THEY CALL ME CARPENTER

A Tale of the Second Coming

By

UPTON SINCLAIR

NEW YORK

1922

To

Charles F. Nevens

True and devoted friend

I

The beginning of this strange adventure was my going to see a motionpicture which had been made in Germany. It was three years after theend of the war, and you'd have thought that the people of WesternCity would have got over their war-phobias. But apparently theyhadn't; anyway, there was a mob to keep anyone from getting into thetheatre, and all the other mobs started from that. Before I tellabout it, I must introduce Dr. Karl Henner, the well-known literarycritic from Berlin, who was travelling in this country, and stoppedoff in Western City at that time. Dr. Henner was the cause of mygoing to see the picture, and if you will have a moment's patience, you will see how the ideas which he put into my head served to startme on my extraordinary adventure. 

You may not know much about these cultured foreigners. Their mannersare like softest velvet, so that when you talk to them, you feel asa Persian cat must feel while being stroked. They have readeverything in the world; they speak with quiet certainty; and theyare so old--old with memories of racial griefs stored up in theirsouls. I, who know myself for a member of the best clubs in WesternCity, and of the best college fraternity in the country--I foundmyself suddenly indisposed to mention that I had helped to win thebattle of the Argonne. This foreign visitor asked me how I feltabout the war, and I told him that it was over, and I bore no hardfeelings, but of course I was glad that Prussian militarism wasfinished. He answered: "A painful operation, and we all hope thatthe patient may survive it; also we hope that the surgeon has notcontracted the disease. " Just as quietly as that. 

Of course I asked Dr. Henner what he thought about America. Hisanswer was that we had succeeded in producing the material means ofcivilization by the ton, where other nations had produced them bythe pound. "We intellectuals in Europe have always been poor, byyour standards over here. We have to make a very little food supporta great many ideas. But you have unlimited quantities of food, and--well, we seek for the ideas, and we judge by analogy they mustexist--"

"But you don't find them?" I laughed. 

"Well, " said he, "I have come to seek them. "

This talk occurred while we were strolling down our Broadway, inWestern City, one bright afternoon in the late fall of 1921. Wetalked about the picture which Dr. Henner had recommended to me, andwhich we were now going to see. It was called "The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari, " and was a "futurist" production, a strange, weird freakof the cinema art, supposed to be the nightmare of a madman. "Beingan American, " said Dr. Henner, "you will find yourself asking, 'Whatgood does such a picture do?' You will have the idea that every workof art must serve some moral purpose. " After a pause, he added:"This picture could not possibly have been produced in America. Forone thing, nearly all the characters are thin. " He said it with theflicker of a smile--"One does not find American screen actors inthat condition. Do your people care enough about the life of art totake a risk of starving for it?"

Now, as a matter of fact, we had at that time several millions ofpeople out of work in America, and many of them starving. There mustbe some intellectuals among them, I suggested; and the criticreplied: "They must have starved for so long that they have got usedto it, and can enjoy it--or at any rate can enjoy turning it intoart. Is not that the final test of great art, that it has beensmelted in the fires of suffering? All the great spiritual movementsof humanity began in that way; take primitive Christianity, forexample. But you Americans have taken Christ, the carpenter--"

I laughed. It happened that at this moment we were passing St. Bartholomew's Church, a great brown-stone structure standing at thecorner of the park. I waved my hand towards it. "In there, " I said, "over the altar, you may see Christ, the carpenter, dressed up inexquisite robes of white and amethyst, set up as a stained glasswindow ornament. But if you'll stop and think, you'll realize itwasn't we Americans who began that!"

"No, " said the other, returning my laugh, "but I think it was youwho finished him up as a symbol of elegance, a divinity of therespectable inane. "

Thus chatting, we turned the corner, and came in sight of our goal, the Excelsior Theatre. And there was the mob!

II

At first, when I saw the mass of people, I thought it was the usualpicture crowd. I said, with a smile, "Can it be that the Americanpeople are not so dead to art after all?" But then I observed thatthe crowd seemed to be swaying this way and that; also there seemedto be a great many men in army uniforms. "Hello!" I exclaimed. "Arow?"

There was a clamor of shouting; the army men seemed to be pullingand pushing the civilians. When we got nearer, I asked of abystander, "What's up?" The answer was: "They don't want 'em to goin to see the picture. "

"Why not?"

"It's German. Hun propaganda!"

Now you must understand, I had helped to win a war, and no man getsover such an experience at once. I had a flash of suspicion, andglanced at my companion, the cultured literary critic from Berlin. Could it possibly be that this smooth-spoken gentleman was playing atrick upon me--trying, possibly, to get something into my crudeAmerican mind without my realizing what was happening? But Iremembered his detailed account of the production, the very essenceof "art for art's sake. " I decided that the war was three yearsover, and I was competent to do my own thinking. 

Dr. Henner spoke first. "I think, " he said, "it might be wiser if Idid not try to go in there. "

"Absurd!" I cried. "I'm not going to be dictated to by a bunch ofimbeciles!"

"No, " said the other, "you are an American, and don't have to be. But I am a German, and I must learn. "

I noted the flash of bitterness, but did not resent it. "That's allnonsense, Dr. Henner!" I argued. "You are my guest, and I won't--"

"Listen, my friend, " said the other. "You can doubtless get bywithout trouble; but I would surely rouse their anger, and I have nomind to be beaten for nothing. I have seen the picture severaltimes, and can talk about it with you just as well. "

"You make me ashamed of myself, " I cried--"and of my country!"

"No, no! It is what you should expect. It is what I had in mind whenI spoke of the surgeon contracting the disease. We Germanintellectuals know what war means; we are used to things like this. "Suddenly he put out his hand. "Good-bye. "

"I will go with you!" I exclaimed. But he protested--that wouldembarrass him greatly. I would please to stay, and see the picture;he would be interested later on to hear my opinion of it. Andabruptly he turned, and walked off, leaving me hesitating and angry. 

At last I started towards the entrance of the theatre. One of themen in uniform barred my way. "No admittance here!"

"But why not?"

"It's a German show, and we aint a-goin' to allow it. "

"Now see here, buddy, " I countered, none too good-naturedly, "Ihaven't got my uniform on, but I've as good a right to it as you; Iwas all through the Argonne. "

"Well, what do you want to see Hun propaganda for?"

"Maybe I want to see what it's like. "

"Well, you can't go in; we're here to shut up this show!"

I had stepped to one side as I spoke, and he caught me by the arm. Ithought there had been talk enough, and gave a sudden lurch, andtore my arm free. "Hold on here!" he shouted, and tried to stop meagain; but I sprang through the crowd towards the box-office. Therewere more than a hundred civilians in or about the lobby, and notmore than twenty or thirty ex-service men maintaining the blockade;so a few got by, and I was one of the lucky ones. I bought myticket, and entered the theatre. To the man at the door I said: "Whostarted this?"

"I don't know, sir. It's just landed on us, and we haven't had timeto find out. "

"Is the picture German propaganda?"

"Nothing like that at all, sir. They say they won't let us showGerman pictures, because they're so much cheaper; they'll putAmerican-made pictures out of business, and it's unfaircompetition. "

"Oh!" I exclaimed, and light began to dawn. I recalled Dr. Henner'sremark about producing a great many ideas out of a very little food;assuredly, the American picture industry had cause to fearcompetition of that sort! I thought of old "T-S, " as the screenpeople call him for short--the king of the movie world, with hisroll of fat hanging over his collar, and his two or three extrachins! I though of Mary Magna, million dollar queen of the pictures, contriving diets and exercises for herself, and weighing with fearand trembling every day!

III

It was time for the picture to begin, so I smoothed my coat, andwent to a seat, and was one of perhaps two dozen spectators beforewhom "The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari" received its first public showingin Western City. The story had to do with a series of murders; wesaw them traced by a young man, and fastened bit by bit upon an oldmagician and doctor. As the drama neared its climax, we discoveredthis doctor to be the head of an asylum for the insane, and theyoung man to be one of the inmates; so in the end the series ofadventures was revealed to us as the imaginings of a madman abouthis physician and keepers. The settings and scenery were in thestyle of "futurist" art--weird and highly effective. I saw it all inthe light of Dr. Henner's interpretation, the product of an old, perhaps an overripe culture. Certainly no such picture could havebeen produced in America! If I had to choose between this and theluxurious sex-stuff of Mary Magna--well, I wondered. At least, I hadbeen interested in every moment of "Dr. Caligari, " and I was onlyinterested in Mary off the screen. Several times every year I had tochoose between mortally hurting her feelings, and watching herelaborate "vamping" through eight or ten costly reels. 

I had read many stories and seen a great many plays, in which thehero wakes up in the end, and we realize that we have been watchinga dream. I remembered "Midsummer Night's Dream, " and also "LookingBackward. " An old, old device of art; and yet always effective, oneof the most effective! But this was the first time I had ever beentaken into the dreams of a lunatic. Yes, it was interesting, therewas no denying it; grisly stuff, but alive, and marvelously wellacted. How Edgar Allen Poe would have revelled in it! So thinking, Iwalked towards the exit of the theatre, and a swinging door gaveway--and upon my ear broke a clamor that might have come direct fromthe inside of Dr. Caligari's asylum. "Ya, ya. Boo, boo! Germanpropaganda! Pay your money to the Huns! For shame on you! Leave yourown people to starve, and send your cash to the enemy. "

I stopped still, and whispered to myself, "My God!" During all thetime--an hour or more--that I had been away on the wings ofimagination, these poor boobs had been howling and whooping outsidethe theatre, keeping the crowds away, and incidentally workingthemselves into a fury! For a moment I thought I would go out andreason with them; they were mistaken in the idea that there wasanything about the war, anything against America in the picture. ButI realized that they were beyond reason. There was nothing to do butgo my way and let them rave. 

But quickly I saw that this was not going to be so easy as I hadfancied. Right in front of the entrance stood the big fellow who hadcaught my arm; and as I came toward him I saw that he had me marked. He pointed a finger into my face, shouting in a fog-horn voice:"There's a traitor! Says he was in the service, and now he's backingthe Huns!"

I tried to have nothing to do with him, but he got me by the arm, and others were around me. "Yein, yein, yein!" they shouted into myear; and as I tried to make my way through, they began to hustle me. "I'll shove your face in, you damned Hun!"--a continual string ofsuch abuse; and I had been in the service, and seen fighting!

I never tried harder to avoid trouble; I wanted to get away, butthat big fellow stuck his feet between mine and tripped me, helunged and shoved me into the gutter, and so, of course, I made tohit him. But they had me helpless; I had no more than clenched myfist and drawn back my arm, when I received a violent blow on theside of my jaw. I never knew what hit me, a fist or a weapon. I onlyfelt the crash, and a sensation of reeling, and a series of blowsand kicks like a storm about me. 

I ask you to believe that I did not run away in the Argonne. I didmy job, and got my wound, and my honorable record. But there I had afighting chance, and here I had none; and maybe I was dazed, and itwas the instinctive reaction of my tormented body--anyhow, I ran. Istaggered along, with the blows and kicks to keep me moving. Andthen I saw half a dozen broad steps, and a big open doorway; I fledthat way, and found myself in a dark, cool place, reeling like adrunken man, but no longer beaten, and apparently no longer pursued. I was falling, and there was something nearby, and I caught at it, and sank down upon a sort of wooden bench. 

IV

I had run into St. Bartholomew's Church; and when I came to--I fearI cut a pitiful figure, but I have to tell the truth--I was crying. I don't think the pain of my head and face had anything to do withit, I think it was rage and humiliation; my sense of outrage, thatI, who had helped to win a war, should have been made to run from agang of cowardly rowdies. Anyhow, here I was, sunk down in a pew ofthe church, sobbing as if my heart was broken. 

At last I raised my head, and holding on to the pew in front, lookedabout me. The church was apparently deserted. There were darkvistas; and directly in front of me a gleaming altar, and high overit a stained glass window, with the afternoon sun shining through. You know, of course, the sort of figures they have in those windows;a man in long robes, white, with purple and gold; with a brownbeard, and a gentle, sad face, and a halo of light about the head. Iwas staring at the figure, and at the same time choking with rageand pain, but clenching my hands, and making up my mind to go outand follow those brutes, and get that big one alone and pound hisface to a jelly. And here begins the strange part of my adventure;suddenly that shining figure stretched out its two arms to me, as ifimploring me not to think those vengeful thoughts!

I knew, of course, what it meant; I had just seen a play aboutdelirium, and had got a whack on the head, and now I was deliriousmyself. I thought I must be badly hurt; I bowed my reeling head inmy arms, and began to sob like a kid, out loud, and without shame. But somehow I forgot about the big brute, and his face that I wantedto pound; instead, I was ashamed and bewildered, a queer hystericalstate with a half dozen emotions mixed up. The Caligari story was init, and the lunatic asylum; I've got a cracked skull, I thought, andmy mind will never get right again! I sat, huddled and shuddering;until suddenly I felt a quiet hand on my shoulder, and heard agentle voice saying: "Don't be afraid. It is I. "

Now, I shall waste no time telling you how amazed I was. It was along time before I could believe what was happening to me; I thoughtI was clean off my head. I lifted my eyes, and there, in the aisleof the most decorous church of St. Bartholomew, standing with hishand on my head, was the figure out of the stained glass window! Ilooked at him twice, and then I looked at the window. Where thefigure had been was a great big hole with the sun shining through!

We know the power of suggestion, and especially when one taps thedeeps of the unconscious, where our childhood memories are buried. Ihad been brought up in a religious family, and so it seemed quitenatural to me that while that hand lay on my head, the throbbing andwhirling should cease, and likewise the fear. I became perfectlyquiet, and content to sit under the friendly spell. "Why were youcrying?" asked the voice, at last. 

I answered, hesitatingly, "I think it was humiliation. "

"Is it something you have done?"

"No. Something that was done to me. "

"But how can a man be humiliated by the act of another?"

I saw what he meant; and I was not humiliated any more. 

The stranger spoke again. "A mob, " he said, "is a blind thing, worsethan madness. It is the beast in man running away with his master. "

I thought to myself: how can he know what has happened to me? Butthen I reflected, perhaps he saw them drive me into the church! Ifound myself with a sudden, queer impulse to apologize for thosesoldier boys. "We had some terrible fighting, " I cried. "And youknow what wars do--to the minds of the people, I mean. "

"Yes, " said the stranger, "I know, only too well. "

I had meant to explain this mob; but somehow, I decided that I couldnot. How could I make him understand moving picture shows, andGerman competition, and ex-service men out of jobs? There was apause, and he asked, "Can you stand up?"

I tried and found that I could. I felt the side of my jaw, and ithurt, but somehow the pain seemed apart from myself. I could seeclearly and steadily; there were only two things wrong that I couldfind--first, this stranger standing by my side, and second, thathole in the window, where I had seen him standing so many Sundaymornings!

"Are you going out now?" he asked. As I hesitated, he added, tactfully, "Perhaps you would let me go with you?"

Here was indeed a startling proposition! His costume, his longhair--there were many things about him not adapted to Broadway atfive o'clock in the afternoon! But what could I say? It would berude to call attention to his peculiarities. All I could manage wasto stammer: "I thought you belonged in the church. "

"Do I?" he replied, with a puzzled look. "I'm not sure. I have beenwondering--am I really needed here? And am I not more needed in theworld?"

"Well, " said I, "there's one thing certain. " I pointed up to thewindow. "That hole is conspicuous. "

"Yes, that is true. "

"And if it should rain, the altar would be ruined. The Reverend Dr. Lettuce-Spray would be dreadfully distressed. That altar cloth wasleft to the church in the will of Mrs. Elvina de Wiggs, and Godknows how many thousands of dollars it cost. "

"I suppose that wouldn't do, " said the stranger. "Let us see if wecan't find something to put there. "

He started up the aisle, and through the chancel. I followed, and wecame into the vestry-room, and there on the wall I noticed a fulllength, life-sized portrait of old Algernon de Wiggs, president ofthe Empire National Bank, and of the Western City Chamber ofCommerce. "Let us see if he would fill the place, " said thestranger; and to my amazement he drew up a chair, and took down thehuge picture, and carried it, seemingly without effort, into thechurch. 

He stepped upon the altar, and lifted the portrait in front of thewindow. How he got it to stay there I am not sure--I was too muchtaken aback by the procedure to notice such details. There thepicture was; it seemed to fit the window exactly, and the effect wassimply colossal. You'd have to know old de Wiggs to appreciateit--those round, puffy cheeks, with the afternoon sun behind them, making them shine like two enormous Jonathan apples! Our leadingbanker was clad in decorous black, as always on Sunday mornings, butin one place the sun penetrated his form--at one side of his chest. My curiosity got the better of me; I could not restrain thequestion, "What is that golden light?"

Said the stranger: "I think that is his heart. "

"But that can't be!" I argued. "The light is on his right side; andit seems to have an oblong shape--exactly as if it were hiswallet. "

Said the other: "Where the treasure is, there will the heart bealso. "

VI

We passed out through the arched doorway, and Broadway was beforeus. I had another thrill of distress--a vision of myself walkingdown this crowded street with this extraordinary looking personage. The crowds would stare at us, the street urchins would swarm aboutus, until we blocked the traffic and the police ran us in! So Ithought, as we descended the steps and started; but my fear passed, for we walked and no one followed us--hardly did anyone even turnhis eyes after us. 

I realized in a little while how this could be. The pleasant climateof Western City brings strange visitors to dwell here; we haveHindoo swamis in yellow silk, and a Theosophist college on ahill-top, and people who take up with "nature, " and go about withsandals and bare legs, and a mane of hair over their shoulders. Ipass them on the street now and then--one of them carries ashepherd's crook! I remember how, a few years ago, my Aunt Caroline, rambling around looking for something to satisfy her emotions, tookup with these queer ideas, and there came to her front door, to theinfinite bewilderment of the butler, a mild-eyed prophet in pastoralrobes, and with a little newspaper bundle in his hand. This, spreadout before my aunt, proved to contain three carrots and two onions, carefully washed, and shining; they were the kindly fruits of theearth, and of the prophet's own labor, and my old auntie was deeplytouched, because it appeared that this visitor was a seer, the solecomposer of a mighty tome which is to be found in the publiclibrary, and is known as the "Eternal Bible. "

So here I was, strolling along quite as a matter of course with mystrange acquaintance. I saw that he was looking about, and Iprepared for questions, and wondered what they would be. I thoughtthat he must naturally be struck by such wonders as automobiles andcrowded street-cars. I failed to realize that he would be thinkingabout the souls of the people. 

Said he, at last: "This is a large city?"

"About half a million. "

"And what quarter are we in?"

"The shopping district. "

"Is it a segregated district?"

"Segregated? In what way?"

"Apparently there are only courtesans. "

I could not help laughing. "You are misled by the peculiarities ofour feminine fashions--details with which you are naturally notfamiliar--"

"Oh, quite the contrary, " said he, "I am only too familiar withthem. In childhood I learned the words of the prophet: 'Because thedaughters of Zion are haughty, and walk with stretched forth necksand wanton eyes, walking and mincing as they go, and making atinkling with their feet; therefore the Lord will smite with a scabthe crown of the head of the daughters of Zion, and the Lord willdiscover their secret parts. In that day the Lord will take away thebravery of their tinkling ornaments about their feet, and theircauls, and their round tires like the moon, the chains, and thebracelets, and the mufflers, the bonnets, and the ornaments of thelegs, and the headbands, and the tablets, and the earrings, and nosejewels, the changeable suits of apparel, and the mantles, and thewimples, and the crisping pins, the glasses, and the fine linen, andthe hoods, and the veils. And it shall come to pass that instead ofsweet smell there shall be stink; and instead of a girdle a rent;and instead of well set hair, baldness; and instead of a stomacher agirding of sackcloth; and burning instead of beauty. '"

From the point of view of literature this might be great stuff; buton the corner of Broadway and Fifth Street at the crowded hours itwas unusual, to say the least. My companion was entering into thespirit of it in a most alarming way; he was half chanting, his voicerising, his face lighting up. "'Thy men shall fall by the sword, andthy mighty in the war. And her gates shall lament and mourn; and shebeing desolate shall sit upon the ground. '"

"Be careful!" I whispered. "People will hear you!"

"But why should they not?" He turned on me a look of surprise. "Thepeople hear me gladly. " And he added: "The common people. "

Here was an aspect of my adventure which had not occurred to mebefore. "My God!" I thought. "If he takes to preaching on streetcorners!" I realized in a flash--it was exactly what he would be upto! A panic seized me; I couldn't stand that; I'd have to cut andrun!

I began to speak quickly. "We must get across this street while wehave time; the traffic officer has turned the right way now. " And Ibegan explaining our remarkable system of traffic handling. 

But he stopped me in the middle. "Why do we wish to cross thestreet, when we have no place to go?"

"I have a place I wish to take you to, " I said; "a friend I want youto meet. Let us cross. "And while I was guiding him between theautomobiles, I was desperately trying to think how to back up mylie. Who was there that would receive this incredible stranger, andput him up for the night, and get him into proper clothes, and keephim off the soap-box?

Truly, I was in an extraordinary position! What had I done to getthis stranger wished onto me? And how long was he going to stay withme? I found myself recalling the plight of Mary who had a littlelamb!

Fate had me in its hands, and did not mean to consult me. We hadgone less than a block further when I heard a voice, "Hello! Billy!"I turned. Oh, Lord! Oh, Lord! Of all the thanklessencounters--Edgerton Rosythe, moving picture critic of the WesternCity "Times. " Precisely the most cynical, the most profane, the mostboisterous person in a cynical and profane and boisterous business!And he had me here, in full daylight, with a figure just out of astained glass window in St. Bartholomew's Church!

VII

"Hello, Billy! Who's your good-looking friend?" Rosythe was in fullsail before a breeze of his own making. 

How could I answer. "Why--er--"

The stranger spoke. "They call me Carpenter. "

"Ah!" said the critic. "Mr. Carpenter, delighted to meet you. " Hegave the stranger a hearty grip of the hand. "Are you on location?"

"Location?" said the other; and Rosythe shot an arrow of laughtertowards me. Perhaps he knew about the vagaries of my Aunt Caroline;anyhow, he would have a fantastic tale to tell about me, and wasgoing to exploit it to the limit!

I made a pitiful attempt to protect my dignity. "Mr. Carpenter hasjust arrived, " I began--

"Just arrived, hey?" said the critic. "Oviparous, viviparous, oroviviparous?" He raised his hand; actually, in the glory of his wit, he was going to clap the stranger on the shoulder!

But his hand stayed in the air. Such a look as came on Carpenter'sface! "Hush!" he commanded. "Be silent!" And then: "Any man willjoin in laughter; but who will join in disease?"

"Hey?" said Rosythe; and it was my turn to grin. 

"Mr. Carpenter has just done me a great service, " I explained. "Igot badly mauled in the mob--"

"Oh!" cried the other. "At the Excelsior Theatre!" Here wassomething to talk about, to cover his bewilderment. "So you were init! I was watching them just now. "

"Are they still at it?"

"Sure thing!"

"A fine set of boobs, " I began--

"Boobs, nothing!" broke in the other. "What do you suppose they'redoing?"

"Saving us from Hun propaganda, so they told me. "

"The hell of a lot they care about Hun propaganda! They are earningfive dollars a head. "

"What?"

"Sure as you're born!"

"You really know that?"

"Know it? Pete Dailey was at a meeting of the Motion PictureDirectors' Association last night, and it was arranged to put up themoney and hire them. They're a lot of studio bums, doing a real mobscene on a real location!"

"Well, I'll be damned!" I said. "And what about the police?"

"Police?" laughed the critic. "Would you expect the police to workfree when the soldiers are paid? Why, Jesus Christ----"

"I beg pardon?" said Carpenter. 

"Why--er--" said Rosythe; and stopped, completely bluffed. 

"You ought not swear, " I remarked, gravely; and then, "I mustexplain. I got pounded by that mob; I was knocked quite silly, andthis gentleman found me, and healed me in a wonderful way. "

"Oh!" said the critic, with genuine interest. "Mind cure, hey? Whatline?"

I was about to reply, but Carpenter, it appeared, was able to takecare of himself. "The line of love, " he answered, gently. 

"See here, Rosythe, " I broke in, "I can't stand on the street. I'mbeginning to feel seedy again. I think I'll have a taxi. "

"No, " said the critic. "Come with me. I'm on the way to pick up themissus. Right around the corner--a fine place to rest. " And withoutfurther ado he took me by the arm and led me along. He was agood-hearted chap inside; his rowdyisms were just the weapons of hisprofession. We went into an office building, and entered anelevator. I did not know the building, or the offices we came to. Rosythe pushed open a door, and I saw before me a spacious parlor, with birds of paradise of the female sex lounging in upholsteredchairs. I was led to a vast plush sofa, and sank into it with a sighof relief. 

The stranger stood beside me, and put his hand on my head once more. It was truly a miracle, how the whirling and roaring ceased, andpeace came back to me; it must have shown in my face, for the movingpicture critic of the Western City "Times" stood watching me with aquizzical smile playing over his face. I could read his thoughts, aswell as if he had uttered them: "Regular Svengali stuff, by God!"

VIII

I was so comfortable there, I did not care what happened. I closedmy eyes for a while; then I opened them and gazed lazily about theplace. I noted that all the birds of paradise were watchingCarpenter. With one accord their heads had turned, and their eyeswere riveted upon him. I found myself thinking. "This man will makea hit with the ladies!" Like the swamis, with their soft brownskins, and their large, dark, cow-like eyes!

There had been silence in the place. But suddenly we all heard amoan; I felt Carpenter start, and his hand left my head. A dozendoors gave into this big parlor--all of them closed. We perceivedthat the sound came through the door nearest to us. "What is it?" Iasked, of Rosythe. 

"God knows, " said he; "you never can tell, in this place oftorment. "

I was about to ask, "What sort of place is it?" But the moan cameagain, louder, more long drawn out: "O-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-oh!" It endedin a sort of explosion, as if the maker of it had burst. 

Carpenter turned, and took two steps towards the door; then hestopped, hesitating. My eyes followed him, and then turned to thecritic, who was watching Carpenter, with a broad grin on his face. Evidently Rosythe was going to have some fun, and get his revenge!

The sound came again--louder, more harrowing. It came at regularintervals, and each time with the explosion at the end. I watchedCarpenter, and he was like a high-spirited horse that hears thecracking of a whip over his head. The creature becomes morerestless, he starts more quickly and jumps farther at each sound. But he is puzzled; he does not know what these lashes mean, or whichway he ought to run. 

Carpenter looked from one to another of us, searching our faces. Helooked at the birds of paradise in the lounging chairs. Not one ofthem moved a muscle--save only those muscles which caused their eyesto follow him. It was no concern of theirs, this agony, whatever itwas. Yet, plainly, it was the sound of a woman in torment:"O-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-oh!"

Carpenter wanted to open that door. His hand would start towards it;then he would turn away. Between the two impulses he was presentlypacing the room; and since there was no one who appeared to have anyinterest in what he might say, he began muttering to himself. Iwould catch a phrase: "The fate of woman!" And again: "The price oflife!" I would hear the terrible, explosive wail:"O-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-oh!" And it would wring a cry out of the depths ofCarpenter's soul: "Oh, have mercy!"

In the beginning, the moving picture critic of the Western City"Times" had made some effort to restrain his amusement. But as thisperformance went on, his face became one enormous, wide-spreadinggrin; and you can understand, that made him seem quite devilish. Isaw that Carpenter was more and more goaded by it. He would look atRosythe, and then he would turn away in aversion. But at last hemade an effort to conquer his feelings, and went up to the critic, and said, gently: "My friend: for every man who lives on earth, somewoman has paid the price of life. "

"The price of life?" repeated the critic, puzzled. 

Carpenter waved his hand towards the door. "We confront thiseverlasting mystery, this everlasting terror; and it is not becomingthat you should mock. "

The grin faded from the other's face. His brows wrinkled, and hesaid: "I don't get you, friend. What can a man do?"

"At least he can bow his heart; he can pay his tribute towomanhood. "

"You're too much for me, " responded Rosythe. "The imbeciles chooseto go through with it; it's their own choice. "

Said Carpenter: "You have never thought of it as the choice of God?"

"Holy smoke!" exclaimed the critic. "I sure never did!"

At that moment one of the doors was opened. Rosythe turned his eyes. "Ah, Madame Planchet!" he cried. "Come tell us about it!"

IX

A stoutish woman out of a Paris fashion-plate came trotting acrossthe room, smiling in welcome: "Meester Rosythe!" She had blackearrings flapping from each ear, and her face was white, with astreak of scarlet for lips. She took the critic by his two hands, and the critic, laughing, said: "Respondez, Madame! Does God bringthe ladies to this place?"

"Ah, surely, Meester Rosythe! The god of beautee, he breengs them tous! And the leetle god with the golden arrow, the rosy cheeks andthe leetle dimple--the dimple that we make heem for two hundreddollars a piece--eh, Meester Rosythe? He breengs the ladies to us!"

The critic turned. "Madame Planchet, permit me to introduce Mr. Carpenter. He is a man of wonder, he heals pain, and does it bymeans of love. "

"Oh, how eenteresting! But what eef love heemself ees pain--whoshall heal that, eh, Meester Carpentair?"

"O-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-h!" came the moan. 

Said Rosythe: "Mr. Carpenter thinks you make the ladies suffer toomuch. It worries him. "

"Ah, but the ladies do not mind! Pain? What ees eet? The lady whomakes the groans, she cannot move, and so she ees unhappy. Also, shelikes to have her own way, she ees a leetle--what you say?--spoilt. But her troubles weel pass; she weel be beautiful, and her husbandweel love her more, and she weel be happy. "

"O-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-oh!" from the other room; and Madame Planchetprattled away: "I say to them, Make plenty of noises! Eet helps! Noone weel be afraid, for all here are worshippers of the god ofbeautee--all weel bear the pains that he requires. Eh, MeesterCarpentair?"

Carpenter was staring at her. I had not before seen such intensityof concentration on his face. He was trying to understand thissituation, so beyond all believing. 

"I weel tell you something, " said Madame Planchet, lowering hervoice confidentially. "The lady what you hear--that ees Meeses T-S. You know Meester T-S, the magnate of the peectures?"

Carpenter did not say whether he knew or not. 

"They come to me always, the peecture people; to me. The magician, the deputee of the god of beautee. Polly Pretty, she comes, andDolly Dimple, she comes, and Lucy Love, she comes, and Betty BelleBird. They come to me for the hair, and for the eyes, and for thecomplexion. You are a workair of miracles yourself--but can you dowhat I do? Can you make the skeen all new? Can you make the oldyoung?"

"O-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-oh!"

"Mary Magna, she comes to me, and she breengs me her oldgrandmother, and she says, 'Madame, ' she says, 'make her new fromthe waist up, for you can nevair tell how the fashions weel change, and what she weel need to show. ' Ha, ha, ha, she ees wittee, ees thelovely Mary! And I take the old lady, and her wrinkles weel be gone, and her skeen weel be soft like a leetle baby's, and in her cheeksweel be two lovely dimples, and she weel dance with the young boys, and they weel not know her from her grandchild--ha, ha, ha!--ees eetnot the wondair?"

I knew by now where I was. I had heard many times of MadamePlanchet's beauty-parlors. I sat, wondering; should I take Carpenterby the arm, and lead him gently out? Or should I leave him to fighthis own. Fight with modern civilization?

"O-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-oh!"

Madame turned suddenly upon me. "I know you, Meester Billee, " shesaid. "I have seen you with Mees Magna! Ah, naughtee boy! You havethe soft, fine hair--you should let it grow--eight inches we have tohave, and then you can come to me for the permanent wave. So manyyoung men come to me for the permanent wave! You know eet? MeesterCarpentair, you see, he has let hees hair grow, and he has thepermanent wave--eet could not be bettair eef I had done eet myself. I say always, 'My work ees bettair than nature, I tell nature by theeemperfections. ' Eh, voila?"

I am not sure whether it was for the benefit of me or of Carpenter. The deputee of the god of beautee was moved to volunteer a greatrevelation. "Would you like to see how we make eet--the permanentwave? I weel show you Messes T-S. But you must not speak--she wouldnot like eet if I showed her to gentlemen. But her back ees turnedand she cannot move. We do not let them see the apparatus, becauseeet ees rather frightful, eet would make them seek. You will be verysteel, eh?"

"Mum's the word, Madame, " said Rosythe, speaking for the three ofus. 

"O-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-oh!" moaned the voice. 

"First, I weel tell you, " said Madame. "For the complete wave we windthe hair in tight leetle coils on many rods. Eet ees very delicateoperations--every hair must be just so, not one crooked, not onemust we skeep. Eet takes a long time--two hours for the long hair;and eet hurts, because we must pull eet so tight. We wrap each coileen damp cloths, and we put them een the contacts, and we turn onthe eelectreeceetee--and then eet ees many hours that the hair eesbaked, ees cooked een the proper curves, eh? Now, very steel, eefyou please!"

And softly she opened the door. 

X

Before us loomed what I can only describe as a mountain of redfemale flesh. This flesh-mountain had once apparently been slightlycovered by embroidered silk lingerie, but this was now soaked inmoisture and reduced to the texture of wet tissue paper. The top ofthe flesh-mountain ended in an amazing spectacle. It appeared as ifthe head had no hair whatever; but starting from the bare scalp wasan extraordinary number of thin rods, six inches or so in length. These rods stood out in every direction, and being of gleamingmetal, they gave to the head the aspect of some bright PhoebusApollo, known as the "far-darter;" or shall I say some fierce Maenadwith electric snakes having nickel-plated skins; or shall I say someterrific modern war-god, pouring poison gases from a forest ofchemical tubes? Over the top of the flesh-mountain was a big metalobject, a shining concave dome with which all the tubes connected;so that a stranger to the procedure could not have felt sure whetherthe mountain was holding up the dome, or was dangling from it. Apiece of symbolism done by a maniac artist, whose meaning no onecould fathom!

From the dome there was given heat; so from the pores of theflesh-mountain came perspiration. I could not say that I actuallysaw perspiration flowing from any particular pore; it is myunderstanding that pores are small, and do not squirt visible jets. What I could say is that I saw little trickles uniting to formbrooks, and brooks to form rivers, which ran down the sides of theflesh-mountain, and mingled in an ocean on the floor. 

Also I observed that flesh-mountains when exposed to heat do notstand up of their own consistency, but have a tendency to melt andflatten; it was necessary that this bulk should be supported, sothere were three attendants, one securely braced under each armpit, and the third with a more precarious grip under the mountain's chin. Every thirty seconds or so the heaving, sliding mass would emit oneof those explosive groans: "O-o-o-o-o-oh!" Then it would collapse, an avalanche would threaten to slide, and the living caryatids wouldshove and struggle. 

Said Madame Planchet, in her stage-whisper: "The serveece of theyoung god of beautee!" And my fancy took flight. I saw proud vestalstending sacred flames on temple-clad islands in blue Grecian seas; Isaw acolytes waving censers, and grave, bearded priests walking inprocessions crowned with myrtle-wreaths. I wondered if ever sincethe world began, the young god of beautee looking down from hiscrystal throne had beheld a stranger ritual of adoration!

Silently we drew back from the door-way, and Madame closed the door, reducing the promethean groans and the strong ammoniacal odors. Idid not see the face of Carpenter, because he had turned it from us. Rosythe favored me with a smile, and whispered, "Your friend doesn'tcare for beautee!" Then he added, "What do you suppose he meant bythat stuff about 'the price of life' and 'the choice of God?'"

"Didn't you really get it?" I asked. 

"I'm damned if I did. "

"My dear fellow, " I said, "you didn't tell us what sort of placethis was; and Carpenter thought it must be a maternity-ward. "

The moving picture critic of the Western City "Times" gave me onewild look; then from his throat there came a sound like the suddenbleat of a young sheep in pain. It caused Carpenter to start, andMadame Planchet to start, and for the first time since we enteredthe place, the birds of paradise gave signs of life elsewhere thanin the eye-muscles. The sheep gave a second bleat, and then a third, and Rosythe, red in the face and apparently choking, turned and fledto the corridor. 

Madame Planchet drew me apart and said: "Meester Billee, tell mesomething. Ees eet true that thees gentleman ees a healer? He takesaway the pains?"

"He did it for me, " I answered. 

"He ees vairy handsome, eh, Meester Billee?"

"Yes, that is true. "

"I have an idea; eet ees a wondair. " She turned to my friend. "Meester Carpentair, they tell me that you heal the pains. I thinkeet would be a vairy fine thing eef you would come to my parlor andattend the ladies while I give them the permanent wave, and while Iskeen them, and make them the dimples and the sweet smiles. Theysuffer so, the poor dears, and eef you would seet and hold theirhands, they would love eet, they would come every day for eet, andyou would be famous, and you would be reech. You would meet--oh, such lovely ladies! The best people in the ceety come to my beautyparlors, and they would adore you, Meester Carpentair--what do yousay to eet?"

It struck me as curious, as I looked back upon it; Madame Planchetso far had not heard the sound of Carpenter's voice. Now she forcedhim to speak, but she did not force him to look at her. His gazewent over her head, as if he were seeing a vision; he recited:

"Because the daughters of Zion are haughty, and walk with stretchedforth necks and wanton eyes, walking and mincing as they go, andmaking a tinkling with their feet; therefore the Lord will smitewith a scab the crown of the head of the daughters of Zion, and theLord will discover their secret parts. "

"Oh, mon Dieu!" cried Madame Planchet. 

"In that day the Lord will take away the bravery of their twinklingornaments about their feet, and their cauls, and their round tireslike the moon, the chains, and the bracelets, and the mufflers, thebonnets, and the ornaments of the legs, and the headbands, and thetablets, and the earrings, the rings and nose jewels, the changeablesuits of apparel, and the mantles, and the wimples, and the crispingpins, the glasses, and the fine linen, and the hoods, and the veils. And it shall come to pass that instead of sweet smell there shall bestink; and instead of a girdle a rent; and instead of well set hair, baldness; and instead of a stomacher a girding of sackcloth: andburning instead of beauty. "

And at that moment the door from the corridor was flung open, andMary Magna came in. 

XI

"My God, will you look who's here! Billy, wretched creature, Ihaven't laid eyes on you for two months! Do you have to desert meentirely, just because you've fallen in love with a society girlwith the face of a Japanese doll-baby? What's the matter with me, that I lose my lovers faster than I get them? Edgerton Rosythe, comein here--you've got a good excuse, I admit--I'm almost as muchscared of your wife as you are yourself. But still, I'd like achance to get tired of some man first. Hello, Planchet, how's my oldgrannie making out in your scalping-shop? Say, would you think itwould take three days labor for half a dozen Sioux squaws to pullthe skin off one old lady's back? And a week to tie up the cornersof her mouth and give her a permanent smile! 'Why, grannie, ' I said, 'good God, it would be cheaper to hire Charlie Chaplin to walk roundin front of you all the rest of your life!' And--why, what's this?For the love of Peter, somebody introduce me to this gentleman. Ishe a friend of yours, Billy? Carpenter? Excuse me, Mr. Carpenter, but we picture people learn to talk about our faces and our styles, and it isn't every day I come on a million dollars walking round ontwo legs. Who does the gentleman work for?"

The storm of Mary Magna stopped long enough for her to stare fromone to another of us. "What? You mean nobody's got him? And you allstanding round here, not signing any contracts? You, Edgerton--youhaven't run to the telephone to call up Eternal City? Well, as ithappens, T-S is going to be here in five minutes--his wife is beingmade beautiful once again somewhere in this scalping-shop. Take myadvice, Mr. Carpenter, and don't sign today--the price will go upseveral hundred per week as long as you hold off. "

Mary stopped again; and this was most unusual, for as a general ruleshe never stopped until somebody or something stopped her. But shewas fascinated by the spectacle of Carpenter. "My good God! Wheredid he come from? Why, it seems like--I'm trying to think--yes, it's the very man! Listen, Billy; you may not believe it, but I wasin a church a couple of weeks ago. I went to see Roxanna Riddlemarry that grand duke fellow. It was in a big church over by thepark--St. Bartholomew's, they call it. I sat looking at a stainedglass window over the altar, and Billy, I swear I believe this Mr. Carpenter came down from that window!"

"Maybe he did, Mary, " I put in. 

"But I'm not joking! I tell you he's the living, speaking image ofthat figure. Come to think of it, he isn't speaking, he hasn't saida word! Tell me, Mr. Carpenter, have you got a voice, or are youonly a close up from 'The Servant in the House' or 'Ben Hur'? Saysomething, so I can get a line on you!"

Again I stood wondering; how would Carpenter take this? Would he bowhis head and run before a hail-storm of feminine impertinence? Wouldshe "vamp" him, as she did every man who came near her? Or wouldthis man do what no man alive had yet been able to do--reduce her tosilence?

He smiled gently; and I saw that she had vamped him this much, atleast--he was going to be polite! "Mary, " he said, "I think you arecarrying everything but the nose jewels. "

"Nose jewels? What a horrid idea! Where did you get that?"

"When you came in, I was quoting the prophet Isaiah. Some eightygenerations of ladies have lived on earth since his day, Mary; theyhave won the ballot, but apparently they haven't discovered anythingnew in the way of ornaments. Some of the prophet's words may bestrange to you, but if you study them you will see that you've goteverything he lists: 'their tinkling ornaments about their feet, andtheir cauls, and their round tires like the moon, the chains, andthe bracelets, and the mufflers, the bonnets, and the ornaments ofthe legs, and the headbands, and the tablets, and the earrings, therings, and nose jewels, the changeable suits of apparel, and themantles, and the wimples, and the crisping pins, the glasses, andthe fine linen, and the hoods, and the veils. '"

As Carpenter recited this list, his eyes roamed from one part toanother of the wondrous "get up" of Mary Magna. You can imagine herfacing him--that bold and vivid figure which you have seen as"Cleopatra" and "Salome, " as "Dubarry" and "Anne Boleyn, " and I knownot how many other of the famous courtesans and queens of history. In daily life her style and manner is every bit as staggering; sheis a gorgeous brunette, and wears all the colors there are--when shegoes down the street it is like a whole procession with flags. I'llwager that, apart from her jewels, which may or may not have beenreal, she was carrying not less than five thousand dollars worth ofstuff that fall afternoon. A big black picture hat, with a flowergarden and parts of an aviary on top--but what's the use of goingover Isaiah's list?

"Everything but the nose jewels, " said Carpenter, "and they may bein fashion next week. "

"How about the glasses?" put in Rosythe, entering into the fun. 

"Oh, shucks!" said I, protecting my friend. "Turn out the contentsof your vanity-bag, Mary. "

"And the crisping-pins?" laughed the critic. 

"Hasn't Madame Planchet just shown us those?"

All this while Mary had not taken her eyes off Carpenter. "So youare really one of those religious fellows!" she exclaimed. "You'llknow exactly what to do without any directing! How perfectlyincredible!" And at that appropriate moment T-S pushed open the doorand waddled in!

XII

You know the screen stars, of course; but maybe you do not knowthose larger celestial bodies, the dark and silent and invisiblestars from which the shining ones derive their energies. So, permitme to introduce you to T-S, the trade abbreviation for a name whichnobody can remember, which even his secretaries have to keep typedon a slip of paper just above their machine--Tszchniczklefritszch. He came a few years ago from Ruthenia, or Rumelia, or Roumania--oneof those countries where the consonants are so greatly in excess ofthe vowels. If you are as rich as he, you call him Abey, which iseasy; otherwise, you call him Mr. T-S, which he accepts as a part ofhis Americanization. 

He is shorter than you or I, and has found that he can't growupward, but can grow without limit in all lateral directions. Thereis always a little more of him than his clothing can hold, and itspreads out in rolls about his collar. He has a yellowish face, which turns red easily. He has small, shiny eyes, he speaksatrocious English, he is as devoid of culture as a hairy Ainu, andhe smells money and goes after it like a hog into a swill-trough. 

"Hello, everybody! Madame, vere's de old voman?

"She ees being dressed--"

"Vell, speed her up! I got no time. I got--Jesus Christ!"

"Yes, exactly, " said Mary Magna. 

The great man of the pictures stood rooted to the spot. "Vot's dis?Some joke you people playin' on me?" He shot a suspicious glancefrom one to another of us. 

"No, " said Mary, "he's real. Honest to God!"

"Oh! You bring him for an engagement. Vell, I don't do no businessoutside my office. Send him to see Lipsky in de mornin'. "

"He hasn't asked for an engagement, " said Mary. 

"Oh, he ain't. Vell, vot's he hangin' about for? Been gittin' apermanent vave? Ha, ha, ha!"

"Cut it out, Abey, " said Mary Magna. "This is a gentleman, and youmust be decent. Mr. Carpenter, meet Mr. T-S. "

"Carpenter, eh? Vell, Mr. Carpenter, if I vas to make a picture vityou I gotta spend a million dollars on it--you know you can't makeno cheap skate picture fer a ting like dat, if you do you got apiece o' cheese. It'd gotta be a costume picture, and you got shoostas much show to market vun o' dem today as you got vit a pauper'sfuneral. I spend all dat money, and no show to git it back, and denyou actors tink I'm makin' ten million a veek off you--"

"Cut it out, Abey!" broke in Mary. "Mr. Carpenter hasn't askedanything of you. "

"Oh, he ain't, hey? So dat's his game. Vell, he'll find maybe I canvait as long as de next feller. Ven he gits ready to talk business, he knows vere Eternal City is, I guess. Vot's de matter, Madame, yougot dat old voman o' mine melted to de chair?"

"I'll see, I'll see, Meester T-S, " said Madame, hustling out of theroom. 

Mary came up to the great man. "See here, Abey, " she said, in a lowvoice, "you're making the worst mistake of your life. Apparentlythis man hasn't been discovered. When he is, you know what'llhappen. "

"Vere doss he come from?"

"I don't know. Billy here brought him. I said he must have come outof a stained glass window in St. Bartholomew's Church. "

"Oho, ho!" said T-S. 

"Anyhow, he's new, and he's too good to keep. The paper's 'll gethold of him sure. Just look at him!"

"But, Mary, can he act?"

"Act? My God, he don't have to act! He only has to look at you, andyou want to fall at his feet. Go be decent to him, and find out whathe wants. "

The great man surveyed the figure of the stranger appraisingly. Thenhe went up to him. "See here, Mr. Carpenter, maybe I could make youfamous. Vould you like dat?"

"I have never thought of being famous, " was the reply. 

"Vell, you tink of it now. If I hire you, I make you de greatestactor in de vorld. I make it a propaganda picture fer de churches, dey vould show it to de headens in China and in Zululand. I make youa contract fer ten years, and I pay you five hunded dollars a veek, vedder you vork or not, and you vouldn't have to vork so much, because I don't catch myself makin' a million dollar feature picturevit gawd amighty and de angels in it for no regular veekly releases. Maybe you find some cheap skate feller vit some vild cat company votpromise you more; but he sells de picture and makes over de money tohis vife's brudders, and den he goes bust, and vere you at den, hey?Mary Magna, here, she tell you, if you git a contract vit old Abey, it's shoost like you got libbidy bonds. I make dat lovely lady acheck every veek fer tirty-five hunded dollars, an' I gotta sign itvit my own hand, and I tell you it gives me de cramps to sign somuch money all de time, but I do it, and you see all dem rings andribbons and veils and tings vot she buys vit de money, she lookslike a jeweler's shop and a toy-store all rolled into vun goin'valkin' down de street. "

"Mr. Carpenter was just scolding me for that, " said Mary. "I've anidea if you pay him a salary, he'll feed it to the poor. "

"If I pay it, " said T-S, "it's his, and he can feed it to dedicky-birds if he vants to. Vot you say, Mr. Carpenter?"

I was waiting with curiosity to hear what he would say; but at thatmoment the door from the "maternity-room" was opened, and the voiceof Madame Planchet broke in: "Here she ees!" And the flesh-mountainappeared, with the two caryatids supporting her. 

XIII

"My Gawd!" gasped Mrs. T-S. "I'm dyin'!"

Her husband responded, beaming, "So you gone and done it again!"

Said Mrs. T-S: "I'll never do it no more!"

Said the husband: "Y'allus say dat. Fergit it, Maw, you're all rightnow, you don't have to have your hair frizzed fer six mont's!"

Said Mrs. T-S: "I gotta lie down. I'm dyin', Abey, I tell you. Lemmegit on de sofa. "

Said the husband: "Now, Maw, we gotta git to dinner--"

"I can't eat no dinner. "

"Vot?" There was genuine alarm in the husband's voice. "You can'teat no dinner? Sure you gotta eat your dinner. You can't live if youdon't eat. Come along now, Maw. "

"O-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-oh!"

T-S went and stood before her, and a grin came over his face. "Sure, now, ain't it fine? Say, Mary, look at dem lovely curves. Billy, shoost look here! Vy, she looks like a kid again, don't she! Madame, you're a daisy--you sure deliver de goods. "

Madame Planchet beamed, and the flesh-mountain was feebly cheered. "You like it, Abey?"

"Sure, I like it! Maw, it's grand! It's like I got a new girl! Comeon now, git up, we go git our dinner, and den we gotta see dem nightscenes took. Don't forgit, we're payin' two tousand men five dollarsapiece tonight, and we gotta git our money out of 'em. " Then, takingfor granted that this settled it, he turned to the rest. "You comevit us, Mary?"

"I must wait for my grannie. "

"Sure, you leave your car fer grannie, and you come vit us, and wegit some dinner, and den we see dem mob scenes took. You come along, Mr. Carpenter, I gotta have some talk vit you. And you, Billy? AndRosythe--come, pile in. "

"I have to wait for the missus, " said the critic. "We have a date. "

"Vell, said T-S, and he went up close. "You do me a favor, Rosythe;don't say nuttin' about dis fellow Carpenter tonight. I feed him andgit him feelin' good, and den I make a contract vit him, and I giveyou a front page telegraph story, see?"

"All right, " said the critic. 

"Mum's de vord now, " said the magnate; and he waddled out, and thetwo caryatids lifted the flesh-mountain, and half carried it to theelevator, and Mary walked with Carpenter, and I brought up the rear. 

The car of T-S was waiting at the door, and this car is somethingspecial. It is long, like a freight-car, made all of shininggun-metal, or some such material; the huge wheels are of solidmetal, and the fenders are so big and solid, it looks like anarmored military car. There is an extra wheel on each side, and twomore locked on to the rear. There is a chauffeur in uniform, and afootman in uniform, just to open the doors and close them and saluteyou as you enter. Inside, it is all like the sofas in Madame'sscalping shop; you fall into them, and soft furs enfold you, and yougive a sigh of Contentment, "O-o-o-o-o-o-oh!"

"Prince's, " said T-S to the chauffeur, and the palace on wheelsbegan to glide along. It occurred to me to wonder that T-S was notembarrassed to take Carpenter to a fashionable eating-place. But Icould read his thoughts; everybody would assume that he had been "onlocation" with one of his stars; and anyhow, what the hell? Wasn'the Abey Tszchniczklefritszch?

"Wor-r-r-r-r! Wor-r-r-r-r-r!" snarled the horn of the car; and Icould understand the meaning of this also. It said: "I am the car ofAbey Tszchniczklefritszch, king of the movies, future king of theworld. Get the hell out o' my way!" So we sped through the crowdedstreets, and pedestrians scattered like autumn leaves before astorm. "My Gawd, but I'm hungry!" said T-S. "I ain't had nuttin' toeat since lunch-time. How goes it, Maw? Feelin' better? Vell, you beall right ven you git your grub. "

So we came to Prince's, and drew up before the porte-cochere, andfound ourselves confronting an adventure. There was a crowd beforethe place, a surging throng half-way down the block, with a wholeline of policemen to hold them back. Over the heads of the crowdwere transparencies, frame boxes with canvas on, and lights inside, and words painted on them. "Hello!" cried T-S. "Vot's dis?"

Suddenly I recalled what I had read in the morning's paper. Theworkers of the famous lobster palace had gone on strike, and troublewas feared. I told T-S, and he exclaimed: "Oh, hell! Ain't we gottroubles enough vit strikers in de studios, vitout dey come spoilin'our dinner?"

The footman had jumped from his seat, and had the door open, and thegreat man began to alight. At that moment the mob set up a howl. "For shame! For shame! Unfair! Don't go in there! They starve theirworkers! They're taking the bread out of our mouths! Scabs! Scabs!"

I got out second, and saw a spectacle of haggard faces, shoutingmenaces and pleadings; I saw hands waved wildly, one or two fistsclenched; I saw the police, shoving against the mass, poking withtheir sticks, none too gently. A poor devil in a waiter's costumestretched out his arms to me, yelling in a foreign dialect: "Youtake de food from my babies!" The next moment the club of apoliceman came down on his head, crack. I heard Mary scream behindme, and I turned, just in the nick of time. Carpenter was leapingtoward the policeman, crying, "Stop!"

There was no chance to parley in this emergency. I grabbed Carpenterin a foot-ball tackle. I got one arm pinned to his side, and Mary, good old scout, got the other as quickly. She is a bit of anathlete--has to keep in training for those hoochie-coochies andthings she does, when she wins the love of emperors and sultans andsuch-like world-conquerors. Also, when we got hold of Carpenter, wediscovered that he wasn't much but skin and bones anyhow. We fairlylifted him up and rushed him into the restaurant; and after thefirst moment he stopped resisting, and let us lead him between theaisles of diners, on the heels of the toddling T-S. There was atable reserved, in an alcove, and we brought him to it, and thenwaited to see what we had done. 

XIV

Carpenter turned to me-and those sad but everchangjng eyes wereflashing. "You have taken a great liberty!"

"There wasn't any time to argue, " I said. "If you knew what I knowabout the police of Western City and their manners, you wouldn'twant to monkey with them. "

Mary backed me up earnestly. "They'd have mashed your face, Mr. Carpenter. "

"My face?" he repeated. "Is not a man more than his face?"

You should have heard the shout of T-S! "Vot? Ain't I shoost offeredyou five hunded dollars a veek fer dat face, and you vant to go gitit smashed? And fer a lot o' lousy bums dat vont vork for honestvages, and vont let nobody else vork! Honest to Gawd, Mr. Carpenter, I tell you some stories about strikes vot we had on our own lot--youvouldn't spoil your face for such lousy sons-o'-guns--"

"Ssh, Abey, don't use such langwich, you should to be shamed ofyourself!" It was Maw, guardian of the proprieties, who had beenextracted from the car by the footman, and helped to the table. 

"Vell, Mr. Carpenter, he dunno vot dem fellers is like--"

"Sit down, Abey!" commanded the old lady. "Ve ain't ordered no stumpspeeches fer our dinner. "

We seated ourselves. And Carpenter turned his dark eyes on me. "Iobserve that you have many kinds of mobs in your city, " he remarked. "And the police do interfere with some of them. "

"My Gawd!" cried T-S. "You gonna have a lot o' bums jumpin' onpeople ven dey try to git to dinner?"

Said Carpenter: "Mr. Rosythe said that the police would not workunless they were paid. May I ask, who pays them to work here? Is itthe proprietor of the restaurant?"

"Vell, " cried T-S, "ain't he gotta take care of his place?"

"As a matter of fact, " said I, laughing, "from what I read in the'Times' this morning, I gather that an old friend of Mr. Carpenter'shas been paying in this case. "

Carpenter looked at me inquiringly. 

"Mr. Algernon de Wiggs, president of the Chamber of Commerce, issueda statement denouncing the way the police were letting mobs ofstrikers interfere with business, and proposing that the Chambertake steps to stop it. You remember de Wiggs, and how we left him?"

"Yes, I remember, " said Carpenter; and we exchanged a smile overthat trick we had played. 

I could see T-S prick forward his ears. "Vot? You know de Viggs?"

"Mr. Carpenter possesses an acquaintance with our best society whichwill astonish you when you realize it. "

"Vy didn't you tell me dat?" demanded the other; and I couldcomplete the sentence for him: "Somebody has offered him moremoney!"

Here the voice of Maw was heard: "Ain't we gonna git nuttin' toeat?"

So for a time the problem of capital and labor was put to one side. There were two waiters standing by, very nervous, because of thestrike. T-S grabbed the card from one, and read off a list of food, which the waiter wrote down. Maw, who was learning the rudiments ofetiquette, handed her card to Mary, who gave her order, and then Mawgave hers, and I gave mine, and there was only Carpenter left. 

He was sitting, his dark eyes roaming here and there about thedining-room. Prince's, as you may know, is a gorgeous establishment:too much so for my taste--it has almost as much gilded moulding asif T-S had designed it for a picture palace. In front of Carpenter'seyes sat a dame with a bare white back, and a rope of big pearlsabout it, and a tiara of diamonds on top; and beyond her were moredames, and yet more, and men in dinner-coats, putting food into redfaces. You and I get used to such things, but I could understandthat to a stranger it must be shocking to see so many people feedingso expensively. 

"Vot you vant to order, Mr. Carpenter?" demanded T-S; and I waited, full of curiosity. What would this man choose to eat in a "lobsterpalace"?

Carpenter took the card from his host and studied it. Apparently hehad no difficulty in finding the most substantial part of the menu. "I'll have prime ribs of beef, " said he; "and boiled mutton withcaper sauce; and young spring turkey; and squab en casserole; andmilk fed guinea fowl--" The waiter, of course, was obedientlywriting down each item. "And planked steak with mushrooms; andbraised spare ribs--"

"My Gawd!" broke in the host. 

"And roast teal duck; and lamb kidneys--"

"Fer the love o' Mike, Mr. Carpenter, you gonna eat all dat?"

"No; of course not. "

"Den vot you gonna do vit it?"

"I'm going to take it to the hungry men outside. "

Well, sir, you'd have thought the world had stopped turning round, so still it was. The two waiters nearly dropped their order-pads andtheir napkins; they did drop their jaws, and Mrs. T-S's permanentwave seemed about to go flat. 

"Oh, hell!" cried T-S at last. You can't do it!"

"I can't?"

"You can't order only vot you gonna eat. "

"But then, I don't want anything. I'm not hungry. "

"But you can't sit here like a dummy, man!" He turned to the waiter. "You bring him de same vot you bring me. Unnerstand? And git a moveon, cause I'm starvin'. Fade out now!" And the waiter turned andfled. 

XV

The proprietor of Eternal City wiped his perspiring forehead withhis napkin, and started rather hurriedly to make conversation. Iunderstood that he wanted to enjoy his dinner, and proposed to talkabout something pleasant in the meantime. "I vonna tell you aboutdis picture ve're goin' to see took, Mr. Carpenter. I vant youshould see de scale we do tings on, ven we got a big subjic. Y'unnerstand, dis is a feature picture ve're makin' now; a nightpicture, a big mob scene. ". 

"Mob scene?" said Carpenter. "You have so many mobs in this world ofyours!"

"Vell, sure, " said T-S. "You gotta take dis vorld de vay you findit. Y'can't change human nature, y'know. But dis vot you're gonnasee tonight is only a play mob, y'unnerstand. "

"That is what seems strangest of all to me, " said the other, thoughtfully. "You like mobs so well that you make imitation ones!"

"Vell, de people, dey like to see crowds in a picture, and dey liketo see action. If you gonna have a big picture, you gotta spend demoney. "

"Why not take this real mob that is outside the door?"

"Ha, ha, ha! Ve couldn't verk dat very good, Mr. Carpenter. Ve gottahave it in de right set; and ven you git a real mob, it don't alvaysdo vot you vant exactly! Besides, you can't take night picturesunless you got your lights and everyting. No, ve gotta make our mobsto order; we got two tousand fellers hired--"

"What Mr. Rosythe called 'studio bums'? You have that many?"

"Sure, we could git ten tousand if de set vould hold 'em. Dispicture is called 'De Tale o' Two Cities, ' and it's de Frenchrevolution. It's about a feller vot takes anodder feller's place andgits his head cut off; and say, dere's a sob story in it vot's avunder. Ven dey brought me de scenario, I says, 'Who's de author?'Dey says, 'It's a guy named Charles Dickens. ' 'Dickens?' says I. 'Vell, I like his verk. Vot's his address?' And Lipsky, he says, says he, 'Dey tell me he stays in a place called Vestminster Abbey, in England. ' 'Vell, ' says I, 'send him a cablegram and find out vothe'll take fer an exclusive contract. ' So we sent a cablegram toCharles Dickens, Vestminster Abbey, England, and we didn't git noanswer, and come to find out, de boys in de studios vas havin' alaugh on old Abey, because dis guy Dickens is some old time feller, and de Abbey is vere dey got his bones. Vell, dey can have deirfun--how de hell's a feller like me gonna git time to know aboutwriters? Vy, only twelve years ago, Maw here and me vas carryin'pants in a push-cart fer a livin', and we didn't know if a book vastop-side up or bottom--ain't it, Maw?"

Maw certified that it was--though I thought not quite so eagerly asher husband. There were five little T-S's growing up, and bringingpressure to let the dead past stay buried, in Vestminster Abbey orwherever it might be. 

The waiter brought the dinner, and spread it before us. And T-Stucked his napkin under both ears, and grabbed his knife in one handand his fork in the other, and took a long breath, and said:"Good-bye, folks. See you later!" And he went to work. 

XVI

For five minutes or so there was no sound but that of one man's foodgoing in and going down. Then suddenly the man stopped, with hisknife and fork upright on the table in each hand, and cried: "Mr. Carpenter, you ain't eatin' nuttin'!"

The stranger, who had apparently been in a daydream, came suddenlyback to Prince's. He looked at the quantities of food spread abouthim. "If you'd only let me take a little to those men outside!" Hesaid it pleadingly. 

But T-S tapped imperiously on the table, with both his knife andfork together. "Mr. Carpenter, eat your dinner! Eat it, now, I say!"It was as if he were dealing with one of the five little T-S's. AndCarpenter, strange as it may seem, obeyed. He picked up a bit ofbread, and began to nibble it, and T-S went to work again. 

There was another five minutes of silence; and then the picturemagnate stopped, with a look of horror on his face. "My Gawd! He'scryin'!" Sure enough, there were two large tears trickling, one downeach cheek of the stranger, and dropping on the bread he was puttinginto his mouth!

"Look here, Mr. Carpenter, " protested T-S. "Is it dem strikers?"

"I'm sorry; you see--"

"Now, honest, man, vy should you spoil your dinner fer a bunch o'damn lousy loafers--"

"Abey, vot a vay to talk at a dinner-party!" broke in Maw. 

And then suddenly Mary Magna spoke. It was a strange thing, though Idid not realize it until afterwards. Mary, the irrepressible, hadhardly said one word since we left the beauty parlors! Mary, alwaysthe life of dinner parties, was sitting like a woman who had seenthe ghost of a dead child; her eyes following Carpenter's, her mindevidently absorbed in probing his thoughts. 

"Abey!" said she, with sudden passion, of a sort I'd never seen herdisplay before. "Forget your grub for a moment, I have something tosay. Here's a man with a heart full of love for other people--whileyou and I are just trying to see what we can get out of them! A manwho really has a religion--and you're trying to turn him into amovie doll! Try to get it through your skull, Abey!"

The great man's eyes were wide open. "Holy smoke, Mary! Vot's gotinto you?" And suddenly he almost shrieked. "Lord! She's cryin'too!"

"No, I'm not, " declared Mary, vialiantly. But there were two dropson her cheeks, so big that she was forced to wipe them away. "It'sjust a little shame, that's all. Here we sit, with three times asmuch food before us as we can eat; and all over this city are poordevils with nothing to eat, and no homes to go to--don't you knowthat's true, Abey? Don't you know it, Maw?"

"Looka here, kid, " said the magnate; "you know vot'll happen to youif you git to broodin' over tings? You git your face full o'wrinkles--you already gone and spoilt your make-up. "

"Shucks, Abey, " broke in Maw, "vot you gotta do vit dat? Vy don'tyou mind your own business?"

"Mind my own business? My own business, you say? Vell, I like toknow vot you call my business! Ven I got a contract to pay a girltirty-five hunded dollars a veek fer her face, and she goes and gitsit all wrinkles, I ask any jury, is it my business or ain't it? Andif a feller vants to pull de tremulo stop fer a lot o' hoboes andBullsheviki, and goes and spills his tears into his soup--"

It sounded fierce; but Mary apparently knew her Abey; also, she sawthat Maw was starting to cry. "There's no use trying to bluff me, Abey. You know as well as I do there are hungry people in this city, and no fault of theirs. You know, too, you eat twice what you oughtto, because I've heard the doctor tell you. I'm not blaming you abit more than I do myself--me, with two automobiles, and a wholeshow-window on my back. " And suddenly she turned to Carpenter. "Whatcan we do?"

He answered: "Here, men gorge themselves; in Russia they are eatingtheir dead. "

T-S dropped his knife and fork, and Maw gave a gulp. "Oh, my Gawd!"

"There are ten million people doomed to starve. Their children eatgrass, and their bellies swell up and their legs dwindle tobroom-sticks; they stagger and fall into the ditches, and otherchildren tear their flesh and devour it. "

"O-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-oh!" wailed Maw; and the diners at Prince's beganto stare. 

"Now looka here!" cried T-S, wildly. "I say dis ain't no decent wayto behave at a party. I say it ain't on de level to be a feller'sguest, and den jump on him and spoil his dinner. See here, Mr. Carpenter, I tell you vot I do. You be good and eat your grub, so itdon't git vasted, and I promise you, tomorrow I go and hunt upstrike headquarters, and give dem a check fer a tousand dollars, andif de damn graftin' leaders don't hog it, dey all git someting toeat. And vot's more, I send a check fer five tousand to de Russianrelief. Now ain't dat square? Vot you say?"

"What I say is, Mr. T-S, I cannot be the keeper of another man'sconscience. But I'll try to eat, so as not to be rude. "

And T-S grunted, and went back to his feeding; and the stranger madea pretense of eating, and we did the same. 

XVII

It happens that I was brought up in a highly conscientious family. To my dear mother, and to her worthy sisters, there is nothing inthe world more painful than what they call a "scene"--unlesspossibly it is what they call a "situation. " And here we hadcertainly had a "scene, " and still had a "situation. " So I sat, racking my brains to think of something safe to talk about. Irecalled that T-S had had pretty good success with his "Tale of TwoCities" as a topic of Conversation, so I began:

"Mr. Carpenter, the spectacle you are going to see this evening israther remarkable from the artistic point of view. One of thegreatest scenic artists of Paris has designed the set, and the bestjudges consider it a real achievement, a landmark in moving picturework. "

"Tell me about it, " said Carpenter; and I was grateful for his toneof interest. 

"Well, I don't know how much you know about picture making--"

"You had better explain everything. "

"Well, Mr. T-S has built a large set, representing a street scene inParis over a century ago. He has hired a thousand men--"

"Two tousand!" broke in T-S. 

"In the advertisements?" I suggested, with a smile. 

"No, no, " insisted the other. "Two tousand, really. In deadvertisements, five tousand. "

"Well, " said I, "these men wear costumes which T-S has had made forthem, and they pretend to be a mob. They have been practicing allday, and by now they know what to do. There is a man with amegaphone, shouting orders to them, and enormous lights playing uponthem, so that men with cameras can take pictures of the scene. It isvery vivid, and as a portrayal of history, is truly educational. "

"And when it is done--what becomes of the men?"

Utterly hopeless, you see! We were right back on the forbiddenground! "How do you mean?" I evaded. 

"I mean, how do they live?"

"Dey got deir five dollars, ain't dey?" It was T-S, of course. 

"Yes, but that won' last very long, will it? What is the cost ofthis dinner we are eating?"

The magnate of the movies looked to the speaker, and then burst intoa laugh. "Ho, ho, ho! Dat's a good vun!"

Said I, hastily: "Mr. T-S means that there are cheaper eating placesto be found. "

"Well, " said Carpenter, "why don't we find one?"

"It's no use, Billy. He thinks it's up to me to feed all de bums onde lot. Is dat it, Mr. Carpenter?"

"I can't say, Mr. T-S; I don't know how many there are, and I don'tknow how rich you are. "

"Vell, dey got five million out o' verks in this country now, and ifI vanted to bust myself, I could feed 'em vun day, maybe two. Butven I got done, dey vouldn't be nobody to make pictures, andsomebody vould have to feed old Abey--or maybe me and Maw could goback to carryin' pants in a push cart! If you tink I vouldn't liketo see all de hungry fed, you got me wrong, Mr. Carpenter; but vot Ilearned is dis--if you stop fer all de misery you see in de vorldabout you, you vouldn't git novhere. "

"Well, " said Carpenter, "what difference would that make?"

The proprietor of Eternal City really wanted to make out theprocesses of this abnormal mind. He wrinkled his brows, and thoughtvery hard over it. 

"See here, Mr. Carpenter, " he began at last, "I tink you got hold o'de wrong feller. I'm a verkin' man, de same as any mechanic on mylot. I verked ever since I vas a liddle boy, and if I eat too muchnow, maybe it's because I didn't get enough ven I vas liddle. Andmaybe I got more money dan vot I got a right to, but I know dis--Iain't never had enough to do half vot I vant to! But dere's plentyfellers got ten times vot I got, and never done a stroke o' vork ferit. Dey're de vuns y'oughter git after!"

Said Carpenter: "I would, if I knew how. "

"Dey's plenty of 'em right in dis room, I bet. " And Mary added: "AskBilly; he knows them all!"

"You flatter me, Mary, " I laughed. 

"Ain't dey some of 'em here?" demanded T-S. 

"Yes, that's true. There are some not far away, who are developing adesire to meet Mr. Carpenter, unless I miss the signs. "

"Vere are dey at?" demanded T-S. 

"I won't tell you that, " I laughed, "because you'd turn and stareinto their faces. "

"So he vould!" broke in Maw. "How often I gotta tell you, Abey? Yougot no more manners dan if you vas a jimpanzy. "

"All right, " said the magnate, grinning good naturedly. "I'll keepa-eatin' my dinner. Who is it?"

"It's Mrs. Parmelee Stebbins, " said I. "She boasts a salon, and hasto have what are called lions, and she's been watching Mr. Carpenterout of the corner of her eye ever since he came into theroom--trying to figure out whether he's a lion, or only an actor. Ifhis skin were a bit dark, she would be sure he was an Easternpotentate; as it, she's afraid he's of domestic origin, in whichcase he's vulgar. The company he keeps is against him; butstill--Mrs. Stebbins has had my eye three times, hoping I would giveher a signal, I haven't given it, so she's about to leave. "

"Vell, she can go to hell!" said T-S, keeping his promise to devotehimself to his dinner. "I offered Parmelee Stebbins a tird share in'De Pride o' Passion' fer a hunded tousand dollars, and de damn foolturned me down, and de picture has made a million and a quartera'ready. "

"Well, " said I, "he's probably paying for it by sitting up late tobuy the city council on this new franchise grab of his; and so hehasn't kept his date to dine with his expensive family at Prince's. Here is Miss Lucinda Stebbins; she's engaged to Babcock, millionairesport and man about town, but he's taking part in a flying race overthe Rocky Mountains tonight, and so Lucinda feels bored, and sheknows the vaudeville show is going to be tiresome, but still shedoesn't want to meet any freaks. She has just said to her motherthat she can't see why a person in her mother's position can't becontent to meet proper people, but always has to be getting herselfinto the newspapers with some new sort of nut. "

"My Gawd, Billy!" cried Maw. "You got a dictaphone on dem people?"

"No, but I know the type so well, I can tell by their looks. Lucindais thinking about their big new palace on Grand Avenue, and sheregards everyone outside her set as a burglar trying to break in. And then there's Bertie Stebbins, who's thinking about a new styleof collar he saw advertised to-day, and how it would look on him, and what impression it would make on his newest girl. "

It was Mary who spoke now: "I know that little toad. I've seen himdancing at the Palace with Dorothy Doodles, or whatever her nameis. "

"Well, " said I, "Mrs. Stebbins runs the newer set--those who huntsensations, and make a splurge in the papers. It costs like smoke, of course--" And suddenly I stopped. "Look out!" I whispered. "Hereshe comes!"

XVIII

I heard Maw catch her breath, and I heard Maw's husband give agrunt. Then I rose. "How are you, Billy?" gurgled a voice--one ofthose voices made especially for social occasions. "Wretched boy, why do you never come to see us?"

"I was coming to-morrow, " I said--for who could prove otherwise?"Mrs. Stebbins, permit me to introduce Mrs. Tszchniczklefritszch. "

"Charmed to meet you, I'm sure, " said Mrs. Stebbins. "I've heard myhusband speak of your husband so often. How well you are looking, Mrs. --"

She stopped; and Maw, knowing the terrors of her name, made haste tosay something agreeable. "Yes, ma'am; dis country agrees vit mefine. Since I come here, I've rode and et, shoost rode and et. "

"And Mr. T-S, " said I. 

"Howdydo, Mr. T-S?"

"Pretty good, ma'am, " said T-S. He had been caught with his mouthfull, and was making desperate efforts to swallow. 

A singular thing is the power of class prestige! Here was Maw, agood woman, according to her lights, who had worked hard all herlife, and had achieved a colossal and astounding success. She hadeverything in the world that money could buy; her hair was done bythe best hair-dresser, her gown had been designed by the bestcostumer, her rings and bracelets selected by the best jeweller; andyet nothing was right, no power on earth could make it right, andMaw knew it, and writhed the consciousness of it. And here was Mrs. Parmelee Stebbins, who had never done a useful thing in all herdays--except you count the picking out of a rich husband; yet Mrs. Stebbins was "right, " and Maw knew it, and in the presence of theother woman she was in an utter panic, literally quivering in everynerve. And here was old T-S, who, left to himself, might have reallymeant what he said, that Mrs. Stebbins could go to hell; but becausehe was married, and loved his wife, he too trembled, and gulped downhis food!

Mrs. Stebbins is one of those American matrons who do not allowmarriage and motherhood to make vulgar physical impressions uponthem. Her pale blue gown might have been worn by her daughter; hercool grey eyes looked out through a face without a wrinkle from asoul without a care. She was a patroness of art and intellect; butnever did she forget her fundamental duty, the enhancing of theprestige of a family name. When she was introduced to ascreen-actress, she was gracious, but did not forget the differencebetween an actress and a lady. When she was introduced to a strangeman who did not wear trousers, she took it quite as an everydaymatter, revealing no trace of vulgar human curiosity. 

There came Bertie, full grown, but not yet out of the pimply stage, and still conscious of the clothes which he had taken such pains toget right. Bertie's sister remained in her seat, refusing naughtilyto be compromised by her mother's vagaries; but Bertie had apurpose, and after I had introduced him round, I saw what hewanted--Mary Magna! Bertie had a vision of himself as a sort ofsporting prince in this movie world. His social position would makeconquests easy; it was a sort of Christmas-tree, all a-glitter withprizes. 

I was standing near, and heard the beginning of their conversation. "Oh, Miss Magna, I'm so pleased to meet you. I've heard so muchabout you from Miss Dulles. "

"Miss Dulles?"

"Yes; Dorothy Dulles. "

"I'm sorry. I don't think I ever heard of her. "

"What? Dorothy Dulles, the screen actress?"

"No, I can't place her. "

"But--but she's a star!"

"Well, but you know, Mr. Stebbins--there are so many stars in theheavens, and not all of them visible to the eye. "

I turned to Bertie's mamma. She had discovered that Carpenter lookedeven more thrilling on a close view; he was not a stage figure, buta really grave and impressive personality, exactly the thing tothrill the ladies of the Higher Arts Club at their monthly luncheon, and to reflect prestige upon his discoverer. So here she was, inviting the party to share her box at the theatre; and here was T-Sexplaining that it couldn't be done, he had got to see his Frenchrevolution pictures took, dey had five tousand men hired to make amob. I noted that Mrs. Stebbins received the "advertising" figureson the production!

The upshot of it was that the great lady consented to forget her boxat the theatre, and run out to the studios to see the mob scenes forthe "The Tale of Two Cities. " T-S hadn't quite finished his dinner, but he waved his hand and said it was nuttin', he vouldn't keep Mrs. Stebbins vaitin'. He beckoned the waiter, and signed his magic nameon the check, with a five-dollar bill on top for a tip. Mrs. Stebbins collected her family and floated to the door, and our partyfollowed. 

I expected another scene with the mob; but I found that the streethad been swept clear of everything but policemen and chauffeurs. Iknew that this must have meant rough work on the part of theauthorities, but I said nothing, and hoped that Carpenter would notthink of it. The Stebbins car drew up by the porte-cochere; andsuddenly I discovered why the wife of the street-car magnate wasknown as a "social leader. " "Billy, " she said, "you come in our car, and bring Mr. Carpenter; I have something to talk to you about. "Just that easily, you see! She wanted something, so she asked forit!

I took Carpenter by the arm and put him in. Bertie drove, thechauffeur sitting in the seat beside him. "Beat you to it!" calledBertie, with his invincible arrogance, and waved his hand to thepicture magnate as we rolled away. 

XIX

As it happened, we made a poor start. Turning the corner intoBroadway, we found ourselves caught in the jam of the theatretraffic, and our car was brought to a halt in front of the "EmpireVarieties. " If you have been on any Broadway between the Atlanticand Pacific oceans, you can imagine the sight; the flaring electricsigns, the pictures of the head line artists, the people waiting tobuy tickets, and the crowds on the sidewalk pushing past. There wasone additional feature, a crowd of "rah-rah boys, " with yellow andpurple flags in their hands, and the glory of battle in their eyes. As our car halted, the cheer-leader gave a signal, and a hundredthroats let out in unison:

 "Rickety zim, rickety zam, Brickety, stickety, slickety slam! Wallybaloo! Billybazoo! We are the boys for a hullabaloo--Western City!"

It sounded all the more deafening, because Bertie, in the frontseat, had joined in. 

"Hello!" said I. "We must have won the ball-game!"

"You _bet_ we did!" said Bertie, in his voice of burstingself-importance. 

"Ball-game?" asked Carpenter. 

"Foot-ball, " said I. "Western City played Union Tech today. Wonderwhat the score was. "

The cheer leader seemed to take the words out of my mouth. Again thehundred voices roared:

 "What was the score? Seventeen to four! Who got it in the neck? Union Tech! Who took the kitty? Western City!"

Then more waving of flags, and yells for our prize captain and ouragile quarter-back: "Rah, rah, rah, Jerry Wilson! Rah, rah, rah, Harriman! Western City, Western City, Western City!W-E-S-T-E-R-N-C-I-T-Y! Western City!"

You have heard college yells, no doubt, and can imagine the tempo ofthese cries, the cumulative rush of the spelled out letters, thebooming roar at the end. The voice of Bertie beat back from thewind-shield with devastating effect upon our ears; and then our carrolled on, and the clamor died away, and I answered the questions ofCarpenter. "They are College boys. They have won a game with anothercollege, and are celebrating the victory. "

"But, " said the other, "how do they manage to shout all togetherthat way?"

"Oh, they've practiced that, of course. "

"You mean--they gather and practice making those noises?"

"Surely. "

"They make them in cold blood?"

I laughed. "Well, the blood of youth is seldom entirely cold. Theyimagine the victory while they rehearse, no doubt. "

When Carpenter spoke again, it was half to himself. "You make yourchildren into mobs! You train them for it!"

"It really isn't that bad, " I replied. "It's all in goodtemper--it's their play. "

"Yes, yes! But what is play but practice for reality? And how shalllove be learned in savage war-dances?"

They tell us that we have a new generation of young people since thewar; a generation which thinks for itself, and has its own way. Iwas an advocate of this idea in the abstract, but I must admit thatI was startled by the concrete case which I now encountered. Bertiesuddenly looked round from his place in the driver's seat. "Say, " hedemanded, in a grating voice, "where was that guy raised?"

"Bertie _dear_!" cried his mother. "Don't be rude!"

"I'm not being rude, " replied the other. "I just want to know wherehe got his nut ideas. "

"Bertie _dear_!" cried the mother, again; and you knew that foreighteen or nineteen years she had been crying "Bertie _dear_!"--ina tone in which rebuke was tempered by fatuous maternal admiration. And all the time, Bertie had gone on doing what he pleased, knowingthat in her secret heart his mother was smiling with admiration ofhis masterfulness, taking it as one more symptom of the greatness ofthe Stebbins line. I could see him in early childhood, stamping onthe floor and commanding his governess to bring him ahandkerchief--and throwing his shoe at her when she delayed!

Presently it was Luanda's turn. Lucinda, you understand, was inrevolt against the social indignity which her mother had inflictedupon her. When Carpenter had entered the car, she had looked at himonce, with a deliberate stare, then lifted her chin, ignoring myeffort to introduce him to her. Since then she had sat silent, cold, and proud. But now she spoke. "Mother, tell me, do we have to meetthose horrid fat old Jews again?"

Mrs. Stebbins wisely decided that this was not a good time toexplore the soul of a possible Eastern potentate. Instead, sheelected to talk for a minute or two about a lawn fete she wasplanning to give next week for the benefit of the Polish relief. "Poland is the World's Bulwark against Bolshevism, " she explained;and then added: "Bertie _dear_, aren't you driving recklessly?"

Bertie turned his head. "Didn't you hear me tell that old sheeny Iwas going to beat him to it?"

"But, Bertie _dear_, this street is crowded!"

"Well, let them look out for themselves!"

But a few seconds later it appeared as if the son and heir of theStebbins family had decided to take his mother's advice. The carsuddenly slowed up--so suddenly as to slide us out of our seats. There was a grinding of brakes, and a bump of something under thewheels; then a wild stream from the sidewalk, and a half-stifled cryfrom the chauffeur. Mrs. Stebbins gasped, "Oh, my God!" and put herhands over her face; and Lucinda exclaimed, in outraged irritation, "Mamma!" Carpenter looked at me, puzzled, and asked, "What is thematter?"

XX

The accident had happened in an ill-chosen neighborhood: one ofthose crowded slum quarters, swarming with Mexicans and Italians andother foreigners. Of course, that was the only neighborhood in whichit could have happened, because it is only there that children runwild in the streets at night. There was one child under the frontwheels, crushed almost in half, so that you could not bear to lookat it, to say nothing of touching it; and there was another, struckby the fender and knocked into the gutter. There was an old hag of awoman standing by, with her hands lifted into the air, shrieking insuch a voice of mingled terror and fury as I had never heard in mylife before. It roused the whole quarter; there were people runningout of twenty houses, I think, before one of us could get out of thecar. 

The first person out was Carpenter. He took one glance at the formunder the car, and saw there was no hope there; then he ran to thechild in the gutter and caught it into his arms. The poor people whorushed to the scene found him sitting on the curb, gazing into thepitiful, quivering little face, and whispering grief-stricken words. There was a street-lamp near, so he could see the face of the child, and the crowd could see him. 

There came a woman, apparently the mother of the dead child. She sawthe form under the car, and gave a horrified scream, and fell into afaint. There came a man, the father, no doubt, and other relatives;there was a clamoring, frantic throng, swarming about the car andabout the victims. I went to Carpenter, and asked, "Is it dead?" Heanswered, "It will live, I think. " Then, seeing that the crowd waslikely to stifle the little one, he rose. "Where does this childlive?" he asked, and some one pointed out the house, and he carriedhis burden into it. I followed him, and it was fortunate that I didso, because of the part I was able to play. 

I saw him lay the child upon a couch, and put his hands upon itsforehead, and close his eyes, apparently in prayer. Then, noting theclamor outside growing louder, I went to the door and looked out, and found the Stebbins family in a frightful predicament. The mobhad dragged Bertie and the chauffeur outside the car, and wereyelling menaces and imprecations into their faces; poor Bertie wasshouting back, that it wasn't his fault, how could _he_ help it? Butthey thought he might have helped coming into their quarter with hisbig rich car; why couldn't he stay in his own part of the city, andkill the children of the rich? A man hit him a blow in the face andknocked him over; his mother shrieked, and leaped out to help him, and half a dozen women flung themselves at her, and as many men atthe chauffeur. There was a pile of bricks lying handy, and no doubtalso knives in the pockets of these foreign men; I believe thelittle party would have been torn to pieces, had it not occurred tome to run into the house and summon Carpenter. 

Why did I do it? I think because I had seen how the crowd gave waybefore him with the child in his arms. Anyhow, I knew that I coulddo nothing alone, and before I could find a policeman it might bemany times too late. I told Carpenter what was happening, and herose, and ran out to the street. 

It was like magic, of course. To these poor foreigners, Catholicsmost of them, he did not suggest a moving picture actor on location;he suggested something serious and miraculous. He called to thecrowd, stretching out his arms, and they gave way before him, and hewalked into them, and when he got to the struggling group he heldhis arms over them, and that was all there was to it. 

Except, of course, that he made them a speech. Seeing that he wassaving Bertie Stebbins' life, it was no more than fair that heshould have his own way, and that a member of the younger generationshould listen in unprotesting silence to a discourse, the politicaland sociological implications of which must have been very offensiveto him. And Bertie listened; I think he would not have made a sound, even if he could have, after the crack in the face he had got. 

"My people, " said Carpenter, "what good would it do you to killthese wretches? The blood-suckers who drain the life of the poor arenot to be killed by blows. There are too many of them, and more ofthem grow in place of those who die. And what is worse, if you killthem, you destroy in yourselves that which makes you better thanthey, which gives you the right to life. You destroy those virtuesof patience and charity, which are the jewels of the poor, and makethem princes in the kingdom of love. Let us guard our crown of pity, and not acquire the vices of our oppressors. Let us grow in wisdom, and find ways to put an end to the world's enslavement, without thedegradation of our own hearts. For so many ages we have beenpatient, let us wait but a little longer, and find the true way! Oh, my people, my beloved poor, not in violence, but in solidarity, inbrotherhood, lies the way! Let us bid the rich go on, to the suredamnation which awaits them. Let us not soil our hands with theirblood!"

He spread out his arms again, majestically. "Stand back! Make wayfor them!"

Not all the crowd understood the words, but enough of them did, andset the example. In dead silence they withdrew from the sides andfront of the car. The body of the dead child had been dragged out ofthe way and laid on the sidewalk, covered by a coat; and soCarpenter said to the Stebbins family: "The road is clear beforeyou. Step in. " Half dazed, the four people obeyed, and againCarpenter raised his voice. "Drinkers of human blood, devourers ofhuman bodies, go your way! Go forward to that doom which historyprepares for parasites!"

The engine began to purr, and the car began to move. There was a lowmutter from the crowd, a moan of fury and baffled desire; but not ahand was lifted, and the car shot away, and disappeared down thestreet, leaving Carpenter standing on the curb, making a Socialistspeech to a mob of greasers and dagoes. 

XXI

When he stopped speaking, it was because a woman pressed her waythrough the crowd, and caught one of his hands. "Master, my baby!"she sobbed. "The little one that was hurt!" So Carpenter said to thecrowd, "The sick child needs me. I must go in. " They started topress after him, and he added, "You must not come into the room. Thechild will need air. " He went inside, and knelt once more by thecouch, and put his hand on the little one's forehead. The mother, afrail, dark Mexican woman, crouched at the foot, not daring to toucheither the man or the child, but staring from one to the other, pressing her hands together in an agony of dread. 

The little one opened his eyes, and gazed up. Evidently he likedwhat he saw, for he kept on gazing, and a smile spread over hisfeatures, a wistful and tender and infinitely sad little smile, of achild who perhaps never had a good meal in his lifetime. "Nice man!"he whispered; and the woman, hearing his voice again, began sobbingwildly, and caught Carpenter's free hand and covered it with hertears. "It is all right, " said he; "all right, all right! He willget well--do not be afraid. " He smiled back at the child, saying:"It is better now; you will not have so much pain. " To me heremarked, "What is there so lovely as a child?"

The people thronging the doorway spread word what was going on, andthere were shouts of excitement, and presently the voice of a woman, clamoring for admission. The throng made way, and she brought abundle in her arms, which being unfolded proved to contain a sickbaby. I never knew what was the matter with it; I don't suppose themother knew, nor did Carpenter seem to care. The woman knelt at hisfeet, praying to him; but he bade her stand up, and took the childfrom her, and looked into its face, and then closed his eyes inprayer. When he handed back the burden, a few minutes later, shegazed at it. Something had happened, or at least she thought it hadhappened, for she gave a cry of joy, and fell at Carpenter's feetagain, and caught the hem of his garment with one hand and began tokiss it. The rumor spread outside, and there were more peopleclamoring. Before long, filtering into the room, came the lame, andthe halt, and the blind. 

I had been reading not long ago of the miracles of Lourdes, so Iknew in a general way what to expect. I know that modern sciencevindicates these things, demonstrating that any powerful stimulusgiven to the unconscious can awaken new vital impulses, and heal notmerely the hysterical and neurotic, but sometimes actual physicalailments. Of course, to these ignorant Mexicans and Italians, therewas no possible excitement so great as that caused by Carpenter'sappearance and behavior. I understood the thing clearly; and yet, somehow, I could not watch it without being startled--thrilled in astrange, uncomfortable way. 

And later on I had company in these unaccustomed emotions; the crowdgave way, and who should come into the room but Mary Magna! She didnot speak to either of us, but slipped to one side and stood insilence--while the crowd watched her furtively out of the corner ofits eyes, thinking her some foreign princess, with her bold, darkbeauty and her costly attire. I went over to her, whispering, "Howdid you get here?" She explained that, when we did not arrive at thestudios, she had called up the Stebbins home and learned about theaccident. "They warned me not to come here, because this man was aterrible Bolshevik; he made a blood-thirsty speech to the mob. Whatdid he say?"

I started to tell; but I was interrupted by a piercing shriek. Asick and emaciated young girl with paralyzed limbs had been carriedinto the room. They had laid her on the couch, from which the childhad been taken away, and Carpenter had put his hands upon her. Atonce the girl had risen up--and here she stood, her hands flung intothe air, literally screaming her triumphant joy. Of course the crowdtook it up--these primitive people are always glad of a chance tomake a big noise, so the whole room was in a clamor, and Carpenterhad hard work to extract himself from the throng which wished totouch his hands and his clothing, and to worship him on their knees. 

He came over to us, and smiled. "Is not this better than acting, Mary?

"Yes, surely--if one can do it. "

Said he: "Everyone could do it, if they knew. "

"Is that really true?" she asked, with passionate earnestness. 

"There is a god in every man, and in every woman. "

"Why don't they know it, then?"

"There is a god, and also a beast. The beast is old, and familiar, and powerful; the god is new, and strange, and afraid. Because ofhis fear, the beast kills him. "

"What is the beast?"

"His name is self; and he has many forms. In men he is greed; inwomen he is vanity, and goes attired in much raiment--the chains, and the bracelets, and the mufflers--"

"Oh, don't!" cried Mary, wildly. 

"Very well, Mary; I won't. " And he didn't. But, looking at Mary, itseemed that she was just as unhappy as if he had. 

He turned to an old man who had hobbled into the room on crutches. "Poor old comrade! Poor old friend!" His voice seemed to break withpity. "They have worked you like an old mule, until your skin iscracked and your joints grown hard; but they have not been so kindto you as to an old mule--they have left you to suffer!"

To a pale young woman who staggered towards him, coughing, he cried:"What can I do for you? They are starving you to death! You needfood--and I have no food to give!" He raised his arms, in suddenwrath. "Bring forth the masters of this city, who starve the poor, while they themselves riot in wantonness!"

But the members of the Chamber of Commerce and of the Bankers'Association of Western City were not within hearing, nor are theirnumbers as a rule to be found in the telephone book. Carpenterlooked about the place, now lined pretty well with cripples andinvalids. Only a couple of hours of spreading rumor had been neededto bring them forth, unholy and dreadful secrets, dragged from thedark corners and back alley-ways of these tenements. He gazed fromone crooked and distorted face to another, and put his hand to hisforehead with a gesture of despair. "No, no!" he said. "It is of nouse!" He lifted his voice, calling once more to the masters of thecity. "You make them faster than I can heal them! You make them bymachinery--and he who would help them must break the machine!"

He turned to me; and I was startled, for it was as if he had beeninside my mind. "I know, it will not be easy! But remember, I brokethe empire of Rome!"

That was his last flare. "I can do no more, " he whispered. "My poweris gone from me; I must rest. " And his voice gave way. "I beg you togo, unhappy poor of the world! I have done all that I can do for youtonight. "

And silently, patiently, as creatures accustomed to the voice ofdoom, the sick and the crippled began to hobble and crawl from theroom. 

XXII

He sat on the edge of the couch, gazing into space, lost in tragicthought; and Mary and I sat watching him, not quite certain whetherwe ought to withdraw with the rest. But he did not seem aware of ourpresence, so we stayed. 

In our world it is not considered permissible for people to remainin company without talking. If the talk lags, we have to casthurriedly about in our minds for something to say--it is called"making conversation. " But Carpenter evidently did not know aboutthis custom, and neither of us instructed him. Once or twice I stolea glance at Mary, marvelling at her. All her life she had been aconversational volcano, in a state of perpetual eruption; but now, apparently she passed judgment on her own remarks, and found themnot worth making. 

In the doorway of the room appeared the little boy who had beenknocked down by the car. He looked at Carpenter, and then cametowards him. When Carpenter saw him, a smile of welcome came uponhis face; he stretched out an arm, and the little fellow nestled init. Other children appeared in the doorway, and soon he had a groupabout him, sitting on his knees and on the couch. They were littlegutter-urchins, but he, seemingly, was interested in knowing theirnames and their relationships, what they learned in school, and whatgames they played. I think he had Bertie's foot-ball crowd in mind, for he said: "Some day they will teach you games of love andfriendship, instead of rivalry and strife. "

Presently the mother of the household appeared. She was distressed, because it did not seem possible that a great man should beinterested in the prattle of children, when he had people like us, evidently rich people, to talk to. "You will bother the master, " shesaid, in Spanish. He seemed to understand, and answered, "Let thechildren stay with me. They teach me that the world might be happy. "

So the prattle went on, and the woman stood in the doorway, withother women behind her, all beaming with delight. They had known alltheir lives there was something especially remarkable about thesechildren; and here was their pride confirmed! When the little oneslaughed, and the stranger laughed with them, you should have seenthe pleasure shining from a doorway full of dusky Mexican faces!

But after a while one of the children began to rub his eyes, and themother exclaimed--it was so late! The children had stayed awakebecause of the excitement, but now they must go to bed. She bundledthem out of the room, and presently came back, bearing a glass ofmilk and a plate with bread and an orange on it. The master might behungry, she said, with a humble little bow. In her halting Englishshe offered to bring something to us, but she did not suppose wewould care for poor people's food. She took it for granted that"poor people's food" was what Carpenter would want; and apparentlyshe was right, for he ate it with relish. Meantime he tried to getthe woman to sit on the couch beside him; but she would not sit inhis presence--or was it in the presence of Mary and me? I had afeeling, as she withdrew, that she might have been glad to chat withhim, if a million-dollar movie queen and a spoiled young club manhad not been there to claim prior rights. 

XXIII

So presently we three were alone once more; and Mary, gazingintently with those big dark eyes that the public knows so well, opened up: "Tell me, Mr. Carpenter! Have you ever been in love?"

I was startled, but if Carpenter was, he gave no sign. "Mary, " hesaid, "I have been in grief. " Then thinking, perhaps, that he hadbeen abrupt, he added: "You, Mary--you have been in love?"

She answered: "No. " I'm not sure if I said anything out loud, but mythought was easy to read, and she turned upon me. "You don't knowwhat love is. But a woman knows, even though she doesn't act it. "

"Well, of course, " I replied; "if you want to go into metaphysics--"

"Metaphysics be damned!" said Mary, and turned again to Carpenter. 

Said he: "A good woman like you--"

"_Me_?" cried Mary. And she laughed, a wild laugh. "Don't hit mewhen you've got me down! I've sold myself for every job I ever got;I sold myself for every jewel you saw on me this afternoon. Younotice I've got them off now!"

"I don't understand, Mary, " he said, gently. "Why does a woman likeyou sell herself?"

"What else has she got? I was a rat in a tenement. I could have beena drudge, but I wasn't made for that. I sold myself for a job in astore, and then for ribbons to be pretty, and then for a place inthe chorus, and then for a speaking part--so on all the way. Now Iportray other women selling themselves. They get fancy prices, andso do I, and that makes me a 'star. ' I hope you'll never see mypictures. "

I sat watching this scene, marvelling more than ever. That tone inMary Magna's voice was a new one to me; perhaps she had not used itsince she played her last "speaking part!" I thought to myself, there was a crisis impending in the screen industry. 

Said Carpenter: "What are you going to do about it, Mary?"

"What can I do? My contract has seven years to run. "

"Couldn't you do something honest? I mean, couldn't you tell anhonest story in your pictures?"

"Me? My God! Tell that to T-S, and watch his face! Why, they huntall the world over for some new kind of clothes for me to take off;they search all history for some war I can cause, some empire I canwreck. Me play an honest woman? The public would call it a joke, andthe screen people would call it indecent. "

Carpenter got up, and began to pace the room. "Mary, " said he, "Ionce lived under the Roman empire--"

"Yes, I know. I was Cleopatra, and again I was Nero's mistress whilehe watched the city burning. "

"Rome was rough, and crude, and poor, Mary. Rome was nothing tothis. This is Satan on my Father's throne, making new worlds forhimself. " He paced the room again, then turned and said: "I don'tunderstand this world. I must know more about it, if I am to saveit!" There was such grief, such selfless pity in his voijce as herepeated this: "I must know more!"

"You know everything!" exclaimed Mary, suddenly. "You are allwisdom!"

But he went on, speaking as if to himself, pondering his problem:"To serve others, yet not to indulge them; for the cause of theirenslavment is that they have accepted service without return. Andhow shall one preach patience to the poor, when the masters makesuch preaching a new means of enslavement?" He looked at me, as ifhe thought that I could answer his question. Then with sudden energyhe exclaimed: "I must meet those who are in rebellion againstenslavement! Tomorrow I want to meet the strikers--all the strikersin your city. "

"You'll have your hands full, " I said--for I was a coward, andwanted to keep him out of it. 

"How shall I find them?" he persisted. 

"I don't know; I suppose their headquarters are at the LaborTemple. "

"I will go there. Meantime, I fear I shall have to be alone. I needto think about the things I have learned. "

"Where are you going to stay?"

"I don't know. "

Said Mary, hesitatingly: "My car is outside--"

He answered: "In ancient days I saw the young patricians drivethrough the streets in their chariots; no, I shall not ride withthem again. "

Said I: "I have an apartment at the club, with plenty of room--"

"No, no, friend. I have seen enough of the masters of this city. From now on, if you want to see me, you will find me among thepoor. "

"If I may meet you in the morning, " I said--"to show you to theLabor Temple--" Yes, I would see him through!

"By all means, " said he. "But you must come early, for I cannotdelay. "

"Where shall I come?"

"Come here. I am sure these people will give me shelter. " He lookedabout him. "I suspect that some of them sleep in this room; but theyhave a little porch outside, and if they will let me stay there Ishall be alone, which is what I want now. " After a moment, he added, "What I wish to do is to pray. Have you ever tried prayer, Mary?"

She answered, simply, "I wouldn't know how. "

"Come to me, and I will teach you, " he said. 

XXIV

I went early next morning, but not early enough. The Mexican womantold me that "the master" had waited, and finally had gone. He hadasked the way to the Labor Temple, and left word that I would findhim there. So I stepped back into my taxi, and told the driver totake the most direct route. 

Meantime I kept watch for my friend, and I did not have to watchvery long. There was a crowd ahead, the street was blocked, and apremonition came to me: "Good Lord, I'm too late--he's got into somenew mess!" I leaned out of the window, and sure enough, there he wasstanding on the tail-end of a truck, haranguing a crowd which packedthe street from one line of houses to the other. "And before he gothalf way to the Labor Temple!" I thought to myself. 

I got out, and paid the driver of the taxi, and pushed into thecrowd. Now and then I caught a few words of what Carpenter wastelling them, and it seemed quite harmless--that they were allbrothers, that they should love one another, and not do one anotherinjustice. What could there have been that made him think itnecessary to deliver this message before breakfast? I looked about, noting that it was the Hebrew quarter of the city, plastered withsigns with queer, spattered-up letters. I thought: "Holy smoke! Ishe going to convert the Jews?"

I pushed my way farther into the crowd, and saw a policeman, andwent up to him. "Officer, what's this all about?" I spoke as onewearing the latest cut of clothes, and he answered accordingly. "Search me! They brought us out on a riot call, but when we gothere, it seems to have turned into a revival meeting. "

I got part of the story from this policeman, and part from a coupleof bystanders. It appeared that some Jewish lady, getting hershopping done early, had complained of getting short weight, and thebutcher had ordered her out of his shop, and she had stopped toexpress her opinion of profiteers, and he had thrown her out, andshe had stood on the sidewalk and shrieked until all the ladies inthis crowded quarter had joined her. Their fury against soaringprices and wages that never kept up with them, had burst all bounds, and they had set out to clean up the butcher-shop with the butcher. So there was Carpenter, on his way to the Labor Temple, with anothermob to quell!

"You know how it is, " said the policeman. "It really does cost thesepoor devils a lot to live, and they say prices are going down, but Ican't see it anywhere but in the papers. "

"Well, " said I, "I guess you were glad enough to have somebody dothis job. "

He grinned. "You bet! I've tackled crowds of women before this, andyou don't like to hit them, but they claw into your face if youdon't. I guess the captain will let this bird spout for a bit, evenif he does block the traffic. "

We listened for a minute. "Bear in mind, my friends, I am come amongyou; and I shall not desert you. I give you my justice, I give youmy freedom. Your cause is my cause, world without end. Amen. "

"Now wouldn't that jar you?" remarked the "copper. " "Holy Christ, ifyou'd hear some of the nuts we have to listen to on street-corners!What do you suppose that guy thinks he can do, dressed up inAbraham's nightshirt?"

Said Carpenter: "The days of the exploiter are numbered. The thronesof the mighty are tottering, and the earth shall belong to them thatlabor. He that toils not, neither shall he eat, and they that growfat upon the blood of the people--they shall grow lean again. "

"Now what do you think o' that?" demanded the guardian of authority. "If that ain't regular Bolsheviki talk, then I'm dopy. I'll bet thecaptain don't stand much more of that. "

Fortunately the captain's endurance was not put to the test. Theorator had reached the climax of his eloquence. "The kingdom ofrighteousness is at hand. The word will be spoken, the way will bemade clear. Meantime, my people, I bid you go your way in peace. Letthere be no more disturbance, to bring upon you the contempt ofthose who do not understand your troubles, nor share the heartbreakof the poor. My people, take my peace with you!" He stretched outhis arms in invocation, and there was a murmur of applause, and thecrowd began slowly to disperse. 

Which seemed to remind my friend the policeman that he had authorityto exercise. He began to poke his stick into the humped backs ofpoor Jewish tailors, and into the ample stomachs of fat Jewishhousewives. "Come on now, get along with you, and let somebody elsehave a bit o' the street. " I pushed my way forward, by virtue of mygood clothes, and got through the press about Carpenter, and tookhim by the arm, saying, "Come on now, let's see if we can't get tothe Labor Temple. "

XXV

There was a crowd following us, of course; and I sought to keepCarpenter busy in conversation, to indicate that the crowd was notwanted. But before we had gone half a block I felt some one touch meon the arm, and heard a voice, saying, "I beg pardon, I'm a reporterfor the 'Evening Blare'. "

Now, of course, I had known this must come; I had realized that Iwould be getting myself in for it, if I went to join Carpenter thatmorning. I had planned to warn him, to explain to him what ournewspapers are; but how could I have foreseen that he was going toget into a riot before breakfast, and bring out the police reservesand the police reporters?

"Excuse us, " I said, coldly. "We have something urgent--"

"I just want to get something of this gentleman's speech--"

"We are on our way to the Labor Temple. If you will come there in acouple of hours, we will give you an interview. "

"But I must have a story for our first edition, that goes to pressbefore that. "

I had Carpenter by the arm, and kept him firmly walking. I could notget rid of the reporter, but I was resolved to get my warningspoken, regardless of anything. Said I: "This is a matter extremelyurgent for you to understand, Mr. Carpenter. This young manrepresents a newspaper, and anything you say to him will be read inthe course of a few hours by perhaps a hundred thousand people. Ifit is found especially senational, the Continental Press may put iton its wires, and it will go to several hundred papers all over thecountry--"

"Twelve hundred and thirty-seven papers, " corrected the young man. 

"So you see, it is necessary that you should be careful what yousay--far more so than if you were speaking to a handful of Mexicanlaborers or Jewish housewives. "

Said Carpenter: "I don't understand what you mean. When I speak, Ispeak the truth. "

"Yes, of course, " I replied--and meantime I was racking my poor witsfiguring out how to present this strange acquaintance of mine mosttactfully to the world. I knew the reporter would not tarry long; hewould grab a few sentences, and rush away to telephone them in. 

"I'll tell you what I'm free to tell, " I began. "This gentleman is ahealer, a man of very remarkable gifts. Mental healing, youunderstand. "

"I get you, " said the reporter. "Some religion?"

"Mr. Carpenter teaches a new religion. "

"I see. A sort of prophet! And where does he come from?"

I tried to evade. "He has just arrived--"

But the blood-hound of the press was not going to be evaded. "Wheredo you come from, sir?" he demanded, of Carpenter. 

To which Carpenter answered, promptly: "From God. "

"From God? Er--oh, I see. From God! Most interesting! How long ago, may I ask?"

"Yesterday. "

"Oh! That is indeed extraordinary! And this mob that you've justbeen addressing--did you use some kind of mind cure on them?"

I could see the story taking shape; the headlines flamed before mymind's eye--streamer heads, all the way across the sheet, after thefashion of our evening papers:

PROPHET FRESH FROM GOD QUELLS MOB

XXVI

I came to a sudden decision in this crisis. The sensible thing to dowas to meet the issue boldly, and take the job of launchingCarpenter under proper auspices. He really was a wonderful man, anddeserved to be treated decently. 

I addressed the reporter again. "Listen. This gentleman is a man ofremarkable gifts, and does not take money for them; so, if you aregoing to tell about him at all, do it in a dignified way. "

"Of course! I had no other idea--"

"Your city editor might have another idea, " I remarked, drily. "Permit me to introduce myself. " I gave him my name, and saw himstart. 

"You mean _the_ Mr. --" Then, giving me a swift glance, he decided itwas not necessary to complete the question. 

Said I: "Here is my card, " and handed it to him. 

He glanced at it, and said, "I'll be very glad to explain matters tothe desk, and see that the story is handled exactly as you wish. "

"Thank you, " I replied. "Now, yesterday I was caught in that mob atthe picture theatre, and knocked nearly insensible. This gentlemanfound me, and healed me almost instantly. Naturally, I am grateful, and as I find that he is a teacher, who aids the poor, and will nottake money from anyone, I want to thank him publicly, and help tomake him known. "

"Of course, of course!" said the reporter; and before my mind's eyeflashed a new set of headlines:

WEALTHY CLUBMAN MIRACULOUSLY HEALED

Or perhaps it would be a double head:

CLUBMAN, SLUGGED BY MOB, HEALED BY PROPHET

WEALTHY SCION, VICTIM OF PICTURE RIOT, RESTORED BY MAN FRESH FROMGOD

I thought that was sensation enough, and that the interview wouldend; but alas for my hopes! Said that blood-hound of the press:"Will you give public healings to the people, Mr. Carpenter?"

To which Carpenter answered: "I am not interested in givinghealings. "

"What? Why not?"

"Worldly and corrupt people ask me to do miracles, to prove my powerto them. But the proof I bring to the world is a new vision and anew hope. "

"Oh, I see! Your religion! May I ask about it?"

"You are the first; the world will follow you. Say to the peoplethat I have come to understand the nature and causes of their mobs. "

"Mobs?" said the puzzled young blood-hound. 

"I wish to understand a land which is governed by mobs; I wish toknow, who lives upon the madness of others. "

"You have been studying a mob this morning?" inquired the reporter. 

"I ask, why do the police of Mobland put down the mobs of the poor, and not the mobs of the rich? I ask, who pays the police, and whopays the mobs. "

"I see! You are some kind of radical!" And with sickness of soul Isaw another headline before my mind's eye:

WEALTHY CLUBMAN AIDS BOLSHEVIK PROPHET

I hastened to break in: "Mr. Carpenter is not a radical; he is alover of man. " But then I realized, that did not sound just right. How the devil was I to describe this man? How came it that all thephrases of brotherhood and love had come to be tainted with"radicalism"? I tried again: "He is a friend of peace. "

"Oh, really!" observed the reporter. "A pacifist, hey?" And Ithought: "Damn the hound!" I knew, of course, that he had the restof the formula in his head: "Pro-German!" Out loud I said: "Heteaches brotherhood. "

But the hound was not interested in my generalities and evasions. "Where have you seen mobs of the rich, Mr. Carpenter?"

"I have seen them whirling through the streets in automobiles, killing the children of the poor. "

"You have seen that?"

"I saw it last night. "

Now, I had inspected our "Times" and our "Examiner" that morning, and noted that both, in their accounts of the accident, had givenonly the name of the chauffeur, and suppressed that of the owner. Iunderstood what an amount of social and financial pressure that feathad taken; and here was Carpenter about to spoil it! I laid my handon his arm, saying: "My friend, you were a guest in that car. Youare not at liberty to talk about it. "

I expected to be argued with; but Carpenter apparently conceded mypoint, for he fell silent. It was the young reporter who spoke. "Youwere in an auto accident, I judge? We had only one report of adeath, and that was caused by Mrs. Stebbins' car. Were you in that?"Then, as neither Carpenter nor I replied, he laughed. "It doesn'tmatter, because I couldn't use the story. Mr. Stebbins is one of our'sacred cows. ' Good-day, and thank you. "

He started away; and suddenly all my terror of newspaper publicityoverwhelmed me. I simply could not face the public as guardian of aBolshevik! I shouted: "Young man!" And the reporter turned, respectfully, to listen. "I tell you, Mr. Carpenter is _not_ aradical! Get that clear!" And to the young man's skepticalhalf-smile I exclaimed: "He's a Christian!" At which the reporterlaughed out loud. 

XXVII

We got to the Labor Temple, and found the place in a buzz ofexcitement, over what had occurred in front of Prince's last night. I had suspected rough work on the part of the police, and here wasthe living evidence--men with bandages over cracked heads, menpulling open their shirts or pulling up their sleeves to show blackand blue bruises. In the headquarters of the Restaurant Workers wefound a crowd, jabbering in a dozen languages about their troubles;we learned that there were eight in jail, and several in thehospital, one not expected to live. All that had been going on, while we sat at table gluttonizing--and while tears were runningdown Carpenter's cheeks!

It seemed to me that every third man in the crowd had one of themorning's newspapers in his hand--the newspapers which told how afurious mob of armed ruffians had sought to break its way intoPrince's, and had with difficulty been driven off by the gallantprotectors of the law. A man would read some passage which struckhim as especially false; he would tell what he had seen or done, andhe would crumple the paper in his hand and cry. "The liars! Thedirty liars!"--adding adjectives not suitable for print. 

I realized more than ever that I had made a mistake in lettingCarpenter get into this place. It was no resort for anybody whowanted to be patriotic, or happy about the world. All sorts ofwonderful promises had been made to labor, to persuade it to win thewar; and now labor came with the blank check, duly filled outaccording to its fancy--and was in process of being kickeddownstairs. Wages were being "liquidated, " as the phrase had it; andthere was an endless succession of futile strikes, all pitifulfailures. You must understand that Western City is the home of the"open shop;" the poor devils who went on strike were locked out ofthe factories, and slugged off the streets; their organizations werebetrayed by spies, and their policies dedeviled by provocateurs. Andall the mass of misery resulting seemed to have crowded into onebuilding this bright November morning; pitiful figures, men andwomen and even a few children--for some had been turned out of theirhomes, and had no place to go; ragged, haggard, and underfed;weeping, some of them, with pain, or lifting their clenched hands ina passion of impotent fury. My friend T-S, the king of the movies, with all his resources, could not have made a more complete pictureof human misery--nor one more fitted to work on the sensitive soulof a prophet, and persuade him that capitalist America was worsethan imperial Rome. 

The arrival of Carpenter attracted no particular attention. Thetroubles of these people were too recent for them to be aware ofanything else. All they wanted was some one to tell their troublesto, and they quickly found that this stranger was available for thepurpose. He asked many questions, and before long had a crowd abouthim--as if he were some sort of government commissioner, conductingan investigation. It was an all day job, apparently; I hung round, trying to keep myself inconspicuous. 

Towards noon came a boy with newspapers, and I bought the earlyedition of the "Evening Blare. " Yes, there it was--all the wayacross the front page; not even a big fire at the harbor and anearthquake in Japan had been able to displace it. As I had foreseen, the reporter had played up the most sensational aspects of thematter: Carpenter announced himself as a prophet only twenty-fourhours out of God's presence, and proved it by healing the lame andthe halt and the blind--and also by hypnotising everyone he spoketo, from a wealthy young clubman to a mob of Jewish housewives. Incidentally he denounced America as "Mobland, " and called it acountry governed by madmen. 

I took the paper to him, thinking to teach him a little worldlyprudence. Said I: "You remember, I tried to keep out that stuffabout mobs--"

He took the sheet from my hands and looked at the headlines. I sawhis nostrils dilate, and his eyes flash. "Mobs? This paper is a mob!It is the worst of your mobs!" And it fell to the floor, and he puthis foot on the flaring print. 

Said he: "You talk about mobs--listen to this. " Then, to one of thegroup about him: "Tell how they mobbed you!" The man thus addressed, a little Russian tailor named Korwsky, narrated in his haltingEnglish that he was the secretary of the tailors' union, and theyhad a strike, and a few days ago their offices had been raided atnight, the door "jimmed" open and the desk rifled of all the papersand records. Evidently it had been done by the bosses or theiragents, for nothing had been taken but papers which would be of useagainst the strike. "Dey got our members' list, " said Korwsky. "Deysend people to frighten 'em back to verk! Dey call loans, dey gitgirls fired from stores if dey got jobs--dey hound 'em every way!"

The speaker went on to declare that no such job could have beenpulled off without the police knowing; yet they made no move toarrest the criminals. His voice trembled with indignation; andCarpenter turned to me. 

"You have mobs that come at night, with dark lanterns and burglars'tools!"

I had noticed among the men talking to Carpenter one who bore astriking resemblance to him. He was tall and not too well nourished;but instead of the prophet's robes of white and amethyst, he worethe clothes of a working-man, a little too short in the sleeves; andwhere Carpenter had a soft and silky brown beard, this man had askinny Adam's apple that worked up and down. He was something of anagitator, I judged, and he appeared to have a religious streak. "Iam a Christian, " I heard him say; "but one of the kind that speakout against injustice. And I can show you Bible texts for it, " heinsisted. "I can prove it by the word of God. "

This man's name was James, and I learned that he was one of thestriking carpenters. The prophet turned to him, and said: "Tell himyour story. " So the other took from his pocket a greasy note-book, and produced a newspaper clipping, quoting an injunction which JudgeWollcott had issued against his union. "Read that, " said he; but Ianswered that I knew about it. I remember hearing my uncle laughingover the matter at the dinner-table, saying that "Bobbie" Wollcotthad forbidden the strikers to do everything but sit on air and walkon water. And now I got another view of "Bobbie, " this time from aprophet fresh from God. Said the prophet: "Your judges are mobs!"

XXVIII

Soon after the noon-hour, there pushed his way into the crowd ayoung man, whom I recognized as one of the secretaries of T-S. Hewas looking for me, and told me in a whisper that his employer wasdownstairs in his car, and wanted to see Mr. Carpenter and myselfabout something important. He did not want to come up, because itwas too conspicuous. Would we come down and take a little drive? Ianswered that I should be willing, but I knew Carpenter wouldnot--he had been in an automobile accident the night before, and hadrefused to ride again. 

Then, said the secretary, was there some room where we could meet? Iwent to one of the officials, and asked for a vacant room where Icould talk about a private matter with a friend. I managed toseparate Carpenter from his crowd and took him to the room, andpresently Everett, the secretary, came with T-S. 

The great man shook hands cordially with both of us; then, lookinground to make sure that no one heard us, he began: "Mr. Carpenter, Itold you I vould give a tousand dollars to dese strikers. "

The other's face, which had looked so grey and haggard, was suddenlyillumined as if by his magical halo. "I had forgotten it! There areso many hungry in there; I have been watching them, wondering whenthey would be fed. "

"All right, " said T-S. "Here you are. " And reaching into his pocket, he produced a wad of new shiny hundred dollar notes, foldedtogether. "Count 'em. "

Carpenter took the money in his hand. "So this is it!" he said. Helooked at it, as if he were inspecting some strange creature fromthe wilds of Patagonia. 

"It's de real stuff, " said T-S, with a grin. 

"The stuff for which men sell their souls, and women their virtue!For which you starve and beat and torture one another--"

"Ain't it pretty?" said the magnate, not a bit embarrassed. 

The other began reading the writing on the notes--as you mayremember having done in some far-off time of childhood. "Whosepicture is this?" he asked. 

"I dunno, " said the magnate. "De Secretary of de Treasury, Ireckon. "

"But, " said the other, "why not your picture, Mr. T-S?"

"Mine?"

"Of course. "

"My picture on de money?"

"Why not? You are the one who makes it, and enables everyone else tomake it. "

It was one of those brand new ideas that come only to geniuses andchildren. I could see that T-S had never thought of it before; also, that he found it interesting to think of. Carpenter went on: "Ifyour picture was on it, then every one would know what it meant. People would say: 'Render unto T-S the things that are T-S's. ' Whenyou were paying off your mobs, you would pay them with your ownmoney, and whenever they spent it, the people would bow to Caesar--Imean to T-S. "

He said it without the trace of a smile; and T-S had no idea therewas a smile anywhere in the neighborhood. In a business-like tone hesaid: "I'll tink about it. " Then he went on: "You give it to destrikers--"

But Carpenter interrupted: "It was you who were going to give it. Icannot give nor take money. "

"You mean you von't take it to dem?"

"I couldn't possibly do it, Mr. T-S. "

"But, man--"

"Your promise was that _you_ would come and give it. Now do so. "

"But, Mr. Carpenter, if I vas to do such a ting, it vould cost me amillion dollars. I vould git into a row vit de Merchants' andManufacturers' Association, dey vould boycott my business, dey vouldgive me a black eye all over de country. You dunno vot you'reaskin', Mr. Carpenter. "

"I understand then--you are in business alliance with men who arestarving these people into submission, and you are afraid to helpthem? Afraid to feed the poor!" The far-off, wondering look cameagain to his face. "The world is organized!" he said, to himself. "There is a mob of masters! What can I do to save the people?"

T-S was unchanged in his cheerful good-nature. "You give dem atousand dollars and you help a lot. Nobody can do it all. "

But Carpenter was not satisfied; he shook his head, sadly. "Pleasetake this, " he said, and pressed the roll of bills back into thehands of the astounded magnate!

XXIX

However, T-S had come there to get something that day, and I thoughtI knew what it was. He swallowed his consternation, and all the restof his emotions. "Now, now, Mr. Carpenter! Ve ain't a-goin' toquarrel about a ting like dat. Dem fellers is hungry, and de moneyvill give dem vun good feed. Ve git somebody to bring it to dem, andwe be friends shoost de same. Billy, maybe you could give it, hey?"

I drew back with a laugh. "You don't get me into your quarrels!"

"Vell, " said T-S--and suddenly he had an inspiration. "I know. I gitMary Magna to give it! She's a voman!"

Carpenter turned with sudden wonder. "Then women are permitted tohave hearts?"

"Shoost so, Mr. Carpenter! Ha, ha, ha! Ve business fellers--my Gawd, if you knew vot business is, you'd vunder we got hearts enough tokeep our blood movin'. "

"Business, " said Carpenter, still pondering. "Then it's business--"

"Yes, business--" put in T-S. "Dat's it!" And he lowered his voice, and looked round once more. "It's time we vas talkin' business now!Mr. Carpenter, I be frank vit you, I put all my cards on de table. Iseen de papers shoost now, vot vunderful tings you do--healin' desick and quellin' de mobs and all dat--and I tink I gotta raise myoffer, Mr. Carpenter. If you sign a contract I got here in mypocket, I pay you a tousand dollars a veek. Vot you say, my friend?"

Carpenter did not say anything, and so the magnate began toexpatiate upon the artistic triumphs he would achieve. "I make sucha picture fer you as de vorld never seen before. You can do shoostvot you vant in dat story--all de tings you like to do, and nuttin'you didn't like. I never said dat to no man before, but I know younow, Mr. Carpenter, and all I ask you is to heal de sick and quellde mobs, shoost like today. I pledge you my vord--I put it in decontract if you say so--I make nuttin' but Bible pictures. "

"That is very kind of you, Mr. T-S, and I thank you for thecompliment; but I fear you will have to get some one else to play mypart. "

Said T-S: "I vant you to tink, Mr. Carpenter, vot it vould mean ifyou had a tousand dollars every week. You could feed all de babiesof de strikers. I vouldn't care vot you did--you could feed my ownstrikers, ven I git some at Eternal City. A tousand dollars a veekis an awful pile o' money to have!"

"I know that, my friend. "

"And vot's more, I pay you five tousand cash on de signin' of decontract. You can go right in now vit dese strikers--maybe you couldbeat Prince's vit all dat money!" Then, as Carpenter still shook hishead: "I give you vun more raise, my friend--but dat's de last, yougotta believe me. I pay you fifteen hunded a veek. I aint ever paidso much money to a green actor in my life before, and I don't tinkanybody else in de business ever did. "

But still Carpenter shook his head!

"Vould you mind tellin' me vy, Mr. Carpenter?"

"Not at all. You tell me that I may quell mobs for you. But thereare mobs in your business that I could not quell. "

"Vot mobs?"

"Among others, yourself. "

"Me?"

"Yes--you are a mob; a mob of money! You storm the souls of men, andof women too. It will take a stronger force than I to quell you. "

"I don't git you, " said T-S, helplessly; but then, thinking it overa bit, he went on: "I guess I'm a vulgar feller, Mr. Carpenter, andmaybe all my pictures ain't vot you call high-brow. But if I had aman like you to vork vit, I could make vot you call real educationalpictures. You're vot dey call a prophet, you got a message fer devorld; vell, vy don't you let me spread it fer you? If you use mymachinery, you can talk to a billion people. Dat's no joke--if deyis dat many alive, I bring 'em to you; I bring de Japs and de Chinksand de niggers--de vooly-headed savages vot vould eat yourmissionaries if you sent 'em. I offer you de whole vorld, Mr. Carpenter; and you vould be de boss!"

Carpenter became suddenly grave. "My friend, " said he, "a long timeago there was a prophet, and he was offered the world. The story istold us--'Again, the devil taketh him up into an exceeding highmountain, and sheweth him all the kingdoms of the world, and theglory of them; and saith unto him, All these things will I givethee, if thou wilt fall down and worship me. ' You recall that story, Mr. T-S?"

"No, " said T-S, "I ain't vun o' dese litry fellers. " But he realizedthat the story was not complimentary to him, and he showed hischagrin. "I tell you vun ting, Mr. Carpenter, if you vas to know mebetter, you vouldn't call me a devil. "

And suddenly the other put his hand on the great man's shoulder. "Ibelieve that, my friend; I hate the sin but love the sinner--And so, suppose you come to lunch with me?"

"Lunch?" said T-S, taken aback. 

"I went to dinner with you last night. Now you come to lunch withme. "

"Vere at, Mr. Carpenter?"

Said Carpenter: "When I went with you, I did not ask where. "

Carpenter signed to me and to Everett, the secretary, and the fourof us went out of the room. I was as much mystified as the picturemagnate, but I held my peace, and Carpenter led us to the elevator, and down to the street. "No, " said he, to T-S, "there is no need toget into your car. The place is just around the corner. " And he puthis arm in that of the magnate, and led him down thestreet--somewhat to the embarrassment of his victim, for there was acrowd following us. People had read the afternoon papers by now, andit was no longer possible to walk along unheeded, with a prophetonly twenty-four hours from God, who healed the sick and quelledmobs before breakfast. But T-S set his teeth and bore it--hopingthis might be the way to land his contract. 

XXX

We turned the corner, and soon I saw what was before us, and almostcried out with glee. It was really too good to be true! Carpenter, in the course of his talks with strikers, had learned where theirsoup-kitchen was located, the relief-headquarters where theirfamilies were being fed; and he now had the sublime audacity to takethe picture magnate to lunch among them!

The place was an empty warehouse, fitted with long tables, andbenches made of planks that were old and full of splinters. Here inrows of twenty or thirty were seated men and women and children, mixed together; before each one a bowl of not very thick soup, and ahunk of bread, and a tin cup full of hot brown liquid, politelytaken for coffee. It was a meal which would have been spurned by anyof the "studio bums" of T-S's mob-scenes; but now T-S was going tobe a good sport, and sit on a splintery plank and eat it!

Nor was that all. As we pushed our way into the place, Carpenterturned to the magnate, and without a trace of embarrassment, said:"You understand, Mr. T-S, I have no money. But we must pay--"

"Oh, sure!" said T-S, quickly. "I'll pay!"

"Thank you, " said the other; and he turned to an official of theunion with whom he had got acquainted in the course of the morning. He introduced us all, not forgetting the secretary, and then said:"Mr. T-S is the moving picture producer, and wants to have lunchwith you, if you will consent. "

"Oh, sure!" said the official, cordially. 

"He will pay for it, " added Carpenter. "He has brought along athousand dollars for that purpose. "

T-S started as if some one had struck him; and the official startedtoo. "WHAT?"

"He will pay a thousand dollars, " declared Carpenter. "It is a fact, and you may tell the people, if you wish. "

"My Gawd, no!" cried T-S wildly. 

But the official did not heed him. He faced the crowd and stretchedout his arms. "Boys! Boys! This is Mr. T-S, the picture producer, and he's come to lunch with us, and he's going to pay a thousanddollars for it!"

There was a moment of amazed silence, then a roar from the company. Men leaped to their feet and yelled. And there stood poor T-S-notenjoying the ovation!

"Give it to them, " whispered Carpenter; and the magnate, thus heldup, took out the roll of bills, and turned it over to the tremblingofficial, who leaped onto a chair and waved the miracle before thecrowd. "A thousand dollars! A thousand dollars!" He counted it overbefore their eyes and called, louder than ever, "A thousanddollars!"

Carpenter, followed by T-S and the secretary and myself, went downthe line of tables, shaking hands with many on the way, and beingpatted on the back by others. Also T-S shook hands, and was patted. Seats were found for us, and food was brought--double portions ofit, as if to make the plight of the poor magnate even more absurd! Iwatched him out of the corner of my eye; he enjoyed that costly mealjust about as much as Carpenter had enjoyed the one at Prince's lastnight!

However, he was game, and spilled no tears into his soup; andCarpenter ate with honest appetite, having had no breakfast. Thestrikers about us ate as if they had missed both breakfast andsupper; they laughed and chatted and made jokes with us--you wouldhave thought they were celebrating the winning of the strike and theend of all their troubles. In the midst of the meal I noted twowell-dressed young men by the door, asking questions; I chuckled tomyself, seeing more head-lines--double ones, and extra size:

PROPHET OF GOD VAMPS MOVIE KING MAGNATE OF SCREEN PAYS THOUSAND FORLUNCH

But I knew that T-S had never yet paid a thousand dollars withoutgetting something for it, and I was not surprised when, after he hadgulped down his meal, he turned to his host and, disregarding thecompany and the excitement, demanded, "Now, Mr. Carpenter, tell me, do I git de contract?"

Carpenter had had his jest, and was through with it. He answered, gravely: "You must understand me, Mr. T-S. You don't want a contractwith me. "

"I don't?"

"If I were to sign it, it would not be a week before you would besorry, and would be asking me to release you. "

"Vy is dat, Mr. Carpenter?"

"Because I am going to do things which will make me quite useless toyou in a business way. "

"Dat can't be true, Mr. Carpenter!"

"It is true, and you will realize it soon. I assure you, it won't bea day before you will be ashamed of having known me. "

T-S was gazing at the speaker, not certain whether this wassomething very terrible, or only a polite evasion. "Mr. Carpenter, "he answered, "if all de vorld vas to give you up, I vouldn't!"

Said Carpenter: "I tell you, before the cock crows again, you willdeny three times that you know me. " And then, without awaitingresponse from the amazed T-S, he turned to speak to the man on theother side of him. 

The magnate of the pictures sat silent, evidently frightened. Atlast he turned to me and asked, "Vot you tink he meant by dat, Billy?"

I answered: "I think he meant that you are to play the part ofPeter. "

"Peter? Peter Pan?"

"No; St. Peter, who denied his master. "

"Veil, " said T-S, patiently, "you know, I ain't vun o' dese litryfellers. "

"I'll tell it to you some time, " I continued. "It's kind of funny. If he's right, you are going to be the first pope, and sit at thegolden gate, holding the keys of heaven. "

"My Gawd!" said T-S. 

"And you've made a record in the movies. " I added. "You've playedSatan and St. Peter, both on the same day! That is 'doubling' with avengeance!"

XXXI

When I got back to the Labor Temple, I learned that there was to bea mass-meeting of the strikers this Saturday evening. It had beenplanned some days ago, and now was to be turned into a protestagainst police violence and "government by injunction. " There was acheap afternoon paper which professed sympathy with the workers, andthis published a manifesto, signed by a number of labor leaders, summoning their followers to make clear that they would no longersubmit to "Cossack rule. "

It appeared now that these leaders were considering invitingCarpenter to become one of the speakers at their meeting. Two ofthem came up to me. I had heard this stranger speak, and did I thinkhe could hold an audience? I gave assurance; he was a man ofdignity, and would do them credit. They were afraid the newspaperswould represent him as a freak, but of course their meeting wouldhardly fare very well in the papers anyhow. One of them asked, cautiously, how much of an extremist was he? Labor leaders werehaving a hard time these days to hold down the "reds, " and theemployers were not giving them any help. Did I think Carpenter wouldsupport the "reds"? I answered that I didn't know the labor movementwell enough to judge, but one thing they could be sure of, he was aman of peace, and would not preach any sort of violence. 

The matter was settled a little later, when Mary Magna drove up tothe Labor Temple in her big limousine. Mary, for the first time inthe memory of anyone who knew her, was without her war-paint;dressed like a Quakeress--a most uncanny phenomenon! She had not asingle jewel on; and before long I learned why--she had taken allshe owned to a jeweler that morning, and sold them for somethingover six thousand dollars. She brought the money to the fund for thebabies of the strikers; nor did she ask anyone else to hand it infor her. It was Mary's fashion to look the world in the eye and saywhat she was doing. 

T-S was still hanging about, and at first he tried to check thisinsane extravagance, but then he thought it over and grinned, saying, "I git my tousand dollars back in advertising!" When Ipointed out to him what would be the interpretation placed bynewspaper gossip on Mary's intervention in the affairs of Carpenter, he grinned still more widely. "Ain't he got a right to be in lovevit Mary? All de vorld's in love vit Mary!" And of course, there wasa newspaper reporter standing by his side, so that this remark wentout to the world as semi-official comment!

You understand that by this time the second edition of the paperswas on the streets, and it was known that the new prophet was at theLabor Temple. Curiosity seekers came filtering in, among them half adozen more reporters, and as many camera men. After that, poorCarpenter could get no peace at all. Would he please say if he wasgoing to do any more healing? Would he turn a little more to thelight--just one second, thank you. Would he mind making a group withMiss Magna and Mr. T-S and the "wealthy young scion"? Would heconsent to step outside for some moving pictures, before the lightgot too dim? It was a new kind of mob--a ravening one, making alldignity and thought impossible. In the end I had to mount guard andfight the publicity-hounds away. Was it likely this man would go outand pose for cameras, when he had just refused fifteen hundreddollars a week from Mr. T-S to do that very thing? And then moreexcitement! Had he really refused such an offer? The king of themovies admitted that he had!

We live in an age of communication; we can send a bit of news halfway round the world in a few seconds, we can make it known to awhole city in a few hours. And so it was with this "prophet freshfrom God"; in spite of himself, he was seized by the scruff of theneck and flung up to the pinnacle of fame! He had all the marvels ofa lifetime crowded into one day--enough to fill a whole newspaperwith headlines!

And the end was not yet. Suddenly there was a commotion in thecrowd, and a man pushed his way through--Korwsky, the secretary ofthe tailor's union, who, learning of Carpenter's miracles, hadrushed all the way home, and got a friend with a delivery wagon, andbrought his half-grown son post-haste. He bore him now in his arms, and poured out to Carpenter the pitiful tale of his paralyzed limbs. Such a gentle, good child he was; no one ever heard a complaint; buthe had not been able to stand up for five years. 

So, of course, Carpenter put his hands upon the child, and closedhis eyes in prayer; and suddenly he put him down to the ground andcried: "Walk!" The lad stared at him, for one wild moment, whilepeople caught their breath; then, with a little choking cry, he tooka step. There came a shout from the spectators, and then--Bang!--apuff as if a gun had gone off, and a flash of light, and clouds ofwhite smoke rolling to the ceiling. 

Women screamed, and one or two threatened to faint; but it wasnothing more dangerous than the cameraman of the Independent PressService, who had hired a step-ladder, and got it set up in a cornerof the room, ready for any climax! A fine piece of stage management, said his jealous rivals; others in the crowd were sure it was a putup job between Carpenter and Korwsky. But the labor leaders knew thelittle tailor, and they believed. After that there was no doubtabout Carpenter's being a speaker at the mass-meeting!

XXXII

It came time when the rest of us were ready for dinner, butCarpenter said that he wanted to pray. Apparently, whenever he wastired, and had work to do he prayed. He told me that he would findhis own way to Grant Hall, the place of the mass-meeting; butsomehow, I didn't like the idea of his walking through the streetsalone. I said I would call for him at seven-thirty and made himpromise not to leave the Labor Temple until that hour. 

I cast about in my mind for a body-guard, and bethought me of oldJoe. His name is Joseph Camper, and he played centre-rush with myelder brother in the days before they opened up the game, and whenbeef was what counted. Old Joe has shoulders like the biggest hamsin a butcher shop, and you can trust him like a Newfoundland dog. Iknew that if I asked him not to let anybody hurt my friend, hewouldn't--and this regardless of the circumstance of my friend's notwearing pants. Old Joe knows nothing about religion or sociology--only wrestling and motor-cars, and the price of wholesalestationery. 

So I phoned him to meet me, and we had dinner, and at seven-thirtysharp our taxi crew drew up at the Labor Temple. Half a minutelater, who should come walking down the street but Everett, T-S'ssecretary! "I thought I'd take the liberty, " he said, apologetically. "I thought Mr. Carpenter might say something worthwhile, and you'd be glad to have a transcript of his speech. "

"Why, that's very kind of you, " I answered, "I didn't know you wereinterested in him. "

"Well, I didn't know it myself, but I seem to be; and besides, hetold me to follow him. "

I went upstairs, and found the stranger waiting in the room where Ihad left him. I put myself on one side of him, and theex-centre-rush on the other, with Everett respectfully bringing upthe rear, and so we walked to Grant Hall. Many people stared at us, and a few followed, but no one said anything--and thank God, therewas nothing resembling a mob! I took my prophet to the stageentrance of the hall, and got him into the wings; and there was apathetically earnest lady waiting to give him a tract on the horrorsof vivisection, and an old gentleman with a white beard and palsiedhands, inviting him to a spiritualistic seance. Funniest of all, there was Aunt Caroline's prophet, the author of the "EternalBible, " with his white robes and his permanent wave, and his littletribute of carrots and onions wrapped in a newspaper. I decided thatthese were Carpenter's own kind of troubles, and I left him toattend to them, and strolled out to have a look at the audience. 

The hall was packed, both the floor and the galleries; there musthave been three thousand people. I noted a big squad of police, andwondered what was coming; for in these days you can never tellwhether any public meeting is to be allowed to start, and still lessif it is to be allowed to finish. However, the crowd was orderly, the only disturber being some kind of a Socialist trying to sellliterature. 

I saw Mary Magna come in, with Laura Lee, another picture actress, and Mrs. T-S. They found seats; and I looked for the magnate, andsaw him talking to some one near the door. I strolled back to speakto him, and recognized the other man as Westerly, secretary of theMerchants' and Manufacturers' Association. I knew what he was therefor--to size up this new disturber Of the city's peace, and perhapsto give the police their orders. 

It was not my wish to overhear the conversation, but it worked outthat way, partly because it is hard not to overhear T-S, and partlybecause I stopped in surprise at the first words: "Good Gawd, Mr. Vesterly, vy should I vant to give money to strikers? Dat's nuttin'but fool newspaper talk. I vent to see de man, because Mary Magnatold me he vas a vunderful type, and I said I'd pay him a tousanddollars on de contract. You know vot de newspapers do vit suchtings!"

"Then the man isn't a friend of yours?" said the other. 

"My Gawd, do I make friends vit every feller vot I hire because helooks like a character part?"

At this point there came up Rankin, one of T-S's directors. "Hello!"said he. "I thought I'd come to hear your friend the prophet. "

"Friend?" said T-S. "Who told you he's a friend o' mine?"

"Why, the papers said--"

"Vell, de papers 're nutty!"

And then came one of the strikers who had been in thesoup-kitchen--a fresh young fellow, proud to know a great man. "Howdy'do, Mr. T-S? I hear our friend, Mr. Carpenter, is going--"

"Cut out dis friend stuff!" cried T-S, irritably. "He may beyours--he ain't mine!"

I strolled up. "Hello, T-S!" I said. 

"Oh, Billy! Hello!"

"So you've denied him three times!"

"Vot you mean?"

"Three times--and the cock hasn't crowed yet! That man's a prophetfor sure, T-S!"

The magnate pretended not to understand, but the deep flush on hisfeatures gave him away. 

"How dy'do, Mr. Westerly, " I said. "What do you think of Mr. T-S inthe role of the first pope?"

"You mean he's going to act?" inquired the other, puzzled. 

"Come off!" exclaimed Rankin, who knew better, of course. 

"He's going to be St. Peter, " I insisted, "and hold the keys to thegolden gate. He's planning a religious play, you know, for thisfellow Carpenter. Maybe he might cast Mr. Westerly for a part--sayPontius Pilate. "

"Ha, ha, ha!" said the secretary of our "M. And M. " "Pretty good!Ha, ha, ha! Gimme a chance at these bunk-shooters--I'll shut 'em up, you bet!"

XXXIII

The chairman of the meeting was a man named Brown, the president ofthe city's labor council. He was certainly respectable enough, prosyand solemn. But he was deeply moved on this question of clubbingstrikers' heads; and you could see that the crowd was only waitingfor a chance to shout its indignation. The chairman introduced thepresident of the Restaurant Workers, a solid citizen whom you wouldhave taken for a successful grocer. He told about what had happenedlast night at Prince's; and then he told about the causes of thestrike, and the things that go on behind the scenes in bigrestaurants. I had been to Prince's many times in my life, but I hadnever been behind the scenes, nor had I ever before been to alabor-meeting. I must admit that I was startled. The things they putinto the hashes! And the distressing habit of unorganized waiters, when robbed of their tips or otherwise ill-treated, to take it outby spitting into the soup!

A couple of other labor men spoke, and then came James, thecarpenter with a religious streak. He had a harsh, rasping voice, and a way of poking a long bony finger at the people he wasimpressing. He was desperately in earnest, and it caused him toswallow a great deal, and each time his Adam's apple would jump up. "I'm going to read you a newspaper clipping, " he began; and Ithought it was Judge Wollcott's injunction again, but it was a storyabout one of our social leaders, Mrs. Alinson Pakenham, who has fourfamous Pekinese spaniels, worth six thousand dollars each, andweighing only eight ounces--or is it eighty ounces?--I'm not sure, for I never was trusted to lift one of the wretched little brutes. Anyhow, their names are Fe, Fi, Fo, and Fum, and they have eachtheir own attendant, and the four have a private limousine in whichto travel, and they dine off a service of gold plate. And here werehundreds of starving strikers, with their wives, also starving; anda couple of thousand other workers in factories and on ranches whowere in process of having their wages "deflated. " The orator quoteda speech of Algernon de Wiggs before the Chamber of Commerce, declaring that the restoration of prosperity, especially inagriculture, depended upon "deflation, " and this alone; and suddenlyJames, the carpenter with a religious streak, launched forth:

"Go to now, you rich men, weep and howl for your miseries that arecoming upon you! Your riches are corrupted, and your garments aremoth-eaten! Your gold and silver is cankered; and the rust on itshall be a witness against you, and shall eat your flesh as if itwere fire. You have heaped treasure together for the last days. Behold the hire of the laborers, who have reaped your fields; youhave kept it back by fraud, and the cries of the reapers haveentered into the ears of the Lord! You have lived in pleasure on theearth, and been wanton; you have nourished your hearts, as in a dayof slaughter. You have condemned and killed the just--"

At this point in the tirade, my old friend the ex-centre-rush, whowas standing in the wings with me, turned and whispered: "For God'ssake, Billy, what kind of a Goddamn Bolshevik stunt is this, anyhow?"

I answered: "Hush, you dub! He's quoting from the Bible!"

XXXIV

President Brown of the Western City Labor Council arose to performhis next duty as chairman. Said he:

"The next speaker is a stranger to most of you, and he is also astranger to me. I do not know what his doctrine is, and I assume noresponsibility for it. But he is a man who has proven his friendshipfor labor, not by words, but by very unusual deeds. He is a man ofremarkable personality, and we have asked him to make whatsuggestions he can as to our problems. I have pleasure inintroducing Mr. Carpenter. "

Whereupon the prophet fresh from God arose from his chair, and comeslowly to the front of the platform. There was no applause, but asilence made part of curiosity and part of amazement. His figure, standing thus apart, was majestic; and I noted a curious thing--ashining as of light about his head. It was so clear and so beautifulthat I whispered to Old Joe: "Do you see that halo?"

"Go on, Billy!" said the ex-centre-rush. "You're getting nutty!"

"But it's plain as day, man!"

I felt some one touch my arm, and saw the little lady of theanti-vivisection tracts peering past me. "Do you see his aura?" shewhispered, excitedly. 

"Is that what it is?"

"Yes. It's purple. That denotes spirituality. "

I thought to myself, "Good Lord, am I getting to be that sort?"

Carpenter began to speak, quietly, in his grave, measured voice. "Mybrothers!" He waited for some time, as if that were enough; as ifall the problems of life would be solved, if only men wouldunderstand those two words. "My brothers: I am, as your chairmansays, a stranger to this world of yours. I do not understand yourvast machines and your complex arts. But I know the souls of men andwomen; when I meet greed, and pride, and cruelty, the enslavementsof the flesh, they cannot lie to me. And I have walked about thestreets of your city, and I know myself in the presence of a peoplewandering in a wilderness. My children!--broken-hearted, desolate, and betrayed--poorest when you are rich, loneliest when you throngtogether, proudest when you are most ignorant--my people, I call youinto the way of salvation!"

He stretched out his arms to them, and on his face and in his wholelook was such anguish, that I think there was no man in that wholegreat throng so rooted in self-esteem that he was not shaken withsudden awe. The prophet raised his hands in invocation: "Let uspray!" He bowed his head, and many in the audience did the same. Others stared at him in bewilderment, having long ago forgotten howto pray. Here and there some one snickered. 

"Oh, God, Our Father, we, Thy lost children, return to Thee, theGiver of Life. We bring our follies and our greeds, and cast them atThy feet. We do not like the life we have lived. We wish to be thosethings which for long ages we have dreamed in vain. Wilt Thou showthe way?"

His hands sank to his sides, and he raised his head. "Such is theprayer. What is the answer? It has been made known: Ask, and itshall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall beopened unto you. For everyone that asketh receiveth; and he thatseeketh findeth; and to him that knocketh it shall be opened. --Theseare ancient words, by many forgotten. What do they mean? They meanthat we are children of our Father, and not slaves of earthlymasters. Would a man make a slave of his own child? And shall man bemore righteous than his Creator?

"My brothers: You are hungry, and in need, and your children cry forbread; do I bid you feed them upon words? Not so; but the life ofmen is made by the will of men, and that which exists in steel andstone existed first in thought. If your thought is mean and base, your world is a place of torment; if your thought is true andgenerous, your world is free. 

"There was once a man who owned much land, and upon it he builtgreat factories, and many thousand men toiled for him, and he grewfat upon the product of their labor, and his heart was high. And itcame to pass that his workers rebelled; and he hired others, andthey shot down the workers, so that the rest returned to theirlabor. And the master said: The world is mine, and none can opposeme. But one day there arose among the workers a man who laughed. Andhis laughter spread, until all the thousands were laughing; theysaid, We are laughing at the thought that we should work and youtake the fruit of our labor. He ordered his troops to shoot them, but his troops were also laughing, and he could not withstand thelaughter of so many men; he laughed also, and said, let us end thisfoolish thing. 

"Is there a man among you who can say, I am worthy of freedom? Thatman shall save the world. And I say to you: Make ready your heartsfor brotherhood; for the hour draws near, and it is a shameful thingwhen man is not worthy of his destiny. A man may serve with hisbody, and yet be free, but he that is a slave in his soul admiresthe symbols of mastery, and lusts after its fruits. 

"What are the fruits of mastery? They are pride and pomp, they areluxury and wantoness and the shows of power. And who is there amongyou that can say to himself, these things have no roots in my heart?That man is great, and the deliverance of the world is the act ofhis will. "

XXXV

The speaker paused, and turned; his gaze swept the platform, andthose seated on it. Said he: "You are the representatives oforganized labor. I do not know your organization, therefore I ask:For what are you united? Is it to follow in the footsteps of yourmasters, and bind others as they have bound you?"

He waited for an answer, and the chairman, upon whom his gaze wasfixed, cried, "No!" Others also cried, "No!" and the audience tookit up with fervor. Carpenter turned to them. "Then I say to you:Break down in your hearts and in the hearts of your fellows theworship of those base things which mastership has brought into theworld. If a man pile up food while others starve, is not this evil?If a woman deck herself with clothing to her own discomfort, is notthis folly? And if it be folly, how shall it be admired by you, towhom it brings starvation and despair?

"Before me sit young women of the working class. Say to yourselves:I tear from my fingers the jewels which are the blood and tears ofmy fellow-men; I wash the paint from my face, and from my head andmy bosom I take the silly feathers and ribbons. I dare to be what Iam. I dare to speak truth in a world of lies. I dare to dealhonestly with men and women. 

"Before me sit young men of the working-class. I say to you: Lovehonest women. Do not love harlots, nor imitations of harlots. Do notadmire the idle women of the ruling class, nor those who ape them, and thereby glorify them. Do not admire languid limbs and poutinglips and the signs of haughtiness and vanity, your own enslavements. 

"A tree is known by the fruit it gives; and the masters are known bythe lives they give to their servants. They are known by misery andunemployment, by plague and famine, by wars, and the slaughter ofthe people. Let judgment be pronounced upon them!

"You have heard it said: Each for himself, and the devil take thehindmost. But I say to you: Each for all, and the hindmost is yourcharge. I say to you: If a man will not work, let him be the onethat hungers; if he will not serve, let him be your criminal. For ifone man be idle, another man has been robbed; and if any man makedisplay of wealth, that man has the flesh of his brothers in hisstomach. Verily, he that lives at ease while others starve hasblood-guilt upon him; and he that despises his fellows has committedthe sin for which there is no pardon. He that lives for his ownglory is a wolf, and vengeance will hunt him down; but he that lovesjustice and mercy, and labors for these things, dwells in the bosomof my Father. 

"Do not think that I am come to bring you ease and comfort; I amcome to bring strife and discontent to this world. For the time ofmartyrdom draws near, and from your Father alone can you draw thestrength to endure your trials. You are hungry, but you will bestarved; you are prisoned in mills and mines, but you will be walledup in dungeons; you are beaten with whips, but you will be beatenwith clubs, your flesh will be torn by bullets, your skin will beburned with fire and your lungs poisoned with deadly gases--such isthe dominion of this world. But I say to you, resist in your hearts, and none can conquer you, for in the hearts of men lies the past andthe future, and there is no power but love. 

"You say: The world is evil, and men are base; why should I die forthem? Oh, ye of little faith, how many have died for you, and wouldyou cheat mankind? If there is to be goodness in the world, some onemust begin; who will begin with me?

"My brothers: I am come to lead you into the way of justice. I bidyou follow; not in passion and blind excitement, but as men firm inheart and bent upon service. For the way of self-love is easy, whilethe way of justice is hard. But some will follow, and their numberswill grow; for the lives of men have grown ill beyond enduring, andthere must be a new birth of the spirit. Think upon my message; Ishall speak to you again, and the compulsion of my law will restupon you. The powers of this world come to an end, but the power ofgood will is everlasting, and the body can sooner escape from itsown shadow than mankind can escape from brotherhood. "

He ceased, and a strange thing happened. Half the crowd rose to itsfeet; and they cried, "Go, on!" Twice he tried to retire to hisseat, but they cried, "Go on, go on!" Said he, "My brothers, this isnot my meeting, there are other speakers--" But they cried, "We wantto hear you!" He answered, "You have your policies to decide, andyour leaders must have their say. But I will speak to you againto-morrow. I am told that your city permits street speaking onWestern City Street on Sundays. In the morning I am going to church, to see how they worship my Father in this city of many mobs; but atnoon I will hold a meeting on the corner of Fifth and Western CityStreets, and if you wish, you may hear me. Now I ask you to excuseme, for I am weary. " He stood for a moment, and I saw that, althoughhe had never raised his voice nor made a violent gesture, his eyeswere dark and hollow with fatigue, and drops of sweat stood upon hisforehead. 

He turned and left the platform, and Old Joe and I hurried around tojoin him. We found him with Korwsky the little Russian tailor whoseson he had healed. Korwsky claimed him to spend the night at hishome; the friend with the delivery wagon was on hand, and they wereready to start. I asked Carpenter to what church he was going in themorning, and he startled me by the reply, "St. Bartholomew's. " Ipromised that I would surely be on hand, and then Old Joe and I setout to walk home. 

"Well?" said I. "What do you think of him?"

The ex-centre-rush walked for a bit before he answered. "You know, Billy boy, " said he, "we do lead rotten useless lives. "

"Good Lord!" I thought; it was the first sign of a soul I had evernoted in Old Joe! "Why, " I argued, "you sell paper, and that'suseful, isn't it?"

"I don't know whether it is or not. Look at what's printed onit--mostly advertisements and bunk. " And again we walked for a bit. "By the way, " said the ex-centre-rush, "before he got through, I sawthat aura, or whatever you call it. I guess I'm getting nutty, too!"

XXXVI

The first thing I did on Sunday morning was to pick up the "WesternCity Times, " to see what it had done to Carpenter. I found that hehad achieved the front page, triple column, with streamer head allthe way across the page:

PROPHET IN TOWN, HEALS SICK, RAVES AT RICH AMERICA IS MOBLAND, ALLEGED IN RED RIOT OF TALK

There followed a half page story about Carpenter's strenuous day inWestern City, beginning with a "Bolshevik stump speech" to a mob ofstriking tailors. It appears that the prophet had gone to the Hebrewquarter of the city, and finding a woman railing at a butcherbecause of "alleged extortion, " had begun a speech, inciting a mob, so that the police reserves had to be called out, and a riot wasnarrowly averted. From there the prophet had gone to the LaborTemple, announcing himself to the reporters as "fresh from God, "with a message to "Mobland, " his name for what he prophesied Americawould be under his rule. He had then healed a sick boy, theperformance being carefully staged in front of moving picturecameras. The account of the "Times" did not directly charge that theperformance was a "movie stunt, " but it described it in a mockingway which made it obviously that. The paper mentioned T-S in such away as to indicate him as the originator of the scheme, and it hadfun with Mary Magna, pawning her paste jewels. It published theflash-light picture, and also a picture of Carpenter walking downthe street, trailed by his mob. 

In another column was the climax, the "red riot of talk" at GrantHall. James, the striking carpenter, had indulged in virulent andsemi-insane abuse of the rich; after which the new prophet hadstirred the mob to worse frenzies. The "Times" quoted samplesentences, such as: "Do not think that I am come to bring you easeand comfort; I am come to bring strife and disorder to this world. "

I turned to the editorial page, and there was a double-columnleader, made extra impressive by leads. "AN INFAMOUS BLASPHEMY, " wasthe heading. Perhaps you have a "Times" in your own city; if so, youwill no doubt recognize the standard style:

"For many years this newspaper has been pointing out to the peopleof Western City the accumulating evidence that the men whomanipulate the forces of organized labor are Anarchists at heart, plotting to let loose the torch of red revolution over this fairland. We have clearly showed their nefarious purpose to overthrowthe Statue of Liberty and set up in its place the Dictatorship ofthe Walking Delegate. But, evil as we thought them, we were naiveenough to give them credit for an elemental sense of decency. Eventhough they had no respect for the works of man, we thought at leastthey would spare the works of God, the most sacred symbols of divinerevelation to suffering humanity. But yesterday there occurred inthis city a performance which for shameless insolence andblasphemous perversion exceeds anything but the wildest flight of adevil's imagination, and reveals the bosses of the Labor Trust aswanton defilers of everything that decent people hold precious andholy. 

"What was the spectacle? A moving picture producer, moved by blind, and we trust unthinking lust for gain, produces in our midst analleged 'prophet, ' dressed in a costume elaborately contrived toimitate and suggest a Sacred Presence which our respect for religionforbids us to name; he brings this vile, perverted creature forward, announcing himself to the newspapers as 'fresh from God, ' andmouthing phrases of social greed and jealousy with which for thepast few years the Hun-agents and Hun-lovers in our midst have madeus only too sickenly familiar. This monstrous parody of divinecompassion is escorted to that headquarters of Pro-Germanism and redrevolution, the Labor Temple, and there performs, in the presence ofmoving picture cameras, a grotesque parody upon the laying on ofhands and the healing of the sick. The 'Times' presents a photographof this incredible infamy. We apologize to our readers for thusaiding the designs of cunning publicity-seekers, but there is noother way to make clear to the public the gross affront to decencywhich has been perpetrated, and the further affronts which are beingplanned. This appears to be a scheme for making a moving picture'star'; this 'Carpenter'--note the silly pun--is to become thelatest sensation in million dollar movie dolls, and the Americanpublic is to be invited to pay money to witness a story of sacredthings played by a real 'prophet' and worker of 'miracles'!"

"But the worst has yet to be told. The masters of the Labor Trust, not to be outdone in bidding for unholy notoriety, had the insolenceto invite this blasphemous charlatan to their riot of revolutionaryranting called a 'protest meeting. ' He and other creatures of hisilk, summoning the forces which are organizing red ruin in our city, proceed to rave at the police and the courts for denying to mobs ofstrikers the right to throw brickbats at honest workers looking forjobs, and to hold the pistol of the boycott at the heads ofemployers who dare to stand for American liberty and democracy! Wehave heard much mouthing of class venom and hate in this community, but never have our ears been affronted by anything so unpardonableas this disguising of the doctrine of Lenin and Trotsky in the robesof Christian revelation. This 'prophet fresh from God, ' as he styleshimself, is a man of peace and brotherly love--oh, yes, of course!We know these wolves in sheeps' clothing, these pacifists and loversof man with the gold of the Red International in their pockets, andslavering from their tongues the fine phrases of idealism whichconveniently protect them from the strong hand of the law! We haveseen their bloody work for four years in Russia, and we tell themthat if they expect to prepare the confiscation of property and thenationalization of women in this country while disguising themselvesin moving picture imitations of religion, they are grosslyunderestimating the intelligence of the red-blooded citizens of thisgreat republic. We shall be much mistaken if the order-loving andpatriotic people of our Christian community do not find a way tostamp their heel upon this vile viper before its venom shall havepoisoned the air we breathe. "

XXXVII

Then I picked up the "Examiner. " Our "Examiner" does not go in somuch for moral causes; it is more interested in getting circulation, for which it relies upon sensation, and especially what it calls"heart interest, " meaning sex. It had found what it wanted in thisstory, as you may judge by the headlines:

MOVIE QUEEN PAWNS JEWELS FOR PROPHET OF GOD

Then followed a story of which Mary Magna was the centre, with T-Sand myself for background. The reporter had hunted out the Mexicanfamily with which Carpenter had spent the night, and he drew atouching picture of Carpenter praying over Mary in this humble home, and converting her to a better life. Would the "million dollarvamp, " as the "Examiner" called her, now take to playing onlyreligious parts? Mary was noncommittal on the point; and pending herdecision, the "Examiner" published her portraits in half a dozen ofher most luxurious roles--for example, as Salome after taking offthe seventh veil. Side by side with Carpenter, that had a real"punch, " you may believe!

The telephone rang, and there was the voice of T-S, fairly raving. He didn't mind the "Examiner" stuff; that was good business, butthat in the "Times"--he was going to sue the "Times" for a milliondollars, by God, and would I back him in his claim that he had notput Carpenter up to the healing business?

After a bit, the magnate began apologizing for his repudiation ofthe prophet. He was in a position, just now with these hard times, where the Wall Street crowd could ruin him if he got in bad withthem. And then he told me a curious story. Last night, after themeeting, young Everett, his secretary, had come to him and asked ifhe could have a couple of months' leave of absence without pay. Hewas so much interested in Carpenter that he wanted to follow him andhelp him!

"Y' know, Billy, " said the voice over the phone, "y' could a'knocked me over vit a fedder! Dat young feller, he vas alvays soquiet, and such a fine business feller, I put him in charge of allmy collections. I said to him, 'Vot you gonna do?' And he said, 'Igonna learn from Mr. Carpenter. " Says I, 'Vot you gonna learn?' andhe says, 'I gonna learn to be a better man. ' Den he vaits a minute, and he says, 'Mr. T-S, he _told_ me to foller him!' J' ever hear delike o' dat?"

"What did you say?"

"Vot could I say? I vanted to say, 'Who's givin' you de orders?' ButI couldn't, somehow! I hadda tell him to go ahead, and come backbefore he forgot all my business. "

I dressed, and had my breakfast, and drove to St. Bartholomew's. Itwas a November morning, bright and sunny, as warm as summer; and itis always such a pleasure to see that goodly company of ladies andgentlemen, so perfectly groomed, so perfectly mannered, breathing asense of peace and well being. Ah, that wonderful sense of wellbeing! "God's in His Heaven, all's right with the world!" And what acurious contrast with the Labor Temple! For a moment I doubtedCarpenter; surely these ladies with their decorative bonnets, theirsweet perfumes, their gowns of rose and lilac and other pastelshades--surely they were more important life-products than women infrowsy and dowdy imitation clothes! Surely it was better to beserene and clean and pleasant, than to be terrible and bewildered, sick and quarrelsome! I was seized by a frenzy, a sort ofinstinctive animal lust for this life of ease and prettiness. Nomatter if those dirty, raucous-voiced hordes of strikers, and othersof their "ilk"--as the "Times" phrased it--did have to wash myclothes and scrub my floors, just so that _I_ stayed clean anddecent!

I bowed to a score or two of the elegant ladies, and to theirescorts in shiny top hats and uncreased kid gloves, and went intothe exquisite church with its glowing stained glass window, andlooked up over the altar--and there stood Carpenter! I tell you, itgave me a queer shock. There he was, up in the window, exactly wherehe had always been; I thought I had suddenly wakened from a dream. There had been no "prophet fresh from God, " no mass-meeting at GrantHall, no editorial in the "Times"! But suddenly I heard a voice atmy elbow: "Billy, what is this awful thing you've been doing?" Itwas my Aunt Caroline, and I asked what she meant, and she answered, "That terrible prophet creature, and getting your name into thepapers!"

So I knew it was true, and I walked with my dear, sweet old auntiedown the aisle, and there sat Aunt Jennie, with her two lanky girlswho have grown inches every time I run into them; and also UncleTimothy. Uncle Timothy was my guardian until I came of age, so I ama little in awe of him, and now I had to listen to his whisperedreproaches--it being the first principle of our family never to "getinto the papers. " I told him that it wasn't my fault I had beenknocked down by a mob, and surely I couldn't help it if this manCarpenter found me while I was unconscious, and made me well. Norcould I fail to be polite to my benefactor, and try to help himabout. My Uncle Timothy was amazed, because he had accepted the"Times" story that it was all a "movie" hoax. Everybody will tellyou in Western City that they "never believe a word they read in the'Times'"; but of course they do--they have to believe something, andwhat else have they?

I was trying to think about that picture over the altar. Of course, they would naturally have replaced it! I wondered who had found oldde Wiggs up there; I wondered if he knew about it, and if he had anyidea who had played that prank. I looked to his pew; yes, there hesat, rosy and beaming, bland as ever! I looked for old Peter Dexter, president of the Dexter Trust Company--yes, he was in his pew, wizened and hunched up, prematurely bald. And Stuyvesant Gunning, ofthe Fidelity National--they were all here, the masters of the city'sfinance and the pillars of "law and order. " Some wag had remarked ifyou wanted to call directors' meeting after the service, you couldsettle all the business of Western City in St. Bartholomew's!

The organ pealed and the white-robed choir marched in, bearing thegolden crosses, and followed by the Reverend Dr. Lettuce-Spray, smooth-shaven, plump and beautiful, his eyes bent reverently on thefloor. They were singing with fervor that most orthodox of hymns:

The church's one foundation Is Jesus Christ, her Lord. 

It is a beautiful old service, as you may know, and I had beentaught to love it and thrill to it as a little child, and we neverforget those things. Peace and propriety are its keynotes; order anddignity, combined with sensuous charm. Everyone knows his part, andit moves along like a beautiful machine. I knelt and prayed, andthen sat and listened, and then stood and sang--over and over forperhaps three-quarters of an hour. We came to the hymn whichprecedes the sermon, and turning to the number, we obedientlyproclaimed:

The Son of God goes forth to war A kingly crown to gain: Hisblood-red banner streams afar: Who follows in His train?

During the singing of the last verse, the Reverend Lettuce-Spray hadmoved silently into the pulpit. After the choir had sung "Amen, " heraised his hands in invocation--and at that awesome moment I sawCarpenter come striding up the aisle!

XXXVIII

He knew just where he was going, and walked so fast that beforeanyone had time to realize what was happening, he was on the altarsteps, and facing the congregation. You could hear the gasp ofamazement; he was so absolutely identical with the painted figureover his head, that if he had remained still, you could not havetold which was painting and which was flesh and blood. The rector inthe pulpit stood with his mouth open, staring as if seeing a ghost. 

The prophet stretched out both his hands, and pointed two accusingfingers at the congregation. His voice rang out, stern andcommanding: "Let this mockery cease!" Again he cried: "What do yewith my Name?" And pointing over his head: "Ye crucify me in stainedglass!"

There came murmurs from the congregation, the first mutterings of astorm. "Oh! Outrageous! Blasphemy!"

"Blasphemy?" cried Carpenter. "Is it not written that God dwellethnot in temples made with hands? Ye have built a temple to Mammon, and defile the name of my Father therein!"

The storm grew louder. "This is preposterous!" exclaimed my uncleTimothy at my side. And the Reverend Lettuce-Spray managed to findhis voice. "Sir, whoever you are, leave this church!"

Carpenter turned upon him. "You give orders to me--you who havebrought back the moneychangers into my Father's temple?" Andsuddenly he faced the congregation, crying in a voice of wrath:"Algernon de Wiggs! Stand up!"

Strange as it may seem, the banker rose in his pew; whether underthe spell of Carpenter's majestic presence, or preparing to rush athim and throw him out, I could not be sure. The great banker's facewas vivid scarlet. 

And Carpenter pointed to another part of the congregation. "PeterDexter! Stand up!" The president of the Dexter Trust Company alsoarose, trembling as if with palsy, mumbling something, one could nottell whether protest or apology. 

"Stuyvesant Gunning! Stand up!" And the president of the FidelityNational obeyed. Apparently Carpenter proposed to call the wholeroll of financial directors; but the procedure was halted suddenly, as a tall, white-robed figure strode from its seat near the choir. Young Sidney Simpkinson, assistant to the rector, went up toCarpenter and took him by the arm. 

"Leave this house of God, " he commanded. 

The other faced him. "It is written, Thou shalt not take the name ofthe Lord thy God in vain, for the Lord will not hold him guiltlessthat taketh His name in vain. "

Young Simpkinson wasted no further words in parley. He was anadvocate of what is known as "muscular Christianity, " and kepthimself in trim playing on the parish basket-ball team. He flung hisstrong arms about Carpenter, and half carrying him, half walkinghim, took him down the steps and down the aisle. As he went, Carpenter was proclaiming: "It is written, My house shall be calleda house of prayer; but ye have made it a den of thieves. He thatsteals little is called a pickpocket, but he that steals much iscalled a pillar of the church. Verily, he that deprives the laborerof the fruit of his toil is more dangerous than he that robs uponthe highway; and he that steals the state and the powers ofgovernment is the father of all thieves. "

By that time, the prophet had been hustled two-thirds down theaisle; and then came a new development. Unobserved by anyone, anumber of Carpenter's followers had come with him into the church;and these, seeing the way he was being handled, set up a cry: "Forshame! For shame!" I saw Everett, secretary to T-S, and Korwsky, secretary of the tailor's union; I saw some one leap at Everett andstrike him a ferocious blow in the teeth, and two other men leapupon the little Russian and hurl him to the ground. 

I started up, involuntarily. "Oh, shame! Shame!" I cried, and wouldhave rushed out into the aisle. But I had to pass my uncle, and hehad no intention of letting me make myself a spectacle. He threw hisarms about me, and pinned me against the pew in front; and as he isone of the ten ranking golfers at the Western City Country Club, hisembrace carried authority. I struggled, but there I stayed, shouting, "For shame! For shame!" and my uncle exclaiming, in astern whisper, "Shut up! Sit down, you fool!" and my Aunt Carolineholding onto my coat-tails, crying, and my aunt Jennie threateningto faint. 

The melee came quickly to an end, for the men of the congregationseized the half dozen disturbers and flung them outside, and mountedguard to make sure they did not return. I sank back into my seat, myworthy uncle holding my arm tightly with both hands, lest I shouldtry to make my escape over the laps of Aunt Caroline and AuntJennie. 

All this time the Reverend Lettuce-Spray had been standing in thepulpit, making no sound. Now, as the congregation settled back intoorder, he said, with the splendid, conscious self-possession of onewho can remain "equal to the occasion": "We will resume theservice. " And he opened his portfolio, and spread out his manuscriptbefore him, and announced:

"Our text for the morning is the fifth chapter of the gospelaccording to St. Matthew, the thirty-ninth and fortieth verses: 'ButI say unto you, that ye resist not evil: but whosoever shall smitethee on thy right cheek, turn to him the other also. And if any manshall sue thee at law, and take away thy coat, let him have thycloak also. "

XXXIX

I sat through the sermon, and the offertory, and the recessional. After that my uncle tried to detain me, to warn and scold me; but heno longer used physical force, and nothing but that would have heldme. At the door I asked one of the ushers what had become of theprophet, thinking he might be in jail. But the answer was that thegang had gone off, carrying their wounded; so I ran round the cornerto where my car was parked, and within ten minutes I was on WesternCity Street, where Carpenter had announced that he would speak. 

There had been nothing said about the proposed meeting in thepapers, and no one knew about it save those who had been present atGrant Hall. But it looked as if they had told everyone they knew, and everyone they had told had come. The wide street was packedsolid for a block, and in the midst of this throng stood Carpenter, upon a wagon, making a speech. 

There was no chance to get near, so I bethought me of an alley whichran parallel to the street. There was an obscure hotel on thestreet, and I entered it through the rear entrance, and had notrouble in persuading the clerk to let me join some of the guests ofthe hotel who were watching the scene from the second story windows. 

The first thing which caught my attention was the figure of Everett, seated on the floor of the wagon from which the speech was beingmade. I saw that his face was covered with blood; I learned laterthat he had three teeth knocked out, and his nose broken. Nevertheless, there he was with his stenographer's notebook, takingdown the prophet's words. He told me afterwards that he had takeneven what Carpenter said in the church. "I've an idea he won't lastvery long, " was the way he put it; "and if they should get rid ofhim, every word he's said will be precious. Anyhow, I'm going to getwhat I can. "

Also I saw Korwsky, lying on the floor of the wagon, evidentlyknocked out; and two other men whom I did not know, nursing batteredand bloody faces. Having taken all that in at a glance, I gave myattention to what Carpenter was saying. 

He was discussing churches and those who attend them. Later on, myattention was called to the curious fact that his discourse wasmerely a translation into modern American of portions of thetwenty-third chapter of St. Matthew; a free adaptation of thoseancient words to present day practices and conditions. But I had noidea of this while I listened; I was shocked by what seemed to me afurious tirade, and the guests of the hotel were even moreshocked--I think they would have taken to throwing things out of thewindows at the orator, had it not been for their fear of the crowd. Said Carpenter:

"The theologians and scholars and the pious laymen fill the leisureclass churches, and it would be all right if you were to listen towhat they preach, and do that; but don't follow their actions, forthey never practice what they preach. They load the backs of theworking-classes with crushing burdens, but they themselves nevermove a finger to carry a burden, and everything they do is for show. They wear frock-coats and silk hats on Sundays, and they sit at thespeakers' tables at the banquets of the Civic Federation, and theyoccupy the best pews in the churches, and their doings are reportedin all the papers; they are called leading citizens and pillars ofthe church. But don't you be called leading citizens, for the onlyuseful man is the man who produces. (Applause. ) And whoever exaltshimself shall be abased, and whoever humbles himself shall beexalted. 

"Woe unto you, doctors of divinity and Catholics, hypocrites! foryou shut up the kingdom of heaven against men; you don't go inyourself and you don't let others go in. Woe unto you, doctors ofdivinity and Presbyterians, hypocrites! for you foreclose mortgageson widows' houses, and for a pretense you make long prayers. Forthis you will receive the greater damnation! Woe unto you, doctorsof divinity and Methodists, hypocrites! for you send missionaries toAfrica to make one convert, and when you have made him, is twice asmuch a child of hell as yourselves. (Applause. ) Woe unto you, blindguides, with your subtleties of doctrine, your transubstantiationand consubstantiation and all the rest of it; you fools and blind!Woe unto you, doctors of divity and Episcopalians, hypocrites! foryou drop your checks into the collection-plate and you pay no heedto the really important things in the Bible, which are justice andmercy and faith in goodness. You blind guides, who choke over a flyand swallow a flivver! (Laughter. ) Woe unto you, doctors of divinityand Anglicans, hypocrites! for you dress in immaculate clothing keptclean by the toil of frail women, but within you are full ofextortion and excess. You blind high churchmen, clean first yourhearts, so that the clothes you wear may represent you. Woe untoyou, doctors of divinity and Baptists, hypocrites! for you are likemarble tombs which appear beautiful on the outside, but inside arefull of dead men's bones and all uncleanness. Even so you appearrighteous to men, but inside you are full of hypocrisy and iniquity. (Applause. ) Woe unto you doctors of divinity and Unitarians, hypocrites! because you erect statues to dead reformers, and putwreaths upon the tombs of old-time martyrs. You say, if we had beenalive in those days, we would not have helped to kill those goodmen. That ought to show you how to treat us at present. (Laughter. )But you are the children of those who killed the good men; so goahead and kill us too! You serpents, you generation of vipers, howcan you escape the damnation of hell?"

XL

When Carpenter stopped speaking, his face was dripping with sweat, and he was pale. But the eager crowd would not let him go. Theybegan to ask him questions. There were some who wanted to know whathe meant by saying that he came from God, and some who wanted toknow whether he believed in the Christian religion. There wereothers who wanted to know what he thought about political action, and if he really believed that the capitalists would give up withoutusing force. There was a man who had been at the relief kitchen, andnoted that he ate soup with meat in it, and asked if this was notusing force against one's fellow creatures. The old gentleman whorepresented spiritualism was on hand, asking if the dead are stillalive, and if so, where are they?

Then, before the meeting was over, there came a sick man to behealed; and others, pushing their way through the crowd, clamoringabout the wagon, seeking even to touch the hem of Carpenter'sgarments. After a couple of hours of this he announced that he wasworn out. But it was a problem to get the wagon started; they couldonly move slowly, the driver calling to the people in front to makeroom. So they went down the street, and I got into my car andfollowed at a distance. I did not know where they were going, andthere was nothing I could do but creep along--a poor little rich boywith a big automobile and nobody to ride in it, or to pay anyattention to him. 

The wagon drove to the city jail; which rather gave me a start, because I had been thinking that the party might be arrested at anyminute, on complaint to the police from the church. But apparentlythis did not trouble Carpenter. He wished to visit the strikers whohad been arrested in front of Prince's restaurant. He and severalothers stood before the heavy barred doors asking for admission, while a big crowd gathered and stared. I sat watching the scene, with phrases learned in earliest childhood floating through my mind:"I was sick, and ye visited me; I was in prison, and ye came untome. "

But it appeared that Sunday was not visitors' day at the jail, andthe little company was turned away. As they climbed back into thewagon, I saw two husky fellows come from the jail, a type one learnsto know as plain clothes men. "Why won't they let him in?" criedsome one in the crowd; and one of the detectives looked over hisshoulder, with a sneering laugh: "We'll let him in before long, don't you worry!"

The wagon took up its slow march again. It was a one-horseexpress-cart, belonging, as I afterwards learned, to a compatriot ofKorwsky the tailor. This man, Simon Karlin, earned a meager livingfor himself and his family by miscellaneous delivery in hisneighborhood; but now he was so fascinated with Carpenter that hehad dropped everything in order to carry the prophet about. Imention it, because next day in the newspapers there was much funmade of this imitation man of God riding about town in a halfbroken-down express-wagon, hauled by a rickety and spavined old nag. 

The company drove to one of the poorer quarters of the city, andstopped before a workingman's cottage on a street whose name I hadnever heard before. I learned that it was the home of James, thestriking carpenter, and on the steps were his wife and a brood ofhalf a dozen children, and his old father and mother, and severalother people unidentified. There were many who had walked all theway following the wagon, and others gathered quickly, and besoughtthe prophet to speak to them, and to heal their sick. Apparently hiswhole life was to consist of that kind of thing, for he found ithard to refuse any request. But finally he told them he must bequiet, and went inside, and James mounted guard at the door, and Isat in my car and waited until the crowd had filtered away. Therewas no good reason why I should have been admitted, but Jamesapparently was glad to see me, and let me join the little companythat was gathered in his home. 

There was Everett, who had now washed the blood off his face, buthad not been able to put back his lost teeth, nor to heal theswollen mass that had once been his upper lip and nose. And therewas Korwsky, who was now able to sit up and smile feebly, and twoother men, whose names I did not learn, nursing battered faces. Carpenter prayed over them all, and they became more cheerful, andeager to talk about the adventure, each telling over what hadhappened to him. I noted that Everett, in spite of what must havebeen intense pain, was still faithfully taking down every word theprophet uttered. 

It had been known that Carpenter was to honor this house with hispresence, and the family were all dressed in their best, and had gottogether a supper, in spite of hard times and strikes. We hadsandwiches and iced tea and a slice of pie for each of us, and I wasinterested to observe that the prophet, tired as he was, liked tolaugh and chat over his food, exactly like any uninspired humanbeing. He never failed to get the children around him and tell themstories, and hear their bright laughter. 

XLI

But, of course, serious things kept intruding. Karlin the expressdriver, had a sick wife, and Carpenter heard about her and insistedupon going to see her. Apparently there was no end to this businessof the poor being sick. It was a new thing to me--this worldswarming with dirty and miserable and distracted people. Of course, I had known about "the poor, " but always either in the abstract, orelse as an individual, or a family, that one could help. But herewas a new world, thickly peopled, swarming; that was the terriblepart of it--the vastness of it, the thickness of the population inthese regions of "the poor. " It was like some sort of delirium; likebeing lost in a wilderness, of which the trees were miseries, anddeformities, and pains! I could understand to the full Carpenter'sfeeling when he put his hands to his forehead, exclaiming: "There isso much to do and so few to do it! Pray to God, that he will sendsome to help us!"

When he returned from Simon Karlin's, he brought with him thelatter's wife, whom he had healed of a fever; and here was anotherof the company whom he insisted upon helping--"Comrade" Abell, oneof the men I had noticed at the meeting last night, and who appearedto be done up. This man, I learned, was secretary of the Socialistlocal of Western City. I had known there were Socialists in thecity, just as I knew there were poor, but I had never seen one, andwas curious about Abell. He was a lawyer; and that might suggest toyou a pertain type of person, brisk and well dressed--butapparently Socialist lawyers are not true to type. Comrade Abell wasa shy, timid little man, with black hair straggling about his ears, and sometimes into his eyes. He had a gentle, pathetic face, and hisvoice was melancholy and caressing. He was clad in a frock coat ofblack broadcloth, which had once been appropriate for Sunday; but Ishould judge it had been worn for twenty years, for it was greenabout the collar and the cuffs and button-holes. 

Comrade Abell's office and also his home were in a second story, over a grocery-store in this neighborhood, and here also was alittle hall used as a meeting-place by the Socialists. EverySaturday night Abell and two or three of his friends conducted asoap-box meeting on Western City Street, and gave away propagandaleaflets and sold a few pamphlets and books. He had had quite asupply of literature of all kinds at his office, nearly two thousanddollars worth, he told Carpenter, but a few months previously theplace had been mobbed. A band of ex-service men, accompanied by afew police and detectives, had raided it and terrified the wife andchildren by breaking down the doors and throwing the contents ofdesks and bureaus out on the floor. They had dumped the literatureinto a truck and carted it away, and after two or three weeks theyhad dumped it back again, having found nothing criminal in it. "Butthey ruined it so that it can't be sold!" broke in James, indignantly. "Most of it was bought on credit, and how can we payfor it. "

James was also a Socialist, it appeared, while Korwsky and hisfriend Karlin advocated "industrial action, " and these fell toarguing over "tactics, " while Carpenter asked questions, so as tounderstand their different points of view. Presently Korwsky wascalled out of the room, and came back with an announcement which heevidently considered grave. John Colver was in the neighborhood, andwanted to know if Carpenter would meet him. 

"Who is John Colver?" asked the prophet. And it was explained thatthis was a dangerous agitator, now under sentence of twenty years injail, but out on bail pending the appeal of his case to the supremecourt. Colver was a "wobbly, " well known as one of their poets. SaidKorwsky, "He tinks you vouldn't like to know him, because if despies find it out, dey vould git after you. "

"I will meet any man, " said Carpenter. "My business is to meet men. "And so in a few minutes the terrible John Colver was escorted intothe room. 

Now, every once in a while I had read in the "Times" how anotherbunch of these I. W. W's. Were put on trial, and how they wereinsolent to the judge, and how it was proved they had committed manycrimes, and how they were sentenced to fourteen years in State'sprison under our criminal syndicalism act. Needless to say, I hadnever seen one of these desperate men; but I had a quite definiteidea what they looked like--dark and sinister creatures, withtwisted mouths and furtive eyes. I knew that, because I had seen acouple of moving picture shows in which they figured. But now forthe first time I met one, and behold, he was an open-faced, laughinglad, with apple cheeks and two most beautiful rows of even whiteteeth that gleamed at you!

"Fellow-worker Carpenter!" he cried; and caught the prophet by histwo hands. "You are an old friend of ours, though you may not knowit! We drink a toast to you in our jungles. "

"Is that so?" said Carpenter. 

"I suppose I really have no right to see you, " continued the other, "because I'm shadowed all the time, and you know my organization isoutlawed. "

"Why is it outlawed?"

"Well, " said Colver, "they say we burn crops and barns, and drivecopper-nails into fruit-trees, and spikes into sawmill lumber. "

"And do you do that?"

Colver laughed his merry laugh. "We do it just as often as you actfor the movies, Fellow-worker Carpenter!"

"I see, " said Carpenter. "What do you really do?"

"What we really do is to organize the unskilled workers. "

"For what do you organize them?"

"So that they will be able to run the industries when the system ofgreed breaks down of its own rottenness. "

"I see, " said the prophet, and he thought for a moment. "It is aslave revolt!"

"Exactly, " said the other. 

"I know what they do to slave revolts, my brother. You are fortunateif they only send you to prison. "

"They do plenty more than that, " said Colver. "I will give you ourpamphlet, 'Drops of Blood, ' and you may read about some of thelynching and tarring and feathering and shooting of Mobland. " Hiseyes twinkled. "That's a dandy name you've hit on! I shall besurprised if it doesn't stick. "

Carpenter went on questioning, bent upon knowing about this outlaworganization and its members. It was clear before long that he hadtaken a fancy to young John Colver. He made him sit beside him, andasked to hear some of his poetry, and when he found it really vividand beautiful, he put his arm about the young poet's shoulders. Again I found memories of old childhood phrases stirring in my mind. Had there not once been a disciple named John, who was especiallybeloved?

XLII

Presently the young agitator began telling about an investigation hehad been making in the lumber country of the Northwest. He waswriting a pamphlet on the subject of a massacre which had occurredthere. A mob of ex-soldiers had stormed the headquarters of the"wobblies, " and the latter had defended themselves, and killed twoor three of their assailants. A news agency had sent out over thecountry a story to the effect that the "wobblies" had made anunprovoked assault upon the ex-soldiers. "That's what the papers doto us!" said John Colver. "There have been scores of mobbings as aresult, and just now it may be worth a man's life to be caughtcarrying a red card in any of these Western states. "

So there was the subject of non-resistance, and I sat and listenedwith strangely mingled feelings of sympathy and repulsion, whilethis group of rebels of all shades and varieties argued whether itwas really possible for the workers to get free without some kind offorce. Carpenter, it appeared, was the only one in the company whobelieved it possible. The gentle Comrade Abell was obliged to admitthat the Socialists, in using political action, were reallyresorting to force in a veiled form. They sought to take possessionof the state by voting; but the state was an instrument of force, and would use force to carry out its will. "You are an anarchist!"said the Socialist lawyer, addressing Carpenter. 

To my surprise Carpenter was not shocked by this. 

"If I admit no power but love, " said he, "how can I have anything todo with government?"

More visitors called, and were admitted, and presently the littleroom was packed with people, and a regular meeting was in progress. I heard more strange ideas than I had ever known existed in theworld. I tried not to be offended; but I thought there ought to beat least a few words said for plain ordinary human beings who carryno labels, so I ventured now and then to put in a mildsuggestion--for example, that there were quite a few people in theworld who did not love all their neighbors, and could not bepersuaded to love them all at once, and it might be necessary to putjust a little restraint upon them for a time. Again I suggested, maybe the workers were not yet sufficiently educated to run theindustries, they might need some help from the present masters. "Just a little more education, " I ventured--

And John Colver laughed, the first ugly laugh I had heard from him. "Education by the masters? Education at the end of a club!"

"My boy, " I argued, "I know there are plenty of employers who arerough, but there are others who are good men, who would like tochange the system, would like to do something, if they knew what itwas. But who will tell them what to do? Take me, for example. I havea great deal of wealth which I have not earned; but what can I doabout it? What do you say, Mr. Carpenter?"

I turned to him, as the true authority; and the others also turnedto him. He answered, without hesitation: "Sell everything that youhave and give it to the unemployed. "

"But, " said I, "would that really solve the problem. They wouldspend it, and we should be right where we were before. "

Said Carpenter: "They are unemployed because you have taken fromthem wealth which you have not earned. Give it back to them. "

And then, seeing that I was not satisfied, he added: "How hard it isfor a rich man to understand the meaning of social justice! Indeed, it would be easier for a strike leader to get the truth published inyour 'Times', than for a rich man to understand what the word socialjustice means. "

The company laughed, and I subsided, and let the wave ofconversation roll by. It was only later that I realized the part Ihad just been playing. It had been easy for me to recognize T-S asSt. Peter, but I had not known myself as that rich young man who hadasked for advice, and then rejected it. "When he heard this, he wasvery sorrowful; for he was very rich. " Yes, I had found my place inthe story!

XLIII

You may believe that next morning my first thought was to get holdof the "Times" and see what they had done to my prophet. Sureenough, there he was on the front page, three columns wide, with thecustomary streamer head:

MOB OF ANARCHISTS RAID ST. BARTHOLMEW'S

PROPHET AND RAGGED HORDE BREAK UP CHURCH SERVICES

I skimmed over the story quickly; I noted that Carpenter wasrepresented as having tried to knock down the Reverend Mr. Simpkinson, and that the prophet's followers had assaulted membersof the congregation. I confess to some relief upon discovering thatmy own humble part in the adventure had not been mentioned. Isuspected that my Uncle Timothy must have been busy at the telephoneon Sunday evening! But then I turned to the "Examiner, " and alas, there I was! "A certain rich young man, " rising up to protect anincendiary prophet! I remembered that my Uncle Timothy had had aviolent row with the publisher of the "Examiner" a year or two ago, over some political appointment!

The "Times" had another editorial, two columns, double leaded. Yesterday the paper had warned the public what to expect; today itsaw the prophecies justified, and what it now wished to know was, had Western City a police department, or had it not? "How muchlonger do our authorities propose to give rein to this fire-brandimposter? This prophet of God who rides about town in a broken-downexpress-wagon, and consorts with movie actresses and red agitators!Must the police wait until his seditious doctrines have fanned theflames of mob violence beyond control? Must they wait until he hasgathered all the others of his ilk, the advocates of lunacy andassassination about him, and caused an insurrection of class envyand hate? We call upon the authorities of our city to act and act atonce; to put this wretched mountebank behind bars where he belongs, and keep him there. "

There was another aspect of this matter upon which the "Times" laidemphasis. After long efforts on the part of the Chamber of Commerceand other civic organizations, Western City had been selected as theplace for the annual convention of the Mobland Brigade. In threedays this convention would be called to order, and already thedelegates were pouring in by every train. What impression would theyget of law and order in this community? Was this the purpose forwhich they had shed their blood in a dreadful war--that theircountry might be affronted by the ravings of an impious charlatan?What had the gold-star mothers of Western City to say to this? Whatdid the local post of the Mobland Brigade propose to do to save thefair name of their city? Said the "Times": "If our supineauthorities refuse to meet this emergency, we believe there areenough 100% Americans still among us to protect the cause of publicdecency, and to assert the right of Christian people to worshiptheir God without interference from the Dictatorship of the LunaticAsylum. "

Now, I had been so much interested in Carpenter and his adventuresthat I had pretty well overlooked this matter of the Mobland Brigadeand its convention. I belong to the Brigade myself, and ought tohave been serving on the committee of arrangements; instead ofwhich, here I was chasing around trying to save a prophet, who, itappeared, really wanted to get into trouble! Yes, the Brigade wascoming; and I could foresee what would happen when a bunch of thesewild men encountered Carpenter's express wagon on the street!

XLIV

I swallowed a hasty cup of coffee, and drove in a taxi to the LaborTemple. Carpenter had said he would be there early in the morning, to help with the relief work again. I went to the rooms of theRestaurant Workers, and found that he had not yet arrived. I noticeda group of half a dozen men standing near the door, and there seemedsomething uncordial in the look they gave me. One of them cametoward me, the same who had sought my advice about permittingCarpenter to speak at the mass meeting. "Good morning, " he said; andthen: "I thought you told me this fellow Carpenter was not a red?"

"Well, " said I, taken by surprise, "is he?"

"God Almighty!" said the other. "What do you call this?" And he heldup a copy of the "Times. " "Going in and shouting in the middle of achurch service, and trying to knock down a clergyman!"

I could not help laughing in the man's face. "So even you labor menbelieve what you read in the 'Times'! It happens I was present inthe church myself, and I assure you that Carpenter offered noresistance, and neither did anyone else in his group. You remember, I told you he was a man of peace, and that was all I told you. "

"Well, " said the other, somewhat more mildly, "even so, we can'tstand for this kind of thing. That's no way to accomplish anything. A whole lot of our members are Catholics, and what will they make ofcarryings-on like this? We're trying to persuade people that we're alaw-abiding organization, and that our officials are men of sense. "

"I see, " said I. "And what do you mean to do about it?"

"We have called a meeting of our executive committee this morning, and are going to adopt a resolution, making clear to the public thatwe knew nothing about this church raid, and that we don't stand forsuch things. We would never have permitted this man Carpenter tospeak on our platform, if we had known about his ideas. "

I had nothing to say, and I said it. The other was watching meuneasily. "We hear the man proposes to come back to our reliefkitchen. Is that so?"

"I believe he does; and I suppose you would rather he didn't. Isthat it?" The other admitted that was it, and I laughed. "He has hadhis thousand dollars worth of hospitality, I suppose. "

"Well, we don't want to hurt his feelings, " said the other. "Ofgourse our members are having a hard time, and we were glad to getthe money, but it would be better if our central organization wereto contribute the funds, rather than to have us pay such a price asthis newspaper publicity. "

"Then let your committee vote the money, and return it to Mr. T-S, and also to Mary Magna. "

It took the man sometime to figure out a reply to this proposition. "We have no objection to Mr. T-S coming here, " he said, "or MissMagna either. "

"That is, " said I, "so long as they obey the law, and don't get inbad with the Western City 'Times'!" After a moment I added, "You maymake your mind easy. I will go downstairs and wait for Mr. Carpenter, and tell him he is not wanted. "

And so I left the Labor Temple and walked up and down on thesidewalk in front. It was really rather unreasonable of me to beannoyed with this labor man for having voiced the same point of viewof "common sense" which I had been defending to Carpenter's group onthe previous evening. Also, I was obliged to admit to myself that ifI were a labor leader, trying to hold together a group ofhalf-educated men in the face of public sentiment such as existed inthis city, I might not have the same carefree, laughing attitudetowards life as a certain rich young man whose pockets were stuffedwith unearned increments. 

To this mood of tolerance I had brought myself, when I saw a whiterobe come round the corner, arm in arm with a frock coat of blackbroadcloth. Also there came Everett, looking still more ghastly, hisnose and lip having become purple, and in places green. Also therewas Korwsky, and two other men; Moneta, a young Mexican cigarmakerout of work, and a man named Hamby, who had turned up on theprevious evening, introducing himself as a pacifist who had beenarrested and beaten up during the war. Somehow he did not conform tomy idea of a pacifist, being a solid and rather stoutish fellow, with nothing of the idealist about him. But Carpenter took him, ashe took everybody, without question or suspicion. 

XLV

I joined the group, and made clear to them, as tactfully as I could, that they were not wanted inside. Comrade Abell threw up his hands. "Oh, those labor skates!" he cried. "Those miserable, cowardly, grafting politicians! Thinking about nothing but keeping themselvesrespectable, and holding on to their fat, comfortable salaries!"

"Vell, vat you expect?" cried Korwsky. "You git de verkin' men intopolitics, and den you blame dem fer bein' politicians!"

"Nothing was said about returning the money, I suppose?" remarkedEverett, in a bitter tone. 

"Something was said, " I replied. "I said it. I don't think the moneywill be returned. "

Then Carpenter spoke. "The money was given to feed the hungry, " saidhe. "If it is used for that purpose, we can ask no more. And if menset out to preach a new doctrine, how can they expect to be welcomedat once? We have chosen to be outcasts, and must not complain. Letus go to the jail. Perhaps that is the place for us. " So the littlegroup set out in a new direction. 

On the way we talked about the labor movement, and what was thematter with it. Comrade Abell said that Carpenter was right, thefundamental trouble was that the workers were imbued with thepsychology of their masters. They would strike for this or thatimprovement in their condition, and then go to the polls and votefor the candidates of their masters. But Korwsky was more vehement;he was an industrial unionist, and thought the present craft unionsworse than nothing. 

Little groups of labor aristocrats, seking to benefit themselves atthe expense of the masses, the unorganized, unskilled workers andthe floating population of casual labor! That was why those "skates"at the Labor Temple has so little enthusiasm for Carpenter and hisdoctrine of brotherhood! In this country where every man was tryingto climb up on the face of some other man!

Our little group had come out on Broadway. It attracted a good dealof attention, and a number of curiosity seekers were beginning totrail behind us. "We'll get a crowd again, and Carpenter 'll bemaking a speech, " I thought; and as usual I faced a moral conflict. Should I stand by, or should I sneak away, and preserve the dignityof my family?

Suddenly came a sound of music, fifes and drums. It burst on ourears from round the corner, shrill and lively--"The Girl I LeftBehind Me. " Carpenter, who was directly in front of me, stoppedshort, and seemed to shrink away from what was coming, until hisback was against the show-window of a department-store, and he couldshrink no further. 

It was a company of ex-service men in uniform; one or two hundred, carrying rifles with fixed bayonets which gleamed in the sunshine. There were two fifers and two drummers at their head, and also twoflags, one the flag of the Brigade, and the other the flag ofMobland. I remembered having noted in the morning papers that thenational commander of the brigade was to arrive in town thismorning, and no doubt this was a delegation to do him honor. 

The marchers swept down on us, and past us, and I watched theprophet. His eyes were wide, his whole face expressing anguish. "OhGod, my Father!" he whispered, and seemed to quiver with each thudof the tramping feet on the pavement. After the storm had passed, hestood motionless, the pain still in his face "It is Rome! It isRome!" he murmured. 

"No, " said I, "it is Mobland. "

He went on, as if he had not heard me. "Rome! Eternal Rome! Romethat never dies!" And he turned upon me his startled eyes. "Even theeagles!"

For a moment I was puzzled; but then I remembered the golden eaglewith wings outspread, that perches on top of our national banner. "We only use one eagle, " I said, somewhat feebly. 

To which he answered, "The soul of one eagle is the same as the soulof two. "

Now, I had felt quite certain that Carpenter would not get alongvery well with the Brigade, and I was more than ever decided that hemust be got out of the way somehow or other. But meantime, the firsttask was to get him away from this crowd which was rapidlycollecting. Already he was in the full tide of a speech. "Thosesharp spears! Can you not see them thrust into the bowels of humanbeings? Can you not see them dripping with the blood of yourbrothers?"

I whispered to Everett, thinking him one among this company ofenthusiasts who might have a little common sense left. "We hadbetter get him away from here!" And Everett put his hand gently onthe prophet's shoulder, and said, "The prisoners in the jail arehoping for us. " I took him by the other arm, and we began to leadhim down the street. When we had once got him going, we walked himfaster and faster, until presently the crowd was trailing out into astring of idlers and curiosity seekers, as before. 

XLVI

The party came to the city jail, and knocked for admission. But nodoubt the authorities had taken consultation in the meantime, andthere was no admission for prophets. The party stood on the steps, baffled and bewildered, a pitiful and pathetic little group. 

For my part, I thought it just as well that Carpenter had not gotinside, for I knew what he would find there. It happens that my AuntJennie belongs to a couple of women's clubs, and they have beenmaking a fuss about our city jail; they have kept on making it formany years, but apparently without accomplishing anything. The placewas built a generation ago, for a city of perhaps one-tenth ourpresent size; it is old and musty, and the walls are so badlycracked that it has been condemned by the building department. It isso crowded that half a dozen men sometimes sleep on the floor of asingle cell. They are devoured by vermin, and lie in semi-darkness, some of them shivering with cold and others half suffocated. Theystay there, sometimes for many months unheeded, because the courtsare crowded, and if Comrade Abell's word may be taken in the matter, every poor man is assumed to be guilty until he is proven innocent. I have heard Aunt Jennie arguing the matter with considerableenergy. Our banks are housed in palaces, and our Chamber of Commerceand our Merchants and Manufacturers and our Real Estate Exchange andall the rest of our boosters have commodious and expensive quarters;but our prisoners lie in torment, and no one boosts for them. 

Did Carpenter know these things? Had the strikers or his littlecompany of agitators, told him about them? Suddenly he said, "Let uspray;" and there on the steps of the jail he raised his hands ininvocation, and prayed for all prisoners and captives. And when hefinished, Comrade Abell suddenly lifted his voice and began to sing. I would not have supposed that so big a voice could have come out ofso frail a body; but I was reminded that Abell had been practicingon soap-boxes a good part of his life. He was one of these shoutingevangelists--only his gospel was different. He sang:

 Arise, ye pris'ners of starvation! Arise, ye wretched of the earth! For justice thunders condemnation, A better world's in birth. 

I think I would have shuddered, even more than I did, if I had knownthe name of this song; if I had realized that this group of fanaticswere sounding the dread Internationale on the steps of our cityjail! I suspect that what saved them was the fact that the guardiansof the jail had no more idea what it was than I had!

The group had sung a couple of verses, when the iron-barred doorswere opened, and a policeman stepped out. He addressed Carpenter, who was not singing. "Tell that bunch of nuts of yours to can theyowling. "

To which Carpenter replied: "I tell you that if these men shouldhold their peace, the stones of your jail would immediately cryout!" And he turned, and looked up and down the streets of the city, and suddenly I saw that he was weeping. "Oh, Mobland, Mobland! Ifyou had known even at this time the way of justice! But the way ishid from your eyes, and you will not see it, and now the hour iscoming, the horrors of the class war are upon you, ruin anddestruction are at hand! Your towers of pride shall fall, your ownchildren shall destroy you; they shall not leave you one stone uponanother, because you knew not the time for justice when it came. "

The doors of the jail opened again, and three or four more policemencame out, with clubs in their hands. "Get along, now!" they saidroughly, and began poking the prophet and his disciples in the back;they poked them down the stairs and along the street for a block orso--until they were sure the ears of the jail inmates would nolonger be troubled by offensive sounds. But still they did notarrest them, and I marveled, wondering how long it could go on. Ihad an uneasy feeling that the longer the climax was postponed, themore severe it would be. 

There was quite a crowd following us now, hoping that somethingsensational would happen. And presently a woman saw us, and rushedinto the house, and came out leading a blind man, and appealing toCarpenter to restore his sight; and when he stopped to do this, there were a couple of newspaper men, and an operator with a camera, and more excitement and more crowds! So we started to walk again, and came to Main Street, which in our city is given up to ten centpicture-shows, and pawn-brokers, and old clothes shops, and eating-stands for workingmen. A block or so distant we saw a mass ofpeople, and something warned me--my heart sank into my boots. Another mob!

XLVII

There was shouting, and people running from every direction. Thethrong would surge back, and a few run from it. "What's the matter?"I cried to one of these, and the answer was, "They're cleaning outthe reds!" Comrade Abell, who knew the neighborhood, exclaimed indismay, "It's Erman's Book Store!"

"Who's doing this?" I asked of another bystander, and the answerwas, "The Brigade! They're cleaning up the city before theconvention!" And Comrade Abell clasped his hands to his forehead, and wailed in despair, "It's because they've been selling the'Liberator'! Erman told me last week he'd been warned to stopselling it!"

Now, I don't know whether or not Carpenter had ever heard of thisradical monthly. But he knew that here was a mob, and people introuble, and he shook off the hands which sought to restrain him, and pushed his way into the throng, which gave way before him, either from respect or from curiosity. I learned later that some ofthe mob had dragged the bookseller and his two clerks out by therear entrance, and were beating them pretty severely. Butfortunately Carpenter did not see this. All he saw were a dozen orso ex-soldiers in uniform carrying armfuls of magazines and booksout into a little square, which was made by the oblique intersectionof two avenues. They were dumping the stuff into a pile, and a manwith a five gallon can was engaged in pouring kerosene over it. 

"My friend, " said Carpenter, "what is this that you do?"

The other turned upon him and stared. "What the hell you got to dowith it? Get out of the way there!" And to emphasize his words heslopped a jet of kerosene over the prophet's robes. 

Said Carpenter: "Do you know what a book is? One of your poets hasdescribed it as the precious life-blood of a great spirit, embalmedand preserved to all posterity. "

The other laughed scornfully. "Was he talkin' about Bolshevikibooks, you reckon?"

Said Carpenter: "Are you one that should be set to judge books? Haveyou read these that you are about to destroy?" And as the other, paying no attention, knelt down to strike a match and light thepyre, he cried, in a louder voice: "Behold what a thing is war! Youhave been trained to kill your fellow men; the beast has been letloose in your heart, and he raves within!"

"One of these God-damn pacifists, eh?" cried the ex-soldier; and hedropped his matches and sprang up with fists clenched. Carpenterfaced him without flinching; there was something so majestic abouthim, the man did not strike him, he merely put his spread handagainst the prophet's chest and shoved him violently. "Get back outof the way!"

I well knew the risk I was taking, but I could not refrain. "Now, look here, buddy!" I began; and the soldier whirled upon me. "Youone of these Huns, too?"

"I was all through the Argonne, " I said quickly. "And I belong tothe Brigade. "

"Oh ho! Well, pitch in here, and help carry out this bloodyArnychist literature!"

I was about to answer, but Carpenter's voice rang out again. He hadturned and stretched out his arms to the crowd, and we both stoppedto listen to his words. 

"Shall ye be wolves, or shall ye be men? That is the choice, and yehave chosen wolfhood. The blood of your brothers is upon your hands, and murder in your hearts. You have trained your young men to bekillers of their brothers, and now they know only the law ofmadness. "

There were a dozen ex-doughboys in sound of this discourse, and Ijudged they would not stand much of it. Suddenly one of them beganto chant; and the rest took it up, half laughing, half shouting:

 Rough! Tough! We're the stuff! We want to fight and we can't get enough!

And after that:

 Hail! Hail! The gang's all here! We're going to get the Kaiser!

The crowd joined in, and the words of the prophet were completelydrowned out. A moment later I heard a gruff voice behind me. "Makeway here!" There came a policeman, shoving through. "What's all thisabout?"

The fellow with the kerosene can spoke up: "Here's this damnArnychist prophet been incitin' the crowd and preachin' sedition!You better take him along, officer, and put him somewhere he'll besafe, because me and my buddies won't stand no more Bolshevikirantin'. "

It seemed ludicrous when I looked back upon it; though at the momentI did not appreciate the funny side. Here was a group of men engagedin raiding a book-store, beating up the proprietor and his clerks, and burning a thousand dollars worth of books and magazines on thepublic street; but the policeman did not see a bit of that, he hadno idea that any such thing was happening! All he saw was a prophet, in a white nightgown dripping with kerosene, engaged in denouncingwar! He took him firmly by the arm, saying, "Come along now! I guesswe've heard enough o' this;" and he started to march Carpenter downthe street. 

"Take me too!" cried Moneta, the Mexican, beside himself withexcitement; and the policeman grabbed him with the other hand, andthe three set out to march. 

XLVIII

I no longer had any impulse to interfere. In truth I was glad to seethe policeman, considering that his worst might be better than themob's best. About half the crowd followed us, but the singing diedaway, and that gave Comrade Abell his chance. He was walkingdirectly behind the policeman, and suddenly he raised his voice, andall the rest of the way to the station-house he provided marchingtunes: first the Internationale, and then the Reg Flag, and then theMarseillaise:

 Ye sons of toil, awake to glory! Hark, hark! What myriads bids you rise! Your children, wives, and grand sires hoary-- Behold their tears and hear their cries!

When we came to the station house, the policeman gave Moneta a shoveand told him to get along; he had not done anything, and was deniedthe honor of being arrested. The officer pushed Carpenter throughthe door, and bade the rest of us keep out. 

Said Abell: "I am an attorney. "

"The hell you are!" said the other. "I thought you were an operysinger. "

"I'm a practicing attorney, " said Abell, "and I represent the manyou have arrested. I presume I have a right to enter. "

"And I am a prospective bondsman, " I stated, with suddeninspiration. "So let me in also. "

We entered, and the policeman led his prisoner to the sergeant atthe desk. The latter asked the charge, and was told, "Disturbing thepeace and blocking traffic. "

"Now, sergeant, " said I, "this is preposterous. All this prisonerdid was to try to stop a mob from destroying property. "

"You can tell all that to the magistrate in the morning, " said thesergeant. 

"What is the bail?" I demanded. 

"You are prepared to put up bail?"

I answered that I was; and then for the first time Carpenter spoke. "You mean you wish to pay money to secure my release? Let there beno money paid for me. "

"Let me explain, Mr. Carpenter, " I pleaded. "You will accomplishnothing by spending the night in a police cell. You will have noopportunity to talk with the prisoners. They will keep you byyourself. "

He answered, "My Father will be with me. " And gazing into the faceof the sergeant, he demanded, "Do you think you can build a cell towhich my Father cannot come?"

The officer was an old hand, with a fringe of grey hair around hisbald head, and no doubt he had been asked many queer questions inhis day. His response was to inquire the prisoner's name; and whenthe prisoner kept haughty silence, he wrote down "John DoeCarpenter, " and proceeded: "Where do you live?"

Said Carpenter: "The foxes have holes, and the birds of the air havenests, but he that espouses the cause of justice has no home in aworld of greed. "

So the sergeant wrote: "No address, " and nodded to a jailer, whotook the prophet by the arm and led him away through a steel-barreddoor. 

Abell and I went outside and joined the rest of the group. None ofus knew just what to do--with the exception of Everett, who sat onthe steps with his notebook, and made me repeat to him word for wordwhat Carpenter had said!

XLIX

Comrade Abell told us where the police-court was located, and weagreed to be there at nine o'clock next morning. Then I parted fromthe rest, and walked until I met a taxi and drove to my rooms. 

I felt desolate and forlorn. Nothing in my old life had any interestfor me. This was the afternoon when I usually went to the AthleticClub to box; but now I found myself wondering, what would Carpentersay to such imitation fighting? I decided I would stay by myself fora while, and take a walk and think things over. I had beendissatisfied with my life for a long time; the glamor had begun towear off the excitement of youth, and I had begun to suspect that mylife was idle and vain. Now I knew that it was: and also I knew thatthe world was a place of torment and woe. 

I returned late in the afternoon, and a few minutes afterwards mytelephone rang, and I discovered that somebody else was dissatisfiedwith life. 

"Hello, Billy, " said the voice of T-S. "I see dat feller Carpenteris in jail. Vy don't you bail him out?"

"He won't let me, " I said. 

"Vell, maybe it might be a good ting to leave him in jail a veek, till dis Brigade convention gits over. "

"Funny!" said I. "I had the same idea!"

"Listen, " continued the other, "I been feelin' awful bad because Itold dem fellers I didn't know him. D' you suppose he knows I saiddat, Billy?"

"Well, " said I, "he knew you were going to say it, so probably heknows you said it. "

"Vell, " said T-S, "maybe you laugh at me, but I been tinkin' I telldem fellows to go to hell. "

"What fellows?"

"De whole damn vorld! Billy, I like dat feller Carpenter! I nevermet a feller like him before. You tink he vould let me go to see himin de jail?"

"I'm sure he'd be glad to see you, " I said; "if the jailers didn'tobject. "

"Sure, I fix de jailers all right!"

"But T-S, " I added, "I don't believe he'll sign any contract. "

"Contract nuttin', " said T-S. "I shoost vant to see him, Billy. Isdere anyting I could do fer him?"

I thought for a moment; then I said: "You might do something for oneof his friends, and that's young Everett. He got pretty badly hurt, and he's sticking at the job of taking down all Carpenter'sspeeches. He ought to have a surgeon, and also a first classstenographer to take turns with him. Have you got another man likehim?"

"I dunno, " said T-S. "You don't find a young feller like MattEverett everyday. "

I started. "What do you say is his name?"

"Matthew, " said T-S. "Vy you ask?"

"Nothing, " said I; "just a coincidence!"

Our conversation ended with the remark by T-S that he would call upthe station-house and arrange to see Carpenter. Five minutes laterthe telephone rang again, and I heard the magnate's voice: "Billy, dey say he's been bailed out!"

"What?" I cried. "He declared he wouldn't have it done. "

"Somebody done it vitout askin' him! De money vas paid, and deyturned him out!"

"Who did it?"

"Guess!"

"You mean it was you?"

"I vouldn't 'a dared. I only shoost found out about it. Mary Magnadone it, and she's took him avay somevere. "

"Good Lord!" I exclaimed; and before my mind's eye flashed anotherheadline:

FAIR FILM STAR FREES LOVE-CULT PROPHET

I promised to try to find out about the prophet at once. "He won'tget away, " I said, "because he doesn't ride in automobiles, and heand Mary can't walk very far on the street without the newspapersfinding them!"

I took my telephone-book, and looked up the name Abell. It is anunusual name, and there was only one attorney bearing it. (I wasstruck by the fact that the first name of this attorney was Mark. ) Icalled him on the phone, and heard the familiar gentle voice. Yes, Comrade Carpenter had just arrived, and Miss Magna was with him. They were going to have a little party, and they would be glad tohave me come. Yes, Mr. T-S would be welcome, of course. So then Icalled up the magnate of the pictures, and not without an inwardsmile, conferred on him the gracious permission to spend the eveningat the headquarters of Local Western City of the Socialist Party!

L

When I got to the meeting-place I found that a feast had beenspread. I don't know where the money came from; maybe it wasBolshevik gold, as the enemy charged, or maybe it was the ill-gottengains of a "million dollar movie vamp. " Anyhow, there was a tablespread with a couple of cloths that were clean, if ragged, and onthem flowers and fruit. Carpenter was seated at the head of thetable, and I noted to my surprise that he had on a beautiful robe ofsnow-white linen, instead of the one he had formerly worn, which wasnot only stained with kerosene but filthy with the dust of thestreets. I learned that Mrs. T-S had brought this festal garment--asimple matter for her, because in movie studios they have wardroberooms where they turn out any sort of costume imaginable. 

This robe was so striking that it created a little controversy. James, the carpenter, who had an ascetic spirit, considered itnecessary to speak plainly, and point out that Mrs. T-S would havedone better to take the money and give it to the poor. But theprophet answered: "Let this woman alone. She has done a good thing. The poor you have always with you, but me you have only for a shorttime. This woman has helped to make our feast happy, and men willtell about it in future years. "

But that did not satisfy the ascetic James, who retired to hiscorner grumbling. "I know, we're going to start a new church--thesame old graft all over again! A man has no business to say a thinglike that. The first thing you know, they'll be taking the widow'smite to buy silk and velvet dresses for him and golden goblets forhim to drink from! And then, before you know it they'll be settinghim up in stained glass windows, and priests'll be wearing jewelledrobes, and saying it's all right, and quoting his words!" Iperceived that it wasn't so easy for a prophet to manage a bunch ofdisciples in these modern days!

The controversy did not seem to trouble Mrs. T-S, who was waddlingabout, perfectly happy in the kitchen--doing the things she wouldhave done all the time, if her husband's social position had notrequired her to keep a dozen servants. Also, I noted to my greatastonishment that Mary Magna, instead of taking a place at theprophet's right hand, according to the prerogative of queens, hadput on a plain apron and was helping "Maw" and Mrs. Abell. Moresurprising yet, T-S had seated himself inconspicuously at the footof the table, while at the prophet's right hand there sat a convictwith a twenty year jail sentence hanging over him--John Colver, the"wobbly" poet! Again an ancient phrase learned in childhood camefloating through my mind: "He hath put down the mighty from theirseats, and exalted them of low degree!"

Somehow word had been got to all the little group of agitators ofvarious shades. There was Korwsky, the secretary of the tailors'union--whose first name I learned was Luka; also his fellow Russian, the express-driver, --Simon Karlin, and Tom Moneta, the young Mexicancigar-maker. There was Matthew Everett, free to be a guest on thisoccasion, because T-S had brought along another stenographer. Therewas Mark Abell, and another Socialist, a young Irishman named AndyLynch, a veteran of the late war who had come home completely curedof militarism, and was now spending his time distributing Socialistleaflets, and preaching to the workers wherever he could get two orthree to listen. Also there was Hamby, the pacifist whom I did notlike, and a second I. W. W. , brought by Colver--a lad named Philip, who had recently been indicted by the grand jury, and was at thismoment a fugitive from justice with a price upon his head. 

The door of the room was opened, and another man came in; a strikingfigure, tall and gaunt, with old and pitifully untidy clothing, anda half month's growth of beard upon his chin. He wore an old blackhat, frayed at the edges; but under this hat was a face of suchgentleness and sadness that it made you think of Carpenter's own. Withal, it was a Yankee face--of that lean, stringy kind that weknow so well. The newcomer's eyes fell upon Carpenter, and his facelighted; he set down an old carpet-bag that he was carrying, andstretched out his two hands, and went to him. "Carpenter! I've beenlooking for you!"

And Carpenter answered, "My brother!" And the two clasped hands, andI thought to myself with astonishment, "How does Carpenter know thisman?"

Presently I whispered to Abell, "Who is he?" I learned that he wasone I had heard of in the papers--Bartholomew Howard, the"millionaire hobo;" he was grandson and heir of one of our greatcaptains of industry, and had taken literally the advice of theprophet, to sell all that he had and give it to the unemployed. Hetraveled over the country, living among the hobos and organizingthem into his Brotherhood. Now you would have thought that he andCarpenter had known each other all their lives; as I watched them, Ifound myself thinking: "Where are the clergy and the pillars of St. Bartholomew's Church?" There were none of them at this supper-party!

LI

T-S had stopped at a caterer's on his way to the gathering, and haddone his humble best in the form of a strawberry short-cake almosthalf as large around as himself; also several bottles of purplecolor, with the label of grape juice. When the company gathered atthe table and these bottles were opened, they made a suspiciousnoise, and so we all made jokes, as people have the habit of doingin these days of getting used to prohibition. I noticed thatCarpenter laughed at the jokes, and seemed to enjoy the wholefestivity. 

It happened that fate had placed me next to James, so I listened tomore asceticism. "He oughtn't to do things like this! People willsay he likes to eat rich food and to drink. It's bad for themovement for such things to be said. "

"Cheer up, my friend!" I laughed. "Even the Bolsheviks have a feastnow and then, when they can get it. "

"You'll see what the newspapers do with this tomorrow, " growled theother; "then you won't think it so funny. "

"Forget it!" I said. "There aren't any reporters here. "

"No, " said he, "but there are spies here, you may be sure. There arespies everywhere, nowadays. You'll see!"

Presently Carpenter called on some of the company for speeches. Would Bartholomew tell about the unemployed, what their organizationwas doing, and what were their plans? And after that he asked JohnColver, who sat on his right hand, to recite some of his verses. John and his friend Philip, a blue eyed, freckle-faced lad wholooked as if he might be in high school, told stories about theadventures of outlaw agitators. For several months these two hadbeen traveling the country as "blanket stiffs, " securing employmentin lumber-camps and mines, gathering the workers secretly in thewoods to listen to the new gospel of deliverance. The employers wereorganized on a nation-wide scale everywhere throughout the country, and the workers with their feeble craft unions were like men usingbows and arrows against machine-guns. There must be One Big Union--that was the slogan, and if you preached it, you went every hour inperil of such a fate that you counted fourteen years in jail ascomparatively a happy ending. 

Said Carpenter: "It is not such a bad thing for a cause to have itspreachers go to jail. "

"Well, " said the lad of the blue eyes and the freckled face, "we tryto keep a few outside, to tell what the rest are in for!"

Later on, I remember, John Colver told a funny story about this palof his. The story had to do with grape juice instead of withpropaganda, but it appealed to me because it showed the gay spiritof these lads. The two of them had sought refuge from a storm in abarn, and there, lying buried in the hay with the rain pouring downon the roof, they had heard the farmer coming to milk his cows. Theman had evidently just parted from his wife, and there had been aquarrel; but the farmer hadn't dared to say what he wanted to, sonow he took it out on the cows! "Na! na! na!" he shouted, withfurious vehemence. "That's it! Go on! Nag, nag, nag! Don't stop, orI might manage to get a word in! Yes, I'm late, of course I'm lateDo you expect me to drive by the clock? Maybe I did forget thesugar! Maybe I've got nothing on my mind but errands! Whiskey? Maybeit's whiskey, and maybe it's gin, and maybe it's grape-juice!" Thefarmer set down his milk-pail and his lantern, and shook hisclenched fist at the patient cattle. "I'm a man, I am, and I'll haveyou understand I'm master in my own house! I'll drink if I feel likedrinking, I'll stop and chat with my neighbors if I feel likestopping, I'll buy sugar if I remember to buy it, and if you don'tlike it, you can buy your own!" And so on--becoming more inspiredwith his own eloquence--or maybe with the whiskey, or the gin, orthe grape-juice; until young Philip became so filled with the spiritof the combat that he popped up out of the hay and shouted, "Goodfor you, old man! Stand up for your rights! Don't let her down you!Hurrah for men!" And the astounded farmer stood staring with hismouth open, while the two "wobbles" leaped up and fled from thebarn, so convulsed with laughter they hardly noticed the floods ofrain pouring down upon them. 

LII

But, of course, it wasn't long before this little company becameserious again. Carpenter told Franklin that he ought not stay here;he, Carpenter, was too conspicuous a figure, the authorities werecertain to be watching him. Korwsky backed him up. There were sureto be spies here! They would never leave such a man unwatched. Theywould set to work to get something on him, and if they couldn't getit they would make it. When Carpenter asked what he meant, heexplained, "Dey'll plant dynamite in de place vere you are, ordey'll fake up some letters to show you been plannin' violence. "

"And do people believe such things?" asked Carpenter. 

"Believe dem?" cried Korwsky. "If dey see it in de papers, deybelieve it--sure dey do!"

The prophet answered, "Let a man live so that the world will believehim and not his enemies. " Then he added a startling remark. "Thereis one among us who will betray me. "

Of course, they all looked at one another in consternation. Theywere deeply distressed, and each tried in turn--"Comrade, " or"Brother, " or "Fellow-worker, " or whatever term they used--"is itI?" Presently the sturdy looking fellow named Hamby, who calledhimself a pacifist, asked, "Is it I?" And Carpenter answered, quietly, "You have said it. "

Then, of course, some of the others started up; they wanted to throwhim out, but Carpenter bade them sit down again, saying, "Let thingstake their course; for the powers of this world will perish morequickly if they are permitted to kill themselves. "

Apparently he saw no reason why this episode should be permitted tointerfere with the festivities. Mary Magna came in laughing, bearingthe strawberry short-cake, and set it on the table and proceeded toportion it out. When it was served, Carpenter said, "I shall not bewith you much longer, my friends; but you will remember me when yousee this beautiful red fruit on top of a cake; and also you willthink of me and my message when you taste rich purple grape-juicethat has perhaps stayed a day or two too long in the bottle!"

Some of the company laughed, but others of them had tears in theireyes; and I noticed that in the midst of the merriment the fellowHamby got up and slipped out of the room. Not long after that thecompany began to disperse for various reasons. Karlin explained thathis old horse had been working all day, and had had no supper. Colver was uneasy, not for himself, but for his friend, and I sawhim start every time the door was opened. Also, T-S was having somenight-scenes taken, and he and Mary were to see the work. FinallyCarpenter dismissed the Company, with the statement that he wishedto retire to Comrade Abell's private office to pray; and Abell andhis friend Lynch and the young Mexican said they would watch andwait for him. The rest of us took our departure, not withoutmisgivings and sorrow in our hearts. 

LIII

Now, you may find it hard to believe a confession which I have putoff making--the fact that at this time I was engaged to be married. There was a certain member of what is called the "younger set, " whomI had given reason to expect that I would think about her at leastonce in a while. But here for precisely three days I had beenchasing about at the skirts of a prophet fresh from God, getting myname into the newspapers in scandalous fashion, and not daring evento call the young lady on the telephone and make apologies. Thatevening there was a dinner-dance at her home, and I supposed I wassupposed to be there; but no one had bothered to invite me, and as amatter of fact I would not have known of the affair if I had notseen the announcement in the papers. I was too late for the dinner, but I got myself a taxicab, and drove to my room and changed myclothes, and hurried in my own car to the dance. 

You would not be interested in the fact that when I arrived I wastreated as an unwelcome guest, and Miss Betty even went so far as toremind me that I had not been invited. But after I had pleaded, sheconsented to dance with me; and so for an hour or two I tried toforget there were any people in the world who had anything to do butbe happy. Just as I was succeeding, the butler came, calling me tothe telephone, and I answered, and who should it be but Old Joe!

My surprise became consternation at his first words: "Billy, yourfriend Carpenter is in peril!"

"What do you mean?"

"They are going to get him tonight. "

"Good God! How do you know?"

"It's a long story, and no time to tell it. Somebody's tipped meoff. Where can I meet you? Every minute is precious. "

"Where are you?" I asked, and learned that he was at his home, notfar away. I said I would come there, and I hurried to Betty and hadanother scene with her, and left her weeping, vowing that she wouldnever see me again. I ran out and jumped into my car--and I wouldhate to tell what I did to the speed laws of Western City. Sufficeit to say that a few minutes later I was in Old Joe's den, and hewas telling me his story. 

Part of it I got then, and part of it later, but I might as welltell it all at once and be done with it. It happened that at therestaurant where Old Joe and I had dined before we went to themass-meeting, he had met a girl whom he knew too well, after thefashion of young men about town. In greeting her on the way out, hehad told her he was going to hear the new prophet and had laughinglysuggested that the meeting was free. The girl, out of idlecuriosity, had come, and had been touched by Carpenter's physical, if not by his moral charms. It chanced that this girl was livingwith a man who stood high in the secret service department of "bigbusiness" in our city; so she had got the full story of what wasbeing planned against Carpenter. That afternoon, it appeared, therehad been a meeting between Algernon de Wiggs, president of ourChamber of Commerce, and Westerly, secretary of our "M. And M. , " andGerald Carson, organizer of our "Boosters' League. " These three hadput up six thousand dollars, and turned it over to their secretservice agents, with instructions that Carpenter's agitations inWestern City were to be ended inside of twenty-four hours. 

A plan had been worked out, every detail of which had been phoned toOld Joe. A group of ex-service men, members of the Brigade, had beenhired to seize the prophet and treat him to a tar and feathering. Ithad not taken much to move them to action, for the afternoon paperswere full of accounts of Carpenter's speech on Main Street, hisdenunciation of war, and of soldiers as "murderers" and "wolves. "

But that was not all, said Old Joe; and I saw that his hand wastrembling as he spoke. It appeared that there was an "operative"named Hamby, who was one of Carpenter's followers. 

"By God!" I burst out, in sudden fury. "I was sure that fellow was acrook!"

"Yes, " said the other. "He's been telephoning in regular reports asto Carpenter's doings. And now it's been arranged that he is to putan infernal machine in the Socialist headquarters where Carpenterhas been staying!"

I was almost speechless. "You mean--to blow them up?"

"No, to blow up their reputations. Hamby is to lure Carpenter out tothe street, and when the gang grabs him, Hamby will fire a shot, andthere will be three or four secret agents in the crowd, who willincite the others, and see to it that Carpenter is lynched insteadof being tarred and feathered!"

LIV

So there was the layout; and now, what was to be done? The firstthing was to call Abell on the phone, and see if anything hadhappened. I picked up the receiver; but alas, the report was, "Noanswer. " I urged "central" to try several times, but all I could getwas, "I am ringing them. " Carpenter, no doubt, was praying. Whatwere the others doing? I kept on trying, but finally gave up. 

Could the mob have taken them away? But Old Joe answered, no, adefinite hour had been set. The ex-service men were to gather on thestroke of midnight. We had nearly an hour yet. 

My first thought was that we should hurry to the Socialistheadquarters and get Carpenter out of the way. But my friend pointedout that the place was certain to be watched, and we might findourselves held up by the armed detectives; they would hardly take achance of letting their prey escape at this hour. Also, I realizedthere was no use figuring on any plan that involved spiritingCarpenter away quietly, by the roof, or a rear entrance, or anythingof that sort. He would insist on staying and facing his enemies. 

I put my wits to work. We needed a good-sized crowd; we needed, infact, a mob of our own. And suddenly the word brought to me aninspiration; that mob which T-S had drilled at Eternal City! Irecalled that a year or so ago I had been lured to sit through avery dull feature picture which the magnate had made, showing thesalvation of our country by the Ku Klux Klan; and I knew enoughabout studio methods to be sure they had not thrown away thecostumes, but would have them stored. Here was the way to save ourprophet! Here was the way to get what one wanted in Mobland!

I picked up the receiver and called Eternal City. Yes, Mr. T-S wasthere, but he was "on the lot" and could not be disturbed. I gave myname, and stated that it was a matter of life and death; Mr. T-Smust come to the phone instantly. A couple of minutes later I heardhis voice, and told him the situation, and also my scheme. He mustcome himself, to make sure that his orders were obeyed; he mustbring several bus-loads of men, clad in the full regalia ofMobland's great Secret Society; and they must arrive at Abell'splace precisely on the stroke of midnight. The men must be paid fivedollars apiece, and be told that if they succeeded in bringing awaythe prophet unharmed, they would each get ten dollars extra. "I willput up that money, " I said to T-S; but to my surprise he cried: "Youain't gonna put up nuttin'! God damn dem fellers, I'll beat 'em ifit costs me a million!" So I realized that the prophet had made onemore convert!

"Have you got that bus with the siren?" I asked; and when heanswered, yes, I said, "Let that be the signal. When we hear it, Joeand I will bring Carpenter down to the street, and if the Brigade isthere, it's up to you to persuade them you're the bigger mob!"

Then Old Joe and I ran down to my car, and drove at full speed tothe Socialist headquarters; and on the way we worked out our ownplan of campaign. The real danger-point was Hamby, the secret agent, and we must manage to put him out of the way. Despite his pose of"pacifism, " he was certain to be armed, said Old Joe; yet we musttake a chance, and do the job unarmed. If we should get into ashooting-scrape, they would certainly put it onto us; and they wouldmake it a hanging matter, too. 

I named over the members of Carpenter's party who had stayed withhim. Andy Lynch, the ex-soldier, was probably a useful man, and wewould get his help. We would get rid of Hamby, and then we wouldwait for T-S and his siren. By the time these plans were thoroughlytalked out, we had reached the building in which the headquarterswere located. There were lights in the main room upstairs, and thedoor which led up to them was open. The street was apparentlydeserted, and we did not stop to look for any "operatives, " but leftour machine and stole quietly upstairs and into the room. 

LV

Comrade Abell sat at the table, with his head bowed in his arms, sound asleep. Lynch, the ex-soldier, and Tom Moneta, the Mexican, were lying on the floor snoring. And on a chair near the doorway, watching the scene, sat Hamby, wide awake. We knew he was awake, because he leaped to his feet the instant we entered the door. "Oh, it's you!" he said, recognizing me; I noted the alarm in his voice. 

I beckoned to him, softly. "Come here a moment;" and he came outinto the ante-room. At the same time Old Joe stepped across the bigroom, and stooped down and waked up Lynch. We had agreed that Joewas to give Lynch a whispered explanation of the situation, while Ikept Hamby busy. 

"Where is Mr. Carpenter?" I asked. 

"He's in the private office, praying. "

"Well, " said I, "there's a sick woman who needs help very badly. Iwonder if we'd better disturb him. "

"I don't know, " said Hamby. "I've been here an hour, and haven'theard a sound. Maybe he's asleep. "

I was uncertain what I should do, and I elaborately explained myuncertainty. Of course, praying was an important and usefuloccupation, and I knew that the prophet laid great stress upon it, and all of us who loved him so dearly must respect his wishes. 

"Yes, of course, " said Hamby. 

Yet at the same time, I continued, this woman was very ill, a caseof ptomaine poisoning--

"Do you think he can cure that?" asked Hamby guilelessly; and atthat moment Old Joe and Lynch came from the big room. Hamby startedto turn, but he was too late. Old Joe's arms went around him, andHamby's two elbows were clamped to his sides, in a grip which morethan one professional wrestler in our part of the world has found itimpossible to break. At the same time I stooped on my knees andgrasped the man's two wrists; because we were taking no chances ofhis gun. Lynch, the ex-soldier, had a cloth, taken from the bigtable, and he flung this over the head of the "pacifist" and stifledhis cries. 

I took a revolver from his hip-pocket, but Joe was not satisfied. "Search him carefully, " said he, and so I discovered another weaponin a side-pocket. Then I made hasty search in a big closet of theroom, and found a lot of bundles of books and magazines tied withstout cords. I took the cords, and we bound the "pacifist's" wristsand ankles, and put a gag in his mouth, and then we felt sure he wasreally a pacifist. We carried him to the closet and laid him on thefloor, where a humorous idea came to us. These bundles of magazinesand books were no doubt the ones which the mob had confiscated fromComrade Abell. Since they were no longer saleable, they might aswell be put to some use, so I gathered armfuls of them anddistributed them over the form of Hamby, until there was no longer atrace of him visible. 

And while I was doing this, I noticed in one corner of the closet, under the bundles, a wooden box about a foot square. Upon trying tolift it, I discovered that it weighed several times as much as itshould have weighed if it had contained printed matter. "Here's ourinfernal machine, " I whispered, and I picked it up gingerly, andtiptoed out of the room, and back to the kitchen, and down a rearstairway of the building. I unlocked the door and opened it--andthere, crouching in the shadows alongside the door, just as Iexpected, I saw a man. 

"Hello!" I whispered. 

"Hello!" said he, badly startled. 

"Here's something belonging to Hamby. He wants me to give it to you. Be careful, it's heavy. " I deposited the box in his hands, and shutthe door, and turned the lock again, and groped my way upstairs, chuckling to myself as I imagined the man's plight. He would notknow what to make of this incident, and I had an idea he would notbe able to find out, because he could not leave his post. Nor wouldhe have much time to figure over the matter; for when I got back tothe light, I looked at my watch, and it lacked just three minutes totwelve. 

I found that Lynch and Old Joe had shut the pacifist in the closet, and were in the ante-room waiting for me. I whispered thateverything was all right. A moment later we heard a sound in the bigroom, and peered in, and saw a door at the far end open--and therewas Carpenter, standing with his white robes gleaming in the light. After a moment I realized that they gleamed even more than wasnatural; I perceived once more that strange "aura" which had beennoticed at the mass-meeting; and by means of it I noticed an evenmore startling thing. There were drops of sweat on Carpenter'sforehead, as always when he had labored intensely in his soul. Thistime I saw that the drops were large, and they were drops of blood!

A trembling seized me. I was awe-stricken before this man--afraid togo on with what I was doing, and equally afraid to back out. Iremained staring helplessly, and saw him approach the sleepingfigures, and stand looking at them. "Could you not watch with me onehour?" he said, in his gentle, sad voice; and he put his hand onComrade Abell's shoulder, with the words: "The time has come. "

Abell started to his feet, and began to apologize. The other saidnothing, but stooped and waked Moneta. And at that moment I heardthe shrill blast of a whistle outside on the street! "There's theBrigade!" whispered Old Joe. 

LVI

I ran down the stairs, and peered through the doorway, and sureenough, there were four or five automobiles stopped before theheadquarters, having approached from opposite direction. I stoodjust long enough to see a crowd of men in khaki uniforms jumpingout; then I ran back, and leaving Old Joe and Lynch to keep guard atthe top of the stairs, I walked in and greeted Carpenter. 

He expressed no surprise at seeing me. Evidently his thoughts wereon other things. For my part, I was trembling with excitement, sothat my knees would barely hold me. How long would it be before T-Sand his crowd appeared? I could figure the time it should take themto drive from Eternal City; but suppose something held them up? Howlong would the ex-service men stay out on the street, waiting forHamby to answer their signal? Surely not many minutes! They wouldstorm the place, and hunt out their victim for themselves. Andsuppose they should carry him off before the others arrived?

I had Hamby's two revolvers in my pocket. Should we use them, ornot? The thought hit me all of a sudden; and apparently it hit OldJoe at the same moment. "Give me those guns, Billy, " he whispered, and I put them obediently into his hands, and he went quickly intothe rear rooms. At the end of a minute, he returned, saying, "Iunloaded them and threw them out of the back window. " And even as hespoke, the silence of the night outside was shattered by the screamof that siren, which served to warn people out of the way when T-Swas moving his companies about "on location. "

I went up to Carpenter. I didn't enjoy telling him a lie; in fact, Ihad an idea that one couldn't lie to him successfully. But I triedit. "Mr. Carpenter, Hamby left a message; he had to go downstairs, and said he wanted to see you. Would you come down and meet him?"

"Ah, yes!" said Carpenter. And he walked to the door and down thestairs without another word. The rest of us followed him; Abell andMoneta first, they being innocent and unsuspicious; and then Lynch, and then Joe and I. 

The prophet stepped out to the street, and was instantly surroundedby a group of a dozen ex-service men, two of whom grasped him by thearms. He did not lift a hand, nor even make a sound. Comrade Abell, of course, started to cry out in protest; Moneta, the Mexican, reverted to his ancestors. His hand flashed to an inside pocket, anda knife leaped out. A soldier had hold of him, and Moneta shouted, "Stand back, or I cut off your ears. " At which Carpenter turned, andin a stern, commanding voice proclaimed: "Let no man use force in mybehalf! They who use force shall perish by force. " Moneta stoodstill; and of course Lynch and Old Joe and I stood still; and thedozen men about Carpenter started to lead him away to theirautomobiles. 

But they did not get very far. Upon the silence of the street avoice rang out. Ordinarily, one would have known it was the voice ofa woman; but in this place, under these exciting circumstances, itseemed the voice of a supernatural being. It almost sang the words;it was like a silver bugle calling across a battle-field--glorious, thrilling, hypnotic. "Make way-y-y-y for the Grand ImperialKle-e-e-agle of the Ku-u Klux Klan!" Every one was startled; but Ithink I was startled more that the rest, for I knew the voice! MaryMagna had taken another speaking part!

I was on the steps of the building, so I could see over the heads ofthe crowd. There were four of the big busses from Eternal City, twohaving approached from each direction. Some fifty figures haddescended from them, and others were still descending, each one cladin a voluminous white robe, with a white hood over the head, and twoblack holes for eyes, and another for the nose. These figures hadspread out in a half moon, entirely surrounding the little mob ofex-service men, and penning them against the wall of the building. In the center of the half moon, standing a few feet in advance, wasthe figure of the "Grand Imperial Kleagle, " with a red star upon theforehead of the white hood, and shrouded white arms stretched out, and in one hand a magic wand with a red light on the end. This wandwas waving over the Brigade members, and had apparently its fullsupernatural effect, for one and all they stood rooted to the spot, staring with wide-open eyes. 

LVII

The grand-opera voice raised again its silver chant: "Give way, allmobs! Yield! Retire! Abdicate!--Bow down-n-n-n-n! Make way for theMob of Mobs, the irresistible, imperial, superior super-mob! Hearkento the Lord High Chief Commanding Dragon of the Esoteric Cohorts, the Exalted Immortal Grand Imperial Kleagle of the Ku Klux Klan!"

Then the Grand Imperial Kleagle turned and addressed the white-robedthrong in a voice of sharp command: "Klansmen! Remember your oath!The hour of Judgment is here! The guilty wretch cowers! The grandinsuperable sentence has been spoken! Coelum animum imperiabilissenescat! Similia similibus per quantum imperator. Inexorabilisingenium parasimilibua esperantur! Saeva itnparatus ignotumindignatio! Salvo! Suppositio! Indurato! Klansmen, kneel!"

As one man, the host fell upon its knees. 

"Klansmen, swear! Si fractus illibatur orbis, impavidum ferientruinae! You have heard the sentence. What is the penalty? Is itdeath?"

And a voice in the crowd cried "Death!" And the others took it up;there was a roar: "Death! Death!"

Said the Grand Imperial Kleagle: "Arma virumque cano, toupoluphlesboiou thalasses!" Then, facing the staring ex-servicemen:"Tetlathi mater erne kai anaskeo ko-omeneper!"

Finally the Grand Imperial Kleagle pointed her shrouded white arm atCarpenter, who stood, as pale as death, but unflinchingly. "Death toall traitors!" she cried. "Death to all agitators! Death to allenemies of the Ku Klux Klan! Condemnatus! Incomparabilis!Ingenientis exequatur! Let the Loyal High Inexorable Guardians andthe Grand Holy Seneschals of the Klan advance!"

Six shrouded figures stepped out from the crowd. Said the GrandImperial Kleagle: "Possess yourselves of the body of this guiltywretch!" And to the ex-servicemen: "Yield up this varlet to the HighSecret Court-martial of the Klan, which alone has power to punishsuch as he. "

What the bewildered members of the Brigade made of all thishocus-pocus I had no idea. Afterwards, when the adventure was over, I asked Mary, "Where in the world did you get that stuff?" And shetold me how she had once acted in a children's comedy, in whichthere was an old magician who spent his time putting spells onpeople. She had had to witness his incantations eight or ten times aweek for nearly a year, so of course the phrases had got fixed inher memory, and they had served just as well to impress thesegrown-up children. 

Or perhaps the ex-servicemen thought this might be a further plan ofthose who had employed them. Whatever they thought, it was obviousthat they were hopelessly outnumbered. There could be nothing for amob to do but yield to a Super-mob; and they yielded. Those who werein front of Carpenter stepped back, and the Loyal High InexorableGuardians and the Grand Holy Seneschals took Carpenter by the armsand led him away. Apparently they were going to overlook the rest ofus; but Old Joe and Lynch and myself took Abell and Moneta by theshoulders and shoved them along, past the ex-service men and intothe midst of the "Klansmen. "

There was no need to consider dignity after that. We hustledCarpenter to the nearest of the busses, and put him in; the GrandImperial Kleagle followed, and the rest of us clambered in afterher. Sitting up beside the driver, watching the scene, was T-S, beaming with delight; he got me by the hand and wrung it. I couldnot speak, my teeth were literally chattering with excitement. Carpenter, sitting in the seat behind us, must have realized by nowthe meaning of this scandalous adventure; but he said not a word, and the white-gowned Klansmen piled in behind him, and the sirenshrieked out into the night, and the bus backed to the corner, andturned and sped off; and all the way to Eternal City, T-S and I andOld Joe slapped one another on the back and roared with laughter, and the rest of the Klansmen roared with laughter--all save theGrand Imperial Kleagle, who sat by Carpenter's side, and wasdiscovered to be weeping. 

LVIII

T-S and I had exchanged a few whispered words, and decided that wewould take Carpenter to his place, which was a few miles in thecountry from Eternal City. He would be as safe there as anywhere Icould think of. When we had got to the studios, we discharged ourKlansmen, and arranged to send Old Joe to his home, and the threedisciples to a hotel for the night; then I invited Carpenter to stepinto T-S's car. He had not spoken a word, and all he said now was, "I wish to be alone. "

I answered: "I am taking you to a place where you may be alone aslong as you choose. " So he entered the car, and a few minutes laterT-S and I were escorting him into the latter's showy mansion. 

We were getting to be rather scared now, for Carpenter's silence wasforbidding. But again he said: "I wish to be alone. " We took himupstairs to a bed-room, and shut him in and left him--but taking theprecaution to lock the door. 

Downstairs, we stood and looked at each other, feeling like twoschool-boys who had been playing truant, and would soon have to facethe teacher. "You stay here, Billy!" insisted the magnate. "Yougotta see him in de mornin'! I von't!"

"I'll stay, " I said, and looked at my watch. It was after oneo'clock. "Give me an alarm-clock, " I said, "because Carpenter wakeswith the birds, and we don't want him escaping by the window. "

So it came about that at daybreak I tapped on Carpenter's door, softly, so as not to waken him if he were asleep. But he answered, "Come in;" and I entered, and found him sitting by the window, watching the dawn. 

I stood timidly in the middle of the room, and began: "I realize, ofcourse, Mr. Carpenter, that I have taken a very great liberty withyou--"

"You have said it, " he replied; and his eyes were awful. 

"But, " I persisted, "if you knew what danger you were in--"

Said he: "Do you think that I came to Mobland to look for acomfortable life?"

"But, " I pleaded, "if you only knew that particular gang! Do yourealize that they had planted an infernal machine, a dynamite bomb, in that room? And all the world was to read in the newspapers thismorning that you had been conspiring to blow up somebody!"

Said Carpenter: "Would it have been the first time that I have beenlied about?"

"Of course, " I argued, "I know what I have done--"

"You can have no idea what you have done. You are too ignorant. "

I bowed my head, prepared to take my punishment. But at onceCarpenter's voice softened. "You are a part of Mobland, " he said;"you cannot help yourself. In Mobland it is not possible for even amartyrdom to proceed in an orderly way. "

I gazed at him a moment, bewildered. "What's the good of amartyrdom?" I cried. 

"The good is, that men can be moved in no other way; they are inthat childish stage of being, where they require blood sacrifice. "

"But what kind of martyrdom!" I argued. "So undignified andunimpressive! To have hot tar smeared over your body, and be hangedby the neck like a common criminal!"

I realized that this last phrase was unfortunate. Said Carpenter: "Iam used to being treated as a common criminal. "

"Well, " said I, in a voice of despair, "of course, if you'reabsolutely bent on being hanged--if you can't think of anything youwould prefer--"

I stopped, for I saw that he had covered his face with his hands. Inthe silence I heard him whisper: "I prayed last night that this cupmight pass from me; and apparently my prayer has been answered. "

"Well, " I said, deciding to cheer up, "you see, I have only beenplaying the part of Providence. Let me play it just a few dayslonger, until this mob of crazy soldier-boys has got out of townagain. I am truly ashamed for them, but I am one of them myself, soI understand them. They really fought and won a war, you see, andthey are full of the madness of it, the blind, intense passions--"

Carpenter was on his feet. "I know!" he exclaimed. "I know! You neednot tell me about that! I do not blame your soldier-boys. I blamethe men who incite them--the old men, the soft-handed men, who sitback in office-chairs and plan madness for the world! What shall bethe punishment of these men?"

"They're a hard crowd--" I admitted. 

"I have seen them! They are stone-faced men! They are wolves withmachinery! They are savages with polished fingernails! And they havemade of the land a place of fools! They have made it Mobland!"

I did not try to answer him, but waited until the storm of hisemotion passed. "You are right, Mr. Carpenter. But that is the factabout our world, and you cannot change it--"

Carpenter flung out his arm at me. "Let no man utter in my presencethe supreme blasphemy against life!"

So, of course, I was silent; and Carpenter went and sat at thewindow again, and watched the dawn. 

At last I ventured: "All that your friends ask, Mr. Carpenter, isthat you will wait until this convention of the ex-soldiers has gotout of town. After that, it may be possible to get people to listento you. But while the Brigade is here, it is impossible. They arerough, and they are wild; they are taking possession of the city, and will do what they please. If they see you on the streets, theywill inflict indignities upon you, they will mishandle you--"

Said Carpenter: "Do not fear those who kill the body, but fear thosewho kill the soul. "

So again I fell silent; and presently he remarked: "My brother, Iwish to be alone. "

Said I: "Won't you please promise, Mr. Carpenter--"

He answered: "I make promises only to my Father. Let me be. "

LIX

I went downstairs, and there was T-S, wandering around like a bigfat monk in a purple dressing gown. And there was Maw, also--onlyher dressing gown was rose-pink, with white chrysanthemums on it. Ittook a lot to get those two awake at six o'clock in the morning, youmay be sure; but there they were, very much worried. "Vot does hesay?" cried the magnate. 

"He won't say what he is going to do. "

"He von't promise to stay?"

"He won't promise anything. "

"Veil, did you lock de door?"

I answered that I had, and then Maw put in, in a hurry: "Billy, yougotta stay here and take care of him! If he vas to gome downstairsand tell me to do someting, I vould got to do it!"

I promised; and a little later they got ready a cup of coffee and aglass of milk and some rolls and butter and fruit, and I had the jobof taking up the tray and setting it in the prophet's room. When Icame in, I tried to say cheerfully, "Here's your breakfast, " and notto show any trace of my uneasiness. 

Carpenter looked at me, and said: "You had the door locked?"

I summoned my nerve, and answered, "Yes. "

Said he: "What is the difference to me between being your prisonerand being the prisoner of your rulers?"

Said I: "Mr. Carpenter, the difference is that we don't intend tohang you. "

"And how long do you propose to keep me here?"

"For about four days, " I said; "until the convention disbands. Ifyou will only give me your word to wait that time, you may have thefreedom of this beautiful place, and when the period is over, Ipledge you every help I can give to make known your message to thepeople. "

I waited for an answer, but none came, so I set down the tray andwent out, locking the door again. And downstairs was one of T-S'ssecretaries, with copies of the morning newspapers, and I picked upa "Times, " and there was a headline, all the way across the page:

KU KLUX KLAN KIDNAPS KARPENTER RANTING RED PROPHET DISAPPEARS INTOOTING AUTOS

I understood, of icourse, that the secret agency which hadengineered the mobbing of the prophet would have had their storiesall ready for our morning newspapers--stories which played up tothe full the finding of an infernal machine, and an unprovokedattack upon ex-service men by the armed followers of the "RedProphet. " But now all this was gone, and instead was a storyglorifying the Klansmen as the saviors of the city's good name. Itwas evident that up to the hour of going to press, neither of thetwo newspapers had any idea but that the white robed figures weregenuine followers of the "Grand Imperial Kleagle. " The "Times"carried at the top of its editorial page a brief comment in largetype, congratulating the people of Western City upon the promptnesswith which they had demonstrated their devotion to the cause of lawand order. 

But of course the truth about our made-to-order mob could not bekept very long. When you have hired a hundred moving-picture actorsto share in the greatest mystery of the age, it will not be manyhours before your secret has got to the newspaper offices. As amatter of fact, it wasn't two hours before the "Evening Blare" wascalling the home of the movie magnate to inquire where he had takenthe kidnapped prophet; there was no use trying to deny anything, said the editor, diplomatically, because too many people had seenthe prophet transferred to Mr. T-S's automobile. Of course T-S'ssecretary, who answered the phone, lied valiantly; but here again, we knew the truth would leak. There were servants and chauffeurs andgardeners, and all of them knew that the white robed mystery wassomewhere on the place. They would be offered endless bribes--andsome of them would accept!

In the course of the next hour or two there were a dozen newspaperreporters besieging the mansion, and camera men taking pictures ofit, and even spying with opera glasses from a distance. Before mymind's eye flashed new headlines:

MOVIE MAGNATE HIDES MOB PROPHET FROM LAW

This was an aspect of the matter which we had at first overlooked. Carpenter was due at Judge Ponty's police-court at nine o'clock thatmorning. Was he going? demanded the reporters, and if not, why not?Mary Magna no doubt would be willing to sacrifice the two hundreddollars bail that she had put up; but the judge had a right to issuea bench warrant and send a deputy for the prisoner. Would he do it?

Behind the scenes of Western City's government there began forthwitha tremendous diplomatic duel. Who it was that wanted Carpenterdragged out of his hiding-place, we could not be sure, but we knewwho it was that wanted him to stay hidden! I called up my uncleTimothy, and explained the situation. It wasn't worth while for himto waste his breath scolding, I was going to stand by my prophet. Ifhe wanted to put an end to the scandal, let him do what he could tosee that the prophet was let alone. 

"But, Billy, what can I do?" he cried. "It's a matter of the law. "

I answered: "Fudge! You know perfectly well there's no magistrate orjudge in this city that won't do what he's told, if the right peopletell him. What I want you to do is to get busy with de Wiggs andWesterly and Carson, and the rest of the big gang, and persuade themthat there's nothing to be gained by dragging Carpenter out of hishiding-place. "

What did they want anyway? I argued. They wanted the agitationstopped. Well, we had stopped it, and without any bloodshed. If theydragged the prophet out from concealment, and into a police court, they would only have more excitement, more tumult, ending nobodycould tell how. 

I called up several other people who might have influence; andmeanwhile T-S was over at his office in Eternal City, pleading overthe telephone with the editors of afternoon papers. They had got theRed Prophet out of the way during the convention, and why couldn'tthey let well enough alone? Wasn't there news enough, with five orten thousand war-heroes coming to town, without bothering about onepoor religious freak?

When you shoot a load of shot at a duck, and the bird comes tumblingdown, you do not bother to ask which particular shot it was that hitthe target. And so it was with these frantic efforts of ours. Oneshot must have hit, for at eleven o'clock that morning, when thecase of John Doe Carpenter versus the Commonwealth of Western Citywas reached in Judge Ponty's court, and the bailiff called the nameof the defendant and there was no answer, the magistrate in a singlesentence declared the bail forfeited, and passed on to the next casewithout a word. And all three of our afternoon newspapers reportedthis incident in an obscure corner on an inside page. The RedProphet was dead and buried!

IX

I took up Carpenter's lunch at one o'clock, and discovered, to mydismay, that he had not tasted his breakfast. I ventured to speak tohim; but he sat on a chair, gazing ahead of him and paying noattention to me, so I left him alone. At six o'clock in the eveningI took up his dinner, and discovered that he had not touched eitherbreakfast or lunch; but still he had nothing to say, so I took backthe dinner, and went downstairs, and said to T-S: "We've gotourselves in for a hunger strike!"

Needless to say, under the circumstances we did not very heartilyenjoy our own dinner. And T-S, neglecting his important business, stayed around; getting up out of one chair and walking nowhere, andthen sitting down in another chair. I did the same, and after we hadexchanged chairs a dozen times--it being then about eight o'clock inthe evening--I said: "By the way, hadn't you better call up themorning papers and persuade them to be decent. " So T-S seatedhimself at the telephone, and asked for the managing editor of theWestern City "Times, " and I sat and listened to the conversation. 

It began with a reminder of the amount of advertising space whichEternal City consumed in the "Times" in the course of a year, andalso the amount of its payroll in the community. It wasn't oftenthat T-S asked favors, but he wanted to ask one now; he wanted the"Times" to let up on this prophet business, and especially about theprophet's connection with the moving picture industry. Everythingwas quiet now, the prophet wasn't bothering anybody--

Suddenly, at the height of his eloquence, T-S stopped; and it seemedto me as if he jumped a foot out of his chair. "VOT!" And then, "Vyman, you're crazy!" He turned upon me, his eyes wide with dismay. "Billy! Dey got a report--Carpenter is shoost now speakin' to a mobon de steps of de City Hall!"

The magnate did not wait to see me jump out of my chair or to hearmy exclamations, but turned again to the telephone. "My Gawd, man!Vot do I know about it? De feller vas up in his room two hours agoven we took him his dinner! He vouldn't eat it, he vouldn't speak--"

That was the last I heard, having bolted out of the room, andupstairs. I found Carpenter's door locked; I opened it, and rushedin. The place was empty! The bird had flown!

How had he got out? Had he climbed through the window and slid downa rain-spout in his prophetic robes? Had he won the heart of someservant? Had some newspaper reporter or agent of our enemies usedbribery? I rushed downstairs, and got my car from the garage; andall the way to the city I spent my time in such futile speculations. How Carpenter, having escaped from the house, had managed to getinto town so quickly--that was much easier to figure out; for ourhighways are full of motor traffic, and almost any driver will takein a stranger. 

I came to the city. Even outside the crowded district, the trafficwas held up for a minute or two at every corner; so I found time tolook about, and to realize that the Brigade had got to town. All dayspecial trains had been pouring into the city, literally dozens ofthem by every road; and now the streets were thronged with men inuniform, marching arm in arm, shouting, chanting war-cries, roamingin search of adventure. Tomorrow was the first day of theconvention, the day of the big parade: tonight was a night of riot. Everything in town was free to ex-service men--and to all others whocould borrow or buy a uniform. The spirit of the occasion was setforth in a notice published on the editorial page of the "Times":

"Hello, bo! Have a cigarette. Take another one. Take anything yousee around the place. 

"The town is yours. Take it into camp with you. Scruff it up to yourheart's content. Order it about. Let it carry grub to you. Have itshine your shoes. Hand it your coat and tell it to hold it until theshow is over. 

"We are all waiting your orders. Shove us back if we crowd. Push usoff the street. Give us your grip and tell us where to deliver it. Any errands? Call us. If you want to go anywhere, don't ask fordirections. Just jump into the car and tell us where you're boundfor. 

"Let's have another one before we part. Put up your money; it's nogood here. This one's on Western City. "

I saw that it was not going to be possible to drive through the jam, so I put my car in a parking place, and set out for the City Hall onfoot. On the way I observed that the invitation of the "Times" hadbeen accepted; the Brigade had taken possession of the town. It wasjust about possible to walk on the down-town streets; there weresolid masses of noisy, pushing people, every other man in uniform. Evidently there had been a tagit agreement to repeal the Eighteenthamendment to the Constitution for the next three days; bootleggershad drawn up their trucks and automobiles along the curbs, andcorn-whiskey, otherwise known as "white lightnin', " was freely sold. You would meet a man with a bottle in his hand, and the effects ofother bottles in his face, who would embrace you and offer you adrink; in the same block you would meet another man who would inviteyou to buy drinks for everybody in sight. The town had apparentlyagreed that no invitation should be declined. If the great Republicof Mobland had been unable to make for its returned war-heroes thenew world which it had promised them--if it could not even give themback the jobs they had had before they left--surely the least itcould do was to get them drunk!

And several times in each block you would have to get off thesidewalk for a group of ten or twenty flushed, dishevelled men, playing the great national game of craps. "Roll the bones!" theywould shout, completely ignoring the throngs which surged aboutthem. Each had his pile of bills and silver laid out on thepavement, and his bottle of "white lightnin';" now and then onewould take a swig, and now and then one would start singing:

 All we do is sign the pay-roll-- And we don't get a goddam cent. 

You would go a little farther, and find a couple of automobilestrying to get past, and a merry crowd amusing itself throwing largewaste cans in front of them. Some one would shout: "Who won thewar?" And the answer would come booming: "The goddam slackers;" ormaybe it would be, "The goddam officers. " The crowd would move along, starting to chant the favorite refrain:

 You're in the army now, You're not behind the plow--; You son-of-a---, You'll never get rich-- You're in the army now!

And from farther down the street would come a chorus from anothercrowd of marchers:

 I got a girl in Baltimore, The street-car runs right by her door. 

Every now and then you would come on a fist-fight, or maybe a fightwith bottles, and a crowd, laughing and whooping, engaged in pullingthe warriors apart and sitting on them. Through a mile or two ofthis kind of thing I made my way, my heart sinking deeper withmisgiving. I got within a couple of blocks of the City Hall, andthen suddenly I came upon the thing I dreaded--my friend Carpenterin the hands of the mob!

LXI

They had got hold of a canvas-covered wagon, of the type of the old"prairie-schooner. " You still find these camped by our roadsides nowand then, with nomad families in them; and evidently one of thesefamilies had been so ill advised as to come to town for theconvention. The rioters had hoisted their victim on top of thewagon, having first dumped a gallon of red paint over his head, sothat everyone might know him for the Red Prophet they had beenreading about in the papers. They had tied a long rope to the shaftof the wagon, and one or two hundred men had hold of it, and werehauling it through the streets, dancing and singing, shoutingmurder-threats against the "reds. " Some ran ahead, to clear thetraffic; and then came the wagon, lumbering and rocking, so that theprophet was thrown from side to side. Fortunately there was a holein the canvas, and he could hold to one of the wooden ribs. 

The cortege came opposite to me. On each side was a guard of honor, a line of men walking in lock-step, each with his hands on theshoulders of the one in front; they had got up a sort of chant: "Hi!Hi! The Bolsheviki prophet! Hi! Hi! The Bolsheviki prophet!" Andothers would yell, "I won't work! I won't work!"--this being ourMobland nickname for the I. W. W. Some one had daubed the letters onthe sides of the wagon, using the red paint; and a drunken fellowstanding near me shook his clenched fist at the wretch on top andbellowed in a fog-horn voice: "Hey, there, you goddam Arnychist, ifyou're a prophet, come down from that there wagon and cure myvenereal disease!" There was a roar of laughter from the throng, andthe drunken fellow liked the sensation so well that he walkedalongside, shouting his challenge again and again. 

Then I heard a crash behind me, and a clatter of falling glass; Iturned to see a soldier, inside the Royal Hotel, engaged in choppingout the plate-glass window of the lobby with a chair. There weretwenty or thirty uniformed men behind him, who wanted to get out andsee the fun; but the door of the hotel was blocked by the crowd, sothey were seeking a direct route to the goal of their desires. 

I knew, of course, there was nothing I could do; one might as wellhave tried to stop a hurricane by blowing one's breath. Carpenterhad wanted martyrdom, and now he was going to get it--of thepeculiar kind and in the peculiar fashion of our free andindependent and happy-go-lucky land. We have had many agitators anddisturbers of our self-satisfaction, and they have all "got theirs, "in one form or another; but there had never been one who had donequite so much to make himself odious as this "Bolsheviki prophet, "who was now "getting his. " "Treat 'em rough!" runs the formula ofthe army; and I fell in step, watching, and thinking that later Imight serve as one of the stretcher-bearers. 

Half way down the block we came to the Palace Hotel, and uniformedmen came pouring out of that. I heard the shrieks of a woman, andput my foot on the edge of a store-window, and raised myself up byan awning, to see over the heads of the crowd. Half a dozen rowdieshad got hold of a girl; I don't know what she had done--maybe herskirts were too short, or maybe she had been saucy to one of thegang; anyhow, they were tearing her clothes to shreds, and havingdone this gaily, they took her on their shoulders, and ran her outto the wagon, and tossed her up beside the Red Prophet. "There's agirl for you!" they yelled; and the drunken fellow who wantedCarpenter to cure him, suddenly thought of a new witticism: "Hey, you goddam Bolsheviki, why don't you nationalize her?" Men laughedand whooped over that; some of them were so tickled that they dancedabout and waved their arms in the air. For, you see, they knew allthe details concerning the "nationalization of women in Russia, " andalso they had read in the papers about Mary Magna, and Carpenter'sfondness for picture-actresses and other gay ladies. He stretchedout his hand to the girl, to save her from falling off; and at thisthere went up such a roar from the mob, that it made me think ofwild beasts in the arena. So to my whirling brain came back thewords that Carpenter had spoken: "It is Rome! It is Rome! Rome thatnever dies!"

The cortege came to the "Hippodrome, " which is our biggest theatre, and which, like everything else, had declared open house for Brigademembers during the convention. Some one in the crowd evidently knewthe building, and guided the procession down a side street, to thestage-entrance. They have all kinds of shows in the "Hippodrome, "and have a driveway by which they bring in automobiles, orwar-chariots, or wild animals in cages, or whatever they will. Nowthe mob stormed the entrance, and brushed the door-keepers to oneside, and unbolted and swung back the big gates, and a swarm ofyelling maniacs rushed the lumbering prairie-schooner up the slopeinto the building. 

The unlucky girl rolled off at this point, and somebody caught her, and mercifully carried her to one side. The wagon rolled on; theadvance guard swept everything out of the way, scenery as well asstage-hands and actors, and to the vast astonishment of an audienceof a couple of thousand people, the long string of rope-pullersmarched across the stage, and after them came the canvas-coveredvehicle with the red-painted letters, and the red-painted victimclinging to the top. The khaki-clad swarm gathered about him, raising their deafening chant: "Hi! Hi! The Bolsheviki prophet. Hi!Hi! The Bolsheviki prophet!"

I had got near enough so that I could see what happened. I don'tknow whether Carpenter fainted; anyhow, he slipped from his perch, and a score of upraised hands caught him. Some one tore down ahanging from the walls of the stage set, and twenty or thirty menformed a cirfcle about it, and put the prophet in the middle of it, and began to toss him ten feet up into the air and catch him andthrow him again. 

And that was all I could stand--I turned and went out by the rearentrance of the theatre. The street in back was deserted; I stoodthere, with my hands clasped to my head, sick with disgust; I foundmyself repeating out loud, over and over again, those words ofCarpenter: "It is Rome! It is Rome! Rome that never dies!"

A moment later I heard a crash of glass up above me; I ducked, justin time to avoid a shower of it. Then I looked up, and to myconsternation saw the red-painted head and the red and whiteshoulders of Carpenter suddenly emerging. The shoulders were quicklyfollowed by the rest of him; but fortunately there was a narrow shedbetween him and the ground. He struck the shed, and rolled, and ashe fell, I caught him, and let him down without harm. 

LXII

I expected to find my prophet nearly dead; I made ready to get himonto my shoulders and find some place to hide him. But to mysurprise he started to his feet. I could not see much of him, because of the streams of paint; but I could see enough to realizethat his face was contorted with fury. I remembered that gentle, compassionate countenance; never had I dreamed to see it like this!

He raised his clenched hands. "I meant to die for this people! Butnow--let them die for themselves!" And suddenly he reached out to mein a gesture of frenzy. "Let me get away from them! Anywhere, anyway! Let me go back where I was--where I do not see, where I donot hear, where I do not think! Let me go back to the church!"

With these words he started to run down the street; hauling up hislong robes--never would I have dreamed that a prophet's bare legscould flash so quickly, that he could cover the ground at suchamazing speed! I set out after him; I had stuck to him thus far, andmeant to be in at the finish, whatever it was. We came out onBroadway again, and there were more crowds of soldier boys; theprophet sped past them, like a dog with a tin-can tied to its tail. He came to a cross-street, and dodged the crowded traffic, and Ialso got through, knocking pedestrians this way and that. Peopleshouted, automobiles tooted; the soldiers whooped on the trail. Ibegan to get short of breath, a little dizzy; the buildings seemedto rock before me, there were mobs everywhere, and hands clutchingat me, nearly upsetting me. But still I followed my prophet with thebare flying legs; we swept around another corner, and I saw the goalto which the tormented soul was racing--St. Bartholomew's!

He went up the steps three at a time, and I went up four at a timebehind him. He flung open the door and vanished inside; when I gotin, he was half way up the aisle. I saw people in the church startup with cries of amazement; some grabbed me, but I broke away--andsaw my prophet give three tremendous leaps. The first took him upthe altar-steps; the second took him onto the altar; the third tookhim up into the stained-glass window. 

And there he turned and faced me. His paint-smeared robes fell downabout his bare legs, his convulsed and angry face became as gentleand compassionate as the paint would permit. With a wave of hishand, he signalled me to stand back and let him alone. Then the handsank to his side, and he stood motionless. Exhausted, dizzy, I fellagainst one of the pews, and then into a seat, and bowed my head inmy arms. 

LXIII

I don't know just how much time passed after that. I felt a hand onmy shoulder, and realized that some one was shaking me. I had ahorror of hands reaching out for me, so I tried to get away fromthis one; but it persisted, and there was a voice, saying, "You mustget up, my friend. It's time we closed. Are you ill?"

I raised my head; and first I glanced at the figure above the altar. It was perfectly motionless; and--incredible as it may seem--therewas no trace of red paint upon either the face or the robes! Thefigure was dignified and serene, with a halo of light about itshead--in short, it was the regulation stained glass figure that Ihad gazed at through all my childhood. 

"What is the matter?" asked the voice at my side; and I looked up, and discovered the Reverend Mr. Simpkinson. He recognized me, andcried: "Why, Billy! For heaven sake, what has happened?"

I was dazed, and put my hand to my jaw. I realized that my head wasaching, and that the place I touched was sore. "I--I---" Istammered. "Wait a minute. " And then, "I think I was hurt. " I triedto get my thoughts together. Had I been dreaming; and if so, howmuch was dream and how much was reality? "Tell me, " I said, "isthere a moving picture theatre near this church?"

"Why, yes, " said he. "The Excelsior. "

"And--was there some sort of riot?"

"Yes. Some ex-soldiers have been trying to keep people from going inthere. They are still at it. You can hear them. "

I listened. Yes, there was a murmur of voices outside. So I realizedwhat had happened to me. I said: "I was in that mob, and I gotbeaten up. I was knocked pretty nearly silly, and fled in here. "

"Dear me!" exclaimed the clergyman, his amiable face full ofconcern. He took me by my shoulders and helped me to my feet. 

"I'm all right now, " I said--"except that my jaw is swollen. Tellme, what time is it?"

"About six o'clock. "

"For goodness sake!" I exclaimed. "I dreamed all that in an hour! Ihad the strangest dream--even now I can't make up my mind what wasdream and what really happened. " I thought for a moment. "Tell me, is there a convention of the Brigade--that is, I mean, of theAmerican Legion in Western City now?"

"No, " said the other; "at least, not that I've heard of. They'vejust held their big convention in Kansas City. "

"Oh, I see! I remember--I read about it in the 'Nation. ' They werepretty riotous--made a drunken orgy of it. "

"Yes, " said the clergyman. "I've heard that. It seems too bad. "

"One thing more. Tell me, is there a picture of Mr. De Wiggs in thevestry-room?"

"Good gracious, no!" laughed the other. "Was that one of the thingsyou dreamed? Maybe you're thinking of the portrait they are showingat the Academy. "

"By George, that's it!" I said. "I patched the thing up out of allthe people I know, and all the things I've read in the papers! I hadbeen talking to a German critic, Dr. Henner--or wait a moment! Is hereal? Yes, he came before I went to see the picture. He'll beentertained to hear about it. You see, the picture was supposed tobe the delirium of a madman, and when I got this whack on the jaw, Iset to work to have a delirium of my own, just as I had seen on thescreen. It was the most amazing thing--so real, I mean. Every personI think of, I have to stop and make sure whether I really know them, or whether I dreamed them. Even you!"

"Was I in it?" laughed Mr. Simpkinson. "What did I do?"

But I decided I'd better not tell him. "It wasn't a polite dream, " Isaid. "Let me see if I can walk now. " I started down the aisle. "Yes, I'm all right. "

"Do you suppose that crowd will bother you again? Perhaps I'd bettergo with you, " said the apostle of muscular Christianity. 

"No, no, " I said. "They're not after me especially. I'll slip awayin the other direction. "

So I bade Mr. Simpkinson good-bye, and went out on the steps, andthe fresh air felt good to me. I saw the crowd down the street; theex-service men were still pushing and shouting, driving people awayfrom the theatre. I stopped for one glance, then hurried away andturned the corner. As I was passing an office building, I saw a biglimousine draw up. The door opened, and a woman stepped out: a bold, dark, vivid beauty, bedecked with jewels and gorgeous raiment ofmany sorts; a big black picture hat, with a flower garden and partsof an aviary on top--

Her glance lit on me. "My God! Will you look who's here!" She cameto me with her two hands stretched out. "Billy, wretched creature, Ihaven't laid eyes on you for two months! Do you have to desert meentirely, just because you've fallen in love with a society girlwith the face of a Japanese doll-baby? What's the matter with me, that I lose my lovers faster than I get them? I just met EdgertonRosythe; he's got a good excuse, I admit--I'm almost as much scaredof his wife as he is himself. But still, I'd like a chance to gettired of some man first! Want to come upstairs with me, and see whatPlanchet's doing to my old grannie in her scalping-shop? Say, wouldyou think it would take three days' labor for half a dozen Siouxsquaws to pull the skin off one old lady's back? And a week to tieup the corners of her mouth and give her a permanent smile! 'Why, grannie, ' I said, 'good God, it would be cheaper to hire CharlieChaplin to walk around in front of you all the rest of your life. 'But the old girl was bound to be beautiful, so I said to Planchet, 'Make her new from the waist up, Madame, for you never can tell howthe fashions'll change, and what she'll need to show. '"

And so I knew that I was back in the real world. 

APPENDIX

We live in an age, the first in human history, when religion isentirely excluded from politics and politics from religion. It mayhappen, therefore, that millions of men will read this story andthink it merely a joke; not realizing that it is a literaltranslation of the life of the world's greatest revolutionarymartyr, the founder of the world's first proletarian party. For thebenefit of those whose historical education has been neglected, Iappend a series of references. The number to the left refers to apage of this book. The number to the right is a parallel referenceto a volume of ancient records known as the Bible; specifically tothose portions known as the gospels according to Matthew Everett, Mark Abell, Luka Korwsky, and John Colver. 

11........ Matthew 14:27

14........ Matthew 6:21

16........ Isaiah 3:16-26

17........ Mark 12:37

70........ Luke 6:24

70........ John 15:17

72........ Luke 9:38

73........ Luke 4:40

75........ Luke 11:46

78........ Matthew 19:14

84........ John 15:27

85........ Luke 6:25

90........ Matthew 12:39

95........ Matthew 12:34

99........ Matthew 10:9

102........ Luke 4:5-8

107........ Matthew 26:34

114........ Matthew 26:69-75

117........ James 5:1-6

119........ Matthew 7:7

120........ Matthew 7:11

123........ Matthew 10:34

123........ Matthew 10:16-17

129........ Luke 23:23

131........ Matthew 9:9

135........ Acts 17:24

136........ Matthew 21:12

136........ Exodus 20:7

136........ Matthew 21:13

138........ Matthew 5:39-40

140........ Matthew 23:l-33

143........ Mark 6:56

143........ Luke 6:19

144........ Matthew 25:36

144........ Matthew 21:6

145........ Mark 3:20

145........ Luke 5:29

146........ Matthew 9:37

146........ Luke 4:39

150........ John 19:26

153........ Matthew 19:16

155........ Mark 15:14

162........ Matthew 5:9

164........ Luke 4:18

164........ Luke 19:40-44

164........ Matthew 11:5

167........ Matthew 5:44

171........ Matthew 27:14

171........ Matthew 8:20

175........ Matthew 26:7-13

176........ Luke 1:52

179........ Matthew 11:19

180........ Matthew 5:11

182........ Luke 20:20

182........ Matthew 26:22

183........ Matthew 26:36

185........ John 18:3

186........ Luke 22:4

190........ Matthew 26:40

192........ Luke 22:44

193........ Matthew 26:40

194........ Luke 14:43

195........ Matthew 26:52

202........ Mark 14:36

203........ Matthew 10:28

214........ Mark 15:18

214........ Luke 23:38

214........ Matthew 27:40