Part 7

The arrival of Carpenter attracted no particular attention. The troubles of these people were too recent for them to be aware of anything else. All they wanted was some one to tell their troubles to, and they quickly found that this stranger was available for the purpose. He asked many questions, and before long had a crowd about him--as if he were some sort of government commissioner, conducting an investigation. It was an all day job, apparently; I hung round, trying to keep myself inconspicuous.

Towards noon came a boy with newspapers, and I bought the early edition of the “Evening Blare.” Yes, there it was--all the way across the front page; not even a big fire at the harbor and an earthquake in Japan had been able to displace it. As I had foreseen, the reporter had played up the most sensational aspects of the matter: Carpenter announced himself as a prophet only twenty-four hours out of God's presence, and proved it by healing the lame and the halt and the blind--and also by hypnotising everyone he spoke to, from a wealthy young clubman to a mob of Jewish housewives. Incidentally he denounced America as “Mobland,” and called it a country governed by madmen.

I took the paper to him, thinking to teach him a little worldly prudence. Said I: “You remember, I tried to keep out that stuff about mobs--”

He took the sheet from my hands and looked at the headlines. I saw his nostrils dilate, and his eyes flash. “Mobs? This paper is a mob! It is the worst of your mobs!” And it fell to the floor, and he put his foot on the flaring print.

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!”

XXVIII

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.

Then, said the secretary, was there some room where we could meet? I went to one of the officials, and asked for a vacant room where I could talk about a private matter with a friend. I managed to separate Carpenter from his crowd and took him to the room, and presently Everett, the secretary, came with T-S.

The great man shook hands cordially with both of us; then, looking round to make sure that no one heard us, he began: “Mr. Carpenter, I told you I vould give a tousand dollars to dese strikers.”

The other's face, which had looked so grey and haggard, was suddenly illumined as if by his magical halo. “I had forgotten it! There are so many hungry in there; I have been watching them, wondering when they would be fed.”

“All right,” said T-S. “Here you are.” And reaching into his pocket, he produced a wad of new shiny hundred dollar notes, folded together. “Count 'em.”

Carpenter took the money in his hand. “So this is it!” he said. He looked at it, as if he were inspecting some strange creature from the wilds of Patagonia.

“It's de real stuff,” said T-S, with a grin.

“The stuff for which men sell their souls, and women their virtue! For which you starve and beat and torture one another--”

“Ain't it pretty?” said the magnate, not a bit embarrassed.

The other began reading the writing on the notes--as you may remember having done in some far-off time of childhood. “Whose picture is this?” he asked.

“I dunno,” said the magnate. “De Secretary of de Treasury, I reckon.”

“But,” said the other, “why not your picture, Mr. T-S?”

“Mine?”

“Of course.”

“My picture on de money?”

“Why not? You are the one who makes it, and enables everyone else to make it.”

It was one of those brand new ideas that come only to geniuses and children. I could see that T-S had never thought of it before; also, that he found it interesting to think of. Carpenter went on: “If your picture was on it, then every one would know what it meant. People would say: 'Render unto T-S the things that are T-S's.' When you were paying off your mobs, you would pay them with your own money, and whenever they spent it, the people would bow to Caesar--I mean to T-S.”

He said it without the trace of a smile; and T-S had no idea there was a smile anywhere in the neighborhood. In a business-like tone he said: “I'll tink about it.” Then he went on: “You give it to de strikers--”

But Carpenter interrupted: “It was you who were going to give it. I cannot give nor take money.”

“You mean you von't take it to dem?”

“I couldn't possibly do it, Mr. T-S.”

“But, man--”

“Your promise was that _you_ would come and give it. Now do so.”

“But, Mr. Carpenter, if I vas to do such a ting, it vould cost me a million dollars. I vould git into a row vit de Merchants' and Manufacturers' Association, dey vould boycott my business, dey vould give me a black eye all over de country. You dunno vot you're askin', Mr. Carpenter.”

“I understand then--you are in business alliance with men who are starving these people into submission, and you are afraid to help them? Afraid to feed the poor!” The far-off, wondering look came again to his face. “The world is organized!” he said, to himself. “There is a mob of masters! What can I do to save the people?”

T-S was unchanged in his cheerful good-nature. “You give dem a tousand dollars and you help a lot. Nobody can do it all.”

But Carpenter was not satisfied; he shook his head, sadly. “Please take this,” he said, and pressed the roll of bills back into the hands of the astounded magnate!

XXIX

However, T-S had come there to get something that day, and I thought I knew what it was. He swallowed his consternation, and all the rest of his emotions. “Now, now, Mr. Carpenter! Ve ain't a-goin' to quarrel about a ting like dat. Dem fellers is hungry, and de money vill give dem vun good feed. Ve git somebody to bring it to dem, and we be friends shoost de same. Billy, maybe you could give it, hey?”

I drew back with a laugh. “You don't get me into your quarrels!”

“Vell,” said T-S--and suddenly he had an inspiration. “I know. I git Mary Magna to give it! She's a voman!”

Carpenter turned with sudden wonder. “Then women are permitted to have hearts?”

“Shoost so, Mr. Carpenter! Ha, ha, ha! Ve business fellers--my Gawd, if you knew vot business is, you'd vunder we got hearts enough to keep our blood movin'.”

“Business,” said Carpenter, still pondering. “Then it's business--”

“Yes, business--” put in T-S. “Dat's it!” And he lowered his voice, and looked round once more. “It's time we vas talkin' business now! Mr. Carpenter, I be frank vit you, I put all my cards on de table. I seen de papers shoost now, vot vunderful tings you do--healin' de sick and quellin' de mobs and all dat--and I tink I gotta raise my offer, Mr. Carpenter. If you sign a contract I got here in my pocket, I pay you a tousand dollars a veek. Vot you say, my friend?”

Carpenter did not say anything, and so the magnate began to expatiate upon the artistic triumphs he would achieve. “I make such a picture fer you as de vorld never seen before. You can do shoost vot you vant in dat story--all de tings you like to do, and nuttin' you didn't like. I never said dat to no man before, but I know you now, Mr. Carpenter, and all I ask you is to heal de sick and quell de mobs, shoost like today. I pledge you my vord--I put it in de contract if you say so--I make nuttin' but Bible pictures.”

“That is very kind of you, Mr. T-S, and I thank you for the compliment; but I fear you will have to get some one else to play my part.”

Said T-S: “I vant you to tink, Mr. Carpenter, vot it vould mean if you had a tousand dollars every week. You could feed all de babies of de strikers. I vouldn't care vot you did--you could feed my own strikers, ven I git some at Eternal City. A tousand dollars a veek is an awful pile o' money to have!”

“I know that, my friend.”

“And vot's more, I pay you five tousand cash on de signin' of de contract. You can go right in now vit dese strikers--maybe you could beat Prince's vit all dat money!” Then, as Carpenter still shook his head: “I give you vun more raise, my friend--but dat's de last, you gotta believe me. I pay you fifteen hunded a veek. I aint ever paid so much money to a green actor in my life before, and I don't tink anybody else in de business ever did.”

But still Carpenter shook his head!

“Vould you mind tellin' me vy, Mr. Carpenter?”

“Not at all. You tell me that I may quell mobs for you. But there are mobs in your business that I could not quell.”

“Vot mobs?”

“Among others, yourself.”

“Me?”

“Yes--you are a mob; a mob of money! You storm the souls of men, and of women too. It will take a stronger force than I to quell you.”

“I don't git you,” said T-S, helplessly; but then, thinking it over a bit, he went on: “I guess I'm a vulgar feller, Mr. Carpenter, and maybe all my pictures ain't vot you call high-brow. But if I had a man like you to vork vit, I could make vot you call real educational pictures. You're vot dey call a prophet, you got a message fer de vorld; vell, vy don't you let me spread it fer you? If you use my machinery, you can talk to a billion people. Dat's no joke--if dey is dat many alive, I bring 'em to you; I bring de Japs and de Chinks and de niggers--de vooly-headed savages vot vould eat your missionaries if you sent 'em. I offer you de whole vorld, Mr. Carpenter; and you vould be de boss!”

Carpenter became suddenly grave. “My friend,” said he, “a long time ago there was a prophet, and he was offered the world. The story is told us--'Again, the devil taketh him up into an exceeding high mountain, and sheweth him all the kingdoms of the world, and the glory of them; and saith unto him, All these things will I give thee, if thou wilt fall down and worship me.' You recall that story, Mr. T-S?”

“No,” said T-S, “I ain't vun o' dese litry fellers.” But he realized that the story was not complimentary to him, and he showed his chagrin. “I tell you vun ting, Mr. Carpenter, if you vas to know me better, you vouldn't call me a devil.”

And suddenly the other put his hand on the great man's shoulder. “I believe that, my friend; I hate the sin but love the sinner--And so, suppose you come to lunch with me?”

“Lunch?” said T-S, taken aback.

“I went to dinner with you last night. Now you come to lunch with me.”

“Vere at, Mr. Carpenter?”

Said Carpenter: “When I went with you, I did not ask where.”

Carpenter signed to me and to Everett, the secretary, and the four of us went out of the room. I was as much mystified as the picture magnate, but I held my peace, and Carpenter led us to the elevator, and down to the street. “No,” said he, to T-S, “there is no need to get into your car. The place is just around the corner.” And he put his arm in that of the magnate, and led him down the street--somewhat to the embarrassment of his victim, for there was a crowd following us. People had read the afternoon papers by now, and it was no longer possible to walk along unheeded, with a prophet only twenty-four hours from God, who healed the sick and quelled mobs before breakfast. But T-S set his teeth and bore it--hoping this might be the way to land his contract.

XXX

We turned the corner, and soon I saw what was before us, and almost cried out with glee. It was really too good to be true! Carpenter, in the course of his talks with strikers, had learned where their soup-kitchen was located, the relief-headquarters where their families were being fed; and he now had the sublime audacity to take the picture magnate to lunch among them!

The place was an empty warehouse, fitted with long tables, and benches made of planks that were old and full of splinters. Here in rows of twenty or thirty were seated men and women and children, mixed together; before each one a bowl of not very thick soup, and a hunk of bread, and a tin cup full of hot brown liquid, politely taken for coffee. It was a meal which would have been spurned by any of the “studio bums” of T-S's mob-scenes; but now T-S was going to be a good sport, and sit on a splintery plank and eat it!

Nor was that all. As we pushed our way into the place, Carpenter turned to the magnate, and without a trace of embarrassment, said: “You understand, Mr. T-S, I have no money. But we must pay--”

“Oh, sure!” said T-S, quickly. “I'll pay!”

“Thank you,” said the other; and he turned to an official of the union with whom he had got acquainted in the course of the morning. He introduced us all, not forgetting the secretary, and then said: “Mr. T-S is the moving picture producer, and wants to have lunch with you, if you will consent.”

“Oh, sure!” said the official, cordially.

“He will pay for it,” added Carpenter. “He has brought along a thousand dollars for that purpose.”

T-S started as if some one had struck him; and the official started too. “WHAT?”

“He will pay a thousand dollars,” declared Carpenter. “It is a fact, and you may tell the people, if you wish.”

“My Gawd, no!” cried T-S wildly.

But the official did not heed him. He faced the crowd and stretched out his arms. “Boys! Boys! This is Mr. T-S, the picture producer, and he's come to lunch with us, and he's going to pay a thousand dollars for it!”

There was a moment of amazed silence, then a roar from the company. Men leaped to their feet and yelled. And there stood poor T-S-not enjoying the ovation!

“Give it to them,” whispered Carpenter; and the magnate, thus held up, took out the roll of bills, and turned it over to the trembling official, who leaped onto a chair and waved the miracle before the crowd. “A thousand dollars! A thousand dollars!” He counted it over before their eyes and called, louder than ever, “A thousand dollars!”

Carpenter, followed by T-S and the secretary and myself, went down the line of tables, shaking hands with many on the way, and being patted on the back by others. Also T-S shook hands, and was patted. Seats were found for us, and food was brought--double portions of it, as if to make the plight of the poor magnate even more absurd! I watched him out of the corner of my eye; he enjoyed that costly meal just about as much as Carpenter had enjoyed the one at Prince's last night!

However, he was game, and spilled no tears into his soup; and Carpenter ate with honest appetite, having had no breakfast. The strikers about us ate as if they had missed both breakfast and supper; they laughed and chatted and made jokes with us--you would have thought they were celebrating the winning of the strike and the end of all their troubles. In the midst of the meal I noted two well-dressed young men by the door, asking questions; I chuckled to myself, seeing more head-lines--double ones, and extra size:

PROPHET OF GOD VAMPS MOVIE KING MAGNATE OF SCREEN PAYS THOUSAND FOR LUNCH

But I knew that T-S had never yet paid a thousand dollars without getting something for it, and I was not surprised when, after he had gulped down his meal, he turned to his host and, disregarding the company and the excitement, demanded, “Now, Mr. Carpenter, tell me, do I git de contract?”

Carpenter had had his jest, and was through with it. He answered, gravely: “You must understand me, Mr. T-S. You don't want a contract with me.”

“I don't?”

“If I were to sign it, it would not be a week before you would be sorry, and would be asking me to release you.”

“Vy is dat, Mr. Carpenter?”

“Because I am going to do things which will make me quite useless to you in a business way.”

“Dat can't be true, Mr. Carpenter!”

“It is true, and you will realize it soon. I assure you, it won't be a day before you will be ashamed of having known me.”

T-S was gazing at the speaker, not certain whether this was something very terrible, or only a polite evasion. “Mr. Carpenter,” he answered, “if all de vorld vas to give you up, I vouldn't!”

Said Carpenter: “I tell you, before the cock crows again, you will deny three times that you know me.” And then, without awaiting response from the amazed T-S, he turned to speak to the man on the other side of him.

The magnate of the pictures sat silent, evidently frightened. At last he turned to me and asked, “Vot you tink he meant by dat, Billy?”

I answered: “I think he meant that you are to play the part of Peter.”

“Peter? Peter Pan?”

“No; St. Peter, who denied his master.”

“Vell,” said T-S, patiently, “you know, I ain't vun o' dese litry fellers.”

“I'll tell it to you some time,” I continued. “It's kind of funny. If he's right, you are going to be the first pope, and sit at the golden gate, holding the keys of heaven.”

“My Gawd!” said T-S.

“And you've made a record in the movies.” I added. “You've played Satan and St. Peter, both on the same day! That is 'doubling' with a vengeance!”

XXXI

When I got back to the Labor Temple, I learned that there was to be a mass-meeting of the strikers this Saturday evening. It had been planned some days ago, and now was to be turned into a protest against police violence and “government by injunction.” There was a cheap afternoon paper which professed sympathy with the workers, and this published a manifesto, signed by a number of labor leaders, summoning their followers to make clear that they would no longer submit to “Cossack rule.”

It appeared now that these leaders were considering inviting Carpenter to become one of the speakers at their meeting. Two of them came up to me. I had heard this stranger speak, and did I think he could hold an audience? I gave assurance; he was a man of dignity, and would do them credit. They were afraid the newspapers would represent him as a freak, but of course their meeting would hardly fare very well in the papers anyhow. One of them asked, cautiously, how much of an extremist was he? Labor leaders were having a hard time these days to hold down the “reds,” and the employers were not giving them any help. Did I think Carpenter would support the “reds”? I answered that I didn't know the labor movement well enough to judge, but one thing they could be sure of, he was a man of peace, and would not preach any sort of violence.

The matter was settled a little later, when Mary Magna drove up to the Labor Temple in her big limousine. Mary, for the first time in the memory of anyone who knew her, was without her war-paint; dressed like a Quakeress--a most uncanny phenomenon! She had not a single jewel on; and before long I learned why--she had taken all she owned to a jeweler that morning, and sold them for something over six thousand dollars. She brought the money to the fund for the babies of the strikers; nor did she ask anyone else to hand it in for her. It was Mary's fashion to look the world in the eye and say what she was doing.