“How long ago was that?” asked the Candidate,
and Jimmie answered three years. “And you
haven’t lost your enthusiasm?” This with
an intensity that surprised Jimmie. No, he answered,
he was not that kind. Whatever happened, he would
keep pegging away at the task of freeing labour.
He would not see the New Day, perhaps, but his children
would see it; and a fellow would work like the devil
to save his children.
So they came to the city; and the Candidate pressed
Jimmie’s arm. “Comrade,” he
said, “I want to tell you how much good this
little trip has done me. I owe you a debt of
gratitude.”
“Me?” exclaimed Jimmie.
“You have given me fresh hope and courage, and
at a time when I felt beaten. I got into town
this morning, and I’d had no sleep, and I tried
to get some in the hotel and couldn’t, because
of the horror that’s happening. I wrote
a dozen telegrams and sent them off, and then I was
afraid to go back to the hotel-room, because I knew
I’d only lie awake all afternoon. But now—I
remember that our movement is rooted in the hearts
of the people!”
Jimmie was trembling. But all he could say was:
“I wish I could do it every Sunday.”
“So do I,” said the Candidate.
They walked down Main Street, and some way ahead they
saw a crowd gathered, filling the pavement beyond
the kerb. “What is that?” asked the
Candidate, and Jimmie answered that it was the office
of the Herald. There must be some news.
The other hastened his steps; and Jimmie, striding
alongside, fell silent again, knowing that the gigantic
burden and woe of the world was falling upon his hero’s
shoulders once more. They came to the edge of
the crowd, and saw a bulletin in front of the newspaper
office. But it was too far away for them to read.
“What is it?” they asked.
“It says the Germans are going to march into
Belgium. And they’ve shot a lot of Socialists
in Germany.”
“What?” And the Candidate’s
hand clutched Jimmie’s arm.
“That’s what it says.”
“My God!” exclaimed the man. And
he began pushing his way into the crowd, with Jimmie
in his wake. They got to the bulletin, and stood
reading the typewritten words—a bare announcement
that more than a hundred leading German Socialists
had been executed for efforts to prevent mobilization.
They continued staring, until people pushing behind
them caused them to draw back. Outside the throng
they stood, the Candidate gazing into space, and Jimmie
gazing at the Candidate, both of them dumb. It
was a fact that they could not have been more shocked
if the news had referred to the members of Local Leesville
of the Socialist Party of America.
The pain in the Candidate’s face was so evident
that Jimmie groped about in his head for something
comforting to say. “At least they done
what they could,” he whispered.
The other suddenly burst forth: “They are
heroes! They have made the name Socialist sacred
for ever!” He rushed on, as if he were making
a speech-so strong becomes a life-time habit.
“They have written their names at the very top
of humanity’s roll of honour! It doesn’t
make any difference what happens after this, Comrade—the
movement had vindicated itself! All the future
will be changed because of this event!”
