Part 25 (1/2)

After the luncheon they went out on the broad veranda which overlooked a magnificent landscape. The hostess got Peter settled in a soft porch chair with many cus.h.i.+ons, and then waved her hand toward the view of the city with its haze of thick black smoke.

”That's where my wage slaves toil to earn my dividends,” said she.

”They're supposed to stay there--in their 'place,' as it's called, and I stay here in my place. If they want to change places, it's called 'revolution,' and that is 'violence.' What I marvel at is that they use so little violence, and feel so little. Look at those men being tortured in jail! Could anyone blame them if they used violence? Or if they made an effort to escape?”

That suggested a swift, stabbing idea to Peter. Suppose Mrs. G.o.dd could be induced to help in a jail delivery!

”It might be possible to help them to escape,” he suggested.

”Do you think so?” asked Mrs. G.o.dd, showing excitement for the first time during that interview.

”It might be,” said Peter. ”Those jailors are not above taking bribes, you know. I met nearly all of them while I was in that jail, and I think I might get in touch with one or two that could be paid.

Would you like me to try it?”

”Well, I don't know--” began the lady, hesitatingly. ”Do you really think--”

”You know they never ought to have been put in at all!” Peter interjected.

”That's certainly true!” declared Mrs. G.o.dd.

”And if they could escape without hurting anyone, if they didn't have to fight the jailors, it wouldn't do any real harm--”

That was as far as Peter got with his impromptu conspiracy. Suddenly he heard a voice behind him: ”What does this mean?” It was a male voice, fierce and trembling with anger; and Peter started from his silken cus.h.i.+ons, and glanced around, thrusting up one arm with the defensive gesture of a person who has been beaten since earliest childhood.

Bearing down on him was a man; possibly he was not an abnormally big man, but certainly he looked so to Peter. His smooth-shaven face was pink with anger, his brows gathered in a terrible frown, and his hands clenched with deadly significance. ”You dirty little skunk!”

he hissed. ”You infernal young sneak!”

”John!” cried Mrs. G.o.dd, imperiously; but she might as well have cried to an advancing thunder-storm. The man made a leap upon Peter, and Peter, who had dodged many hundreds of blows in his lifetime, rolled off the lounging chair, and leaped to his feet, and started for the stairs of the veranda. The man was right behind him, and as Peter reached the first stair the man's foot shot out, and caught Peter fairly in the seat of his trousers, and the first stair was the only one of the ten or twelve stairs of the veranda that Peter touched in his descent.

Landing at the bottom, he did not stop even for a glance; he could hear the snorting of Mr. G.o.dd, it seemed right behind his ear, and Peter ran down the driveway as he had seldom run in his life before.

Every now and then Mr. G.o.dd would shoot out another kick, but he had to stop slightly to do this, and Peter gained just enough to keep the kicks from reaching him. So at last the pursuer gave up, and Peter dashed thru the gates of the G.o.dd estate and onto the main highway.

Then he looked over his shoulder, and seeing that Mr. G.o.dd was a safe distance away, he stopped and turned and shook his clenched fist with the menace of a street-rat, shrieking, ”d.a.m.n you! d.a.m.n you!” A whirlwind of impotent rage laid hold upon him. He shouted more curses and menaces, and among them some strange, some almost incredible words. ”Yes, I'm a Red, d.a.m.n your soul, and I'll stay a Red!”

Yes, Peter Gudge, the friend of law and order, Peter Gudge, the little brother to the rich, shouted, ”I'm a Red, and what's more, we'll blow you up some day for this--Mac and me'll put a bomb under you!” Mr. G.o.dd turned and stalked with contemptuous dignity back to his own private domestic controversy.

Peter walked off down the road, rubbing his sore trousers and sobbing to himself. Yes, Peter understood now exactly how the Reds felt. Here were these rich parasites, exploiting the labor of working men and living off in palaces by themselves--and what had they done to earn it? What would they ever do for the poor man, except to despise him, and to kick him in the seat of his trousers?

They were a set of wilful brutes! Peter suddenly saw the happenings of last night from a new angle, and wished he had all the younger members of the Chamber of Commerce and the Merchants' and Manufacturers' a.s.sociation right there along with Mr. G.o.dd, so that he could bundle them all off to the devil at once.

And that was no pa.s.sing mood either. The seat of Peter's trousers hurt so that he could hardly endure the trolley ride home, and all the way Peter was plotting how he could punish Mr. G.o.dd. He remembered suddenly that Mr. G.o.dd was an a.s.sociate of Nelse Ackerman; and Peter now had a spy in Nelse Ackerman's home, and was preparing some kind of a ”frame-up!” Peter would see if he couldn't find some way to start a dynamite conspiracy against Mr. G.o.dd! He would start a campaign against Mr. G.o.dd in the radical movement, and maybe he could find some way to get a bunch of the ”wobblies” to carry him off and tie him up and beat him with a black-snake whip!

Section 65

With these reflections Peter went back to the American House, where McGivney had promised to meet him that evening. Peter went to Room 427, and being tired after the previous night's excitement, he lay down and fell fast asleep. And when again he opened his eyes, he wasn't sure whether it was a nightmare, or whether he had died in his sleep and gone to h.e.l.l with Mr. G.o.dd. Somebody was shaking him, and bidding him in a gruff voice, ”Wake up!” Peter opened his eyes, and saw that it was McGivney; and that was all right, it was natural that McGivney should be waking him up. But what was this? McGivney's voice was angry, McGivney's face was dark and glowering, and--most incredible circ.u.mstance of all--McGivney had a revolver in his hand, and was pointing it into Peter's face!

It really made it much harder for Peter to get awake, because he couldn't believe that he was awake; also it made it harder for McGivney to get any sense out of him, because his jaw hung down, and he stared with terrified eyes into the muzzle of the revolver.