Chapter 5

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

Except, of course, that he made them a speech. Seeing that he was saving Bertie Stebbins' life, it was no more than fair that he should have his own way, and that a member of the younger generation should listen in unprotesting silence to a discourse, the political and sociological implications of which must have been very offensive to 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 kill these wretches? The blood-suckers who drain the life of the poor are not to be killed by blows. There are too many of them, and more of them grow in place of those who die. And what is worse, if you kill them, you destroy in yourselves that which makes you better than they, which gives you the right to life. You destroy those virtues of patience and charity, which are the jewels of the poor, and make them 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 the degradation of our own hearts. For so many ages we have been patient, let us wait but a little longer, and find the true way! Oh, my people, my beloved poor, not in violence, but in solidarity, in brotherhood, lies the way! Let us bid the rich go on, to the sure damnation which awaits them. Let us not soil our hands with their blood!”

He spread out his arms again, majestically. “Stand back! Make way for them!”

Not all the crowd understood the words, but enough of them did, and set the example. In dead silence they withdrew from the sides and front of the car. The body of the dead child had been dragged out of the way and laid on the sidewalk, covered by a coat; and so Carpenter said to the Stebbins family: “The road is clear before you. Step in.” Half dazed, the four people obeyed, and again Carpenter raised his voice. “Drinkers of human blood, devourers of human bodies, go your way! Go forward to that doom which history prepares for parasites!”

The engine began to purr, and the car began to move. There was a low mutter from the crowd, a moan of fury and baffled desire; but not a hand was lifted, and the car shot away, and disappeared down the street, leaving Carpenter standing on the curb, making a Socialist speech to a mob of greasers and dagoes.

XXI

When he stopped speaking, it was because a woman pressed her way through the crowd, and caught one of his hands. “Master, my baby!” she sobbed. “The little one that was hurt!” So Carpenter said to the crowd, “The sick child needs me. I must go in.” They started to press after him, and he added, “You must not come into the room. The child will need air.” He went inside, and knelt once more by the couch, and put his hand on the little one's forehead. The mother, a frail, dark Mexican woman, crouched at the foot, not daring to touch either 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 liked what he saw, for he kept on gazing, and a smile spread over his features, a wistful and tender and infinitely sad little smile, of a child who perhaps never had a good meal in his lifetime. “Nice man!” he whispered; and the woman, hearing his voice again, began sobbing wildly, and caught Carpenter's free hand and covered it with her tears. “It is all right,” said he; “all right, all right! He will get 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 he remarked, “What is there so lovely as a child?”

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

I had been reading not long ago of the miracles of Lourdes, so I knew in a general way what to expect. I know that modern science vindicates these things, demonstrating that any powerful stimulus given to the unconscious can awaken new vital impulses, and heal not merely the hysterical and neurotic, but sometimes actual physical ailments. Of course, to these ignorant Mexicans and Italians, there was no possible excitement so great as that caused by Carpenter's appearance and behavior. I understood the thing clearly; and yet, somehow, I could not watch it without being startled--thrilled in a strange, uncomfortable way.

And later on I had company in these unaccustomed emotions; the crowd gave way, and who should come into the room but Mary Magna! She did not speak to either of us, but slipped to one side and stood in silence--while the crowd watched her furtively out of the corner of its eyes, thinking her some foreign princess, with her bold, dark beauty and her costly attire. I went over to her, whispering, “How did you get here?” She explained that, when we did not arrive at the studios, she had called up the Stebbins home and learned about the accident. “They warned me not to come here, because this man was a terrible Bolshevik; he made a blood-thirsty speech to the mob. What did he say?”

I started to tell; but I was interrupted by a piercing shriek. A sick and emaciated young girl with paralyzed limbs had been carried into the room. They had laid her on the couch, from which the child had been taken away, and Carpenter had put his hands upon her. At once the girl had risen up--and here she stood, her hands flung into the air, literally screaming her triumphant joy. Of course the crowd took it up--these primitive people are always glad of a chance to make a big noise, so the whole room was in a clamor, and Carpenter had hard work to extract himself from the throng which wished to touch 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 of his fear, the beast kills him.”

“What is the beast?”

“His name is self; and he has many forms. In men he is greed; in women 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, it seemed 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 with pity. “They have worked you like an old mule, until your skin is cracked and your joints grown hard; but they have not been so kind to 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 need food--and I have no food to give!” He raised his arms, in sudden wrath. “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 their numbers as a rule to be found in the telephone book. Carpenter looked about the place, now lined pretty well with cripples and invalids. Only a couple of hours of spreading rumor had been needed to bring them forth, unholy and dreadful secrets, dragged from the dark corners and back alley-ways of these tenements. He gazed from one crooked and distorted face to another, and put his hand to his forehead with a gesture of despair. “No, no!” he said. “It is of no use!” He lifted his voice, calling once more to the masters of the city. “You make them faster than I can heal them! You make them by machinery--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 been inside my mind. “I know, it will not be easy! But remember, I broke the empire of Rome!”

That was his last flare. “I can do no more,” he whispered. “My power is gone from me; I must rest.” And his voice gave way. “I beg you to go, unhappy poor of the world! I have done all that I can do for you tonight.”

And silently, patiently, as creatures accustomed to the voice of doom, the sick and the crippled began to hobble and crawl from the room.

XXII

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

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

In the doorway of the room appeared the little boy who had been knocked down by the car. He looked at Carpenter, and then came towards him. When Carpenter saw him, a smile of welcome came upon his face; he stretched out an arm, and the little fellow nestled in it. Other children appeared in the doorway, and soon he had a group about him, sitting on his knees and on the couch. They were little gutter-urchins, but he, seemingly, was interested in knowing their names and their relationships, what they learned in school, and what games 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 and friendship, 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 be interested in the prattle of children, when he had people like us, evidently rich people, to talk to. “You will bother the master,” she said, in Spanish. He seemed to understand, and answered, “Let the children stay with me. They teach me that the world might be happy.”

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

But after a while one of the children began to rub his eyes, and the mother exclaimed--it was so late! The children had stayed awake because of the excitement, but now they must go to bed. She bundled them out of the room, and presently came back, bearing a glass of milk and a plate with bread and an orange on it. The master might be hungry, she said, with a humble little bow. In her halting English she offered to bring something to us, but she did not suppose we would care for poor people's food. She took it for granted that “poor people's food” was what Carpenter would want; and apparently she was right, for he ate it with relish. Meantime he tried to get the woman to sit on the couch beside him; but she would not sit in his presence--or was it in the presence of Mary and me? I had a feeling, as she withdrew, that she might have been glad to chat with him, if a million-dollar movie queen and a spoiled young club man had not been there to claim prior rights.

XXIII

So presently we three were alone once more; and Mary, gazing intently 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,” he said, “I have been in grief.” Then thinking, perhaps, that he had been abrupt, he added: “You, Mary--you have been in love?”

She answered: “No.” I'm not sure if I said anything out loud, but my thought was easy to read, and she turned upon me. “You don't know what 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 me when 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. You notice I've got them off now!”

“I don't understand, Mary,” he said, gently. “Why does a woman like you sell herself?”

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

I sat watching this scene, marvelling more than ever. That tone in Mary Magna's voice was a new one to me; perhaps she had not used it since 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 an honest story in your pictures?”

“Me? My God! Tell that to T-S, and watch his face! Why, they hunt all 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 can wreck. Me play an honest woman? The public would call it a joke, and the screen people would call it indecent.”

Carpenter got up, and began to pace the room. “Mary,” said he, “I once lived under the Roman empire--”

“Yes, I know. I was Cleopatra, and again I was Nero's mistress while he watched the city burning.”

“Rome was rough, and crude, and poor, Mary. Rome was nothing to this. This is Satan on my Father's throne, making new worlds for himself.” He paced the room again, then turned and said: “I don't understand this world. I must know more about it, if I am to save it!” There was such grief, such selfless pity in his voice as he repeated this: “I must know more!”

“You know everything!” exclaimed Mary, suddenly. “You are all wisdom!”

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

“You'll have your hands full,” I said--for I was a coward, and wanted to keep him out of it.

“How shall I find them?” he persisted.

“I don't know; I suppose their headquarters are at the Labor Temple.”

“I will go there. Meantime, I fear I shall have to be alone. I need to 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 drive through the streets in their chariots; no, I shall not ride with them 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 the poor.”

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

“By all means,” said he. “But you must come early, for I cannot delay.”

“Where shall I come?”

“Come here. I am sure these people will give me shelter.” He looked about him. “I suspect that some of them sleep in this room; but they have a little porch outside, and if they will let me stay there I shall 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 woman told me that “the master” had waited, and finally had gone. He had asked the way to the Labor Temple, and left word that I would find him there. So I stepped back into my taxi, and told the driver to take the most direct route.

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

I got out, and paid the driver of the taxi, and pushed into the crowd. Now and then I caught a few words of what Carpenter was telling them, and it seemed quite harmless--that they were all brothers, that they should love one another, and not do one another injustice. What could there have been that made him think it necessary to deliver this message before breakfast? I looked about, noting that it was the Hebrew quarter of the city, plastered with signs with queer, spattered-up letters. I thought: “Holy smoke! Is he going to convert the Jews?”

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

I got part of the story from this policeman, and part from a couple of bystanders. It appeared that some Jewish lady, getting her shopping done early, had complained of getting short weight, and the butcher had ordered her out of his shop, and she had stopped to express her opinion of profiteers, and he had thrown her out, and she had stood on the sidewalk and shrieked until all the ladies in this crowded quarter had joined her. Their fury against soaring prices 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 another mob to quell!

“You know how it is,” said the policeman. “It really does cost these poor devils a lot to live, and they say prices are going down, but I can't see it anywhere but in the papers.”

“Well,” said I, “I guess you were glad enough to have somebody do this job.”

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

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

“Now wouldn't that jar you?” remarked the “copper.” “Holy Christ, if you'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 in Abraham's nightshirt?”

Said Carpenter: “The days of the exploiter are numbered. The thrones of the mighty are tottering, and the earth shall belong to them that labor. He that toils not, neither shall he eat, and they that grow fat 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 the captain don't stand much more of that.”

Fortunately the captain's endurance was not put to the test. The orator had reached the climax of his eloquence. “The kingdom of righteousness is at hand. The word will be spoken, the way will be made clear. Meantime, my people, I bid you go your way in peace. Let there be no more disturbance, to bring upon you the contempt of those who do not understand your troubles, nor share the heartbreak of the poor. My people, take my peace with you!” He stretched out his arms in invocation, and there was a murmur of applause, and the crowd began slowly to disperse.

Which seemed to remind my friend the policeman that he had authority to exercise. He began to poke his stick into the humped backs of poor Jewish tailors, and into the ample stomachs of fat Jewish housewives. “Come on now, get along with you, and let somebody else have a bit o' the street.” I pushed my way forward, by virtue of my good clothes, and got through the press about Carpenter, and took him by the arm, saying, “Come on now, let's see if we can't get to the Labor Temple.”

XXV

There was a crowd following us, of course; and I sought to keep Carpenter busy in conversation, to indicate that the crowd was not wanted. But before we had gone half a block I felt some one touch me on the arm, and heard a voice, saying, “I beg pardon, I'm a reporter for the 'Evening Blare'.”

Now, of course, I had known this must come; I had realized that I would be getting myself in for it, if I went to join Carpenter that morning. I had planned to warn him, to explain to him what our newspapers are; but how could I have foreseen that he was going to get into a riot before breakfast, and bring out the police reserves and 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 a couple of hours, we will give you an interview.”

“But I must have a story for our first edition, that goes to press before that.”