“Now, sergeant,” said I, “this is
preposterous. All this prisoner did was to try
to stop a mob from destroying property.”
“You can tell all that to the magistrate in
the morning,” said the sergeant.
“What is the bail?” I demanded.
“You are prepared to put up bail?”
I answered that I was; and then for the first time
Carpenter spoke. “You mean you wish to
pay money to secure my release? Let there be
no money paid for me.”
“Let me explain, Mr. Carpenter,” I pleaded.
“You will accomplish nothing by spending the
night in a police cell. You will have no opportunity
to talk with the prisoners. They will keep you
by yourself.”
He answered, “My Father will be with me.”
And gazing into the face of the sergeant, he demanded,
“Do you think you can build a cell to which
my Father cannot come?”
The officer was an old hand, with a fringe of grey
hair around his bald head, and no doubt he had been
asked many queer questions in his day. His response
was to inquire the prisoner’s name; and when
the prisoner kept haughty silence, he wrote down “John
Doe Carpenter,” and proceeded: “Where
do you live?”
Said Carpenter: “The foxes have holes,
and the birds of the air have nests, but he that espouses
the cause of justice has no home in a world of greed.”
So the sergeant wrote: “No address,”
and nodded to a jailer, who took the prophet by the
arm and led him away through a steel-barred door.
Abell and I went outside and joined the rest of the
group. None of us knew just what to do—with
the exception of Everett, who sat on the steps with
his notebook, and made me repeat to him word for word
what Carpenter had said!
Comrade Abell told us where the police-court was located,
and we agreed to be there at nine o’clock next
morning. Then I parted from the rest, and walked
until I met a taxi and drove to my rooms.
I felt desolate and forlorn. Nothing in my old
life had any interest for me. This was the afternoon
when I usually went to the Athletic Club to box; but
now I found myself wondering, what would Carpenter
say to such imitation fighting? I decided I would
stay by myself for a while, and take a walk and think
things over. I had been dissatisfied with my
life for a long time; the glamor had begun to wear
off the excitement of youth, and I had begun to suspect
that my life was idle and vain. Now I knew that
it was: and also I knew that the world was a
place of torment and woe.
I returned late in the afternoon, and a few minutes
afterwards my telephone rang, and I discovered that
somebody else was dissatisfied with life.
“Hello, Billy,” said the voice of T-S.
“I see dat feller Carpenter is in jail.
Vy don’t you bail him out?”
“He won’t let me,” I said.
“Vell, maybe it might be a good ting to leave
him in jail a veek, till dis Brigade convention gits
over.”
