Said he: “You talk about mobs—listen
to this.” Then, to one of the group about
him: “Tell how they mobbed you!” The
man thus addressed, a little Russian tailor named
Korwsky, narrated in his halting English that he was
the secretary of the tailors’ union, and they
had a strike, and a few days ago their offices had
been raided at night, the door “jimmed”
open and the desk rifled of all the papers and records.
Evidently it had been done by the bosses or their
agents, for nothing had been taken but papers which
would be of use against the strike. “Dey
got our members’ list,” said Korwsky.
“Dey send people to frighten ’em back
to verk! Dey call loans, dey git girls fired
from stores if dey got jobs—dey hound ’em
every way!”
The speaker went on to declare that no such job could
have been pulled off without the police knowing; yet
they made no move to arrest the criminals. His
voice trembled with indignation; and Carpenter 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 a striking resemblance to him. He was
tall and not too well nourished; but instead of the
prophet’s robes of white and amethyst, he wore
the clothes of a working-man, a little too short in
the sleeves; and where Carpenter had a soft and silky
brown beard, this man had a skinny Adam’s apple
that worked up and down. He was something of an
agitator, I judged, and he appeared to have a religious
streak. “I am a Christian,” I heard
him say; “but one of the kind that speak out
against injustice. And I can show you Bible texts
for it,” he insisted. “I can prove
it by the word of God.”
This man’s name was James, and I learned that
he was one of the striking carpenters. The prophet
turned to him, and said: “Tell him your
story.” So the other took from his pocket
a greasy note-book, and produced a newspaper clipping,
quoting an injunction which Judge Wollcott had issued
against his union. “Read that,” said
he; but I answered that I knew about it. I remember
hearing my uncle laughing over the matter at the dinner-table,
saying that “Bobbie” Wollcott had forbidden
the strikers to do everything but sit on air and walk
on water. And now I got another view of “Bobbie,”
this time from a prophet fresh from God. Said
the prophet: “Your judges are mobs!”
Soon after the noon-hour, there pushed his way into
the crowd a young man, whom I recognized as one of
the secretaries of T-S. He was looking for me,
and told me in a whisper that his employer was downstairs
in his car, and wanted to see Mr. Carpenter and myself
about something important. He did not want to
come up, because it was too conspicuous. Would
we come down and take a little drive? I answered
that I should be willing, but I knew Carpenter would
not—he had been in an automobile accident
the night before, and had refused to ride again.
