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.”
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.”
