ACT I

_Scene: The scene is the restaurant in the Labor Lyceum building of a city on the eastern seaboard._

_At the right is a large window facing on the street, and at the right rear an outside entrance. At the left a door leads to an inner hall and the stairway to the upper floors. Along about half of the rear wall at the right runs a counter with a coffee urn and the usual display of quick lunch foods. A swinging door back of the counter leads to a small kitchen. There are folding doors in the rear wall at the left, opening on a hall used for labor meetings. There are tables and chairs for the customers of the restaurant. In the left rear corner there is a table covered with books and pamphlets and another which holds a chess-board. A large clock hangs on the rear wall. The hands point to ten-twenty. It is dark outside._

_Pete, the counter-man, swabs off the top of his counter and goes into the kitchen. Suvorin, a solid bulk of a man, with a satanic, dominating face, sits in the left rear corner, his chair tilted against the wall. His eyes are fixed on the floor. Heine, a disreputable figure enters from the street and looks furtively about him, glancing back at the window._

SUVORIN [_without moving_]. What are you doing here?

HEINE. Am I going to leave town without getting mine?

SUVORIN. You’ll get yours fast enough if you hang around here.

HEINE. How much was it?

SUVORIN. $28,000.

HEINE. Where’s mine?

SUVORIN. That’s half.

HEINE. How much?

SUVORIN. Fourteen. Take it and get out. You’d better beat it into Canada and stay there. You’re a fool and a bungler. If you’d followed instructions you’d have been safe.

HEINE. I had to do it. He was jumping at me.

SUVORIN. Take your money and to hell with you. You’re a fool. Are they trailing you?

HEINE. No.

SUVORIN. You wouldn’t know.

HEINE. Jesus, I’d know that.

SUVORIN. Don’t go out that way. Go upstairs and out the back. There’s an alley into Clark Street. Cross the line and for God’s sake use your head.

HEINE [_going to lefthand door_]. Good-bye, Sport.

SUVORIN. Get out.

[_Heine goes out. Before the door has quite closed, Rosalie enters from the left, evidently passing Heine. She is a beautiful girl with a childlike Russian face._]

ROSALIE. Who was that? Has he any business here?

[_Suvorin, seating himself, pays no attention to the question. One of the folding doors opens and Ward enters and closes the door._]

WARD. Mac here yet?

SUVORIN. No.

WARD. Hell! Have you seen him this evening, Rosalie?

ROSALIE. No.

WARD. Oh, that’s right, you—

ROSALIE. Yes?

WARD. Never mind.

[_He goes back through the doors. Mac enters from the street._]

ROSALIE. Oh, Mac, where were you? I’ve been terrified!

MAC. [_Thrusting a revolver into her hands._] Hello, kid. Put that away for me, will you, kid?

ROSALIE. But—whose is it?

MAC. That’s all right—I don’t want to carry it—that’s all.

[_Ward re-enters, cramming his hat on._]

WARD. Say, Mac, I thought you’d been picked up.

MAC. Do you need me in there yet?

WARD. You’d better come in just so they’ll know you’re here.

MAC. How’s it going?

WARD. They’re scared. Three men killed and about fifty in the hospital. You might be able to hold ’em if you put it to ’em just right. Otherwise we’re licked.

MAC. Oh, no. We’ve got another card up our sleeves. Is Andy in there?

WARD. He’s waiting for you. Listen—there’s some talk about a raid tonight—maybe more than one—

ROSALIE. Say, Ward—if that’ll keep I want to talk to Mac a minute. Do you mind?

WARD. All right. I’ll tell Andy you’re here.

[_He goes. Again part of a speech is heard._]

THE SPEAKER. And now they ask us to vote another five thousand for relief! Where are we going to get five thousand? [_The door closes._]

ROSALIE. Now then—

MAC. Now then—

ROSALIE. This is no place for you tonight.

MAC. I knew it was coming.

ROSALIE. And you’re to beat it and stay under cover till they forget about this afternoon—

MAC. What do you know about this afternoon?

ROSALIE. I read about it—and my opinion is that you’ve done enough for one day. They can get along without you here.

MAC. It just happens they can’t get along without me.

ROSALIE. You won’t be much good to them in jail—

MAC. I’m not going to jail—so get that out of your head—

ROSALIE. Mac, you’re a child—

MAC. You’re pretty young yourself, you know. [_Andy enters._] Hello, Andy.

ANDY. Looks like they was going to vote us down.

MAC. And then what?

ANDY. What do you say?

MAC. If you boys’ll stay with me you know what we can do.

ANDY. I’ll tell you how it is, Mac. We want to stay, see? I saw two or three of the boys before the meeting. They aren’t scared worth a damn, because we licked the company once before and we can do it again. They can’t operate without engineers.

MAC. I knew we could count on you.

ANDY. Well, wait a minute, Mac. Get us right. If the longshoremen go back tomorrow and we stay out it’ll take ’em a couple of weeks to pick up enough engineers to get along, see?

MAC. Right.

ANDY. All right. But in a couple of weeks they could do it—and we’d be left holding the bag. See? So we figure this way. The mills are holding a strike meeting tonight. If the mills go out and the engineers stay out, why the longshoremen they won’t be much good around the docks, and they’ll walk out again. But if the mills keep going, we don’t want to try it alone.

MAC. Don’t worry. The mills are going out.

ANDY. Can I tell the boys you said that?

MAC. I want you to tell them I said it.

ANDY. All right. We’ll have a meeting upstairs right after this jamboree’s over in here, see? Will you wait for me here?

MAC. Yeah.

[_Andy goes out._]

ROSALIE. Now you’ll have to wait here—right where they’ll be looking for you—

MAC. I’ve got to hold the thing together.

ROSALIE. But use your head—

MAC. I am using it. I know it’s a risk to be here, but if I can pull this strike through it’s worth it—

ROSALIE. Let them lose their strike—

MAC. Be reasonable—

ROSALIE. Anything you can do somebody else could do for you! I’ll get rid of the gun for you—and you’ll disappear for a couple of weeks! Do you think it’s reasonable for you to wander in here with a gun in your pocket and half the police in town laying for you?

MAC. You certainly do feel old tonight, don’t you, kid?

ROSALIE. It’s enough to make anybody feel old. I’ve lived about a thousand years today—I wish this strike had never started, or it was over, or we could get away somewhere—

MAC. That wouldn’t help. Everywhere I go there’s a strike. I seem to take ’em with me. You’ll have to get used to that.

ROSALIE. Can’t you play safe, just this once? Can’t you do that much for me?

MAC. You heard what I said to Andy. The company thinks it’s got us in a corner and I’m going to prove it’s wrong, that’s all. [_He stoops and kisses her briefly as the folding doors open and Ward looks in._]

WARD. You’d better come on in. Spiker isn’t going so well.

MAC. Yeah. Don’t worry, kid. We’ll be all right.

[_The voice of Spiker is heard._]

SPIKER [_inside_]. I’ll tell you what I think—I think you’re too easy—

A HECKLER [_inside_]. When did you ever work on the docks?

[_Mac and Ward enter the hall just as Ike and Milkin emerge, evidently shoved out of the meeting._]

IKE [_as the door closes on him_]. Long live the freedom of loose talk! Why should they put me out? I was a longshoreman before most of those guys cut their first knee-pants! They wasn’t even alive in ’97. They ain’t never seen hard times. I was born during the glorious second administration of General Grant, the most stupendous period of graft and prosperity this country has ever seen—with the solitary and luminous exception of Warren Gamaliel Harding! [_He goes to the counter with Milkin._] Where’s Pete? [_He addresses the hole in the wall through which food is pushed out from the kitchen._] Hey, cuckoo, cuckoo, we want coffee!

PETE [_looking out_]. What you want?

IKE. A slug of coffee, cuckoo!

PETE. We don’t cash checks.

IKE. You pay this time, Milkin. I lent all my money to a comrade. You can’t trust these revolutionists.

MILKIN. You didn’t have no money.

IKE. I had fifty cents this morning, and I gave it to a guy under guise of introducing me to a jane. But he weaseled me, at that.

MILKIN. Dat’s all right. Only don’t try to fool me.

IKE. You mean I was lying?

MILKIN. I can see right into your mind. I can see what you’re thinking.

PETE. Yeah?

IKE. Yes, sir. And if you don’t hurry up and give us coffee we’ll put the black art on you.

PETE. I lost tree dollar on you for a check.

MILKIN [_laying a bill on the counter_]. Dat’s all right. [_Pete draws coffee for two._] We wouldn’t put no black art on you. We wouldn’t do nothing like that.

IKE. No, we wouldn’t do that. Only we could, see? I could, too.

MILKIN. I don’t tink you could. Not widout de cabalistic sign.

IKE. You gave me the sign, mystic?

MILKIN. Yeah, but you don’t know how to apply it!

IKE. Yes, sir—it comes natural to me. I can handle the black art sign like a plate of beans, and right after you give it to me I could tell any man in the street what he was thinking. Just like that! Won’t that be good when we get it working in politics? Jeez, that’s a highly mystical sign!

MILKIN. Only remember, if you got it you don’t work it for nutting but de best interests of de State.

IKE. Sure, the best interest of the State—

MILKIN [_with emphasis_]. And wait! Wait! Bide your time. And when you find a man in high office what don’t belong dere, level your finger at him and say to him— “Come down from dere—come down from dere!”

[_As he says this he points a finger at an imaginary personage and by accident levels it at the street door, through which Sowerby is entering. Sowerby is a tall, lean, academic person, very threadbare and even frayed. He carries a high pile of books, a small bundle, and a coat. On top of the pile of books are perched two slippers._]

SOWERBY. Yes, gentlemen, I’ll come down. I’ve already come down considerably. In fact I’ve been shaken down again.

IKE. Put you out, huh?

SOWERBY. A recurrence of an old malady of mine, gentlemen. Landlady trouble. Don’t let anybody tell you there’s no housing shortage in this city. The housing problem is acute at this moment. I missed paying the rent just once—just once, mind you—and I’m on the street. Now that’s a situation that should never arise. And it occurs, not once, not twice, but over and over again. [_He comes to the counter._]

IKE. You ought to be a mystic.

SOWERBY. If that would help I’ll be one. In fact, I am one.

IKE. It’ll help you to a cup of coffee.

MILKIN. Sure ting. Give us another coffee.

[_Pete does so._]

IKE. Listen, you was going to tell me about that second sign, you know—I never saw that one.

MILKIN. Yeah, you seen it all right, but you didn’t recognize it. [_He reaches for pencil and paper. Ike casually puts the change in his pocket._] See dat! Dat’s de second one! Oh, boy, dat is a sign!

IKE. What can you do with it?

MILKIN. Dat is a sign! Dat’s a black art sign! You wait!

SOWERBY. What do you mean, a black art sign?

IKE. We mean a black art sign, see? We’re mystics. Me and him.

SOWERBY. Tell me about it.

IKE. You wouldn’t know, see, you wouldn’t know.

MILKIN. We got de numbers, dat’s all.

IKE. See, we got the numbers.

MILKIN. We got de whole world’s number. We got three, five, seven, and nine, see, and one more.

IKE. And one more, see? That’s the real one.

SOWERBY. You can tell fortunes, I presume?

MILKIN. Dat’s de amateur game.

SOWERBY. All right. Tell me how the strike’s coming out.

MILKIN [_scribbling rapidly_]. I’ll tell you. Look at dat! See dat? It don’t look so good for de strike.

SOWERBY [_pointing_]. What’s that?

MILKIN [_impressively_]. See dat? [_To Ike._] He picks dat one out. Dat’s de sign of three. And dat’s de sign of seven. And when dey comes togedder—it means deat’.

SOWERBY. Debt? I’m pretty deep in debt myself.

MILKIN. Deat’! Deat’ the leveller, deat’ the radical, deat’ the end of worldly glory!

SOWERBY. Death? Who’s going to die?

MILKIN. I can’t tell dat. Dat ain’t fair.

SOWERBY. But you know?

IKE. Sure we know.

MILKIN. I know. He don’t know. Not yet.

SOWERBY. You know, gentlemen, the older I become the less seriously I regard the deaths of other people—or even of myself. The fact that I have no place to sleep tonight bothers me a good deal, but if I were only going to die tonight—that is, without discomfort—I shouldn’t mind it in the least. The idea of death, philosophically regarded, is welcome to the mature mind.

[_There is a sudden crash against the folding doors. Sowerby drops instantly under the table, and all eyes turn toward the disturbance. The doors open and Spiker can be heard speaking above the cries of “Put him out!” “Who told him he could talk?” “That’s all!” “He’s a Red!” “Back to Russia!”_]

SPIKER. You’re compromisers, you’re lick-spittles, you’re wage-slaves, you’re finks—you haven’t got enough guts to demand what’s yours! I tell you—

A VOICE. Will you get the hell out?

SPIKER. I will not! I’m a member in good standing!

A VOICE. Back to Russia!

ANOTHER VOICE. All right, Mac!

[_Spiker is thrust into the restaurant and the door is closed. He tries it futilely._]

IKE. This is the overflow meeting. Come on in. [_Spiker turns to glare at Ike, then sits gloomily alone._] Lost anything?

SOWERBY [_rising_]. My—dignity.—Let me see—where was I? [_He seats himself and picks up a tabloid paper._] Where was I?

IKE. You was saying before you got under the table that death was a matter of indifference to you.

SOWERBY. Exactly—exactly. And in a civilization such as ours that is as it should be. What does any one human life amount to? Look at this headline, for instance. “Paymaster killed, robbers escape with $28,000 belonging to Northfield Dock Company!”

[_All eyes are suddenly turned toward Sowerby._]

MILKIN. I told you!

IKE. What’s that? That means the scabs didn’t get their pay today! Hey? [_He picks up the paper._] Hey, do they know that in there? [_He tries the doors._] The scabs don’t get their pay this week! [_There is a sound of cheering from within._] That’s Mac talking. Hey, Mac—the scabs had bad luck! [_The door opens in Ike’s face and a voice exclaims at him._]

THE VOICE. Sh! Shut up, will you?

IKE. Hey! All right! Jeez, it certainly was a swell afternoon for a holdup—all the cops were beating up the strikers. [_He returns._] I wonder who got away with that $28,000?

SOWERBY. You ought to know. I thought you were a mystic.

IKE. I ain’t got to that. He knows.

SOWERBY [_to Milkin_]. Who was it?

MILKIN. Oh, no. Dat wouldn’t be for the best interest. To tell dat.

SOWERBY. I thought not.

[_The folding doors open a crack, and Bauer, a selfimportant busybody, looks out, then emerges and closes it. While he holds the door open a fragment of Mac’s speech drifts out. He listens, shakes head, shows disapproval._]

MAC [_within_]. Compromise? Why certainly, when it’s necessary. Capitulate to Northfield? Why certainly, when he’s got us where he wants us! But, for God’s sake, why compromise now, when you don’t have to? Why capitulate when we’ve got him on the run? Don’t you know the mills are going out tomorrow? Within a week there won’t be a loom running!

[_The door shuts off the rest._]

BAUER. It’s the last time Mac talks in there, if he knows it or not.

ROSALIE. What do you mean?

BAUER. Never mind. There was a little caucus before he came. He is just a little too wild. Also, Mr. Suvorin, we have had a meeting of the house committee this afternoon. You hear that? [_Suvorin looks up at him without changing his expression._] We had a meeting of the house committee. It will affect you somewhat. The lyceum has given desk room to certain radical groups, without pay. Well, we have changed all that. No more desk room without pay. And—_and_ no more desk room for radicals, for any price. No more I.W.W.’s, no more anarchists, only straight union activities.

SUVORIN. I understand.

BAUER. Also, Mr. Suvorin, in the past it has been the custom for radicals to meet here in your restaurant and talk. Well, this is a restaurant. It is open to the public. We cannot stop that. But it has been allowed for some time that they put literature on the shelf there—Macready and Bardi and Capraro—they have you all filled up with I.W.W. stuff and anarchist stuff—syndicalism, that sort. We want it out. And we want it out before closing time tonight. You see?

SUVORIN. I do.

BAUER. You will tell them?

SUVORIN. That’s your business, not mine.

ROSALIE. I’ll tell them, Mr. Bauer.

BAUER. Thank you, Miss Suvorin. We want that literature out of here tonight, tell ’em. We want nothing in this building but straight union literature. You never know when there’s going to be a raid. They raided the Zeitung right across the street. Well, why wouldn’t they raid you here if you’re distributing anarchist literature? [_He goes to the shelf in the corner and picks up a book._] Here’s one. Liberty, Equality, Fraternity for Humanity! Is that I.W.W. or Anarchist?

SOWERBY. That goes back to the French Revolution.

BAUER. Revolution, huh?

SOWERBY. French Revolution.

BAUER. Anyway, we’ve had too much talk of revolution, no matter if it’s French. This should be a labor lyceum, not a hatchery for revolutions. [_He takes up another book._] Here is a heavy one. [_He reads._] “Certain Positive Aspects of the Negative Outcome of Philosophy.” Oh, I see.

SOWERBY. You’ll find some copies of the Declaration of Independence there. Dangerous stuff, too. Highly inflammatory. Suppressed by the police of Los Angeles and Boston.

BAUER. You would not kid me, for instance?

SOWERBY. Oh, no.

BAUER [_looking at Sowerby’s books_]. What’s this?

SOWERBY. If you will pardon me, these are my effects.

BAUER. Your effects?

SOWERBY. My, as it were, personal effects.

BAUER. Think of that now. [_To Ike._] How about you—have you got desk room in the building?

IKE [_turning away loftily and tapping with his foot_]. No, my good man, no.

BAUER. What!

IKE [_looking down his nose at Bauer_]. No, my good man, no! [_Bursting with rage, Bauer slams down one of Sowerby’s books and returns to his examination of the radical shelf._] Personally, I’d rather be a bum. I’d rather be an auctioneer. [_He picks up Bauer’s hat, watching Bauer narrowly._] Ladies and gentlemen, before the regular auctioneer returns from lunch, what am I offered for this indescribable object? [_Bauer turns, and Ike puts down the hat and quickly substitutes one of Sowerby’s slippers._] Ladies and gentlemen, in all my years as a broker in rare and curious objects, I have never—never—in fact— [_He smells the slipper._] We withdraw that exhibit—we are forced to withdraw that exhibit—and we offer in its place this rare and original manuscriptum— [_he takes up Sowerby’s manuscript_] being the first and only extant draft of Sowerby’s History of—what was it you said you was writing a history of, Mr. Sowerby?

SOWERBY. I am writing a history, sir, of irrelevant and unimportant details.

IKE. Yes—of irrelevant and unimportant details. Would you mind describing a irrelevant detail, Mr. Sowerby? Mr. Sowerby, ladies and gentlemen, will now appear in person, describing a irrelevant detail! Mr. Sowerby!

[_There is a sudden crash of applause, mingled with cheers and the stamping of feet from the auditorium. Sowerby, about to speak, instead slides under the table, rising at once when he realizes there is no danger. Voices are heard above the din yelling “The strike’s over! The strike’s over! Make it unanimous!” Macready, Ward, and Andy come through the folding doors, with a group of longshoremen, who pass through and out to the street, talking._]

WARD. I knew they’d do it!

MAC. We had to make a play for it anyway.

SPIKER. So it’s over, huh?

MAC. They think so.

ANDY. Yeah—they think so.

MAC. That’s the way it goes. You win a strike for ’em—have it all wrapped up and laid on the table like a Christmas present—and they’re afraid to take it! You’ve got to feed ’em higher wages like horse-medicine!

SPIKER. I guess that stops us.

MAC. No. Sorry they handled you rough, Spiker. I didn’t expect that.

SPIKER. What are you doing now?

MAC. Ask Andy. [_He glances meaningly at Bauer._]

ANDY. I can tell you better later. I’m going upstairs.

MAC. Good. [_Andy goes out by the hall door._] Engineers are meeting.

SPIKER. I get you.

BAUER. I see you have a little trouble, Mr. Macready.

MAC. That’s news to me. What’s the matter?

BAUER. I guess they blocked the strike for you, huh?

MAC [_to Ward, paying no attention to Bauer_]. By the way, can I get hold of Benny?

WARD. He’s going to call you here.

MAC. Good.

BAUER. I wish to speak to you, Mr. Macready.

MAC. Well, then, I’ll bet you do it.

BAUER. There was a meeting of the house committee this afternoon—

MAC. Yes?

BAUER. And it was decided to give the radical organizations no more desk room.

MAC. Well, well.

BAUER. It was decided you would have to go out—I.W.W.’s and Syndicalists—everybody but straight A.F. of L.

MAC. Who holds the mortgage on this building?

BAUER. That has nothing to do with it.

MAC. I thought not.

BAUER. So you will pardon me if I tell you we want you to take your literature and move out. I told the committee you would be out tonight.

MAC. I’m busy tonight.

BAUER. I said tonight. I told the committee tonight.

MAC. You said you’d put me out?

BAUER. I did.

MAC. Do you know I’m a longshoreman?

BAUER. You’re an I.W.W. You have been in this union two years and you have made nothing but trouble since you came. You are not a union man—and Bardi is not, and Capraro is not. You are out to make trouble. When one strike is over you start another, you three. And we have had enough of you!

MAC. I’ll tell you, Mr. Bauer, this looks to me like the start of a long conversation, and as I said, I’m busy—

BAUER. You will find out! You saw the way the vote went on your strike. Well, you were not here earlier in the evening. That was decided before hand. And we have talked about you and Bardi and Capraro. Capraro is an anarchist. I have heard him say so. And he is going out of the union. And your literature must be taken away tonight.

MAC. You throw it out. If you’re scared of a raid, throw it out. I hope they raid you and find enough Rights of Man around here to give the Department of Justice the heebie-jeebies.

BAUER. You will not take it away?

MAC. No.

BAUER. Very well. I will. [_He goes out._]

IKE. Personally, I’d rather be a bum.

MAC. Where’s Capraro? Hasn’t he been around?

ROSALIE. No.

MAC. Nor Bardi?

ROSALIE. No.

MAC. That’s funny. Maybe they ran them in. We’d better find out.

ROSALIE. Don’t you know they’ve got warrants out for all of you? For instigating a riot?

WARD. That’s a good joke.

ROSALIE. It’s not a joke.

MAC. Well, no, not exactly. They didn’t mean it that way.

IKE. It’s in the paper. And did you know the scabs didn’t get paid today?

MAC. No, why? [_Ward looks at the paper._]

IKE. Payroll was robbed. That’s in the paper, too.

MAC. Hell, Ike can read. When did this happen?

IKE. This afternoon. Got clean away with the money.

WARD. That’s good. That soaks Northfield and the scabs, too. Say, they killed old Kendall.

SPIKER. Who’s Kendall?

WARD. Paymaster.

MAC. Good day for a holdup. They had every policeman in town guarding the docks, and riot guns all up and down the harbor front.

ROSALIE. Mac, what did happen this afternoon?

MAC. Nothing. Only we tried to reestablish our picket lines, and somebody had squealed to the chief of police, so he met us with a young army. They started shooting over the boys’ heads and naturally there was hell to pay.

ROSALIE. But Mac, there were some policemen hurt—and the way the papers have it they blame everything on you—

MAC. I was hardly in it. I was a sort of an in-and-outer. Capraro and I were riding with Waterman in his car. We had to have him there so they couldn’t rush the boys off to jail without seeing a lawyer, and they’ve been trying to get Waterman, so he wouldn’t come unless he was guarded. And they tried to take him away from us, you see. That’s how I happened to grab the gun. They had it all planned. A cop jumps on the running board and tosses a gun into the car and then they start to arrest the bunch for carrying concealed weapons. I’ve seen that tried before, so I picked up the gun and beat it. That’s all.

ROSALIE. Then they made up the story about your starting it by knocking a policeman down.

MAC. I ran into him by accident.

ROSALIE. You could have let them arrest Waterman.

MAC. They were going to pull all three of us! We’d have been through the third degree by now and stretched out on the iron floor like so much sirloin steak. The way it is we’re all out of it. We’re all out of it—we can carry the strike right over to the mills tomorrow.

IKE. Maybe you didn’t hear that Bardi was hurt.

MAC. Bardi?

IKE. You didn’t hear that?

MAC. No.

SPIKER. He wasn’t hurt much. I saw him leaning up against the gates, and he said he’d be all right in a minute.

IKE. Oh, no. He was hurt bad.

MAC. Who told you?

IKE. Some fellow in there. He said Bardi was shot.

MAC. What?

IKE. Yeah, I thought you knew that.

MAC. Where did they take the boys that were hurt? [_He rises._]

WARD. I don’t know.

[_Capraro, a gentle young Italian, enters quietly from the street._]

MAC. Hello, Cappie. We were just talking about Bardi.

CAPRARO [_after a pause_]. Bardi is dead.

MAC. He is?

CAPRARO. I just came from the hospital.

MAC. Hell. So it had to happen to Bardi. Was he shot?

CAPRARO. Yes. They were careful to hit him where it would kill. He asked me to tell you good-bye for him. He was so sorry to die that way—in a hospital. He said—it means nothing this way. He said, please tell you all good-bye.

MAC. I see.

ROSALIE. And don’t you see pretty soon it will be your turn? Everybody knows what Northfield has said about all of you—

MAC. So it had to happen to little Bardi.

IKE. He was a good scout.

[_A Salvation Army group begins to play and sing outside._]

THE ARMY.

There’s a land that is fairer than day, And by faith we can see it afar, For the Father waits over the way To prepare us a dwelling-place there.

In the sweet bye and bye, We shall meet on that beautiful shore, In the sweet bye and bye, We shall meet on that beautiful shore.

[_Ike, who is standing at the window, sings the next stanza with them, beginning in a low tone._]

IKE.

Those preachers come out every night To tell us what’s wrong and what’s right. If you ask them for something to eat, They answer in voices so sweet—

[_He raises his voice so that the words are heard._]

You will eat, bye and bye, In your beautiful home beyond the sky. Watch and pray, live on hay, You’ll get pie in the sky bye and bye.

WARD. Aw, shut up, Ike.

[_The door opens and a pretty Salvation lass passes the tambourine while the band goes on singing. Nobody pays any attention to her. Jerusalem Slim, wearing a Salvation uniform, enters behind her and stands near the door._]

THE ARMY.

We shall sing on that beautiful shore The melodious songs of the blest, And our spirits shall sorrow no more, Not a sigh for the blessings of rest. In the sweet, etc.

[_The Lassie comes last to Ike, who looks inquisitively into the tambourine, then gravely holds out his cap to her._]

IKE. I’m in the same line myself, sister.

THE LASSIE. Jesus will save you.

IKE. Not if I see him first, he won’t. I’m a Southern Jew, and Jesus himself wouldn’t touch a Southern Jew, sister. He might be willing to do something for one of those New York Jews, but I never met anybody that didn’t draw the line at an Israelite hillbilly.

THE LASSIE. Have you tried Him?

IKE. Sister, I get saved regular every winter, whenever my shoes wear out. I’ve got a groove wore in my back from back-sliding.

THE LASSIE. “Come unto me all ye who labor and are heavy-laden.” You’ll never find rest till you find Him.

IKE. Sister, if you’re speaking for yourself, I’ll come, but if you’re speaking for the Kingdom of Heaven, I’ve been to Florida and these summer resorts ain’t what they’re cracked up to be in the prospectus. You’re too pretty to go round distributing the word of God. You’re liable to create a false impression. Heaven ain’t like that. Why don’t you speak for yourself, kid?

THE LASSIE [_stepping back_]. I’m safe in His arms, brother.

IKE. You’d be a lot more comfortable in mine.

[_The Lassie goes out. As she passes through the door, a shrill voice is heard testifying._]

THE VOICE. I was on the street and Jesus saved me. My sins fell from me and left my soul as pure as the driven snow.

[_The door closes, cutting off the words._]

WARD. That was no accident, you know, about Bardi.

MAC. No, probably not.

WARD. They had it in for him, after last year.

SPIKER. You think they planned that?

WARD. I do.

CAPRARO. It is they that have red hands. The murderer loses in the end.

MAC. The kind of murderer that killed Bardi dies mostly of old age.

SLIM. You have all forgotten something. You have forgotten that God is love.

WARD [_angrily_]. Christ, I thought that one was dead!

MAC. Oh, God is love, is he? Well, how much does he love the guy that instructed somebody to get Bardi?

SLIM. Judge not that ye be not judged.

SPIKER. Throw him out.

MAC. You! You’re a pious fraud. You’re one of them. The net effect of all you’ve got to say is to support their capitalistic system! That’s what your army says, and that’s why business supports you. Teach ’em temperance so they’ll work steadier, teach ’em to turn the other cheek, so they won’t make trouble when they’re robbed, teach ’em to judge not, so we can jail ’em and murder ’em without a come-back. Make ’em all good slaves in the name of Jesus Christ. That’s what you stand for!

SLIM. Would you do violence for higher wages?

MAC. No, but if I had my hands on the man that shot Bardi, I wouldn’t answer for him.

CAPRARO. You would be wrong. When you take violence into your hands, you lower yourself to the level of government, which is the origin of crime and evil.

MAC. Go on! The government’s nothing so important. It’s a police system, to protect the wealth of the wealthy. And Slim there, he stands for the priests of the world, going around advising everybody to knuckle under so the bankers can keep all they’ve got! That’s why the boys voted to end the strike in there. They’ve been taught to be slaves till they don’t know enough to take what’s their own. We had the strike all won for them, and they throw it all away because they owe a little money at the corner grocery and they’re scared of the police! Capraro and I talk ourselves blue in the face for them, and Bardi gets himself killed for them, and it’s all coming their way, and then what do they do? They decide they can’t stand it any longer and they take their wage cut and go back to work! No wonder the Rockefellers are good Baptists!

ROSALIE. Then isn’t it all useless, Mac?

MAC. By God, they’re going to know they’ve been in a fight before they put me away! What else does Northfield own besides mills and docks? I’ll have them all out on him! I’ll bleed him till he can’t pay his private dicks!

WARD. Good boy!

[_The telephone rings. Rosalie answers it._]

ROSALIE. Yes, he’s here. Mac.

[_Mac takes the phone._]

MAC. Hello. Hello, Ben. What? Wait a minute. They’re _not_ going back to work! I know they voted it down but they’re not going back because the engineers are staying out. Did you get that? And now get this, too. The engineers are staying out on my word that the mills are going out in sympathy, and you’ve got to work it for me. No, I’ve got to wait here till the meeting’s over. You can pull that through for me. [_A pause._] Well, can you do this? Can you hold them half an hour till I can get there? Put on a show. Make it dramatic, and I’ll be over as soon as I hear from Andy. You’re damn right we’ll have the longshoremen out again! We’ll make them eat that vote and like it! All right! [_He hangs up, and turns to Ward._] What was that you heard about raids tonight?

WARD. I got it from old Bauer.

MAC. Well, there may be something in it, from what Benny says. They’ve got a posse mobilized over at the mills.

ROSALIE. Then you won’t go over there?

MAC. I’ve got to. It’s probably only the regular guard. They call out the State Militia every time a couple of mill-workers shake hands. [_He takes down the receiver._] Give me the committee room. Hello. Hello, Andy. I know you’re not alone. You don’t need to talk. You can give it to me yes or no. Are they waiting to hear from the mills? Well, the mills are waiting to hear from you, so for God’s sake shove them over. Yes. Benny says they will. And move fast or I won’t be in time. I’m going over there. [_He comes over to Rosalie._] You’ve got to be a sport, sweetheart, you’ve got to.

ROSALIE. I can’t do it any more. I’ve done it all I can. [_She is set and stern._]

MAC. It’s the only chance the strike’s got, Rosalie. If I go down there with the news that the engineers are going out I’m pretty sure I can stampede them.

ROSALIE. You’d better go then. Only don’t ask me to be a sport about it. I’m not going to try any more. I’m not going to be interested any more.

MAC. What do you want me to do? Put on a white collar and sit in an office and push a pen around all day?

ROSALIE. You could do anything—anything you wanted to—only you don’t want to do anything but—save humanity or something like that—I don’t know what! All I know is they aren’t worth it—and they don’t care how much you do for them!

MAC. They’re the only people who are worth anything. I admit they’re lunkheads and you’ve got to tell them. By God, somebody’s got to do the telling.

ROSALIE. Get wise to yourself, Mac. They sit around here and guzzle coffee and yes you one day and then go in there and vote you down the next! And they aren’t worth it and you don’t get anything out of it!

MAC. I get a hell of a lot of fun out of it.

ROSALIE. I thought so. You start strikes because you like to be in a fight and you run them because you like to act like a tin Napoleon—that’s all!

MAC. Thanks!

ROSALIE. That’s that—there’s nothing more to say—go ahead with your strike—do anything you like but don’t count on me.

MAC. Does that mean you are walking out on me?

ROSALIE. It does. Don’t touch me and don’t come near me. I’m through, Mac, through. I don’t want to see you again and I hope— [_Rosalie runs out._]

SPIKER. “Tin Napoleon,” eh? Getting soft, Mac? Never knew you to take anything like that before.

MAC. You try it on, fella, and see what’ll happen to you. [_Phone rings. Mac answers._] Hello. What? Who is this? How do you know that? I’ve just been talking to Benny. They did! Ah, Christ! Can’t you round them up? Can’t you get another hall? You don’t have to let them get away with that! Who have you got with you? [_A long pause._] All right. All right. Well, it certainly lets us down over here. Where are you going to be? I’ll call you there. [_He hangs up._] That settles it.

WARD. What’s up?

MAC. Police broke up the mill meeting, wrecked the hall, and scattered the crowd. They won’t vote tonight. Anyway, they’re licked. And I guess we are. What do you say, Cappie?

CAPRARO. We must call Andy.

MAC. I wish I thought the engineers would go out alone.

CAPRARO. They will not. Anyway, you must tell them.

MAC. You tell ’em, Cappie.

CAPRARO [_going to telephone_]. Give me the committee room.

SPIKER. So they go back tomorrow.

MAC. Looks like it.

CAPRARO. Hello, Andy. It’s all off. Police raided the mill-workers. Oh, no, no, no! We must not do that! Yes, so am I. [_He hangs up._]

SPIKER. You’d let the longshoremen go back to work tomorrow—after that?

MAC. Not if I saw my way out of it.

SPIKER. What kind of guts have we got in this crowd, anyway? We can’t let ’em get away with that! Don’t you see it? They get away with that and we’re licked for good—the whole labor crowd’s licked?

MAC. Pretty damn near it.

SPIKER. Look here, Mac. I never knew you to go soft before. What’s the matter with you? Do you want a vacation?

MAC. I didn’t ask for one, but I guess I’m going to get it.

SPIKER. Ward, what’s the matter with you? I don’t understand this bunch. Are we going to lie down? God, there’s got to be something to do!

WARD. There’s got to be, all right, but I can’t think of it.

SPIKER. I’ll tell you what I’d do if anybody had the guts to go with me—I’d fix it so nobody could go to work, scabs or union. I’d blow the docks to hell!

WARD. There wouldn’t be any sense to that.

SPIKER. Christ, what a crowd!

MAC. Be logical, man, be logical. I’ll do anything that’ll get us anywhere. Only that wouldn’t. Not this time.

SPIKER. Now’s the time it would do some good. And why not? They’ve used everything on us.

WARD. Well, I’d like to see it.

SPIKER. Only you won’t touch it—oh, no! You wanted to know what you could do about the strike—and I told you that’s all—and do I get volunteers? I do not. Well, I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’m going alone.

MAC. Are you joking?

SPIKER. I don’t joke with nitroglycerine. [_Suvorin has silently risen and come over behind Spiker. He lays his hand on Spiker’s shoulder. Spiker jumps._] What do you want?

SUVORIN. You asked for a man.

SPIKER. Well?

SUVORIN. Will I do?

SPIKER. Will you come with me?

SUVORIN. Who are you?

SPIKER. Who the hell are you?

SUVORIN. You know me. I run this restaurant.

SPIKER. You’re no longshoreman.

SUVORIN. You asked for a man.

SPIKER. All right. Who else is coming?

SUVORIN. And now, who are you?

SPIKER. Say, bohunk, I guess you know who I am.

SUVORIN. I do not.

SPIKER. Well, I don’t know as I can help you then.

MAC. He’s all right, Suvorin. He’s been working with us three months. He’s a California wobbly. They grow wild out there.

SPIKER. Anybody else game to go along?

MAC. You wouldn’t go into that?

SUVORIN. If he will tell me who he is.

SPIKER. Damn it, Mac told you who I am!

SUVORIN. How long were you in California?

SPIKER. Is this a third degree?

SUVORIN. Why not answer me?

MAC. Tell him, Spiker. He’s all right. There’s nobody here you need be afraid of.

SPIKER. Three years.

SUVORIN. And before that?

SPIKER. Do you want my life history?

SUVORIN. This is a serious matter.

SPIKER. All right. I’ve been an I.W.W. organizer over four years. Before that I was in Pittsburgh.

SUVORIN. What was your trade?

SPIKER. Iron-worker.

SUVORIN. You’ve never been an iron-worker.

SPIKER. Are you calling me a liar?

SUVORIN. I am. Look at that hand. Look at that wrist. [_He holds up Spiker’s hand._] Where do you wear it?

SPIKER. What are you getting nasty about?

SUVORIN. I said where do you wear it? On your underwear?

SPIKER. What do you mean?

SUVORIN. Your badge!

SPIKER. I don’t wear any badge. Do I look like a dick?

SUVORIN. You do. [_He seizes Spiker’s shirt and turns the collar down._]

SPIKER. Take your lousy paws off me.

SUVORIN. There it is. [_He withdraws his hand with a detective’s badge in it._]

SPIKER. You planted that on me!

SUVORIN. Oh, no.

MAC [_rising_]. Look, here, Spiker!—

SPIKER [_his hands on a gun in his pocket_]. Let go of me!

[_Sowerby slides under the table and stays there._]

SUVORIN. Certainly.

[_Spiker, released, backs to the street door, his eyes on Mac._]

MAC. Spiker, is that true? [_Spiker, nearing the door, makes no answer._] You’re a rat, then, are you? [_Spiker disappears._] Why, God damn his soul, he’s been sitting in with us all through the strike! [_He makes a sudden dash for the cash drawer, takes out the gun and makes for the door._]

ROSALIE. Mac!

[_Suvorin blocks Mac’s way and pinions him, Ward takes the gun._]

MAC. All right, all right. I’m letting go. Only that’s the nearest I ever came to bumping anybody off.

[_Ward replaces the gun._]

SUVORIN. Sit there and think it over! And when next you wish to do a thing like that do it well, with forethought to save your skin, not like a fool! [_He looks over the group._] How many years have I sat here listening to fools’ talk? Five, ten—many years. And what have I learned from you? I have learned that you know nothing—that you learn nothing! Uplifters, you are, reformers, dreamers, thinking to make over the earth. I know you all, and you are all fools but Ike, who is a pan-handler. That is sensible.... The earth is old. You will not make it over. Man is old. You will not make him over. You are anarchists, maybe, some of you socialists, some of you wobblies, you are all believers in pap. The world is old, and it is owned by men who are hard. Do you think you can win against them by a strike? Let us change the government, you say. Bah! They own this government, they will buy any government you have. I tell you there is no government—there are only brigands in power who fight for more power! It has always been so. It will always be so. Till you die! Till we all die! Till there is no earth!

This Spiker you have here, you believe him, he looks right to you. How do I know him? I have a test for him. All my life I listen among men for a man who has hell in him, as I have. All my life I listen for one rebel, and when I have thought to find him I have looked under his lapel for the badge. When I find him he is a spy—always! There is only one man with enough hell in him to be dangerous—enough hell and cunning and power—and it is I alone! I came here from tyranny to find a free country, and this country set out to break me in its prisons because I believed in its liberty. You should know what it is to wear iron to your bone! I can tell you of liberty! I can tell you of justice! There is none! There are men with whips and there are whipped men! That is all. And you are whipped. Because you are fools.

WARD. Who’s whipped?

SUVORIN. You are. You are whipped before you start. The government sets a little game for you, and you play it with them, and the government wins because it is their game. Then they put you in prison till you have tuberculosis. That is the end of you. It is an easy way. You are children in their hands. You have not even bothered to get money to fight them, you have not even learned to break from a prison, you do not even learn their tricks. Bah! They have cheap little tricks to hold you—handcuffs, bars—do you think they could hold me again with handcuffs and bars?—Yes, but you are happier so. You have not gone bad inside—and that is why you are not dangerous. That is why—you are not dangerous. [_He sits, his head in his hands._] Play your game. They are safe from you.

[_The door opens and a Policeman and Sergeant enter. Spiker stands in the doorway. Mac and Ward rise._]

SERGEANT. Sit still, sit still. Just got warrants for a couple of arrests here, that’s all.

MAC. Who do you want?

SERGEANT. James Macready and Dante Capraro.

ROSALIE. They’re not here.

SPIKER. Oh, yes, they are.

WARD. Hello, rat.

SPIKER. Those two.

SERGEANT [_to Mac_]. What’s your name?

MAC. Macready.

SERGEANT. Well, you’re wanted. What’s yours?

CAPRARO. Capraro.

SERGEANT. You two come along. That’s all.

MAC. Wait a minute, wait a minute. Where’s your warrant?

SERGEANT. Oh, I see. Constitutional rights and everything, huh? Well, here you are.

MAC. Wait. Let me read it.

SERGEANT. Sure, read it.

MAC [_reading_]. Do you mean you’re arresting us for a murder?

SERGEANT. That’s what it says, ain’t it?

MAC. You can’t arrest us for any murder.

SERGEANT. I guess I can.

ROSALIE. What murder?

MAC. Kendall, the paymaster. Listen, we know nothing about that. We were having troubles of our own this afternoon.

POLICEMAN. We don’t know anything about that.

ROSALIE. But you can’t do this. It isn’t right.

SERGEANT. I don’t want any argument about it.

SPIKER [_coming in_]. You’d better search the place for weapons, sergeant. Look in the cash drawer.

MAC. You lousy fink, is this your affair?

SPIKER. And look them over for guns.

[_Mac suddenly hits Spiker in the jaw. Spiker goes down. The Sergeant grabs Mac, who wrestles with him to get at Spiker. The other policeman gets him from behind. Rosalie tries to help and is shoved away. The Sergeant turns to Capraro._]

SERGEANT. How about you?

CAPRARO. I know nothing of a murder.

SERGEANT. Put out your hands.

CAPRARO. I will not.

[_He is handcuffed. Spiker finds the gun in the cash drawer._]

SPIKER [_to Suvorin_]. Whose is this?

SUVORIN. I do not know.

ROSALIE. It’s mine. I put it there.

SERGEANT. How long have you had it?

ROSALIE. I don’t know. I’ve always had it.

SERGEANT. I’ll take it. [_Spiker hands it over._] That’s a service revolver.

ROSALIE. Mac!

SERGEANT. You say this is yours?

ROSALIE. Yes.

SERGEANT. You can’t talk to him, you know. What’s your name?

ROSALIE. Rosalie Suvorin.

SERGEANT. That’s all. We’re going.

ROSALIE. Wait just a minute—please!

SERGEANT. You can’t go along, you know.

ROSALIE. Can’t I speak to him a minute?

SERGEANT. No.

MAC. Don’t worry, kid. I’ve been pinched before.

[_He and the Sergeant go out, following Capraro and the other Policeman. Spiker hits Mac outside the door._]

SERGEANT [_at the door_]. By the way, I don’t think so much of the crowd you keep in here.

SUVORIN. Neither do I.

[_Exit Sergeant. Ward goes to the door. Milkin is scribbling on a napkin._]

MILKIN [_to Ike_]. See dat? Dat don’t look so good. Dat’s de wrong sign.

CURTAIN