Anyhow, Sadie
would have to think first of the Goober case, just as little Jennie had
done. Peter had them there all right, and realized that he could afford
to be forgiving, so he went to the telephone and called up Sadie and
said: "I want you to know that I'm not going to say anything about this
story; it won't become known except thru you."
There were half a dozen people whom Sadie must have told. Miss
Nebbins was icy-cold to Peter the next time he came in to see Mr.
Andrews; also Miriam Yankovich lost her former cordiality, and several
other women treated him with studied reserve. But the only person who
spoke about the matter was Pat McCormick, the I. W. W. boy who had given
Peter the news of little Jennie's suicide. Perhaps Peter hadn't been
able to act satisfactorily on that occasion; or perhaps the young fellow
had observed something for himself, some love-glances between Peter and
Jennie. Peter had never felt comfortable in the presence of this silent
Irish boy, whose dark eyes would roam from one person to another in the
room, and seemed to be probing your most secret thoughts.
Now Peter's worst fears were justified. "Mac" got
him off in a corner, and put his fist under his nose, and told
him that he was "a dirty hound," and if it hadn't been
for the Goober case, he, "Mac," would kill him without a
moment's concern.
And Peter did not dare open his mouth; the look on the
Irishman's face was so fierce that he was really afraid
for his life. God, what a hateful lot these Reds were!
And now here was Peter with the worst one of all against
him! From now on his life would be in danger from this
maniac Irishman! Peter hated him — so heartily and genuinely
that it served to divert his thoughts from little Jennie,
and to make him regard himself as a victim.
Yes, in the midnight hours when Jennie's gentle little face
haunted him and his conscience attacked him, Peter looked back upon the
tangled web of events, and saw quite clearly how inevitable this tragedy
had been, how naturally it had grown out of circumstances beyond his
control. The fearful labor struggle in American City was surely not
Peter's fault; nor was it his fault that he had been drawn into it, and
forced to act first as an unwilling witness, and then as a secret agent.
Peter read the American City "Times" every morning, and knew that the
cause of Goober was the cause of anarchy and riot, while the cause of
the district attorney and of Guffey's secret service was the cause of
law and order. Peter was doing his best in this great cause, he was
following the instructions of those above him, and how could he be
blamed because one poor weakling of a girl had got in the way of the
great chariot of the law?
Peter knew that it wasn't his fault; and yet grief and
terror gnawed at him. For one thing, he missed little Jennie, he missed
her by day and he missed her by night. He missed her gentle voice, her
fluffy soft hair, her body in his empty arms. She was his first love,
and she was gone, and it is human weakness to appreciate things most
when they have been lost.
Peter aspired to be a strong man, a "he-man," according to the
slang that was coming into fashion; he now tried to live up to that
role. He didn't want to go mooning about over this accident; yet
Jennie's face stayed with him — sometimes wild, as he had seen it at
their last meeting, sometimes gentle and reproachful. Peter would
remember how good she had been, how tender, how never-failing in instant
response to an advance of love on his part. Where would he ever find
another girl like that?
Another thing troubled him especially — a strange, inexplicable
thing, for which Peter had no words, and about which he found himself
frequently thinking. This weak, frail slip of a girl had deliberately
given her life for her convictions; she had died, in order that he might
be saved as a witness for the Goobers! Of course Peter had known all
along that little Jennie was doomed, that she was throwing herself away,
that nothing could save her. But somehow, it does frighten the strongest
heart when people are so fanatical as to throw away their very lives for
a cause. Peter found himself regarding the ideas of these Reds from a
new angle; before this they had been just a bunch of "nuts," but now
they seemed to him creatures of monstrous deformity, products of the
devil, or of a God gone insane.
