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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/12826-0.txt b/12826-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..70b3338 --- /dev/null +++ b/12826-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,10009 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 12826 *** + +[Illustration: "Visions!" She said softly, "Do you behold them too?"] + + + + +THE AIR TRUST + +By George Allan England + +Author of +"Darkness and Dawn," "Beyond the Great Oblivion," +"The Afterglow," etc., etc. + +Illustrations by +John Sloan + +1915 + + + + +TO EUGENE V. DEBS + +"Comrade 'Gene," + +Lover of All Mankind and +Apostle of the World's Emancipation, + +I dedicate +THIS BOOK + + + + +FOREWORD + + +This book is the result of an attempt to carry the monopolistic +principle to its logical conclusion. For many years I have entertained +the idea that if a monopoly be right in oil, coal, beef, steel or what +not, it would also be right in larger ways involving, for example, the +use of the ocean and the air itself. I believe that, had capitalists +been able to bring the seas and the atmosphere under physical control, +they would long ago have monopolized them. Capitalism has not refrained +from laying its hand on these things through any sense of decency, but +merely because the task has hitherto proved impossible. + +Granting, then, the premise that some process might be discovered +whereby the air-supply of the world could be controlled, the Air Trust +logically follows. I have endeavored to show how such a Trust would +inevitably lead to the utter enslavement of the human race, unless +overthrown by the only means then possible, i.e., violence. This book is +not a brief for "direct action." Doubtless the capitalist press (if it +indeed notice the work at all) will denounce it as a plea for +"bomb-throwing" and apply the epithet of "Anarchist" to me; but at this +the judicious and the intelligent will only smile; and as for our +friends the enemy, we esteem their opinion at its precise real value, +zero. + +Given the conditions supposed in this book, I repeat--a complete +monopoly of the air, with an absolute suppression of all political +rights--no other outcomes are possible than slavery or violent, physical +revolution. As I have made Gabriel Armstrong say: "The masters would +have it so. Academic discussion becomes absurd, in the face of +plutocratic savagery. And in a case of self-defense, no measures are +unjustifiable." + +I believe in political action. I hope for a peaceful and bloodless +revolution. But if that be impossible, then by all means let us have +revolution in its other sense. And with the hope that this book may +perhaps revive some fainting spirit or renew the vision of emancipation +in some soul where it has dimmed, I give "The Air Trust" to the workers +of America and of the world. + +GEORGE ALLAN ENGLAND. + +Boston, Mass., November 1, 1915. + + + + +TABLE OF CONTENTS + + +I. THE BIRTH OF AN IDEA +II. THE PARTNERS +III. THE BAITING OF HERZOG +IV. AN INTERLOPER +V. IN THE LABORATORY +VI. OXYGEN, KING OF INTOXICATORS +VII. A FREAK OF FATE +VIII. ONE UNBIDDEN, SHARES GREAT SECRETS +IX. DISCHARGED +X. A GLIMPSE OF THE PARASITES +XI. THE END OF TWO GAMES +XII. ON THE GREAT HIGHWAY +XIII. CATASTROPHE +XIV. THE RESCUE +XV. AN HOUR AND A PARTING +XVI. TIGER WALDRON "COMES BACK" +XVII. THOUGHTS +XVIII. FLINT AND WALDRON PLAN +XIX. CATHERINE'S DEFIANCE +XX. THE BILLIONAIRE'S PLOT +XXI. GABRIEL, GOOD SAMARITAN +XXII. THE TRAP IS SPRUNG +XXIII. THE BEAST GLOATS +XXIV. CATHERINE'S SUPREME DECISION +XXV. THROUGH STEEL BARS +XXVI. "GUILTY" +XXVII. BACK IN THE SUNLIGHT +XXVIII. IN THE REFUGE +XXIX. "APRÈS NOUS LE DÉLUGE!" +XXX. TRAPPED! +XXXI. ESCAPE! +XXXII. OMINOUS DEVELOPMENTS +XXXIII. "NOW COMES THE HOUR SUPREME" +XXXIV. THE ATTACK +XXXV. TERROR AND RETREAT +XXXVI. THE STORMING OF THE WORKS +XXXVII. DEATH IN THE PIT OF STEEL +XXXVIII. VISIONS + + + + +LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS + +"VISIONS!" SHE SAID SOFTLY, "DO YOU BEHOLD THEM TOO?" + +"CAN'T BE DONE, EH?" SAID FLINT + +HE GATHERED HER UP AS THOUGH SHE HAD BEEN A CHILD + +AIMING AT THE BASE OF THE SKULL SHE STRUCK + +THE SPY'S BODY BURST INTO A SHEAF OF FIRE + +HIS FINGERS LOST THEIR HOLD--HE DROPPED LIKE A PLUMMET + + + + +THE AIR TRUST + + + +CHAPTER I. + +THE BIRTH OF AN IDEA. + + +Sunk far back in the huge leather cushions of his morris chair, old +Isaac Flint was thinking, thinking hard. Between narrowed lids, his +hard, gray eyes were blinking at the morning sunlight that poured into +his private office, high up in the great building he had reared on Wall +Street. From his thin lips now and then issued a coil of smoke from the +costly cigar he was consuming. His bony legs were crossed, and one foot +twitched impatiently. Now and again he tugged at his white mustache. A +frown creased his hard brow; and, as he pondered, something of the +glitter of a snake seemed reflected in his pupils. + +"Not enough," he muttered, harshly. "It's not enough--there must be +more, more, more! Some way must be found. Must be, and shall be!" + +The sunlight of early spring, glad and warm over Manhattan, brought no +message of cheer to the Billionaire. It bore no news of peace and joy to +him. Its very brightness, as it flooded the metropolis and mellowed his +luxurious inner office, seemed to offend the master of the world. And +presently he arose, walked to the window and made as though to lower +the shade. But for a moment he delayed this action. Standing there at +the window, he peered out. Far below him, the restless, swarming life of +the huge city crept and grovelled. Insects that were men and women +crowded the clefts that were streets. Long lines of cars, toy-like, +crept along the "L" structures. As far as the eye could reach, tufted +plumes of smoke and steam wafted away on the April breeze. The East +River glistened in the sunlight, its bosom vexed by myriad craft, by +ocean liners, by tugs and barges, by grim warships, by sailing-vessels, +whose canvas gleamed, by snow-white fruitboats from the tropics, by +hulls from every port. Over the bridges, long slow lines of traffic +crawled. And, far beyond to the dim horizon, stretched out the hives of +men, till the blue depths of distance swallowed all in haze. + +And as Flint gazed on this marvel, all created and maintained by human +toil, by sweat and skill and tireless patience of the workers, a hard +smile curved his lips. + +"All mine, more or less," said he to himself, puffing deep on his cigar. +"All yielding tribute to me, even as the mines and mills and factories I +cannot see yield tribute! Even as the oil-wells, the pipe-lines, the +railroads and the subways yield--even as the whole world yields it. All +this labor, all this busy strife, I have a hand in. The millions eat and +drink and buy and sell; and I take toll of it--yet it is not enough. I +hold them in my hand, yet the hand cannot close, completely. And until +it does, it is not enough! No, not enough for me!" + +He pondered a moment, standing there musing at the window, surveying +"all the wonders of the earth" that in its fulness, in that year of +grace, 1921, bore tribute to him who toiled not, neither spun; and +though he smiled, the smile was bitter. + +"Not enough, yet," he reflected. "And how--how shall I close my grip? +How shall I master all this, absolutely and completely, till it be mine +in truth? Through light? The mob can do with less, if I squeeze too +hard! Through food? They can economize! Transportation? No, the traffic +will bear only a certain load! How, then? What is it they all must have, +or die, that I can control? What universal need, vital to rich and poor +alike? To great and small? What absolute necessity which shall make my +rivals in the Game as much my vassals as the meanest slave in my steel +mills? What can it be? For power I must have! Like Caesar, who preferred +to be first in the smallest village, rather than be second at Rome, I +can and will have no competitor. I must rule _all_, or the game is +worthless! But how?" + +Almost as in answer to his mental question, a sudden gust of air swayed +the curtain and brushed it against his face. And, on the moment, +inspiration struck him. + +"What?" he exclaimed suddenly, his brows wrinkling, a strange and eager +light burning in his hard eyes. "Eh, what? Can it--could it be possible? +My God! If so--if it might be--the world would be my toy, to play with +as I like! + +"If _that_ could happen, kings and emperors would have to cringe and +crawl to me, like my hordes of serfs all over this broad land. Statesmen +and diplomats, president and judges, lawmakers and captains of industry, +all would fall into bondage; and for the first time in history one man +would rule the earth, completely and absolutely--_and that man would be +Isaac Flint_!" + +Staggered by the very immensity of the bold thought, so vast that for a +moment he could not realize it in its entirety, the Billionaire fell to +pacing the floor of his office. + +His cigar now hung dead and unnoticed between his thinly cruel lips. His +hands were gripped behind his bent back, as he paced the priceless +Shiraz rug, itself having cost the wage of a hundred workmen for a +year's hard, grinding toil. And as he trod, up and down, up and down the +rich apartments, a slow, grim smile curved his mouth. + +"What editor could withstand me, then?" he was thinking. "What clergyman +could raise his voice against my rule? Ah! Their 'high principles' they +prate of so eloquently, their crack-brained economics, their rebellions +and their strikes--the dogs!--would soon bow down before _that_ power! +Men have starved for stiff-necked opposition's sake, and still may do +so--but with my hand at the throat of the world, with the world's very +life-breath in my grip, what then? Submission, or--ha! well, we shall +see, we shall see!" + +A subtle change came over his face, which had been growing paler for +some minutes. Impatiently he flung away his cigar, and, turning to his +desk, opened a drawer, took out a little vial and uncorked it. He shook +out two small white tablets, on the big sheet of plate-glass that +covered the desk, swallowed them eagerly, and replaced the vial in the +desk again. For be it known that, master of the world though Flint was, +he too had a master--morphine. Long years he had bowed beneath its whip, +the veriest slave of the insidious drug. No three hours could pass, +without that dosage. His immense native will power still managed to +control the dose and not increase it; but years ago he had abandoned +hope of ever diminishing or ceasing it. And now he thought no more of it +than of--well, of breathing. + +Breathing! As he stood up again and drew a deep breath, under the +reviving influence of the drug, his inspiration once more recurred to +him. + +"Breath!" said he. "Breath is life. Without food and drink and shelter, +men can live a while. Even without water, for some days. But without +_air_--they die inevitably and at once. And if I make the air my own, +then I am master of all life!" + +And suddenly he burst into a harsh, jangling laugh. + +"Air!" he cried exultantly, "An Air Trust! By God in Heaven, it can be! +It shall be!--it must!" + +His mind, somewhat sluggish before he had taken the morphine, now was +working clearly and accurately again, with that fateful and undeviating +precision which had made him master of billions of dollars and uncounted +millions of human lives; which had woven his network of possession all +over the United States, Europe and Asia and even Africa; which had +drawn, as into a spider's web, the world's railroads and steamship +lines, its coal and copper and steel, its oil and grain and beef, its +every need--save air! + +And now, keen on the track of this last great inspiration, the +Billionaire strode to his revolving book-case, whirled it round and from +its shelves jerked a thick volume, a smaller book and some pamphlets. + +"Let's have some facts!" said he, flinging them upon his desk, and +seating himself before it in a costly chair of teak. "Once I get an +outline of the facts and what I want to do, then my subordinates can +carry out my plans. Before all, I must have facts!" + +For half an hour he thumbed his references, noting all the salient +points mentally, without taking a single note; for, so long as the drug +still acted, his brain was an instrument of unsurpassed keenness and +accuracy. + +A sinister figure he made, as he sat there poring intently over the +technical books before him, contrasting strangely with the beauty and +the luxury of the office. On the mantel, over the fireplace of Carrara +marble, ticked a Louis XIV clock, the price of which might have saved +the lives of a thousand workingmen's children during the last summer's +torment. Gold-woven tapestries from Rouen covered the walls, whereon +hung etchings and rare prints. Old Flint's office, indeed, had more the +air of an art gallery than a place where grim plots and deals +innumerable had been put through, lawmakers corrupted past counting, and +the destinies of nations bent beneath his corded, lean and nervous hand. +And now, as the Billionaire sat there thinking, smiling a smile that +boded no good to the world, the soft spring air that had inspired his +great plan still swayed the silken curtains. + +Of a sudden, he slammed the big book shut, that he was studying, and +rose to his feet with a hard laugh--the laugh that had presaged more +than one calamity to mankind. Beneath the sweep of his mustache one +caught the glint of a gold tooth, sharp and unpleasant. + +A moment he stood there, keen, eager, dominant, his hands gripping the +edge of the desk till the big knuckles whitened. He seemed the +embodiment of harsh and unrelenting Power--power over men and things, +over their laws and institutions; power which, like Alexander's, sought +only new worlds to conquer; power which found all metes and bounds too +narrow. + +"Power!" he whispered, as though to voice the inner inclining of the +picture. "Life, air, breath--the very breath of the world in my +hands--power absolutely, at last!" + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +THE PARTNERS. + + +Then, as was his habit, translating ideas into immediate action, he +strode to a door at the far end of the office, flung it open and said: + +"See here a minute, Wally!" + +"Busy!" came an answering voice, from behind a huge roll-top desk. + +"Of course! But drop it, drop it. I've got news for you." + +"Urgent?" asked the voice, coldly. + +"Very. Come in here, a minute. I've got to unload!" + +From behind the big desk rose the figure of a man about five and forty, +sandy-haired, long-faced and sallow, with a pair of the coldest, +fishiest eyes--eyes set too close together--that ever looked out of a +flat and ugly face. A man precisely dressed, something of a fop, with +just a note of the "sport" in his get-up; a man to fear, a man cool, +wary and dangerous--Maxim Waldron, in fact, the Billionaire's right-hand +man and confidant. Waldron, for some time affianced to his eldest +daughter. Waldron the arch-corruptionist; Waldron, who never yet had +been "caught with the goods," but who had financed scores of industrial +and political campaigns, with Flint's money and his own; Waldron, the +smooth, the suave, the perilous. + +"What now?" asked he, fixing his pale blue eyes on the Billionaire's +face. + +"Come in here, and I'll tell you." + +"Right!" And Waldron, brushing an invisible speck of dust from the +sleeve of his checked coat, strolled rather casually into the +Billionaire's office. + +Flint closed the door. + +"Well?" asked Waldron, with something of a drawl. "What's the +excitement?" + +"See here," began the great financier, stimulated by the drug. "We've +been wasting our time, all these years, with our petty monopolies of +beef and coal and transportation and all such trifles!" + +"So?" And Waldron drew from his pocket a gold cigar-case, monogrammed +with diamonds. "Trifles, eh?" He carefully chose a perfecto. "Perhaps; +but we've managed to rub along, eh? Well, if these are trifles, what's +on?" + +"Air!" + +"Air?" Waldron's match poised a moment, as with a slight widening of the +pale blue eyes he surveyed his partner. "Why--er--what do you mean, +Flint?" + +"The Air Trust!" + +"Eh?" And Waldron lighted his cigar. + +"A monopoly of breathing privileges!" + +"Ha! Ha!" Waldron's laugh was as mirthful as a grave-yard raven's croak. +"Nothing to it, old man. Forget it, and stick to--" + +"Of course! I might have expected as much from you!" retorted the +Billionaire tartly. "You've got neither imagination nor--" + +"Nor any fancy for wild-goose chases," said Waldron, easily, as he sat +down in the big leather chair. "Air? Hot air, Flint! No, no, it won't +do! Nothing to it nothing at all." + +For a moment the Billionaire regarded him with a look of intense +irritation. His thin lips moved, as though to emit some caustic answer; +but he managed to keep silence. The two men looked at each other, a long +minute; then Flint began again: + +"Listen, now, and keep still! The idea came to me not an hour ago, this +morning, looking over the city, here. We've got a finger on everything +but the atmosphere, the most important thing of all. If we could control +_that_--" + +"Of course, I understand," interrupted the other, blowing a ring of +smoke. "Unlimited power and so on. Looks very nice, and all. Only, it +can't be done. Air's too big, too fluid, too universal. Human powers +can't control it, any more than the ocean. Talk about monopolizing the +Atlantic, if you will, Flint. But for heaven's sake, drop--" + +"Can't be done, eh?" exclaimed Flint, warmly, sitting down on the +desk-top and levelling a big-jointed forefinger at his partner. "That's +what every new idea has had to meet. It's no argument! People scoffed at +the idea of gas lighting when it was new. Called it 'burning smoke,' and +made merry over it. That was as recently as 1832. But ten years later, +gas-illumination was in full sway. + +"Electric lighting met the same objection. And remember the objection to +the telephone? When Congress, in 1843, granted Morse an appropriation of +$30,000 to run the first telegraph line from Baltimore to Washington, +one would-be humorist in that supremely intelligent body tried to +introduce an amendment that part of the sum should be spent in surveying +a railroad to the moon! And--" + +[Illustration: "Can't be done, Eh?" said Flint.] + +"Granted," put in Waldron, "that my objection is futile, just what's +your idea?" + +"This!" And Flint stabbed at him with his forefinger, while the other +financier regarded him with a fishily amused eye. "Every human being in +this world--and there are 1,900,000,000 of them now!--is breathing, on +the average, 16 cubic feet of air every hour, or about 400 a day. The +total amount of oxygen actually absorbed in the 24 hours by each person, +is about 17 cubic feet, or _over 30 billions of cubic feet of oxygen_, +each day, in the entire world. Get that?" + +"Well?" drawled the other. + +"Don't you see?" snapped Flint, irritably. "Imagine that we extract +oxygen from the air. Then--" + +"You might as well try to dip up the ocean with a spoon," said Waldron, +"as try to vitiate the atmosphere of the whole world, by any means +whatsoever! But even if you could, what then?" + +"Look here!" exclaimed the Billionaire. "It only needs a reduction of 10 +per cent. in the atmospheric oxygen to make the air so bad that nobody +can breathe it without discomfort and pain. Take out any more and people +will die! We don't have to monopolize _all_ the oxygen, but only a very +small fraction, and the world will come gasping to us, like so many fish +out of water, falling over each other to buy!" + +"Possibly. But the details?" + +"I haven't worked them out yet, naturally. I needn't. Herzog will take +care of those. He and his staff. That's what they're for. Shall we put +it up to him? What? My God, man! Think of the millions in it--the +billions! The power! The--" + +"Of course, of course!" interposed Waldron, calmly, eyeing his smoke. +"Don't get excited, Flint. Rome wasn't built in a day. There may be +something in this; possibly there may be the germ of an idea. I don't +say it's impossible. It looks visionary to me; but then, as you well +say, so has every new idea always looked. Let me think, now; let me +think." + +"Go ahead and think!" growled the Billionaire. "Think and be hanged to +you! _I'm_ going to act!" + +Waldron vouchsafed no reply, but merely eyed his partner with cold +interest, as though he were some biological specimen under a lens, and +smoked the while. + +Flint, however, turned to his telephone and pulled it toward him, over +the big sheet of plate glass. Impatiently he took off the receiver and +held it up to his ear. + +"Hello, hello! 2438 John!" he exclaimed, in answer to the query of +"Number, please?" + +Silence, a moment, while Waldron slowly drew at his cigar and while the +Billionaire tugged with impatience at his gray mustache. + +"Hello! That you, Herzog?" + + * * * * * + +"All right. I want to see you at once. Immediately, understand?" + + * * * * * + +"Very well. And say, Herzog!" + +"Bring whatever literature you have on liquid air, nitrogen extraction +from the atmosphere, and so on. Understand? And come at once!" + + * * * * * + +"That's all! Good-bye!" + +Smiling dourly, with satisfaction, he hung up and shoved the telephone +away again, then turned to his still reflecting partner, who had now +hoisted his patent leather boots to the window sill and seemed absorbed +in regarding their gloss through a blue veil of nicotine. + +"Herzog," announced the Billionaire, "will be here in ten minutes, and +we'll get down to business." + +"So?" languidly commented the immaculate Waldron. "Well, much as I'd +like to flatter your astuteness, Flint, I'm bound to say you're barking +up a false trail, this time! Beef, yes. Steel, yes. Railroads, +steamships, coal, iron, wheat, yes. All tangible, all concrete, all +susceptible of being weighed, measured, put in figures, fenced and +bounded, legislated about and so on and so forth. But _air_--!" + +He snapped his manicured fingers, to show his well-considered contempt +for the Billionaire's scheme, and, throwing away his smoked-out cigar, +chose a fresh one. + +Flint made no reply, but with an angry grunt flung a look of scorn at +the calm and placid one. Then, furtively opening his desk drawer, he +once more sought the little vial and took two more pellets--an action +which Waldron, without moving his head, complacently observed in a +heavily-bevelled mirror that hung between the windows. + +"Air," murmured Waldron, suavely. "Hot air, Flint?" + +No answer, save another grunt and the slamming of the desk-drawer. + +And thus, in silence, the two men, masters of the world, awaited the +coming of the practical scientist, the proletarian, on whom they both, +at last analysis, had to rely for most of their results. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +THE BAITING OF HERZOG. + + +Herzog was not long in arriving. To be summoned in haste by Isaac Flint, +and to delay, was unthinkable. For eighteen years the chemist had +lickspittled to the Billionaire. Keen though his mind was, his character +and stamina were those of a jellyfish; and when the Master took snuff, +as the saying is, Herzog never failed to sneeze. + +He therefore appeared, now, in some ten minutes--a fat, rubicund, +spectacled man, with a cast in his left eye and two fingers missing, to +remind him of early days in experimental work on explosives. Under his +arm he carried several tomes and pamphlets; and so, bowing first to one +financier, then to the other, he stood there on the threshold, awaiting +his masters' pleasure. + +"Come in, Herzog," directed Flint. "Got some material there on liquid +air, and nitrogen, and so on?" + +"Yes, sir. Just what is it you want, sir?" + +"Sit down, and I'll tell you,"--for the chemist, hat in hand, ventured +not to seat himself unbidden in presence of these plutocrats. + +Herzog, murmuring thanks for Flint's gracious permission, deposited his +derby on top of the revolving book-case, sat down tentatively on the edge +of a chair and clutched his books as though they had been so many +shields against the redoubted power of his masters. + +"See here, Herzog," Flint fired at him, without any preliminaries or +beating around the bush, "what do you know about the practical side of +extracting nitrogen from atmospheric air? Or extracting oxygen, in +liquid form? Can it be done--that is, on a commercial basis?" + +"Why, no, sir--yes, that is--perhaps. I mean--" + +"What the devil _do_ you mean?" snapped Flint, while Waldron smiled +maliciously as he smoked. "Yes, or no? I don't pay you to muddle things. +I pay you to _know_, and to tell me! Get that? Now, how about it?" + +"Well, sir--hm!--the fact is," and the unfortunate chemist blinked +through his glasses with extreme uneasiness, "the fact of the matter is +that the processes involved haven't been really perfected, as yet. +Beginnings have been made, but no large-scale work has been done, so +far. Still, the principle--" + +"Is sound?" + +"Yes, sir. I imagine--" + +"Cut that! You aren't paid for imagining!" interrupted the Billionaire, +stabbing at him with that characteristic gesture. "Just what do you know +about it? No technicalities, mind! Essentials, that's all, and in a few +words!" + +"Well, sir," answered Herzog, plucking up a little courage under this +pointed goading, "so far as the fixation of atmospheric nitrogen goes, +more progress has been made in England and Scandinavia, than here. +They're working on it, over there, to obtain cheap and plentiful +fertilizer from the air. Nitrogen _can_ be obtained from the air, even +now, and made into fertilizers even cheaper than the Chili saltpeter. +Oxygen is liberated as a by-product, and--" + +"Oh, it is, eh? And could it be saved? In liquid form for instance?" + +"I think so, sir. The Siemens & Halske interests, in Germany, are doing +it already, on a limited scale. In Norway and Austria, nitrogen has been +manufactured from air, for some years." + +"On a paying, commercial basis?" demanded Flint, while Waldron, now a +trifle less scornful, seemed to listen with more interest as his eyes +rested on the rotund form of the scientist. + +"Yes, sir, quite so," answered Herzog. "It's commercially feasible, +though not a very profitable business at best. The gas is utilized in +chemical combination with a substantial base, and--" + +"No matter about that, just yet," interrupted Flint. "We can have +details later. Do you know of any such business as yet, in the United +States?" + +"Well, sir, there's a plant building at Great Falls, South Carolina, for +the purpose. It is to run by waterpower and will develop 5000 H.P." + +"Hear that, Waldron?" demanded the Billionaire. "It's already beginning +even here! But not one of these plants is working for what I see as the +prime possibility. No imagination, no grasp on the subject! No wonder +most inventors and scientists die poor! They incubate ideas and then +lack the warmth to hatch them into general application. It takes men +like us, Wally--practical men--to turn the trick!" He spoke a bit +rapidly, almost feverishly, under the influence of the subtle drug. "Now +if _we_ take hold of this game, why, we can shake the world as it has +never yet been shaken! Eh, Waldron? What do you think now?" + +Waldron only grunted, non-committally. Flint with a hard glance at his +unresponsive partner, once more turned to Herzog. + +"See here, now," directed he. "What's the best process now in use?" + +"For what, sir?" ventured the timid chemist. + +"For the simultaneous production of nitrogen and oxygen, from the +atmosphere!" + +"Well, sir," he answered, deprecatingly, as though taking a great +liberty even in informing his master on a point the master had expressly +asked about, "there are three processes. But all operate only on a small +scale." + +"Who ever told you I wanted to work on a large scale?" demanded Flint, +savagely. + +"I--er--inferred--beg pardon, sir--I--" And Herzog quite lost himself +and floundered hopelessly, while his mismated eyes wandered about the +room as though seeking the assurance he so sadly lacked. + +"Confine yourself to answering what I ask you," directed Flint, crisply. +"You're not paid to infer. You're paid to answer questions on chemistry, +and to get results. Remember _that_!" + +"Yes, sir," meekly answered the chemist, while Waldron smiled with +cynical amusement. He enjoyed nothing so delightedly as any grilling of +an employee, whether miner, railroad man, clerk, ship's captain or +what-not. This baiting, by Flint, was a rare treat to him. + +"Go on," commanded the Billionaire, in a badgering tone. "What are the +processes?" He eyed Herzog as though the man had been an ox, a dog or +even some inanimate object, coldly and with narrow-lidded condescension. +To him, in truth, men were no more than Shelley's "plow or sword or +spade" for his own purpose--things to serve him and to be ruled--or +broken--as best served his ends. "Go on! Tell me what you know; and no +more!" + +"Yes, sir," ventured Herzog. "There are three processes to extract +nitrogen and oxygen from air. One is by means of what the German +scientists call _Kalkstickstoff_, between calcium carbide and nitrogen, +and the reaction-symbols are--" + +"No matter," Flint waived him, promptly. "I don't care for formulas or +details. What I want is results and general principles. Any other way to +extract these substances, in commercial quantities, from the air we +breathe?" + +"Two others. But one of these operates at a prohibitive cost. The +other--" + +"Yes, yes. What is it?" Flint slid off the edge of the table and walked +over to Herzog; stood there in front of him, and bored down at him with +eager eyes, the pupils contracted by morphine, but very bright. "What's +the best way?" + +"With the electric arc, sir," answered the chemist, mopping his brow. +This grilling method reminded him of what he had heard of "Third Degree" +torments. "That's the best method, sir." + +"Now in use, anywhere?" + +"In Notodden, Norway. They have firebrick furnaces, you understand, sir, +with an alternating current of 5000 volts between water-cooled copper +electrodes. The resulting arc is spread by powerful electro-magnets, +so." And he illustrated with his eight acid-stained fingers. "Spread +out like a disk or sphere of flame, of electric fire, you see." + +"Yes, and what then?" demanded Flint, while his partner, forgetting now +to smile, sat there by the window scrutinizing him. One saw, now, the +terribly keen and prehensile intellect at work under the mask of assumed +foppishness and jesting indifference--the quality, for the most part +masked, which had earned Waldron the nickname of "Tiger" in Wall Street. + +"What then?" repeated Flint, once more levelling that potent forefinger +at the sweating Herzog. + +"Well, sir, that gives a large reactive surface, through which the air +is driven by powerful rotary fans. At the high temperature of the +electric arc in air, the molecules of nitrogen and oxygen dissociate +into their atoms. The air comes out of the arc, charged with about one +per cent. of nitric oxide, and after that--" + +"Jump the details, idiot! Can't you move faster than a paralytic snail? +What's the final result?" + +"The result is, sir," answered Herzog, meek and cowed under this +harrying, "that calcium nitrate is produced, a very excellent +fertilizer. It's a form of nitrogen, you see, directly obtained from +air." + +"At what cost?" + +"One ton of fixed nitrogen in that form costs about $150 or $160." + +"Indeed?" commented Flint. "The same amount, combined in Chile +saltpeter, comes to--?" + +"A little over $300, sir." + +"Hear that, Wally?" exclaimed the Billionaire, turning to his now +interested associate. "Even if this idea never goes a step farther, +there's a gold mine in just the production of fertilizer from air! But, +after all, that will only be a by-product. It's the oxygen we're after, +and must have!" + +He faced Herzog again. + +"Is any oxygen liberated, during the process?" he demanded. + +"At one stage, yes, sir. But in the present process, it is absorbed, +also." + +Flint's eyebrows contracted nervously. For a moment he stood thinking, +while Herzog eyed him with trepidation, and Waldron, almost forgetting +to smoke, waited developments with interest. The Billionaire, however, +wasted but scant time in consideration. It was not money now, he lusted +for, but power. Money was, to him, no longer any great desideratum. At +most, it could now mean no more to him than a figure on a check-book or +a page of statistics in his private memoranda. But power, unlimited, +indisputable power over the whole earth and the fulness thereof, power +which none might dispute, power before which all humanity must bow--God! +the lust of it now gripped and shook his soul. + +Paling a little, but with eyes ablaze, he faced the anxious scientist. + +"Herzog! See here!" + +"Yes, sir?" + +"I've got a job for you, understand?" + +"Yes, sir. What is it?" + +"A big job, and one on which your entire future depends. Put it through, +and I'll do well by you. Fail, and by the Eternal, I'll break you! I +can, and will, mark that! Do you get me?" + +"I--yes, sir--that is, I'll do my best, and--" + +"Listen! You go to work at once, immediately, understand? Work out for +me some process, some practicable method by which the nitrogen and +oxygen can both be collected in large quantities from the air. +Everything in my laboratories at Oakwood Heights is at your disposal. +Money's no object. Nothing counts, now, but _results_! + +"I want the process all mapped out and ready for me, in its essential +outlines, two weeks from today. If it isn't--" His gesture was a menace. +"If it is--well, you'll be suitably rewarded. And no leaks, now. Not a +word of this to any one, understand? If it gets out, you know what I can +do to you, and will! Remember Roswell; remember Parker Hayes. _They_ let +news get to the Dillingham-Saunders people, about the new Tezzoni +radio-electric system--and one's dead, now, a suicide; the other's in +Sing-Sing for eighteen years. Remember that--and keep your mouth shut!" + +"Yes, sir. I understand." + +"All right, then. A fortnight from today, report to me here. And mind +you, have something to report, or--!" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Very well! Now, go!" + +Thus dismissed, Herzog gathered together his books and papers, blinked a +moment with those peculiar wall-eyes of his, arose and, bowing first to +Flint and then to the keenly-watching Waldron, backed out of the office. + +When the door had closed behind him, Flint turned to his partner with a +nervous laugh. + +"That's the way to get results, eh?" he exclaimed. "No dilly-dallying +and no soft soap; but just lay the lash right on, hard--they jump then, +the vermin! Results! That fellow will work his head off, the next two +weeks; and there'll be something doing when he comes again. You'll see!" + +Waldron laughed nonchalantly. Once more the mask of indifference had +fallen over him, veiling the keen, incisive interest he had shown during +the interview. + +"Something doing, yes," he drawled, puffing his cigar to a glow. "Only I +advise you to choose your men. Some day you'll try that on a real +man--one of the rough-necks you know, and--" + +Flint snapped his fingers contemptuously, gazed at Waldron a moment with +unwinking eyes and tugged at his mustache. + +"When I need advice on handling men, I'll ask for it," he rapped out. +Then, glancing at the Louis XIV clock: "Past the time for that C.P.S. +board-meeting, Wally. No more of this, now. We'll talk it over at the +Country Club, tonight; but for the present, let's dismiss it from our +minds." + +"Right!" answered the other, and arose, yawning, as though the whole +subject were of but indifferent interest to him. "It's all moonshine, +Flint. All a pipe-dream. Defoe's philosophers, who spent their lives +trying to extract sunshine from cucumbers, never entertained any more +fantastic notion than this of yours. However, it's your funeral, not +mine. You're paying for it. I decline to put in any funds for any such +purpose. Amuse yourself; you've got to settle the bill." + +Flint smiled sourly, his gold tooth glinting, but made no answer. + +"Come along," said his partner, moving toward the door. "They're waiting +for us, already, at the board meeting. And there's big business coming +up, today--that strike situation, you remember. Slade's going to be on +deck. We've got to decide, at once, whether or not we're going to turn +him loose on the miners, to smash that gang of union thugs and Socialist +fanatics, and do it right. _That's_ a game worth playing, Flint; but +this Air Trust vagary of yours--stuff and nonsense!" + +Flint, for all reply, merely cast a strange look at his partner, with +those strongly-contracted pupils of his; and so the two vultures of prey +betook themselves to the board room where already, round the long +rosewood table, Walter Slade of the Cosmos Detective Company was laying +out his strike-breaking plans to the attentive captains of industry. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +AN INTERLOPER. + + +On the eleventh day after this interview between the two men who, +between them, practically held the whole world in their grasp, Herzog +telephoned up from Oakwood Heights and took the liberty of informing +Flint that his experiments had reached a point of such success that he +prayed Flint would condescend to visit the laboratories in person. + +Flint, after some reflection, decided he would so condescend; and +forthwith ordered his limousine from his private garage on William +Street. Thereafter he called Waldron on the 'phone, at his Fifth Avenue +address. + +"Mr. Waldron is not up, yet, sir," a carefully-modulated voice answered +over the wire. "Any message I can give him, sir?" + +"Oh, hello! That you, Edwards?" Flint demanded, recognizing the suave +tones of his partner's valet. + +"Yes, sir." + +"All right. Tell Waldron I'll call for him in half an hour with the +limousine. And mind, now, I want him to be up and dressed! We're going +down to Staten Island. Got that?" + +"Yes, sir. Any other message, sir?" + +"No. But be sure you get him up, for me! Good-bye!" + +Thirty minutes later, Flint's chauffeur opened the door of the big +limousine, in front of the huge Renaissance pile that Waldron's +millions had raised on land which had cost him more than as though he +had covered it with double eagles; and Flint himself ascended the steps +of Pentelican marble. The limousine, its varnish and silver-plate +flashing in the bright spring sun, stood by the curb, purring softly to +itself with all six cylinders, a thing of matchless beauty and rare +cost. The chauffeur, on the driver's seat, did not even bother to shut +off the gas, but let the engine run, regardless. To have stopped it +would have meant some trifling exertion, in starting again; and since +Flint never considered such details as a few gallons of gasoline, why +should _he_ care? Lighting a Turkish cigarette, this aristocrat of labor +lolled on the padded leather and indifferently--with more of contempt +than of interest--regarded a swarm of iron-workers, masons and laborers +at work on a new building across the avenue. + +Flint, meanwhile, had entered the great mansion, its bronze +doors--ravished from the Palazzo Guelfo at Venice--having swung inward +to admit him, with noiseless majesty. Ignoring the doorman, he addressed +himself to Edwards, who stood in the spacious, mahogany-panelled hall, +washing both hands with imaginary soap. + +"Waldron up, yet, Edwards?" + +"No, sir. He--er--I have been unable--" + +"The devil! Where is he?" + +"In his apartments, sir." + +"Take me up!" + +"He said, sir," ventured Edwards, in his smoothest voice. "He said--" + +"I don't give a damn what he said! Take me up, at once!" + +"Yes, sir. Immediately, sir!" And he gestured suavely toward the +elevator. + +Flint strode down the hall, indifferent to the Kirmanshah rugs, the rare +mosaic floor and stained-glass windows, the Parian fountain and the +Azeglio tapestries that hung suspended up along the stairway--all old +stories to him and as commonplace as rickety odds and ends of furniture +might be to any toiler "cribbed, cabin'd and confined" in fetid East +Side tenement or squalid room on Hester Street. + +The elevator boy bowed before his presence. Edwards hesitated to enter +the private elevator, with this world-master; but Flint beckoned him to +come along. And so, borne aloft by the smooth force of the electric +motor, they presently reached the upper floor where "Tiger" Waldron +laired in stately splendor, like the nabob that he was. + +Without ceremony, Flint pushed forward into the bed-chamber of the +mighty one--a chamber richly finished in panels of the rare sea-grape +tree, brought from Pacific isles at great cost of money and some +expenditure of human lives; but this latter item was, of course, beneath +consideration. + +By the softened light which entered through rich curtains, one saw the +famous frieze of De Lussac, that banded the apartment, over the +panelling--the frieze of Bacchantes, naked and unashamed, revelling with +Satyrs in an abandon that bespoke the age when the world was young. +Their voluptuous forms entwined with clustering grapes and leaves, they +poured tipsy libations of red wine from golden chalices; while old +Silenus, god of drink, astride a donkey, applauded with maudlin joy. + +Flint, however, had no eyes for this scene which would have gladdened a +voluptuary's heart--and which, for that reason was dear to Waldron--but +walked toward the huge, four-posted bed where Wally himself, now rather +paler than usual, with bloodshot eyes, was lying. This bed, despite the +fact that it had been transported all the way from Tours, France, and +that it once had belonged to an archbishop, had only too often witnessed +its owner's insomnia. + +"Hm! You're a devil of a man to keep an appointment, aren't you?" Flint +sneered at the master of the house. "Eleven o'clock, and not up, yet!" + +"Pardon me for remarking, my dear Flint," replied Waldron, stretching +himself between the silken sheets and reaching for a cigarette, "that +the appointment was not of my making. Also that I was up, last +night--this morning, rather--till three-thirty. And in the next place, +that scoundrel Hazeltine, trimmed me out of eighty-six thousand in four +hours--" + +"Roulette again, you idiot?" demanded Flint. + +"And in conclusion," said Wally, "that the bigness of my head and the +brown taste in my mouth are such as no 'soda and sermons, the morning +after' can possibly alleviate. So you understand my dalliance. + +"Damn those workmen!" he exclaimed, with sudden irritation, as a louder +chattering of pneumatic riveters from the new building all at once +clattered in at the window. "A free country, eh? And men are permitted +to make _that_ kind of a racket when a fellow wants to sleep! By God, if +I--" + +"Drop that, Wally, and get up!" commanded Flint. "There's no time for +this kind of thing today. Herzog has just informed me his experiments +have brought results. We're going down to Oakwood Heights to sea a few +things for ourselves. And the quicker you get dressed and in your right +mind, the better. Come along, I tell you!" + +"Still chasing sunbeams from cucumbers, eh?" drawled the magnate, +inhaling cigarette smoke and blowing a thin cloud toward the wanton +Bacchantes. He affected indifference, but his dull eyes brightened a +trifle in his wan face, deep-lined by the savage dissipations of the +previous night. "And you insist on dragging me out on the same fatuous +errand?" + +"Don't be an ass!" snapped the Billionaire. "Get up and come along. The +sooner we have this thing under way, the better." + +"All right, anything to oblige," conceded Waldron, inwardly stirred by +an interest he took good care not to divulge in word or look. "Give me +just time for a cold plunge, a few minutes with my masseur and my +barber, a bite to eat and--" + +Flint laid hold on his partner and shook him roughly. + +"Move, you sluggard!" he commanded. And Tiger Waldron obeyed. + +Forty-five minutes later, the two financiers were speeding down the +asphalt of the avenue at a good round clip. Flint's gleaming car formed +one unit of the never-ending procession of motors which, day and night, +year in and year out, spin unceasingly along the great, hard, splendid, +cruel thoroughfare. + +"I tell you," Flint was asserting as they swung into Broadway, at +Twenty-third Street, and headed for South Ferry, "I tell you, Wally, +the thing is growing vaster and more potent every moment. The longer I +look at it, the huger its possibilities loom up! With air under our +control, as a source of manufacturing alone, we can pull down perfectly +inconceivable fortunes. We shan't have to send anywhere for our raw +material. It will come to us; it's everywhere. No cost for +transportation, to begin with. + +"With oxygen, nitrogen and liquid air as products, think of the +possibilities, will you? Not an ice-plant in the country could compete +with us, in the refrigerating line. With liquid air, we could sweep that +market clean. By installing it on our fruit cars and boats, and our beef +cars, the saving effected in many ways would run to millions. The sale +of nitrogen, for fertilizer, would net us billions. And, above all, the +control of the world's air supply, for breathing, would make us the +absolute, undisputed masters of mankind! + +"We'd have the world by the windpipe. Its very life-breath would be at +our disposal. Ha! What about revolution, then? What about popular +discontent, and stiff-necked legislators, and cranky editors? What about +commercial and financial rivals? What about these damned Socialists, +with their brass-lunged bazoo, howling about monopoly and capitalism and +all the rest of it? Eh, what? Just one squeeze," here Flint closed his +corded, veinous fingers, "just one tightening of the fist, and--all +over! We win, hands down!" + +"Like shutting the wind off from a runaway horse, eh?" suggested +Waldron, squinting at his cigar as though to hide the involuntary gleam +of light that sparkled in his narrow-set eyes. + +"Precisely!" assented Flint, smiling his gold-toothed smile. "The +wildest bolter has got to stop, or fall dead, once you close his +nostrils. That's what we'll do to the world, Wally. We'll get it by the +throat--and there you are!" + +"Yes, there we are," repeated Waldron, "but--" + +"But what, now?" + +Waldron did not answer, for a moment, but squinted up at the tall +buildings, temples of Mammon and of Greed, filled from pave to cornice +with toiling, sweated hordes of men and women, all laboring for +Capitalism; many of them, directly or indirectly, for him. Then, as the +limousine slowed at Spring Street, to let a cross-town car pass--a car +whose earnings he and Flint both shared, just as they shared those of +every surface and subway and "L" car in the vast metropolis--he said: + +"Have you weighed the consequences carefully, Flint? Quite carefully? +This thing of cornering all the oxygen is a pretty big proposition. Do +you think you really ought to undertake it?" + +"Why not?" + +"Have you considered the frightful suffering and loss of life it might +entail? Almost certainly would entail? Are you quite sure you _want_ to +take the world by the throat and--and choke it? For money?" + +"No, not for money, Waldron. We're both staggering under money, as it +is. But power! Ah, that's different!" + +"I know," admitted Waldron. "But ought we--you--to attempt this, even +for the sake of universal power? Your plan contemplates a monopoly such +that everybody who refused or was unable to buy your product would, at +best, have to get along with vitiated air, and at worst would have to +stifle. Do you really think we ought to undertake this?" + +Keenly he eyed Flint, as he thus sounded the elder man's inhuman +determination. Flint, fathoming nothing of his purpose, retorted with +some heat: + +"Ha! Getting punctilious, all at once, are you? Talk ethics, eh? Where +were your scruples, a year ago, when people were paying 25 cents a loaf +for bread, because of that big wheat pool you put through? How about the +oil you've just lately helped me boost by a 20 per cent. increase? And +when the papers--though mostly those infernal Socialist or Anarchist +papers, or whatever they were--shouted that old men and women were +freezing in attics, last winter, what then? Did you vote to arbitrate +the D.K. coal strike? Not by a jugful! You stood shoulder to shoulder +with me, then, Wally, while _now_--!" + +"It's a bit different, now," interposed "Tiger," with an evil smile, +still leading his partner along. "Since then I've had the--ah--the +extreme happiness to become engaged to your daughter, Catherine. New +thoughts have entered my mind. I've experienced a--a--" + +"You quitter!" burst out Flint. "No, by God! you aren't going to put +this thing over on me. I'll have no quitter for _my_ son-in-law! Wally, +I'm astonished at you. Astonished and disappointed. You're not yourself, +this morning. That eighty-six thousand you dropped last night, has +shaken your heart. Come, come, pull together! Where's your nerve, man? +Where's your nerve?" + +Waldron answered nothing. In silence the partners watched the press of +traffic, each busy with his own thoughts, Waldron waiting for Flint to +reopen fire on him, and the Billionaire decided to say no more till his +associate should make some move. Thus the limousine reached the Staten +Island ferry, that glorious monument of municipal ownership wrecked by +Tammany grafting. In silence they smoked while the car rolled down the +incline and out onto the huge ferry boat. Then, as the crowded craft got +under way, a minute later, both men left the car and strolled to the +rail to watch the glittering sparkle of the sunlight on the harbor; the +teeming commerce of the port; the creeping liners and busy tugs; the +towering figure of Liberty, her flameless torch held far aloft in +mockery. + +Suddenly Waldron spoke. + +"You can't do it, I tell you!" said he, waving an eloquent hand toward +the sky. "It's too big, the air is, as I said before. Too damned big! +Own coal and copper, if you will, and steel and ships, here; own those +buildings back there," with a gesture at the frowning line of +skyscrapers buttressing Manhattan, "but don't buck the impossible! And +incidentally, Flint, don't misunderstand me, either. When I asked you if +we _ought_ to try it, I merely meant, would it be _safe_? The world, +Flint, is a dangerous toy to play with, too hard. The people are +perilous baubles, if you step on their corns a bit too often or too +heavily. Every Caesar has a Brutus waiting for him somewhere, with a +club. + +"Once let the unwashed get an idea into their low brows, and you can't +tell where it may lead them. Even a rat fights, in its last corner. +These human rats of ours have been getting a bit nasty of late. True, +they swallowed the Limited Franchise Bill, three years ago, with only a +little futile protest, so that now we've got them politically hamstrung. +True, there's the Dick Military Bill, recently enlarged and perfected, +so they can't move a hand without falling into treason and +court-martial. True again, they've stood for the Censorship and the +National Mounted Police--the Grays--all in the last year. But how much +more will they stand, eh? You close your hand on their windpipes, and by +God! something may happen even yet, after all!" + +Flint snapped his fingers with contempt. + +"Machine guns!" was all he said. + +"Yes, of course," answered Waldron. "But there may be life in the old +beast yet. They may yet kick the apple cart over--and us with it. You +never can tell. And those infernal Socialists, always at it, night and +day, never letting up, flinging firebrands into the powder magazine! +_Sometime_ there's going to be one hell of a bang, Flint! And when it +comes, _suave qui peut_! So go slow, old man--go damned slow, that's all +I've got to say!" + +"On the contrary," said Flint, blinking in the golden spring sunshine as +he peered out over the swashing brine at a raucous knot of gulls, "on +the contrary, Wally, I'm going to push it as fast as the Lord will let +me. You can come in, or not, as you see fit--but remember this, no +quitter ever gets a daughter of mine! And another thing; we're in the +year 1921, now, not 1910 or 1915. Developments, political and otherwise, +have moved swiftly, these few years past. Then, there might have been +trouble. To-day, there can't be. We've got things cinched too tight for +that! + +"Ten years ago, they might have had our blood, the people might, or +given us a hemp-tea party in Wall Street. today, all's safe. Come, be +a man and grip your courage! We can put the initial stages through in +absolute secrecy--and then, once we get our clutch on the world's +breath, what have we to fear?" + +"Go slow, Flint!" + +"Nonsense! Oxygen is life itself. There's no substitute. Vitiate the air +by removing even 10 per cent. of it, and the world will lick our boots +for a chance to breathe! Everybody's got to have oxygen, all the way +from kings and emperors down to the toiling cattle, the Henry Dubbs, as +I believe they're commonly called in vulgar speech. Shut off the air, +and 'the captains and the kings' will run to heel like the rabble +itself. Run to heel, and pay for the privilege of doing it! We've got +the universities, press, churches, laws, judges, army and navy and +everything already in our hands. We'll be secure enough, no fear!" + +"Shhhhh!" And Waldron nudged the Billionaire with his elbow. + +In his excitement, Flint had permitted his voice to rise, a little. Not +far from him, leaning on the rail, a stockily built young fellow in +overalls, a cap pulled down firmly over his well-shaped head, was +apparently watching the gulls and the passing boats, with eyes no less +blue than the bay itself; eyes no less glinting than the sunlight on the +waves. He seemed to be paying no heed to anything but what lay before +him. But "Tiger" Waldron, possessed of something of the instinct of the +beast whose name he bore, subconsciously sensed a peril in his nearness. +The man's ear--if unusually quick--might, just _might_ possibly have +caught a word or two meant for no interloper. And at that thought, +Waldron once more nudged his partner. + +"Shhh!" he repeated, "Enough. We can finish this, in the limousine." + +Flint looked at him a moment, in silence, then nodded. + +"Right you are," said he. And both men climbed back into the closed car. + +"You never can tell what ears are primed for news," said Waldron. +"Better take no chances." + +"Before long, we can throw away all subterfuge," the Billionaire replied +as he shut the door. "But for now, well, you're correct. Once our grasp +tightens on the windpipe of the world, we're safe. From our office in +Wall Street you and I can play the keys of the world-machine as an +organist would finger his instrument. But there must be no leak; no +publicity; no suspicion aroused. We'll play our music _pianissimo_, +Wally, with rare accompaniments to the tune of 'great public utility, +benefit to the public health,' and all that--the same old game, only on +a vastly larger scale. + +"Every modern composer in the field of Big Business knows that score and +has played it many times. _We_ will play it on a monstrous pipe organ, +with the world's lungs for bellows and the world's breath to vibrate our +reeds--and all paying tribute, night and day, year after year, all over +the world, Wally, all over the world! + +"God! What power shall be ours! What infinite power, such as, since time +began, never yet lay in mortal hands! We shall be as gods, Waldron, you +and I--and between us, we shall bring the human race wallowing to our +feet in helpless bondage, in supreme abandon!" + +The ferry boat, nearing the Staten Island landing, slowed its ponderous +screws. The chauffeur flung away his cigarette, drew on his gauntlets +and accelerated his engine. Forward the human drove began to press, +under the long slave-driven habit of haste, of eagerness to do the +masters' bidding. + +The young mechanic by the rail--he of the overalls and keen blue +eyes--turned toward the bows, picked up a canvas bag of tools and stood +there waiting with the rest. + +For a moment his glance rested on the limousine and the two half-seen +figures within. As it did so, a wanton breeze from off the Island +flapped back the lapel of his jumper. In that brief instant one might +have seen a button pinned upon his blue flannel shirt--clasped hands, +surrounded by the legend: "Workers of the World, Unite!" + +But neither of the plutocrats observed this; nor, had they seen, would +they have understood. + +And whether the sturdy toiler had overheard aught of their infernal +conspiring--or, having heard it, grasped its dire and criminal +significance--who, who in all this weary and toil-burdened world, could +say? + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +IN THE LABORATORY. + + +Half an hour's run down Staten Island, along smooth roads lined with +sleepy little towns and through sparse woods beyond which sparkled the +shining waters of the harbor, brought the two plutocrats to the quiet +settlement of Oakwood Heights. + +Now the blasé chauffeur swung the car sharply to the left, past the +aviation field, and so came to the wide-scattered settlement--almost a +colony--which, hidden behind high, barb-wire-topped fences, carried on +the many and complex activities of the partners' experiment station. +Here were the several laboratories where new products were evolved and +old ones refined, for Flint's and Waldron's greater profit. Here stood a +complete electric power plant, for lighting and heating the works, as +well as for current to use in the retorts and many powerful machines of +the testing works. + +Here, again, were broad proving grounds, for fuel and explosives; and, +at one side, stood a low, skylighted group of brick buildings, known as +the electro-chemical station. Dormitories and boarding-houses for the +small army of employees occupied the eastern end of the enclosure, +nearest the sea. Over all, high chimney stacks and the aerials of a +mighty wireless plant dominated the entire works. A private railroad +spur pierced the western side of the enclosure, for food and coal +supplies, as well as for the handling of the numerous imports and +exports of this wonderfully complete feudal domain. As the colony lay +there basking in the sunshine of early spring, under its drifting +streamers of smoke, it seemed an ideal picture of peaceful activities. +Here a locomotive puffed, shunting cars; there, a steam-jet flung its +plumes of snowy vapor into air; yonder, a steam hammer thundered on a +massive anvil. And forges rang, and through open windows hummed sounds +of industry. + +And yet, not one of all those sounds but echoed more bitter slavery for +men. Not one of all those many activities but boded ill to humanity. For +the whole plan and purpose of the place was the devising of still wider +forms of human exploitation and enslavement. Its every motive was to +serve the greed of Flint and Waldron. Outwardly honest and industrious, +it inwardly loomed sinister and terrible, a type and symbol of its +masters' swiftly growing power. Such, in its essence, was the great +experiment station of these two men who lusted for dominion over the +whole world. + +As the long, glittering car drew up at the main gate of the enclosure, a +sharp-eyed watchman peered through a sliding wicket therein. Satisfied +by his inspection, he withdrew; and at once the big gate rolled back, +smoothly actuated by electricity. The car purred onward, into the +enclosure. When the gate had closed noiselessly behind it, the chauffeur +ran it down a splendidly paved roadway, swung to the right, past the +machine shops, and drew it to a stand in front of the administration +building. + +Flint and his partner alighted, and stood for a moment surveying the +scene with satisfaction. Then Flint turned to the chauffeur. + +"Put the car in the garage," he directed. "We may not want it till +afternoon." + +The blasé one touched his cap and nodded, in obedience. Then, as the car +withdrew, the partners ascended the broad steps. + +"Good chap, that Herrick," commented Waldron, casting a glance at the +retreating chauffeur. "Quick-witted, and mum. Give me a man who knows +how to mind _and_ keep still about it, every time!" + +"Right," assented Flint. "Obedience is the first of all virtues, and the +second is silence. Well, it looks to me as though we had the whole world +coming our way, now, along that very same path of virtue. Once we get +this air proposition really to working, the world will obey. It will +have to! And as for silence, we can manage that, too. The mere turn of a +valve, and--!" + +Waldron smiled grimly, as though in derision of what he seemed to think +his partner's chimerical hopes, but made no answer. Together they +entered the administration building. Five minutes later, Herzog, their +servile experimenter, stood bowing and cringing before them. + +"Got it, Herzog?" demanded Flint, while Waldron lighted still another of +those costly cigars--each one worth a good mechanic's daily wage. + +"Yes, sir, I believe so, sir," the scientist replied, depreciatingly. +"That is, at least, on a small scale. Two weeks was the time you allowed +me, sir, but--" + +"I know. You've done it in eleven days," interrupted, the Billionaire. +"Very well. I knew you could. You'll lose nothing by it. So no more of +that. Show us what you've done. Everything all ready?" + +"Quite ready, sir," the other answered. "If you'll be so good as to step +into the electro-chemical building?" + +Flint very graciously signified his willingness thus to condescend; and +without delay, accompanied by the still incredulous Waldron, and +followed by Herzog, he passed out of the administration building, +through a covered passage and into the electro-chemical works. + +A variety of strange odors and stranger sounds filled this large brick +structure, windowless on every side and lighted only by broad skylights +of milky wire-glass--this arrangement being due to the extreme secrecy +of many processes here going forward. The partners had no intention that +any spying eyes should ever so much as glimpse the work in this +department; work involving foods, fuels, power, lighting, almost the +entire range of the vast network of exploiting media they had already +flung over a tired world. + +"This way, gentlemen," ventured Herzog, pointing toward a metal door at +the left of the main room. He unlocked this, which was guarded by a +combination lock, like that of a bank vault, and waited for them to +enter; then closed it after them, and made quite sure the metal door was +fast. + +A peculiar, pungent smell greeted the partners' nostrils as they glanced +about the inner laboratory. At one side an electric furnace was glowing +with graphite crucibles subjected to terrific heat. On the other a +dynamo was humming. Before them a broad, tiled bench held a strange +assortment of test tubes, retorts and complex apparatus of glass and +gleaming metal. The whole was lighted by a strong white light from +above, through the milk-hued glass--one of Herzog's own inventions, by +the way; a wonderful, light-intensifying glass, which would bend but not +break; an invention which, had he himself profited by it, would have +brought him millions, but which the partners had exploited without ever +having given him a single penny above his very moderate salary. + +"Is that it?" demanded Flint, a glitter lighting up his +morphia-contracted pupils. He jerked his thumb at a complicated nexus of +tubes, brass cylinders, coiled wires and glistening retorts which stood +at one end of the broad work-bench. + +"That is it, sir," answered Herzog, apologetically, while "Tiger" +Waldron's hard face hardened even more. "Only an experimental model, you +understand, sir, but--" + +"It gets results?" queried Flint sharply. "It produces oxygen and +nitrogen on a scale that indicates success, with adequate apparatus?" + +"Yes, sir. I believe so, sir. No doubt about it; none whatever." + +"Good!" exclaimed the Billionaire. "Now show us!" + +"With pleasure, sir. But first, let me explain, a little." + +"Well, what?" demanded Flint. His partner, meanwhile, had drawn near the +apparatus, and was studying it with a most intense concentration. Plain +to see, beneath this man's foppish exterior and affected cynicism, dwelt +powerful purposes and keen intelligence. + +"Explain what?" repeated the Billionaire. "As far as details go, I'm not +interested. All I want is results. Go ahead, Herzog; start your machine +and let me see what it can do." + +"I will, sir," acceded the scientist. "But first, with your permission, +I'll point out a few of its main features, and--" + +"Damn the main features!" cried Flint. "Get busy with the +demonstration!" + +"Hold on, hold on," now interrupted Waldron. "Let him discourse, if he +wants to. Ever know a scientist who wasn't primed to the muzzle with +expositions? Here, Herzog," he added, turning to the inventor, "I'll +listen, if nobody else will." + +Undecided, Herzog smiled nervously. Even Flint had to laugh at his +indecision. + +"All right, go on," said the Billionaire. "Only for God's sake, make it +brief!" + +Herzog, thus adjured, cleared his throat and blinked uneasily. + +"Oxygen," he said. "Yes, I can produce it quickly, easily and in large +quantities. As a gas, or as a liquid, which can be shipped to any +desired point and there transformed into gaseous form. Liquid air can +also be produced by this same machine, for refrigerating purposes. You +understand, of course, that when liquid air evaporates, it is only the +nitrogen that goes back into the atmosphere at 313 degrees below zero. +The residue is pure liquid oxygen. In other words, this apparatus will +make money as a liquid air plant, and furnish you oxygen as a +by-product. + +"It will also turn out nitrogen, for fertilizing purposes. The income +from a full-sized machine, on this pattern, from all three sources, +should be very large indeed." + +"Good," put in Waldron. "And liquid air, for example, would cost how +much to produce?" + +"With power-cost at half a cent per H.P. hour, about $2.50 a ton. The +oxygen by-product alone will more than pay for that, in purifying and +cooling buildings, or used to promote combustion in locomotives and +other steam engines. The liquid air itself can be used as a motive power +for a certain type of expansion engine, or--" + +"There, there, that's enough!" interposed Flint, brusquely. "We don't +need any of your advice or suggestions, Herzog. As far as the disposal +of the product is concerned, we can take care of that. All we want from +you is the assurance that that product can be obtained, easily and +cheaply, and in unlimited quantities. Is that the case?" + +"It is, sir." + +"All right. And can liquid oxygen be easily transported any considerable +distance?" + +"Yes, sir. In what is known as Place's Vacuum-jacketed Insulated +Container, it can be kept for weeks at a time without any appreciable +loss." + +Flint pondered a moment, then asked, again: + +"Could large tanks, holding say, a million gallons, be built on that +principle, for wholesale storage? And could vacuum-jacketed pipes be +laid, for conveying liquid oxygen or its gas?" + +"No reason why not, sir. Yes, I may say all that is quite feasible." + +"Very well, then," snapped Flint. "That's enough for the present. Now, +show us your machine at work! Start it Herzog. Let's see what you can +do!" + +The Billionaire's eyes glittered as Herzog laid a hand on a gleaming +switch. Even Waldron forgot to smoke. + +"Gentlemen, observe," said Herzog, as he threw the lever. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +OXYGEN, KING OF INTOXICATORS. + + +A soft humming note began to vibrate through the inner laboratory--a +note which rose in pitch, steadily, as Herzog shoved the lever from one +copper post to another, round the half-circle. + +"I am now heating the little firebrick furnace," said the scientist. "In +Norway, they use an alternating current of only 5,000 volts, between +water-cooled copper electrodes, as I have already told you. I am using +30,000 volts, and my electrodes, my own invention, are--" + +"Never mind," growled Flint. "Just let's see some of the product--some +liquid oxygen, that's all. The why and wherefore is your job, not ours!" + +Herzog, with a pained smile, bent and peered through a red glass +bull's-eye that now had begun to glow in the side of his apparatus. + +"The arc is good," he muttered, as to himself. "Now I will throw in the +electro-magnets and spread it; then switch in my intensifying condenser, +and finally set the turbine fans to work, to throw air through the +field. Then we shall see, we shall see!" + +Suiting the action to the words, he deftly touched here a button, there +a lever; and all at once a shrill buzzing rose above the lower drone of +the induction coils. + +"Gentlemen," said Herzog, straightening up and facing his employers, +"the process is now already at work. In five minutes--yes, in three--I +shall have results to show you!" + +"Good!" grunted Waldron. "That's all we're after, results. That's the +only way you hold your job, Herzog, just getting results!" + +He relighted his cigar, which had gone out during Herzog's +explanation--for "Tiger" Waldron, though he could drop thousands at +roulette without turning a hair, never yet had been known to throw away +a cigar less than half smoked. Flint, meanwhile, took out a little +morocco-covered note book and made a few notes. In this book he had kept +an outline of his plan from the very first; and now with pleasure he +added some memoranda, based on what Herzog had just told him, as well as +observations on the machine itself. + +Thus two minutes passed, then three. + +"Time's up, Herzog!" exclaimed Waldron, glancing at the electric clock +on the wall. "Where's the juice?" + +"One second, sir," answered the scientist. Again he peeked through the +glowing bull's-eye. Then, his face slightly pale, his bulging eyes +blinking nervously, he took two small flint glass bottles, set them +under a couple of pipettes, and deftly made connections. + +"Oxygen cocktail for mine," laughed Waldron, to cover a certain emotion +he could not help feeling at sight of the actual operation of a process +which might, after all, open out ways and means for the utter +subjugation of the world. + +Neither Flint nor the inventor vouchsafed even a smile. The Billionaire +drew near, adjusted a pair of pince-nez on his hawk-like nose, and +peered curiously at the apparatus. Herzog, with a quick gesture, turned +a small silver faucet. + +"Oxygen! Unlimited oxygen!" he exclaimed. "I have found the process, +gentlemen, commercially practicable. Oxygen!" + +Even as he spoke, a lambent, sparkling liquid began to flow through the +pipette, into the flask. At sight of it, the Billionaire's eyes lighted +up with triumph. Waldron, despite his assumed nonchalance, felt the +hunting thrill of Wall street, the quick stab of exultation when victory +seemed well in hand. + +"These bottles," said Herzog, "are double, constructed on the principle +of the Thermos bottle. They will keep the liquid gases I shall show you, +for days. Huge tanks could be built on the same principle. In a short +time, gentlemen, you can handle tons of these gases, if you +like--thousands of tons, unlimited tons. + +"The Siemens and Halske people, and the Great Falls, S.C., plant, will +be mere puttering experimenters beside you. For neither they nor any +other manufacturers have any knowledge of the vital process--my secret, +polarizing transformer, which does the work in one-tenth the time and at +one-hundredth the cost of any other known process. For example, see +here?" + +He turned the faucet, disconnected the flask and handed it to Flint. + +"There, sir," he remarked, "is a half-pint of pure liquid oxygen, drawn +from the air in less than eight minutes, at a cost of perhaps two-tenths +of a cent. On a large scale the cost can be vastly reduced. Are you +satisfied, sir?" + +Flint nodded, curtly. + +"You'll do, Herzog," he replied--his very strongest form of +commendation. "You're not half bad, after all. So this is liquid oxygen, +eh? Very cheap, and very cold?" + +His eyes gleamed with joy at sight of the translucent potent stuff--the +very stuff of life, its essence and prime principle, without which +neither plant nor animal nor man can live--oxygen, mother of all life, +sustainer of the world. + +"Very cheap, yes, sir," answered the scientist. "And cold, enormously +cold. The specimen you hold in your hand, in that vacuum-protected +flask, is more than three hundred degrees below zero. One drop of it on +your palm would burn it to the bone. Incidentally, let me tell you +another fact--" + +"And that is?" + +"This specimen is the allotropic or condensed form of oxygen, much more +powerful than the usual liquified gas." + +"Ozone, you mean?" + +"Precisely. Would you like to sense its effect as a ventilating agent?" + +"No danger?" + +"None, sir. Here, allow me." + +Herzog took the flask, pressed a little spring and liberated the top. At +once a whitish vapor began to coil from the neck of the bottle. + +"Hm!" grunted Waldron, smiling. "Mountain winds and sea breezes have +nothing on that!" He sniffed with appreciation. "Some gas, all right!" + +"You're right, Wally," answered the Billionaire. "If this works out on a +large scale, in all its details--well--I needn't impress its importance +on you!" + +Yielding to the influence of the wonderful, life-giving gas, the rather +close air of the laboratory, contaminated by a variety of chemical +odors, and vitiated by its recent loss of oxygen, had begun to freshen +and purify itself in an astonishing manner. One would have thought that +through an open window, close at hand, the purest ocean breeze was +blowing. A faint tinge of color began to liven the somewhat pasty cheek +of the Billionaire. Waldron's big chest expanded and his eye brightened. +Even the meek Herzog stood straighter and looked more the man, under the +stimulus of the life-giving ozone. + +"Fine!" exclaimed Flint, with unwonted enthusiasm, and nearly yielded to +a laugh. Waldron went so far as to slap Herzog on the shoulder. + +"You're some wizard, old man!" he exclaimed, with a warmth hitherto +never known by him--for already the subtle gas was beginning to +intoxicate his senses. "And you can handle nitrogen with the same ease +and precision?" + +"Exactly," answered Herzog. "This other vial contains pure nitrogen. +With enlarged apparatus, I can supply it by the trainload. The world's +fertilizer problem is solved!" + +"Great work!" ejaculated Waldron, even more excited than before, but +Flint, his natural sourness asserting itself, merely growled some +ungracious remark. + +"Nitrogen can go hang," said he. "It's oxygen we're after, primarily. +Once we get our grip on that, the world will be--" + +Waldron checked him just in time. + +"Enough of this," he interrupted sharply. "I admit, I'm not myself, in +this rich atmosphere. I know _you're_ feeling it, already, Flint. Come +along out of this, where we can regain our aplomb. We've seen enough, +for once." + +He turned to Herzog. + +"For God's sake, man," cried he, "cork that magic bottle of yours, +before all the oxygen-genii escape, or you'll have us both under the +table! And, see here," he added, pulling out his check-book, while Flint +stared in amazed disgust. "Here, take a blank check." He took his +fountain pen and scrawled his name on one. "The amount? That's up to +you. Now, let us out," he bade, as Herzog stood there regarding the +check with entire uncomprehension. "Out, I say, before I get +extravagant!" + +Herzog, perfectly comprehending the magnates' unusual conduct as due to +oxygen-intoxication in its initial stage, made no comment, but walked to +the door, spun the combination and flung it open. + +"Glad to have had the pleasure of demonstrating the process to you, +gentlemen," said he. "If you're convinced it's practicable, I'm at your +orders for any larger extension of the work. Have you any other question +or suggestion?" + +Neither magnate answered. Flint was trying hard to hold his +self-control. Waldron, red-faced now and highly stimulated, looked as +though he had been drinking even more than usual. + +Both passed out of the laboratory with rather unsteady steps. Together +they retraced their way to the administration building; and there, safe +at last in the private inner office, with the door locked, they sat down +and stared at each other with expressions of amazement. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +A FREAK OF FATE. + + +Waldron was the first to speak. With a sudden laugh, boisterous and +wild, he cried: + +"Flint, you old scoundrel, you're drunk!" + +"Drunk yourself!" retorted the Billionaire, half starting from his +chair, his fist clenched in sudden passion. "How dare you--?" + +"Dare? I dare anything!" exclaimed Waldron. "Yes, I admit it--I _am_ +half seas over. That ozone--God! what a stimulant! Must be some +wonderfully powerful form. If we--could market it--" + +Flint sank back in his chair, waving an extravagant hand. + +"Market it?" he answered. "Of course we can market it, and will! Drunk +or sober, Wally, I know what I'm talking about. The power now in our +grasp has never yet been equalled on earth. On the one side, we can +half-stifle every non-subscriber to our service, or wholly stifle every +rebel against us. On the other, we can simply saturate every subscriber +with health and energy, or even--if they want it--waft them to paradise +on the wings of ozone. The old Roman idea of 'bread and circus' to rule +the mob, was child's play compared to this! Science has delivered the +whole world into our hands. Power, man, power! Absolute, infinite power +over every living, breathing thing!" + +He fell silent, pondering the vast future; and Waldron, gazing at him +with sparkling eyes, nodded with keen satisfaction. Thus for a few +moments they sat, looking at each other and letting imagination ran +riot; and as they sat, the sudden, stimulating effect of the condensed +oxygen died in their blood, and calmer feelings ensued. + +Presently Waldron spoke again. + +"Let's get down to brass tacks," said he, drawing his chair up to the +table. "I'm almost myself again. The subtle stuff has got out of my +brain, at last. Generalities and day-dreams are all very well, Flint, +but we've got to lay out some definite line of campaign. And the sooner +we get to it the better." + +"Hm!" sneered Flint. "If it's not more practical than your action in +giving Herzog that blank check, it won't be worth much. As an +extravagant action, Wally, I've never seen it equalled. I'm astonished, +indeed I am!" + +Waldron laughed easily. + +"Don't worry," he answered his partner. "That temporary aberration of +judgment, due to oxygen-stimulus, will have no results. Herzog won't +dare fill out the check, anyhow, because he knows he'd get into trouble +if he did; and even though he should, he can collect nothing. I'll have +payment stopped, at once, on that number. No danger, Flint!" + +"I don't know," mused the Billionaire. "It may be that this man has us +just a little under his thumb. He, and he alone, understands the +process. We've got to treat him with due consideration, or he may leave +us and carry his secret to others--to Masterson, for instance, or the +Amalgamated people, or--" + +"Nothing doing on that, old man!" interrupted "Tiger." "Have no fear. +The first move he makes, off to Sing Sing he goes, the way we jobbed +Parker Hayes. Slade and the Cosmos Agency can take care of _him_, all +right, if he asserts himself!" + +"Very likely," answered Flint, who had now at last entirely recovered +his sang-froid. "But in that event, our work would be at a standstill. +No, Waldron, we mustn't oppose this fellow. Better let the check go +through, if he has nerve enough to fill it out and cash it. He won't +dare gouge very deep; and no matter what he takes, it won't be a drop in +the ocean, compared to the golden flood now almost within our grasp!" + +Waldron pondered a moment, then nodded assent. + +"All right. Correct," he finally answered. "So then, we can dismiss that +trifle from our minds. Now, to work! We've got the process we were +after. What next?" + +"First of all," answered the Billionaire, "we'll let this Herzog +understand that he's to have a share in the results; that in this, as in +everything so far, he's merely a tool--and that when tools lose their +cutting edge we break 'em. He's a meek devil. We can hold _him_ easily +enough." + +"Right. And then?" asked Waldron. + +"Then? First of all, a good, big, wide-sweeping publicity campaign. That +must begin today, to prepare opinion for the forthcoming development of +the new idea." + +"Henderson can handle that, all right," said Wally, leaning forward in +his chair. "Give him the idea, and turn him loose, and he'll get +results. A clever dog, that. He and his press bureau, working through +all the big dailies and many of the magazines, can turn this country +upside down in six months. Let him get on this job, and before you know +it the public will be demanding, be fighting for a chance to subscribe +to the new ventilating-service. That part of it is easy!" + +"Yes, you're right," replied Flint. "We'll see Henderson no later than +this afternoon. He and his writers can lay out a series of popular +articles and advertisements, to be run as pure reading matter, with no +distinguishing mark that they _are_ ads, which will get the country--the +whole world, in fact--coming our way." + +"Good," the other assented. "Meantime, we can begin installing oxygen +machines on a big scale, a huge scale, to supply the demand that's bound +to arise. Where do you think we'd best manufacture? Herzog says water +power is the correct thing. We might use Niagara--use some of the +surplus power we already own there." + +"Niagara would do, very well," answered Flint. He had once more taken +out his little morocco-covered note book, and was now jotting down some +further memoranda. "It's a good location. Pipe-lines could easily be +extended, from it, to cover practically a quarter to a third of the +United States. Eventually we'll put in another plant in Chicago, one in +Denver and one on the Pacific Coast. Then, in time, there must be +distributing centers in Europe, Africa, Asia and Australia. But for the +present, we'll begin with the Niagara plant. After we get that under +full operation, the others will develop in due course of time." + +"Our charter covers this new line of work. There will be no need of any +legal technicalities," said Waldron, with a smile. "Some charter, if I +do say it, who shouldn't. I drew it, you remember. Nothing much in the +way of possible business-extension got past _me_!" + +Flint nodded. + +"You're right," he answered. "Nothing stands in our way, now. Positively +nothing. We have land, power and capital without limit. We have the +process. We control press, law, courts, judges, military and every other +form of government. All we need look out for is to secure public +confidence and keep the bandage on the eyes of the world till our system +is actually in operation--then there will be no redress, no come back, +no possible rebellion. As I've already said, Wally, we'll have the whole +world by the windpipe; and let the mob howl _then_, if they dare!" + +"Yes, let 'em howl!" chimed in "Tiger," with a snarl that proved his +nickname no misnomer. "Inside of a year we'll have them all where we +want them. You were right, Flint, when you called oil, coal, iron and +all the rest of it mere petty activities. Air--ah! that's the talk! Once +we get the _air_ under our control, we're emperors of all life!" + +His words rang frank and bold, but something in his look, as he blinked +at his partner, might have given Flint cause for uneasiness, had the +Billionaire noticed that oblique and dangerous glance. One might have +read therein some shifty and devious plan of Waldron's to dominate even +Flint himself, to rule the master or to wreck him, and to seize in his +own hands the reins of universal power. But Flint, bending over his +note-book and making careful memoranda, saw nothing of all this. + +Waldron, an inveterate smoker, lighted a fresh cigar, leaned back, +surveyed his partner and indulged in a short inner laugh, which hardly +curved his cruel lips, but which hardened still more those pale-blue, +steely eyes of his. + +"All right," said he, at last. "Enough of this, Flint. Let's get back to +town, now, and have a conference with Henderson. That's the first step. +By tonight, the whole campaign of publicity must be mapped out. Come, +come; you can finish your memoranda later. I'm impatient to be back in +Wall Street. Come along!" + +Five minutes later, having left orders that Herzog was to attend upon +them in their private offices, next morning, they had ordered the +limousine and were making way along the hard road toward the gate of the +enclosure. + +The gate opened to let them pass, then swung and locked again, behind +them. At a good clip, the powerful car picked up speed on the homeward +way. The two magnates, exultant and flushed with the consciousness of +coming victory, lolled in the deeply-cushioned seat and spoke of power. + +As they swung past the aviation field and neared the Oakwood Heights +station, a train pulled out. Down the road came tramping a workingman in +overalls and jumper, with a canvas bag of tools swinging from his brawny +right hand. As he walked, striding along with splendid energy, he +whistled to himself--no cheap ragtime air, but Handel's Largo, with an +appreciation which bespoke musical feeling of no common sort. + +The Billionaire caught sight of him, just as the car slowed to take the +sharp turn by the station. Instant recognition followed. Flint's eyes +narrowed sharply. + +"Hm! The same fellow," he grunted to himself. "The same rascal who stood +beside us on the ferry boat, as we were talking over our plans. Now, +what the devil?" + +Shadowed by a kind of instinctive uneasiness, not yet definite or clear +but more in the nature of a premonition of trouble, Flint gazed fixedly +at the mechanic as the car swung round the bend in the road. The glance +was returned. + +Yielding to some kind of imperative curiosity, the Billionaire leaned +over the side of the car--leaned out, with his coat flapping in the +stiff wind--and for a moment peered back at the disquieting workman. + +Then the car swept him out of sight, and Flint resumed his seat again. + +He did not know--for he had not seen it happen--that in that moment the +slippery, leather-covered note-book had slid from his lolling coat +pocket and had fallen with a sharp slap on the white macadam, skidded +along and come to rest in the ditch. + +The workingman, however, who had paused and turned to look after the +speeding car, _he_ had seen all this. + +A moment he stood there, peering. Then, retracing his steps with +resolution he picked up the little book and slid it into the pocket of +his jeans. + +Deserted was the road. Not a soul was to be seen, save the crossing +flagman, musing in his chair beside his little hut, quite oblivious to +everything but a rank cob pipe. The workman's act had not been noticed. + +Nobody had observed him. Nobody knew. Not a living creature had +witnessed the slight deed on which, by a strange freak of fate, the +history of the world was yet to turn. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +ONE UNBIDDEN, SHARES GREAT SECRETS. + + +Immediately on discovering his loss--which was soon after having reached +his office--Flint, in something like a fright, telephoned down to the +Oakwood Heights laboratory and instructed Herzog, in person, to make a +careful search for it and to report results inside an hour. Even though +some of the essentials of his plan were written in a code of his own +devising, Flint paled before the possible results should the book fall +into the hands of anybody intelligent enough to fathom its meaning. + +"Damn the luck!" he ejaculated, pacing the office floor, his fists +knotted. "If it had been a pocket book with a few thousand inside, that +would have been a trifle. But to lose my plan of campaign--God grant no +harm may come of it!" + +Waldron, slyly observing him, could not suppress a smile. + +"Calling on God, eh?" sneered he. "You _must_ be agitated. I haven't +heard that kind of entreaty on your lips, Flint, since the year of the +big coal strike, when you prayed God the gun-men might 'get' the +strikers before they could organize. Come, come, man, brace up! Your +book will turn up all right; and even if it doesn't there's no cause for +alarm. It would take a man of extraordinary acumen to read _your_ +hieroglyphics! Cheer up, Flint. There's really nothing to excite you." + +The Billionaire thus adjured, sat down and tried to calm his agitation. + +"Rotten luck, eh?" he queried. "But after all, Herzog is likely to find +the book. And even if he doesn't, I guess we're safe enough. The very +boldness of the plan--supposing even that the finder could grasp +it--would put it outside the seeming range of the possible. It's hardly +a hundred to one shot any harm may come of it." + +"All right, then, let it go at that," said Waldron. "And now, to +business. Suppose, for example, you've got a perfectly unlimited supply +of oxygen-gas and liquid. How are you going to market it? Just what +details have you worked out?" + +Flint pondered a moment, before replying. At last he said: + +"Of course you understand, Wally, I can't give you every point. The +whole thing will be an evolution, and new ideas and processes, new uses +and demands will develop as time passes. But in the main, my idea is +this: The big producing stations will steadily extract oxygen from the +atmosphere, thus leaving the air increasingly poorer and less adapted to +sustaining human life. + +"I shall store the oxygen in vast tanks, like the ordinary gas-tanks to +be found in every city, only much bigger. These tanks will be fed by +pipe-lines from the central stations, thus." + +Flint drew toward him a sheet of his heavily embossed letter-paper, and, +picking up a pencil, began to sketch a rough diagram. Waldron, making no +comment, followed every stroke with keen interest. + +"From these tanks," the Billionaire continued, "smaller pipes will +convey the gaseous oxygen to every house taking our service." + +"Just like ordinary gas?" + +"Precisely. Each room will be fitted with an oxygen jet apparatus, +something like a gas burner, with a safety device to prevent over supply +and avoid the dangers of combustion." + +"Combustion?" + +"Yes. In pure oxygen, a glowing bit of wire will burst into flame. Your +cigar, there, would catch fire, from the merest spark in its inmost +folds. Too much oxygen in a room not only intoxicates the +occupants--we've already seen _that_ effect--but also develops a great +fire risk. So we shall have to make some provision for that, Wally. It +will be absolutely essential." + +"All right. Allowing it's been made, what then?" asked "Tiger," with +extraordinary interest. + +"Can't you see? We'll have every household under our absolute thumb?" +And Flint pressed his thumb on the table to illustrate. "My God, man, +think of it! Every city honeycombed by our pipes--yes, and every village +and hamlet too, and even every farm house that can afford it! At first, +the cost will be very low, till people have become accustomed to ozone +as they are to water. The whole ventilation problem will be solved, at +once and for all time. Where we can't pipe in the ozone, we can use +portable vaporizers, to be supplied once a month, and of sufficient +capacity to keep the air of an average-sized house perfectly pure for +thirty days. + +"Pure? More than pure! Exhilarating, life-giving, delicious! Under this +system, Wally, the middle and upper classes will thrive as never +before. They'll grow in size and weight, in health and intelligence, +under the steady influence of ozone, day and night. Every vital process +will be stimulated. Our invention will mark a new era in the welfare of +the world!" + +"Bunk!" sneered Wally. "That's all very well for your prospectuses and +newspaper articles, old man, but the fact is we don't give a damn +whether it helps the world or wrecks it. We're out for money and power. +My motto is, Get 'em and do good, if you can--but _get_ 'em anyhow! So +you had better can the philanthropic part of it. Just show me the cash, +and you can have all the credit!" + +Flint shot a grim look at his partner, then continued: + +"Don't be flippant, Wally. This is a serious business and must be +treated as such. In addition to the respiratory service, we can put in +water-cooling and refrigerating services, at low cost, also cold-pipes +for cooling houses in summer. In fine, we can immeasurably add to the +health and comfort of the better classes; and can at last have everybody +using our gas, which, registering through our own sealed meters, will +flood us with wealth so vast as to make that of these Standard Oil +pifflers look like the proverbial thirty cents!" + +"Fine!" exclaimed Waldron, nodding approval. "Also, any time any +rebellion develops we can merely shut off the supply in that quarter, +and quickly reduce it. Or, again, we can increase the potency of the +gas, and fairly intoxicate the people, till they stand for anything. +Just fancy, now, our pipes connected with the sacred Halls of Congress +and with the White House! Even if any difficulty could possibly be +expected from these sources, just imagine how quickly we could nip it in +the bud!" + +"Quickly isn't the word, Wally," answered the Billionaire. "I tell you, +old man, the world lies in our hands, today. And we have only to close +our fingers, in order to possess it!" + +He glanced at his own fingers, as though he visibly perceived the great +world lying there for him to squeeze. Waldron's eyes, following the +Billionaire's, saw that Flint's hand was trembling, and understood the +reason. More than three hours had passed--nay, almost four--since Flint +had had any opportunity to take his necessary dose of morphia. Waldron +arose, paced to the window and stood there looking out over the vast +panorama of city, river and harbor, apparently absorbed in +contemplation, but really keen to hear what Flint might do. + +His expectations were not disappointed. Hardly had he turned his back, +when he heard the desk-drawer open, furtively, and knew the Billionaire +was taking out the little vial of white tablets, dearer to him than ever +the caress of woman to a Don Juan. A moment later, the drawer closed +again. + +"He'll do now, for a while," thought Waldron, with satisfaction. "Let +him go the limit, if he likes--the fool! The more he takes, the quicker +I win. It'll kill him yet, the dope will. And _that_ means, my mastery +of the world will be complete. Let him go it! The harder, the better!" + +He turned back toward Flint, again, veiling in that impenetrable face of +his the slightest hint or expression which might have told Flint that he +understood the Billionaire's vice. If Flint were Vulture, Waldron was +Tiger, indeed. And so, for a brief moment, these two soulless men of +gold and power stood eyeing each other, in silence. + +Suddenly Waldron spoke. + +"There's one thing you've forgotten to speak of, Flint," he said. + +"And that is?" demanded the other, already calmed by the quick action of +the subtle, enslaving drug. + +"The effect on the world's poor--on the toiling millions! The results of +this innovation, in slum, and slave-quarter, and in the haunts of +poverty. Your talk has all been of the middle and upper classes, and of +the benefits accruing to them, from increased oxygen-consumption. But +how about the others? Every ounce of oxygen you take out of the air, +leaves it just so much poorer. Store thousands of tons of the +life-giving gas, in monster tanks, and you vitiate the entire +atmosphere. How about that? How can even the well-to-do breathe, then, +out-doors, to say nothing of the poverty-stricken millions?" + +Flint grimaced, showing a glint of his gold tooth--his substitute for a +smile. + +"That's all reckoned for," he answered. "I thought I made it quite +clear, in our previous talk. To begin with, we will withdraw the oxygen +from the atmosphere so slowly that at first there won't be any +noticeable effect on the out-door air. For a while, the only thing that +will be noticed by the world will be that our gas service, to private +residences and institutions, will result in greatly increased comfort +and health to the better classes. And the cost will be so low--at first, +mind you, only at first--that every family of any means at all can take +it. In fact, Wally, we can afford practically to give away the service, +for the first year, until we get our grip firmly fixed on the throat of +the world. Do you get the idea?" + +Waldron nodded, as he drew leisurely on his cigar. + +"Practical to a degree," he answered. "That is, until the poor begin to +gasp for breath. But what then?" + +"By the time the outer atmosphere really begins to show the effect of +withdrawing a considerable percentage of the oxygen," Flint answered, +"we will have our pocket respirators on the market. Well-to-do people +will as soon think of going out without their shoes, as they will with +their respirators. No, there won't be any visible tubes or attachments, +Wally. Nothing of that kind. Only, each person will carry a properly +insulated cake of solidified oxygen that will evaporate through the +special apparatus and surround him with a normally rich atmosphere. +And--" + +"Yes, but the poor? The workers? What of them?" + +"Devil take _them_, if it comes to that!" retorted Flint, with some +heat. "Who ever gives them any serious attention, as it is? Who bothers +about their health? They eat and drink and breathe the leavings, +anyhow--eat the cheapest and most adulterated food, drink the vilest +slop and breathe the most vitiated slum air. Nobody cares, except +perhaps those crazy Socialists that once in a while get up on the +street-corner and howl about the rights of man and all that rubbish! +Working-class? What do _I_ care about the cattle? Let them die, if they +want to! D'you suppose, for one minute, I'm going to limit or delay this +big innovation, because there's a working-class that may suffer?" + +"They'll do more than suffer, Flint, if you seriously depreciate the +atmosphere. They'll die!" + +"Well, let them, and be damned to them!" retorted Flint, already +showing symptoms of drug-stimulation. Waldron, smoking meanwhile, eyed +him with a dangerous smile lurking in his cold eyes. "Let them, I say! +They die off, now, twice or thrice as fast as the better classes, but +what difference does it make? Great breeders, those people are. The more +they die, the faster they multiply. Let them go their way and do as they +like, so long as they don't interfere with _us_! The only really +important factor to reckon on is this, that with an impoverished air to +breathe, their rebellious spirit will die out--the dogs!--and we'll have +no more talk of social revolution. We'll draw their teeth, all right +enough; or rather, twist the bowstring round their damned necks so tight +that all their energy, outside of work, will be consumed in just keeping +alive. Revolution, then? Forget it, Waldron! We'll kill _that_ viper +once and for all!" + +"Good idea, Flint," the other replied, with approbation. "Only a +master-mind like yours could have conceived it. I'm with you, all right +enough. Only, tell me--do you really believe we can put this whole +program through, without a hitch? Without a leak, anywhere? Without +barricades in the streets, wild-eyed agitators howling, machine-guns +chattering, and Hell to pay?" + +Flint smiled grimly. + +"Wait and see!" he growled. + +"Maybe you're right," his partner answered. "But slow and easy is the +only way." + +"Slow and easy," Flint assented. "Of course we can't go too fast. In +1850, for example, do you suppose the public would have tolerated the +sudden imposition of monopolies? Hardly! But now they lie down under +them, and even vote and fight to keep them! So, too, with this Air +Trust. Time will show you I'm right." + +Waldron glanced at his watch. + +"Long past lunch-time, Flint," said he. "Enough of this, for now. And +this afternoon, I've got that D. K. & E. directors' meeting on +hand. When shall we go on with our plans, and get down to specific +details?" + +"This evening, say?" + +"Very well. At my house?" + +"No. Too noisy. Run out to Englewood, to mine. We'll be quiet there. And +come early, Waldron. We've no end of things to discuss. The quicker we +get the actual work under way, now, the better. You can see Catherine, +too. Isn't that an inducement?" + +Thus ended the conference. It resumed, that night, in Flint's luxurious +study at "Idle Hour," his superb estate on the Palisades. Waldron paid +only a perfunctory court to Catherine, who manifested her pleasure by +studied indifference. Both magnates felt relieved when she withdrew. +They had other and larger matters under way than any dealing with the +amenities of life. + +Until past midnight the session in the study lasted, under the soft glow +of the Billionaire's reading-light. And many choice cigars were smoked, +many sheets of paper covered with diagrams and calculations, many vast +schemes of conquest expanded, ere the two masters said good-night and +separated. + +At the very hour of Waldron's leave-taking, another man was pondering +deeply, studying the problem from quite another angle, and--no less +earnestly, than the two magnates--laying careful plans. + +This man, sturdy, well-built and keen, smoked an old briar as he +worked. A flannel shirt, open at the throat, showed a well-sinewed neck +and powerful chest. Under the inverted cone of a shaded incandescent in +his room, at the electricians' quarters of the Oakwood Heights +enclosure, one could see the deep lines of thought and careful study +crease his high and prominent brow. + +From time to time he gazed out through the open window, off toward the +whispering lines of surf on the eastern shores of Staten Island--the +surf forever talking, forever striving to give its mystic message to the +unheeding ear of man. And as he gazed, his blue eyes narrowed with the +intensity of his thought. Once, as though some sudden understanding had +come to him, he smote the pine table with a corded fist, and swore below +his breath. + +It was past two in the morning when he finally rose, stretched, yawned +and made ready for sleep on his hard iron bunk. + +"Can it be?" he muttered, as he undressed. "Can it be possible, or am I +dreaming? No--this is no dream! This is reality; and thank God, I +understand." + +Then, before he extinguished his light, he took from the table the +material he had been studying over, and put it beneath his pillow, where +he could guard it safe till morning. + +The thing he thus protected was none other than a small note-book, +filled with diagrams, jottings and calculations, and bound in red +morocco covers. + +That night, at Englewood--in the Billionaire's home and in the +workman's simple room at Oakwood Heights--history was being made. + +The outcome, tragic and terrible, who could have foreseen? + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +DISCHARGED. + + +Almost all the following morning, working at his bench in the +electro-chemical laboratories of the great Oakwood Heights plant, +Gabriel Armstrong pondered deeply on the problems and responsibilities +now opening out before him. + +The finding of that little red-leather note-book, he fully understood, +had at one stroke put him in possession of facts more vital to the +labor-movement and the world at large than any which had ever developed +since the very beginning of Capitalism. A Socialist to the backbone, +thoroughly class-conscious and dowered with an incisive intellect, +Gabriel thrilled at thought that he, by chance, had been chosen as the +instrument through which he felt the final revolution now must work. And +though he remained outwardly calm, as he bent above his toil, inwardly +he was aflame. His heart throbbed with an excitement he could scarce +control. His brain seemed on fire; his soul pulsed with savage joy and +magnificent inspiration. For he was only four-and-twenty, and the bitter +grind of years and toil had not yet worn his spirit down nor quelled the +ardor of his splendid strength and optimism. + +Working at his routine labor, his mind was not upon it. No, rather it +dwelt upon the vast discovery he had made--or seemed to have made--the +night before. Clearly limned before his vision, he still saw the notes, +the plans, the calculations he had been able to decipher in the +Billionaire's lost note-book--the note-book which now, deep in the +pocket of his jumper that hung behind him on a hook against the wall, +drew his every thought, as steel draws the compass-needle. + +"Incredible, yet true!" he pondered, as he filed a brass casting for a +new-type dynamo. "These men are plotting to strangle the world to +death--to strangle, if they cannot own and rule it! And, what's more, I +see nothing to prevent their doing it. The plan is sound. They have the +means. At this very moment, the whole human race is standing in the +shadow of a peril so great, a slavery so imminent, that the most savage +war of conquest ever waged would be a mere skirmish, by comparison!" + +Mechanically he labored on and on, turning the tremendous problem in his +brain, striving in vain for some solution, some grasp at effective +opposition. And, as he thought, a kind of dumb hopelessness settled down +about him, tangible almost as a curtain black and heavy. + +"What shall I do?" he muttered to himself. "What can I do, to strike +these devils from their villainous plan of mastery?" + +As yet, he saw nothing clearly. No way seemed open to him. Alone, he +knew he could do nothing; yet whither should he turn for help? To rival +capitalist groups? They would not even listen to him; or, if they +listened and believed, they would only combine with the plotters, or +else, on their own hook, try to emulate them. To the labor movement? It +would mock him as a chimerical dreamer, despite all his proofs. At best, +he might start a few ineffectual strikes, petty and futile, indeed, +against this vast, on-moving power. To the Socialists? They, through +their press and speakers--in case they should believe him and co-operate +with him--could, indeed, give the matter vast publicity and excite +popular opposition; but, after all, could they abort the plan? He feared +they could not. The time, he knew, was not yet ripe when Labor, on the +political field, could meet and overthrow forces such as these. + +And so, for all his fevered thinking, he got no radical, no practical +solution of the terrible problem. More and more definitely, as he +weighed the pros and cons, the belief was borne in upon him that in this +case he must appeal to nobody but himself, count on nobody, trust in +nobody save Gabriel Armstrong. + +"I must play a lone hand game, for a while at least," he concluded, as +he finished his casting and took another. "Later, perhaps, I can enlist +my comrades. But for now, I must watch, wait, work, all alone. Perhaps, +armed with this knowledge--invaluable knowledge shared by no one--I can +meet their moves, checkmate their plans and defeat their ends. Perhaps! +It will be a battle between one man, obscure and without means, and two +men who hold billions of dollars and unlimited resources in their grasp. +A battle unequal in every sense; a battle to the death. But I may win, +after all. Every probability is that I shall lose, lose everything, even +my life. Yet still, there is a chance. By God, I'll take it!" + +The last words, uttered aloud, seemed to spring from his lips as though +uttered by the very power of invincible determination. A sneer, behind +him, brought him round with a start. His gaze widened, at sight of +Herzog standing there, cold and dangerous looking, with a venomous +expression in those ill-mated eyes of his. + +"Take it, will you?" jibed the scientist. "You thief!" + +Gabriel sprang up so suddenly that his stool clattered over backward on +the red-tiled floor. His big fist clenched and lifted. But Herzog never +flinched. + +"Thief!" he repeated, with an ugly thrust of the jaw. Servile and +crawling to his masters, the man was ever arrogant and harsh with those +beneath his authority. "I repeat the word. Drop that fist, Armstrong, if +you know what's good for you. I warn you. Any disturbance, here, +and--well, you know what we can do!" + +The electrician paled, slightly. But it was not through cowardice. Rage, +passion unspeakable, a sudden and animal hate of this lick-spittle and +supine toady shook him to the heart's core. Yet he managed to control +himself, not through any personal apprehension, but because of the great +work he knew still lay before him. At all hazards, come what might, he +must stay on, there, at the Oakwood Heights plant. Nothing, now, must +come between him and that one supreme labor. + +Thus he controlled himself, with an effort so tremendous that it +wrenched his very soul. This trouble, whatever it might be, must not be +noised about. Already, up and down the shop, workers were peering +curiously at him. He must be calm; must pass the insult, smooth the +situation and remain employed there. + +"I--I beg pardon," he managed to articulate, with pale lips that +trembled. He wiped the beaded sweat from his broad forehead. "Excuse me, +Mr. Herzog. I--you startled me. What's the trouble? Any complaint to +make? If so, I'm here to listen." + +Herzog's teeth showed in a rat-like grin of malice. + +"Yes, you'll listen, all right enough," he sneered. "I've named you, and +that goes! You're a thief, Armstrong, and this proves it! Look!" + +From behind his back, where he had been holding it, he produced the +little morocco-covered book. Right in Armstrong's face he shook it, with +an oath. + +"Steal, will you?" he jibed. "For it's the same thing--no difference +whether you picked it out of Mr. Flint's pocket or found it on the floor +here, and tried to keep it! Steal, eh? Hold it for some possible reward? +You skunk! Lucky you haven't brains enough to make out what's in it! +Thought you'd keep it, did you? But you weren't smart enough, +Armstrong--no, not quite smart enough for me! After looking the whole +place over, I thought I'd have a go at a few pockets--and, you see? Oh, +you'll have to get up early to beat _me_ at the game you--you thief!" + +With the last word, he raised the book and struck the young man a +blistering welt across the face with it. + +Armstrong fell back, against the bench, perfectly livid, with the wale +of the blow standing out red and distinct across his cheek. Then he went +pale as death, and staggered as though about to faint. + +"God--God in heaven!" he gasped. "Give me--strength--not to kill this +animal!" + +A startled look came into Herzog's face. He recognized, at last, the +nature of the rage he had awakened. In those twitching fists and that +white, writhen face he recognized the signs of passion that might, on a +second's notice, leap to murder. And, shot through with panic, he now +retreated, like the coward he was, though with the sneer still on his +thin and cruel lips. + +"Get your time!" he commanded, with crude brutality. "Go, get it at +once. You're lucky to get off so easily. If Flint knew this, you'd land +behind bars. But we want no scenes here. Get your money from Sanderson, +and clear out. Your job ended the minute my hand touched that book in +your pocket!" + +Still Armstrong made no reply. Still he remained there, dazed and +stricken, pallid as milk, a wild and terrible light in his blue eyes. + +An ugly murmur rose. Two or three of his fellow-workmen had come +drifting down the shop, toward the scene of altercation. Another joined +them, and another. Not one of them but hated Herzog with a bitter +animosity. And now perhaps, the time was come to pay a score or two. + +But Armstrong, suddenly lifting his head, faced them all, his comrades. +His mind, quick-acting, had realized that, now his possession of the +book had been discovered, his chances of discovering anything more, at +the works, had utterly vanished. Even though he should remain, he could +do nothing there. If he were to act, it must be from the outside, now, +following the trend of events, dogging each development, striving in +hidden, devious ways--violent ways, perhaps--to pull down this horrible +edifice of enslavement ere it should whelm and crush the world. + +So, acting as quickly as he had thought, and now ignoring the man Herzog +as though he had never existed, Armstrong faced his fellows. + +"It's all right, boys," said he, quite slowly, his voice seeming to +come from a distance, his tones forced and unnatural. "It's all right, +every way. I'm caught with the goods. Don't any of you butt in. Don't +mix with my trouble. For once I'm glad this is a scab shop, otherwise +there might be a strike, here, and worse Hell to pay than there will be +otherwise. I'm done. I'll get my time, and quit. But--remember one +thing, you'll understand some day what this is all about. + +"I'm glad to have worked with you fellows, the past few months. You're +all right, every one of you. Good-bye, and remember--" + +"Here, you men, get back to work!" cried Herzog, suddenly. "No +hand-shaking here, and no speech-making. This man's a sneak-thief and +he's fired, that's all there is to it. Now, get onto your job! The first +man that puts up a complaint about it, can get through, too!" + +For a moment they glowered at him, there in the white-lighted glare of +the big shop. A fight, even then, was perilously near, but Armstrong +averted it by turning away. + +"I'm done." he repeated. He gathered up a few tools that belonged to +him, personally, gave one look at his comrades, waved a hand at them, +and then, followed by Herzog, strode off down the long aisle, toward the +door. + +"Herzog," said he, calmly and with cold emphasis, "listen to this." + +"Get out! Get your time, I tell you, and go!" repeated the bully. "To +Hell with you! Clear out of here!" + +"I'm going," the young man answered. "But before I do, remember this; +you grazed death, just now. Well for you, Herzog, almighty well for you, +my temper didn't best me. For remember, you struck me and called me +'thief'--and that sort of thing can't be forgotten, ever, even though +we live a thousand years. + +"Remember, Herzog--not now, but sometime. Remember that one +word--sometime! That's all!" + +With no further speech, and while Herzog still stood there by the shop +door, sneering at him, Armstrong turned and passed out. A few minutes +later he had been paid off, had packed his knapsack with his few +belongings, and was outside the big palisade, striding along the hard +and glaring road toward the station. + +"I did it," his one overmastering thought was. "Thank heaven, I did it! +I held my temper and my tongue, didn't kill that spawn of Hell, and +saved the whole situation. I'm out of a job, true enough, and out of the +plant; but after all, I'm free--and I know what's in the wind! + +"There's yet hope. There'll be a way, a way to do this work! What a man +_must_ do, he _can_ do!" + +Up came Armstrong's chin, as he walked. His shoulders squared, with +strength and purpose, and his stride swung into the easy machine gait +that had already carried him so many thousand miles along the hard and +bitter highways of the world. + +As he strode away, on the long road toward he knew not what, words +seemed to form and shape in his strengthened and refortified mind--words +for long years forgotten--words that he once had heard at his mother's +knee: + +"_He that ruleth his spirit is better than he that taketh a city!_" + + + + +CHAPTER X. + +A GLIMPSE AT THE PARASITES. + + +The Longmeadow Country Club, on the Saturday afternoon following +Armstrong's abrupt dismissal, was a scene of gaiety and beauty without +compare. Set in broad acres of wood and lawn, the club-house proudly +dominated far-flung golf-links and nearer tennis-courts. Shining motors +stood parked on the plaza before the club garage, each valued at several +years' wages of a workingman. Men and women--exploiters all, or +parasites--elegantly and coolly clad in white, smote the swift sphere +upon the tennis-court, with jest and laughter. Others, attended by +caddies--mere proletarian scum, bent beneath the weight of cleeks and +brassies--moved across the smooth-cropped links, kept in condition by +grazing sheep and by steam-rollers. On putting-green and around bunkers +these idlers struggled with artificial difficulties, while in shops and +mines and factories, on railways and in the blazing Hells of +stoke-holes, men of another class, a slave-class, labored and agonized, +toiled and died that _these_ might wear fine linen and spend the long +June afternoon in play. + +From the huge, cobble-stone chimney of the Country Club, upwafting smoke +told of the viands now preparing for the idlers' dinner, after +sport--rich meats and dainties of the rarest. In the rathskeller some of +the elder and more indolent men were absorbing alcohol while music +played and painted nymphs of abundant charms looked down from the +wall-frescoes. Out on the broad piazzas, well sheltered by awnings from +the rather ardent sun, men and women sat at spotless tables, dallying +with drinks of rare hues and exalted prices. Cigarette-smoke wafted away +on the pure breeze from over the Catskills, far to northwest, defiling +the sweet breath of Nature, herself, with fumes of nicotine and dope. A +Hungarian orchestra was playing the latest Manhattan ragtime, at the far +end of the piazza. It was, all in all, a scene of rare refinement, +characteristic to a degree of the efflorescence of American capitalism. + +At one of the tables, obviously bored, sat Catherine Flint, only +daughter of the Billionaire. A rare girl, she, to look +upon--deep-bosomed and erect, dressed simply in a middy-blouse with a +blue tie, a khaki skirt and low, rubber-soled shoes revealing a +silk-stockinged ankle that would have attracted the enthusiastic +attention of gentlemen in any city of the world. No hat disfigured the +coiled and braided masses of coppery hair that circled her shapely head. +A healthy tan on face and arms and open throat bespoke her keen devotion +to all outdoor life. Her fingers, lithe and strong, were graced by but +two rings--a monogram, of gold, and the betrothal ring that Maxim +Waldron had put there, only three weeks before. + +Impatience dominated her. One could see that, in the nervous tapping of +her fingers on the cloth; the slight swing of her right foot as she sat +there, one knee crossed over the other; the glance of her keen, gray +eyes down the broad drive-way that led from the huge stone gates up to +the club-house. + +Beside her sat a nonentity in impeccable dress, dangling a monocle and +trying to make small-talk, the while he dallied with a Bronx cocktail, +costing more than a day's wage for a childish flower-making slave of the +tenements, and inhaled a Rotten Row cigarette, the "last word" from +London in the tobacco line. To the sallies of this elegant, the girl +replied by only monosyllables. Her glass was empty, nor would she have +it filled, despite the exquisite's entreaties. From time to time she +glanced impatiently at the long bag of golf-sticks leaning against the +porch rail; and, now and then, her eyes sought the little Cervine watch +set in a leather wristlet on her arm. + +"Inconsiderate of him, I'm sure--ah--to keep so magnificent a Diana +waiting," drawled her companion, blowing a lungful of thin blue smoke +athwart the breeze. "Especially when you're so deuced keen on doing the +course before dinner. Now if _I_ were the favored swain, wild horses +wouldn't keep me away." + +She made no answer, but turned a look of indifference on the shrimp +beside her. Had he possessed the soul of a real man, he would have +shriveled; but, being oblivious to all things save the pride of wealth +and monstrous self-conceit, he merely snickered and reached for his +cocktail--which, by the way, he was absorbing through a straw. + +"I say, Miss Flint?" he presently began again, stirring the ice in the +cocktail. + +"Well?" she answered, curtly. + +"If you--er--are really very, _very_ impatient to have a go at the +links, why wait for Wally? I--I should be only too glad to volunteer my +services as your knight-errant, and all that sort of thing." + +"Thanks, awfully," she answered, "but Mr. Waldron promised to go round +the course with me, this afternoon, and I'll wait." + +The impeccable one grinned fatuously, invited her again to have a +drink--which she declined--and ordered another for himself, with profuse +apologies for drinking alone; apologies which she hardly seemed to +notice. + +"Deuced bad form of Wally, I must say," the gilded youth resumed, trying +to make capital for himself, "to leave you in the lurch, this way!" + +Silence from Catherine. The would-be interloper, feeling that he was on +the wrong track, took counsel with himself and remained for a moment +immersed in what he imagined to be thought. At last, however, with an +oblique glance at his indifferent companion, he remarked. + +"Devilish hard time women have in this world, you know! Don't you +sometimes wish you were a man?" + +Her answer flashed back like a rapier: + +"No! Do you wish _you_ were?" + +Stunned by this "facer," Reginald Van Slyke gasped and stared. That he, +a scion of the Philadelphia Van Slykes, in his own right worth two +hundred million dollars--dollars ground out of the Kensington +carpet-mill slaves by his grandfather--should be thus flouted and put +upon by the daughter of Flint, that parvenu, absolutely floored him. For +a moment he sat there speechless, unable even to reach for his drink; +but presently some coherence returned. He was about to utter what he +conceived to be a strong rejoinder, when the girl suddenly standing up, +turned her back upon him and ignored him as completely as she might have +ignored any of the menials of the club. + +His irritated glance followed hers. There, far down the drive, just +rounding the long turn by the artificial lake, a big blue motor car was +speeding up the grade at a good clip. Van Slyke recognized it, and swore +below his breath. + +"Wally, at last, damn him!" he muttered. "Just when I was beginning to +make headway with Kate!" + +Vexed beyond endurance, he drummed on the cloth with angry fingers; but +Catherine was oblivious. Unmindful of the merry-makers at the other +tables, the girl waved her handkerchief at the swiftly-approaching +motor. Waldron, from the back seat, raised an answering hand--though +without enthusiasm. Above all things he hated demonstration, and the +girl's frank manner, free, unconventional and not yet broken to the +harness of Mrs. Grundy, never failed to irritate him. + +"Very incorrect for people in our set," he often thought. "But for the +present I can do nothing. Once she is my wife, ah, then I shall find +means to curb her. For the present, however, I must let her have her +head." + +Such was now his frame of mind as the long car slid under the +porte-cochère and came to a stand. He would have infinitely preferred +that the girl should wait his coming to her, on the piazza; but already +she had slung her bag of sticks over her strong shoulder, and was down +the steps to meet him. Her leave-taking of the incensed Van Slyke had +been the merest nod. + +"You're late, Wally," said she, smiling with her usual good humor, which +had already quite dissipated her impatience. "Late, but I'll forgive +you, this time. I'm afraid we won't have time to do all eighteen holes +round. What kept you?" + +"Business, business!" he answered, frowning. "Always the same old +grind, Kate. You women don't understand. I tell you, this slaving in +Wall Street isn't what it's cracked up to be. I couldn't get away till +11:30. Then, just had a quick bite of lunch, and broke every speed law +in New York getting here. Do you forgive me?" + +He had descended from the car, in speaking. They shook hands, while the +chauffeur stood at attention and all the gossips on the piazza, scenting +the possibility of a disagreement, craned discreetly eager necks and +listened intently. + +"Forgive you? Of course--this time, but never again," the girl laughed. +"Now, run along and get into your flannels. I'll meet you on the driving +green, in ten minutes. Not another second, mind, or--" + +"I'll be on the dot," he answered. "Here, boy," beckoning a caddy, "take +Miss Flint's sticks. And have mine carried to the green. Look sharp, +now!" + +Then, with a nod at the girl, he ran up the steps and vanished in the +club-house, bound for the locker-room. + +Fifteen minutes the girl waited on the green, watching others drive off +from the little tees and inwardly chafing to be in action. Fifteen, and +then twenty, before Waldron finally appeared, immaculate in white, +bare-armed and with a loose, checked cap shading his close-set eyes. The +fact was, in addition to having changed his clothes, he had felt obliged +to linger in the bar for a little Scotch; and one drink had meant +another; and thus precious moments had sped. + +But his smile was confident as he approached the green. Women, after +all, he reflected, were meant to be kept waiting. They never appreciated +a man who kept appointments exactly. Not less fatuous at heart, in +truth, was he, than the unfortunate Van Slyke. But his manner was +perfection as he saluted her and bade the caddy build their tees. + +The girl, however, was now plainly vexed. Her mouth had drawn a trifle +tight and the tilt of her chin was determined. Her eyes were far from +soft, as she surveyed this delinquent fiancé. + +"I don't like you a bit, today, Wally," said she, as he deliberated +over the club-bag, choosing a driver. "This makes twice you've kept me +waiting. I warn you don't let it happen again!" + +Under the seeming banter of her tone lurked real resentment. But he, +with a smile--partly due to a finger too much Scotch--only answered, in +a low tone: + +"You're adorable, today, Kate! The combination of fresh air and +annoyance has painted the most wonderful roses on your cheeks!" + +She shrugged her shoulders with a little motion she had inherited from +French ancestry, stooped, set her golf ball on the little mound of sand, +exactly to suit her, and raised her driver on high. + +"Nine holes," said she, "and I'm going to beat you, today!" + +He frowned a little at the spirit of the threat, for any self-assertion +in a woman crossed his grain; but soon forgot his pique in admiration of +the drive. + +Swishing, her club flashed down in a quick circle. _Crack_! It struck +the gutta-percha squarely. The little white sphere zipped away like a +rocket, rose in a far trajectory, up, up, toward the water-hazard at the +foot of the grassy slope, then down in a long curve. + +Even while the girl's cry of "Fore!" was echoing across the green, the +ball struck earth, ricochetted and sped on, away, across the turf, till +it came to rest not twenty yards from the putting green of the first +hole. + +"Wheeoo!" whistled Waldron. "Some drive. I guess you're going to make +good your threat, today, Kate of my heart!" + +The smile she flashed at him showed that her resentment had, for the +moment, been forgotten. + +"Come on, Wally, now let's see what _you_ can do," said she, starting +off down the slope, while her meek caddy tagged at a respectful +distance. + +Waldron, thus adjured, teed up and swung at the ball. But the Scotch had +by no means steadied his aim. He foozled badly and broke his pet driver, +into the bargain. The steel head of it flew farther even than the ball, +which moved hardly ten yards. + +"Damn!" he muttered, under his breath, choosing another stick and +glancing with real irritation at Catherine's lithe, splendidly poised +figure already some distance down the slope. + +His second stroke was more successful, nearly equalling hers. But her +advantage, thus early won, was not destined to be lost again. And as the +game proceeded, Waldron's temper grew steadily worse and worse. + +Thus began, for these two people, an hour destined to be fraught with +such pregnant developments--an hour which, in its own way, vitally bore +on the great loom now weaving warp and woof of world events. + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + +THE END OF TWO GAMES. + + +Trivial events sometimes precipitate catastrophies. It has been said +that had James MacDonald not left the farm gate open, at Hugomont, +Waterloo might have ended otherwise. So now, the rupture between +Catherine Flint and Maxim Waldron was precipitated by a single unguarded +oath. + +It was at the ninth hole, down back of the Terrace Woods bunker. +Waldron, heated by exercise and the whiskey he had drunk, had already +dismissed the caddies and had undertaken to carry the clubs, himself, +hoping--man-fashion--to steal a kiss or two from Catherine, along the +edge of the close-growing oaks and maples. But all his plans went agley, +for Catherine really made good and beat him, there, by half a dozen +strokes; and as her little sphere, deftly driven by the putting-iron +gripped in her brown, firm hands, rolled precisely over the cropped turf +and fell into the tinned hole, the man ejaculated a perfectly audible +"_Hell!_" + +She stood erect and faced him, with a singular expression in those level +gray eyes--eyes the look of which could allure or wither, could entice +or command. + +"Wally," said she, "did you swear?" + +"I--er--why, yes," he stammered, taken aback and realizing, despite his +chagrin, how very poor and unsportsmanlike a figure he was cutting. + +"I don't like it," she returned. "Not a little bit, Wally. It isn't +game, and it isn't manly. You must respect me, now and always. I can't +have profanity, and I won't." + +He essayed lame apologies, but a sudden, hot anger seemed to have +possessed him, in presence of this free, independent, exacting +woman--this woman who, worst of all, had just beaten him at the game of +all games he prided himself on playing well. And despite his every +effort, she saw through the veil of sheer, perfunctory courtesy; and +seeing, flushed with indignation. + +"Wally," she said in a low, quiet tone, fixing a singular gaze upon him, +"Wally, I don't know what to make of you lately. The other night at Idle +Hour, you hardly looked at me. You and father spent the whole evening +discussing some business or other--" + +"Most important business, my dear girl, I do assure you," protested +Waldron, trying to steady his voice. "Most vitally--" + +"No matter about that," she interposed. "It could have been abridged, a +trifle. I barely got six words out of you, that evening; and let me tell +you, Wally, a woman never forgets neglect. She may forgive it; but +forget it, never!" + +"Oh, well, if you put it that way--" he began, but checked himself in +time to suppress the cutting rejoinder he had at his tongue's end. + +"I do, and it's vital, Wally," she answered. "It's all part and parcel +of some singular kind of change that's been coming over you, lately, +like a blight. You haven't been yourself, at all, these few days past. +Something or other, I don't know what, has been coming between us. +You've got something else on your mind, beside me--something bigger and +more important to you than I am--and--and--" + +He pulled out his gold cigar-case, chose and lighted a cigar to steady +his nerve, and faced her with a smile--the worst tactic he could +possibly have chosen in dealing with this woman. Supremely successful in +handling men, he lacked finesse and insight with the other sex; and now +that lack, in his moment of need, was bringing him moment by moment +nearer the edge of catastrophe. + +"I don't like it at all, Waldron," she resumed, again. "You were late, +the other night, in taking me to the Flower Show. You were late, today, +for our appointment here; and the ten minutes I gave you to get ready +in, stretched out to twenty before you--" + +He interrupted her with a gesture of uncontrollable vexation. + +"Really, my dear Kate," he exclaimed, "if you--er--insist on holding me +to account for every moment--" + +"You've been drinking, too, a little," she kept on. "And you know I +detest it! And just now, when I beat you in a square game, you so far +forgot yourself as to swear. Now, Waldron--" + +"Oh, puritanical, eh?" he sneered, ignoring the danger signals in her +eyes. Even yet there might have been some chance of avoiding shipwreck, +had he heeded those twin beacons, humbled himself, made amends by due +apology and promised reformation. For though Catherine never had truly +loved this man, some years older than herself and of radically different +character, still she liked and respected him, and found him--by his very +force and dominance--far more to her taste than the insipid hangers-on, +sons of fortune or fortune-hunters, who, like the sap-brained Van +Slyke, made up so great a part of her "set." + +So, all might yet have been amended; but this was not to be. Never yet +had "Tiger" Waldron bowed the neck to living man or woman. Dominance was +his whole scheme of life. Though he might purr, politely enough, so long +as his fur was smoothed the right way, a single backward stroke set his +fangs gleaming and unsheathed every sabre-like claw. And now this woman, +his fiancée though she was, her beauty dear to him and her charm most +fascinating, her fortune much desired and most of all, an alliance with +her father--now this woman, despite all these considerations, had with a +few incisive words ruffled his temper beyond endurance. + +So great was his agitation that, despite his strongest instinct of +saving, he flung away the scarcely-tasted cigar. + +"Kate," he exclaimed, his very tongue thick with the rage he could not +quell, "Kate, I can't stand this! You're going too far. What do you know +of men's work and men's affairs? Who are you, to judge of their times of +coming and going, their obligations, their habits and man of life? What +do _you_ understand--?" + +"It's obvious," she replied with glacial coldness, "that I don't +understand _you_, and never have. I have been living in a dream, Wally; +seeing you through the glass of illusion; not reality. After all, you're +like all men--just the same, no different. Idealism, self-sacrifice, con +true nobility of character, where are these, in you? What is there but +the same old selfishness, the same innate masculine conceit and--" + +"No more of this, Kate!" cried the financier, paling a little. "No more! +I can't have it! I won't--it's impossible! You--you don't understand, I +tell you. In your narrow, untrained, woman's way, you try to set up +standards for me; try to judge me, and dictate to me. Some old +puritanical streak in you is cropping out, some blue-law atavism, some I +know not what, that rebels against my taking a drink--like every other +man. That cries out against my letting slip a harmless oath--again, like +every other man that lives and breathes. Every man, that is, who _is_ a +man, a real man, not a dummy! If you've been mistaken in me, how much +more have I, in you! And so--" + +"And so," she took the very words from his pale lips, "we've both been +mistaken, that's all. No, no," she forbade him with raised hand, as he +would have interrupted with protests. "No, you needn't try to convince +me otherwise, now. A thousand volumes of speeches, after this, couldn't +do it. An hour's insight into the true depths of a man's character--yes, +even a moment's--perfectly suffices to show the truth. You've just drawn +the veil aside, Wally, for me, and let me look at the true picture. All +that I've known and thought of you, so far, has been sham and illusion. +Now, I _know_ you!" + +"You--you don't, Catherine!" he exclaimed, half in anger, half +contrition, terrified at last by the imminent break between them, by the +thought of losing this rich flower from the garden of womanhood, this +splendid financial and social prize. "I--I've done wrong, Kate. I admit +it. But, truly--" + +"No more," said she, and in her voice sounded a command he knew, at +last, was quite inexorable. "I'm not like other women of our set, +perhaps. I can't be bought and sold, Wally, with money and position. I +can't marry a man, and have to live with him, if he shows himself +petty, or small, or narrow in any way. I must be free, free as air, as +long as I live. Even in marriage, I must be free. Freedom can only come +with the union of two souls that understand and help and inspire each +other. Anything else is slavery--and worse!" + +She shuddered, and for a moment turned half away from him, as, now +contrite enough for the minute, he stood there looking at her with dazed +eyes. For a second the idea came to him that he must take her in his +arms, there in the edge of the woods, burn kisses on her ripe mouth, win +her back to him by force, as he had won all life's battles. He would +not, could not, let this prize escape him now. A wave of desire surged +through his being. He took a step toward her, his trembling arms open to +seize her lithe, seductive body. But she, retreating, held him away with +repellant palms. + +"No, no, no!" she cried. "Not now--never that, any more! I must be free, +Wally--free as air!" + +She raised her face toward the vast reaches of the sky, breathed deep +and for a moment closed her eyes, as though bathing her very soul in the +sweet freedom of the out-of-doors. + +"Free as air!" she whispered. "Let me go!" + +He started violently. Her simile had struck him like a lash. + +"Free--as what?" he exclaimed hoarsely. "As _air_? But--but there's no +such freedom, I tell you! Air isn't free any more--or won't be, soon! It +will be everything, anything but free, before another year is gone! Free +as air? You--you don't understand! Your father and I--we shall soon own +the air. Free as air? Yes, if you like! For that--that means you, too, +must belong to me!" + +Again he sought to take her, to hold her and overmaster her. But she, +now wide-eyed with a kind of sudden terror at this latest outbreak, this +seeming madness on his part, which she could nowise fathom or +comprehend, retreated ever more and more, away from him. + +Then suddenly with a quick effort, she stripped off the splendid, +blazing diamond from her finger, and held it out to him. + +"Wally," said she, calm now and quite herself again, "Wally, let's be +friends. Just that and nothing more. Dear, good, companionable friends, +as we used to be, long years ago, before this madness seized us--this +chimera of--of love!" + +As a bull charging, is struck to the heart by the sword of the matador, +and stops in his tracks, motionless and dazed before he falls, so +"Tiger" Waldron stopped, wholly stunned by this abrupt and crushing +denouement. + +For a moment, man and woman faced each other. Not a word was spoken. +Catherine had no word to say; and Waldron, though his lips worked, could +bring none to utterance. Then their eyes met; and his lowered. + +"Good-bye," said she quietly. "Good-bye forever, as my betrothed. When +we meet again, Wally, it will be as friends, and nothing more. And now, +let me go. Don't come with me. I prefer to be alone. I'd rather walk, a +bit, and think--and then go back quietly to the club-house, and so home, +in my car. Don't follow me. Here--take this, and--good-bye." + +Mechanically he accepted the gleaming jewel. Mechanically, like a man +without sense or reason, he watched her walk away from him, upright and +strong and lithe, voluptuous and desirable in every motion of that +splendid body, now lost to him forever. Then all at once, entering a +woodland path that led by a short cut back to the club-house, she +vanished from his sight. + +Vanished, without having even so much as turned to look at him again, or +wave that firm brown hand. + +Then, seeming to waken from his daze, "Tiger" laughed, a terrible and +cruel laugh; and then he flung a frightful blasphemy upon the still June +air; and then he dashed the wondrous diamond to earth, and stamped and +dug it with a perfect frenzy of rage into the soft mold. + +And, last of all, with lowered head and lips that moved in fearful +curses, he crashed away into the woods, away from the path where the +girl was, away from the club-house, away, away, thirsting for solitude +and time to quell his passion, salve his wounded pride and ponder +measures of terrible revenge. + +The diamond ring, crushed into the earth, and the golf clubs, lying +where they had fallen from the disputants' hands, now remained there as +melancholy reminders of the double game--love and golf--which had so +suddenly ended in disaster. + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + +ON THE GREAT HIGHWAY. + + +As violently rent from his job as Maxim Waldron had been torn from his +alliance with Catherine, Gabriel Armstrong met the sudden change in his +affairs with far more equanimity than the financier could muster. Once +the young electrician's first anger had subsided--and he had pretty well +mastered it before he had reached the Oakwood Heights station--he began +philosophically to turn the situation in his mind, and to rough out his +plans for the future. + +"Things might be worse, all round," he reflected, as he strode along at +a smart pace. "During the seven months I've been working for these +pirates, I've managed to pay off the debt I got into at the time of the +big E. W. strike, and I've got eighteen dollars or a little more in +my pocket. My clothes will do a while longer. Even though Flint +blacklists me all over the country, as he probably will, I can duck into +some job or other, somewhere. And most important of all, I know what's +due to happen in America--I've seen that note-book! Let them do what +they will, they can't take _that_ knowledge away from me!" + +The outlook, on the whole, was cheering. Gabriel broke into a whistle, +as he swung along the highway, and slashed cheerfully with his heavy +stick at the dusty bushes by the roadside. A vigorous, pleasing figure +of a man he made, striding onward in his blue flannel shirt and +corduroys, stout boots making light of distance, somewhat rebellious +black hair clustering under his cap, blue eyes clear and steady as the +sunlight itself. There must have been a drop of Irish blood somewhere or +other in his veins, to have given him that ruddy cheek, those eyes, that +hair, that quick enthusiasm and that swiftness to anger--then, by +reaction, that quick buoyancy which so soon banished everything but +courageous optimism from his hot heart. + +Thus the man walked, all his few worldly belongings--most precious among +them his union card and his red Socialist card--packed in the knapsack +strapped to his broad shoulders. And as he walked, he formulated his +plans. + +"Niagara for mine," he decided. "It's there these hellions mean to start +their devilish work of enslaving the whole world. It's there I want to +be, and must be, to follow the infernal job from the beginning and to +nail it, when the right time comes. I'll put in a day or two with my old +friend, Sam Underwood, up in the Bronx, and maybe tell him what's doing +and frame out the line of action with him. But after that, I strike for +Niagara--yes, and on foot!" + +This decision came to him as strongly desirable. Not for some time, he +knew, could the actual work of building the Air Trust plant be started +at Niagara. Meanwhile, he wanted to keep out of sight, as much as +possible. He wanted, also to save every cent. Again, his usual mode of +travel had always been either to ride the rods or "hike" it on shanks' +mare. Bitterly opposed to swelling the railways' revenues by even a +penny, Armstrong in the past few years of his life had done some +thousands of miles, afoot, all over the country. His best means of +Socialist propaganda, he had found, was in just such meanderings along +the highways and hedges of existence--a casual job, here or there, for a +day, a week, a month--then, quick friendships; a little talk; a few +leaflets handed to the intelligent, if he could find any. He had laced +the continent with such peregrinations, always sowing the seed of +revolution wherever he had passed; getting in touch with the Movement +all over the republic; keeping his finger on the pulse of ever-growing, +always-strengthening Socialism. + +Such had his habits long been. And now, once more adrift and jobless, +but with the most tremendous secret of the ages in his possession, he +naturally turned to the comfort and the calming influence of the broad +highway, in his long journey towards the place where he was to meet, in +desperate opposition, the machinations of the Air Trust magnates. + +"It's the only way for me," he decided, as he turned into the road +leading toward Saint George and the Manhattan Ferry. "Flint and Herzog +will be sure to put Slade and the Cosmos people after me. Blacklisting +will be the least of what they'll try to do. They'll use slugging +tactics, sure, if they get a chance, or railroad me to some Pen or +other, if possible. My one best bet is to keep out of their way; and I +figure I'm ten times safer on the open road, with a few dollars to stave +off a vagrancy charge, and with two good fists and this stick to keep +'em at a distance, than I would be on the railroads or in cheap dumps +along the way. + +"The last place they'll ever think of looking for me will be the big +outdoors. _Their_ idea of hunting for a workman is to dragnet the back +rooms of saloons--especially if they're after a Socialist. That's the +limit of their intelligence, to connect Socialism and beer. I'll beat +'em; I'll hike--and it's a hundred to one I land in Niagara with more +cash than when I started, with better health, more knowledge, and the +freedom that, alone, can save the world now from the most damnable +slavery that ever threatened its existence!" + +Thus reasoning, with perfect clarity and a long-headedness that proved +him a strategist at four-and-twenty, Gabriel Armstrong whistled a louder +note as he tramped away to northward, away from the hateful presence of +Herzog, away from the wage-slavery of the Oakwood Heights plant, +away--with that precious secret in his brain--toward the far scene of +destined warfare, where stranger things were to ensue than even he could +possibly conceive. + +Saturday morning found him, his visit with Underwood at an end, already +twenty miles or more from the Bronx River, marching along through +Haverstraw, up the magnificent road that fringes the Hudson--now hidden +from the mighty river behind a forest-screen, now curving on bold +abutments right above the sun-kissed expanses of Haverstraw Bay, here +more than two miles from wooded shore to shore. + +At eleven, he halted at a farm house, some miles north of the town, got +a job on the woodpile, and astonished the farmer by the amount of birch +he could saw in an hour. He took his pay in the shape of a bountiful +dinner, and--after half an hour's smoke and talk with the farmer, to +whom he gave a few pamphlets from the store in his knapsack--said +good-bye to all hands and once more set his face northward for the long +hike through much wilder country, to West Point, where he hoped to pass +the night. + +Thus we must leave him, for a while. For now the thread of our +narration, like the silken cord in the Labyrinth of Crete, leads us back +to the Country Club at Longmeadow, the scene, that very afternoon, of +the sudden and violent rupture between the financier and Catherine +Flint. + +Catherine, her first indignation somewhat abated, and now vastly +relieved at the realization that she indeed was free from her loveless +and long-since irksome alliance with Waldron, calmly enough returned to +the club-house. Head well up, and eyes defiant, she walked up the broad +steps and into the office. Little cared she whether the piazza +gossips--The Hammer and Anvil Club, in local slang--divined the quarrel +or not. The girl felt herself immeasurably indifferent to such +pettinesses as prying small talk and innuendo. Let people know, or not, +as might be, she cared not a whit. Her business was her own. No wagging +of tongues could one hair's breadth disturb that splendid calm of hers. + +The clerk, behind the desk, smiled and nodded at her approach. + +"Please have my car brought round to the porte-cochère, at once?" she +asked. "And tell Herrick to be sure there's plenty of gas for a long +run. I'm going through to New York." + +"So soon?" queried the clerk. "I'm sure your father will be +disappointed, Miss Flint. He's just wired that he's coming out tomorrow, +to spend Sunday here. He particularly asks to have you remain. See +here?" + +He handed her a telegram. She glanced it over, then crumpled it and +tossed it into the office fire-place. + +"I'm sorry," she answered. "But I can't stay. I must get back, to-night. +I'll telegraph father not to come. A blank, please?" + +The clerk handed her one. She pondered a second, then wrote: + + Dear Father: A change of plans makes me return home at once. + Please wait and see me there. I've something important to talk over + with you. + + Affectionately, + + Kate. + +Ordinarily people try to squeeze their message to ten words, and count +and prune and count again; but not so, Catherine. For her, a telegram +had never contained any space limit. It meant less to her than a +post-card to you or me. Not that the girl was consciously extravagant. +No, had you asked her, she would have claimed rigid economy--she rarely, +for instance, paid more than a hundred dollars for a morning gown, or +more than a thousand for a ball-dress. It was simply that the idea of +counting words had never yet occurred to her. And so now, she +complacently handed this verbose message to the clerk, who--thoroughly +well-trained--understood it was to be charged on her father's perfectly +staggering monthly bill. + +"Very well, Miss Flint," said he. "I'll send this at once. And your car +will be ready for you in ten minutes--or five, if you like?" + +"Ten will do, thank you," she answered. Then she crossed to the +elevator and went up to her own suite of rooms on the second floor, for +her motor-coat and veils. + +"Free, thank heaven!" she breathed, with infinite relief, as she stood +before the tall mirror, adjusting these for the long trip. "Free from +that man forever. What a narrow escape! If things hadn't happened just +as they did, and if I hadn't had that precious insight into Wally's +character--good Lord!--catastrophe! Oh, I haven't been so happy since +I--since--why, I've _never_ been so happy in all my life! + +"Wally, dear boy," she added, turning toward the window as though +apostrophizing him in reality, "now we can be good friends. Now all the +sham and pretense are at an end, forever. As a friend, you may be +splendid. As a husband--oh, impossible!" + +Lighter of heart than she had been for years, was she, with the added +zest of the long spin through the beauty of the June country before +her--down among the hills and cliffs, among the forests and broad +valleys--down to New York again, back to the father and the home she +loved better than all else in the world. + +In this happy frame of mind she presently entered the low-hung, +swift-motored car, settled herself on the luxurious cushions and said +"Home, at once!" to Herrick. + +He nodded, but did not speak. He felt, in truth, somewhat incapable of +quite incoherent speech. Not having expected any service till next day, +he had foregathered with others of his ilk in the servants' bar, +below-stairs, and had with wassail and good cheer very effectively put +himself out of commission. + +But, somewhat sobered by this quick summons, he had managed to pull +together. Now, drunk though he was, he sat there at the wheel, steady +enough--so long as he held on to it--and only by the redness of his face +and a certain glassy look in his eye, betrayed the fact of his +intoxication. The girl, busy with her farewells as the car drew up for +her, had not observed him. At the last moment Van Slyke waved a foppish +hand at her, and smirked adieux. She acknowledged his good-bye with a +smile, so happy was she at the outcome of her golf-game; then cast a +quick glance up at the club windows, fearing to see the harsh face of +Wally peeping down at her in anger. + +But he was nowhere to be seen; and now, with a sudden acceleration of +the powerful six-cylinder engine, the big gray car moved smoothly +forward. Growling in its might, it swung in a wide circle round the +sweep of the drive, gathered speed and shot away down the grade toward +the stone gates of the entrance, a quarter mile distant. + +Presently it swerved through these, to southward. Club-house, waving +handkerchiefs and all vanished from Kate's view. + +"Faster, Herrick," she commanded, leaning forward, "I must be home by +half past five." + +Again he nodded, and notched spark and throttle down. The car, leaping +like a wild creature, began to hum at a swift clip along the smooth, +white road toward Newburgh on the Hudson. + +Thirty miles an hour the speedometer showed, then thirty-five and forty. +Again the drunken chauffeur, still master of his machine despite the +poison pulsing in his dazed brain, snicked the little levers further +down. Forty-five, fifty, fifty-five, the figures on the dial showed. + +Now the exhaust ripped in a crackling staccato, like a machine gun, as +the chauffeur threw out the muffler. Behind, a long trail of dust rose, +whirling in the air. Catherine, a sportswoman born, leaned back and +smiled with keen pleasure, while her yellow veil, whipping sharply on +the wind, let stray locks of that wonderful red-gold hair stream about +her flushed face. + +Thus she sped homeward, driven at a mad race by a man whose every sense +was numbed and stultified by alcohol--homeward, along a road up which, +far, far away, another man, keen, sober and alert, was trudging with a +knapsack on his broad back, swinging a stick and whistling cheerily as +he went. + +Fate, that strange moulder of human destinies, what had it in store for +these two, this woman and this man? This daughter of a billionaire, and +this young proletarian? + +Who could foresee, or, foreseeing, could believe what even now stood +written on the Book of Destiny? + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + +CATASTROPHE! + + +For a time no danger seemed to threaten. Kate was not only fearless as a +passenger, but equally intrepid at the wheel. Many a time and oft she +had driven her father's highest-powered car at dizzying speeds along +worse roads than the one her machine was now following. Velocity was to +her a kind of stimulant, wonderfully pleasurable; and now, realizing +nothing of the truth that Herrick was badly the worse for liquor, she +leaned back in the tonneau, breathed the keen slashing air with delight, +and let her eyes wander over the swiftly-changing panorama of forest, +valley, lake and hill that, in ever new and more radiant beauty, sped +away, away, as the huge car leaped down the smooth and rushing road. + +Dust and pebbles flew in the wake of the machine, as it gathered +velocity. Beneath it, the highway sped like an endless white ribbon, +whirling back and away with smooth rapidity. No common road, this, but +one which the State authorities had very obligingly built especially for +the use of millionaires' motor cars, all through the region of +country-clubs, parks, bungalows and summer-resorts dotting the west +shore region of the Hudson. Let the farmer truck his produce through mud +and ruts, if he would. Let the country folk drive their ramshackle +buggies over rocks and stumps, if they so chose. Nothing of that sort +for millionaires! No, _they_ must have macadam and smooth, long curves, +easy grades and--where the road swung high above the gleaming +river--retaining walls to guard them from plunging into the palisaded +abyss below. + +At just such a place it was, where the road made a sharper turn than any +the drunken chauffeur had reckoned on, that catastrophe leaped out to +shatter the rushing car. + +Only a minute before, Kate--a little uneasy now, at the truly reckless +speeding of the driver, and at the daredevil way in which he was taking +curves without either sounding his siren or reducing speed--had touched +him on the shoulder, with a command: "Not _quite_ so fast, Herrick! Be +careful!" + +His only answer had been a drunken laugh. + +"Careful nothing!" he slobbered, to himself. "You wanted speed--an' +now--hc!--b'Jesus, you _get_--hc!--speed! _I_ ain't +'fraid--are--hc!--_you_?" + +She had not heard the words, but had divined their meaning. + +"Herrick!" she commanded sharply, leaning forward. "What's the matter +with you? Obey me, do you hear? Not so fast!" + +A whiff of alcoholic breath suddenly told her the truth. For a second +she sat there, as though petrified, with fear now for the first time +clutching at her heart. + +"Stop at once!" she cried, gripping the man by the collar of his livery. +"You--you're drunk, Herrick! I--I'll have you discharged, at once, when +we get home. Stop, do you hear me? You're not fit to drive. I'll take +the wheel myself!" + +But Herrick, hopelessly under the influence of the poison, which had +now produced its full effect, paid no heed. + +"Y'--can't dri' _thish_ car!" he muttered, in maudlin accents. "Too +big--too heavy for--hc!--woman! I--_I_ dri' it all right, drunk or +sober! Good chauffeur--good car--I know thish car! You won't fire +me--hc!--for takin' drink or two, huh? I drive you all ri'--drive you to +New York or to--hc!--Hell! Same thing, no difference, ha! ha!--I--" + +A sudden blaze of rage crimsoned the girl's face. In all her life she +never had been thus spoken to. For a second she clenched her fist, as +though to strike down this sodden brute there in the seat before her--a +feat she would have been quite capable of. But second thought convinced +her of the peril of such an act. Ahead of them a long down-grade +stretched away, away, to a turn half-hidden under the arching greenery. +As the car struck this slope, it leaped into ever greater speed; and +now, under the erratic guidance of the lolling wretch at the wheel, it +began to sway in long, unsteady curves, first toward one ditch, then the +other. + +Another woman would have screamed; might even have tried to jump out. +But Kate was not of the hysteric sort. More practical, she. + +"I've got to climb over into the front seat," she realized in a flash, +"and shut off the current--cut the power off--stop the car!" + +On the instant, she acted. But as she arose in the tonneau, Herrick, +sensing her purpose, turned toward her in the sudden rage of complete +intoxication. + +"Naw--naw y' don't!" he shouted, his face perfectly purple with fury +and drink. "No woman--he!--runs this old boat while I'm aboard, see? Go +on, fire me! _I_ don't give--damn! But you don't run--car! Sit down! _I_ +run car--New York or Hell--no matter which! _I_--" + +Hurtling down the slope like a runaway comet, now wholly out of control, +the powerful gray car leaped madly at the turn. + +Catherine, her heart sick at last with terror, caught a second's glimpse +of forest, on one hand; of a stone wall with tree-tops on some steep +abyss below, just grazing it, on the other. Through these trees she saw +a momentary flash of water, far beneath. + +Then the leaping front wheels struck a cluster of loose pebbles, at the +bend. + +Wrenched from the drunkard's grip, the steering wheel jerked sharply +round. + +A skidding--a crash--a cry! + +Over the roadway, vacant now, floated a tenuous cloud of dust and +gasoline-vapor, commingled. + +In the retaining-wall at the left, a jagged gap appeared. Suddenly, far +below, toward the river, a crashing detonation shattered harsh echoes +from shore to shore. + +Came a quick flash of light; then thick, black, greasy smoke arose, and, +wafting through the treetops, drifted away on the warm wind of that late +June afternoon. + +A man, some quarter of a mile to southward, on the great highway, paused +suddenly at sound of this explosion. + +For a moment he stood there listening acutely, a knotted stick in hand, +his flannel shirt, open at the throat, showing a brown and corded neck. +The heavy knapsack on his shoulders seemed no burden to that rugged +strength, as he stood, poised and eager, every sense centered in keen +attention. + +"Trouble ahead, there, by the Eternal!" he suddenly exclaimed. His eye +had just caught sight of the first trailing wreaths of smoke, from up +the cliff. "An auto's gone to smash, down there, or I'm a plute!" + +He needed no second thought to hurl him forward to the rescue. At a +smart pace he ran, halloo'ing loudly, to tell the victims--should they +still live--that help was at hand. At his right, extended the wall. At +his left, a grove of sugar-maples, sparsely set, climbed a long slope, +over the ridge of which the descending sun glowed warmly. Somewhat back +from the road, a rough shack which served as a sugar-house for the +spring sap-boiling, stood with gaping door, open to all the winds that +blew. These things he noted subconsciously, as he ran. + +Then, all at once, as he rounded a sharp turn, he drew up with a cry. + +"Down the cliff!" he exclaimed. "Knocked the wall clean out, and +plunged! Holy Mackinaw, what a smash!" + +In a moment he had reached the scene of the catastrophe. His quick eye +took in, almost at a glance, the skidding mark of the wheels, the ragged +rent in the wall, the broken limbs of trees below. + +"Some wreck!" he ejaculated, dropping his stick and throwing off his +knapsack. "_Hello, Hello, down there!_" he loudly hailed, scrambling +through the gap. + +From below, no answer. + +A silence, as of death, broken only by the echo of his own voice, was +all that greeted his wild cry. + +[Illustration: He gathered her up as though she had been a child.] + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + +THE RESCUE. + + +Gabriel Armstrong leaped, rather than clambered, through the gap in the +wall, and, following the track of devastation through the trees, +scrambled down the steep slope that led toward the Hudson. + +The forest looked as though a car of Juggernaut had passed that way. +Limbs and saplings lay in confusion, larger trees showed long wounds +upon their bark, and here and there pieces of metal--a gray mud-guard, a +car door, a wind-shield frame, with shattered plate glass still clinging +to it--lay scattered on the precipitous declivity. Beside these, hanging +to a branch, Gabriel saw a gaily-striped auto robe; and, further down, a +heavy, fringed shawl. + +Again he shouted, holding to a tree-trunk at the very edge of a cliff of +limestone, and peering far down into the abyss where the car had taken +its final plunge. Still no answer. But, from below, the heavy smoke +still rose. And now, peering more keenly, Armstrong caught sight of the +wreck itself. + +"There it is, and burning like the pit of Hell!" he exclaimed. +"And--what's that, under it? A man?" + +He could not distinctly make out, so thick the foliage was. But it +seemed to him that, from under the jumbled wreckage of the blazing +machine, something protruded, something that suggested a human form, +horribly mangled. + +"Here's where I go down this cliff, whatever happens!" decided Gabriel. +And, acting on the instant, he began swinging himself down from tree to +bush, from shrub to tuft of grass, clinging wherever handhold or +foothold offered, digging his stout boots into every cleft and cranny of +the precipice. + +The height could not have been less than a hundred and fifty feet. By +dint of wonderful strength and agility, and at the momentary risk of +falling, himself, to almost certain death, Gabriel descended in less +than ten minutes. The last quarter of the distance he practically fell, +sliding at a tremendous rate, with boulders and loose earth cascading +all about him in a shower. + +He landed close by the flaming ruin. + +"Lucky this isn't in the autumn, in the dry season!" thought he, as he +approached. "If it were, this whole cliff-side, and the woods beyond, +would be a roaring furnace. Some forest-fire, all right, if the woods +weren't wet and full of sap!" + +Parting the brush, he made his way as close to the car as the intense +heat would let him. The gasoline-tank, he understood, had burst with the +shock, and, taking fire, had wrapped the car in an Inferno of +unquenchable flame. Now, the woodwork was entirely gone; and of the +wheels, as the long machine lay there on its back, only a few blazing +spokes were left. The steel chassis and the engine were red-hot, twisted +and broken as though a giant hammer had smitten them on some Vulcanic +anvil. + +"There's a few thousand dollars gone to the devil!" thought he. But his +mind did not dwell on this phase of the disaster. Still he was hoping, +against hope, that human life had not been dashed and roasted out, in +the wreck. And again he shouted, as he worked his way to the other side +of the machine--to the side which, seen from the cliff above, had seemed +to show him that inert and mangled body. + +All at once he stopped short, shielding his face with his hands, against +the blaze. + +"Good God!" he exclaimed; and involuntarily took off his cap, there in +the presence of death. + +That the man _was_ dead, admitted of no question. Pinned under the +heavy, glowing mass of metal, his body must already have been roasted to +a char. The head could not be seen; but part of one shoulder and one arm +protruded, with the coat burned off and the flesh horribly crackled; +while, nearer Gabriel, a leg showed, with a regulation chauffeur's +legging, also burned to a crisp. + +"Nothing for me to do, here," said Gabriel aloud. "He's past all human +help, poor chap. I don't imagine there can be anybody else in this +wreck. I haven't seen anybody, and nobody has answered my shouts. What's +to be done next?" + +He pondered a moment, then, looking at the license plate of the +machine--its enamel now half cracked off, but the numbers still +legible--drew out his note-book and pencil and made a memo of the +figures. + +"Four-six-two-two, N.Y.," he read, again verifying his numbers. "That +will identify things. And now--the quicker I get back on the road again, +and reach a telephone at West Point, the better." + +Accordingly, after a brief search through the bushes near at hand, for +any other victim--a search which brought no results--he set to work once +more to climb the cliff above him. + +The fire, though still raging, was obviously dying down. In half an +hour, he knew, it would be dead. There was no use in trying to +extinguish it, for gasoline defies water, and no sand was to be had +along that rocky river shore. + +"Let her burn herself out," judged Gabriel. "She can't do any harm, now. +The road for mine!" + +He found the upward path infinitely more difficult than the downward, +and was forced to make a long detour and do some hard climbing that left +him spent and sweating, before he again approached the gap in the wall. +Pausing here to breathe, a minute or two, he once more peered down at +the still-smoking ruin far below. And, as he stood there all at once he +thought he heard a sound not very far away to his right. + +A sound--a groan, a half-inchoate murmur--a cry! + +Instantly his every sense grew keen. Holding his breath he listened +intently. Was it a cry? Or had the breeze but swayed one tree limb +against another; or did some boatman's hail, from far across the river, +but drift upward to him on the cliff? + +"Hello! _Hello_!" he shouted again. "Anybody there?" + +Once more he listened; and now, once more, he heard the sound--this time +he knew it was a cry for help! + +"Where are you?" shouted he, plunging forward along the steep side of +the cliff. "Where?" + +No answer, save a groan. + +"Coming! Coming!" he hailed loudly. Then, guided as it seemed by +instinct, almost as much as by the vague direction of the moaning call, +he ploughed his way through brush and briar, on rescue bent. + +All at once he stopped short in his tracks, wild-eyed, a stammering +exclamation on his lips. + +"A woman!" he cried. + +True. There, lying as though violently flung, a woman was half-crouched, +half-prone behind the roots of a huge maple that leaned out far above a +sheer declivity. + +He saw torn clothing, through the foliage; a white hand, out-stretched +and bleeding; a mass of golden-coppery hair that lay dishevelled on the +bed of moss and last autumn's leaves. + +"A woman! Dying?" he thought, with a sudden stab of pity in his heart. + +Then, forcing his way along, he reached her, and fell upon his knees at +her side. + +"Not dead! Not dying! Thank God!" he exclaimed. One glance showed him +she would live. Though an ugly gash upon her forehead had bathed her +face in blood, and though he knew not but bones were broken, he +recognized the fact that she was now returning, fast, to consciousness. + +Already she had opened her eyes--wild eyes, understanding nothing--and +was staring up at him in dazed, blank terror. Then one hand came up to +her face; and, even as he lifted her in both his powerful arms, she +began to sob hysterically. + +He knew the value of that weeping, and made no attempt to stop it. The +overwrought nerves, he understood, must find some outlet. Asking no +question, speaking no word--for Gabriel was a man of action, not +speech--he gathered her up as though she had been a child. A tall woman, +she; almost as tall as he himself, and proportioned like a Venus. Yet to +him her weight was nothing. + +Sure-footed, now, and bursting through the brambles with fine energy, he +carried her to the gap in the wall, up through it, and so to the roadway +itself. + +"Where--where am I?" the woman cried incoherently. "O--what--where--?" + +"You're all right!" he exclaimed. "Just a little accident, that's all. +Don't worry! I'll take care of you. Just keep quiet, now, and don't +think of anything. You'll be all right, in no time!" + +But she still wept and cried out to know where she might be and what had +happened. Obviously, Gabriel saw, her reason had not yet fully returned. +His first aim must be to bathe her wound, find out what damage had been +done, and keeping her quiet, try to get help. + +Swiftly he thought. Here he and the woman were, miles from any +settlement or house, nearly in the middle of a long stretch of road that +skirted the river through dense woods. At any time a motor might come +along; and then again, one might not arrive for hours. No dependence +could be put on this. There was no telephone for a long distance back; +and even had one been near he would not have ventured to leave the girl. + +Could he carry her back to Fort Clinton, the last settlement he had +passed through? Impossible! No man's strength could stand such a +tremendous task. And even had it been within Gabriel's means, he would +have chosen otherwise. For most of all the girl needed rest and quiet +and immediate care. To bear her all that distance in his arms might +produce serious, even fatal results. + +"No!" he decided. "I must do what I can for her, here and now, and trust +to luck to send help in an auto, down this road!" + +His next thought was that bandages and wraps would be needed for her cut +and to make her a bed. Instantly he remembered the shawl and the big +auto-robe that he had seen caught among the trees. + +"I must have those at once!" he realized. "When the machine went over +the edge, they were thrown out, just as the girl was. A miracle she +wasn't carried down, with the car, and crushed or burned to death down +there by the river, with that poor devil of a chauffeur!" + +Laying her down in the soft grass along the wall, he ran back to where +the wraps were, and, detaching them from the branches, quickly regained +the road once more. + +"Now for the old sugar-house in the maple-grove," said he. "Poor +shelter, but the best to be had. Thank heaven it's fair weather, and +warm!" + +The task was awkward, to carry both the girl and the bulky robes, but +Gabriel was equal to it She had by now regained some measure of +rationality; and though very pale and shaken, manifested her nerve and +courage by no longer weeping or asking questions. + +Instead, she lay in his arms, eyes closed, with the blood stiffening on +her face; and let him bear her whither he would. She seemed to sense his +strength and mastery, his tender care and complete command of the +situation. And, like a hurt and tired child, outworn and suffering, she +yielded herself, unquestioningly, to his ministrations. + +Thus Gabriel, the discharged, blacklisted, outcast rebel and +proletarian, bore in his arms of mercy and compassion the only daughter +of old Isaac Flint, his enemy, Flint the would-be master of the world. + +Thus he bore the woman who had been betrothed to "Tiger" Waldron, +unscrupulous and cruel partner in that scheme of dominance and +enslavement. + +Such was the meeting of this woman and this man. Thus, in his arms, he +carried her to the old sugar-house. + +And far below, the mighty river gleamed, unheeding the tragedy that had +been enacted on its shores, unmindful of the threads of destiny even now +being spun by the swift shuttles of Fate. + +In the branches, above Gabriel and Catherine, birdsong and golden +sunlight seemed to prophesy. But what this message might be, neither the +woman nor the man had any thought or dream. + + + + +CHAPTER XV. + +AN HOUR AND A PARTING. + + +Arriving at the sugar-house, tired yet strong, Gabriel put the wounded +girl down, quickly raked together a few armfuls of dead leaves, in the +most sheltered corner of the ramshackle structure, and laid the heavy +auto-robe upon this improvised bed. Then he helped his patient to lie +down, there, and bade her wait till he got water to wash and dress her +cut. + +"Don't worry about anything," he reassured her. "You're alive, and +that's the main thing, now. I'll see you through with this, whatever +happens. Just keep calm, and don't let anything distress you!" + +She looked at him with big, anxious eyes--eyes where still the full +light of understanding had not yet returned. + +"It--it all happened so suddenly!" she managed to articulate. "He was +drunk--the chauffeur. The car ran away. Where is it? Where is +Herrick--the man?" + +"I don't know," Gabriel lied promptly and with force. Not for worlds +would he have excited her with the truth. "Never you mind about that. +Just lie still, now, till I come back!" + +Already, among the rusty utensils that had served for the +"sugaring-off," the previous spring, he had routed out a tin pail. He +kicked a quantity of leaves in under the sheet-iron open stove, flung +some sticks atop of them, and started a little blaze. Warm water, he +reflected, would serve better than cold in removing that clotting blood +and dressing the hurt. + +Then, saying no further word, but filled with admiration for the girl's +pluck, he seized the pail and started for water. + +"Nerve?" he said to himself, as he ran down the road toward a little +brook he remembered having crossed, a few hundred yards to southward. +"Nerve, indeed! Not one complaint about her own injuries! Not a word of +lamentation! If this isn't a thoroughbred, whoever or whatever she is, I +never saw one!" + +He returned, presently, with the pail nearly full of cold and sparkling +water. Ignoring rust, he made her drink as deeply as she would, and then +set a dipperful of water on the now hot sheet-iron. + +Then, tearing a strip off the shawl, he made ready for his work as an +amateur physician. + +"Tell me," said he, kneeling there beside her in the hut which was +already beginning to grow dusk, "except for this cut on your forehead, +do you feel any injury? Think you've got any broken bones? See if you +can move your legs and arms, all right." + +She obeyed. + +"Nothing broken, I guess," she answered. "What a miracle! Please leave +me, now. I can wash my own hurt. Go--go find Herrick! He needs you worse +than I do!" + +"No he doesn't!" blurted Gabriel with such conviction that she +understood. + +"You mean?" she queried, as he brought the dipper of now tepid water to +her side. "He--he's dead?" + +He hesitated to answer. + +"Dead! Yes, I understand!" she interpreted his silence. "You needn't +tell me. I know!" + +He nodded. + +"Yes," said he. "Your chauffeur has paid the penalty of trying to drive +a six-cylinder car with alcohol. Now, think no more of him! Here, let me +see how badly you're cut." + +"Let me sit up, first," she begged. "I--I'm not hurt enough to be lying +here like--like an invalid!" + +She tried to rise, but with a strong hand on her shoulder he forced her +back. She shuddered, with the horror of the chauffeur's death strong +upon her. + +"Please lie still," he begged. "You've had a terrific shock, and have +lived through it by a miracle, indeed. You're wounded and still +bleeding. You _must_ be quiet!" + +The tone in his voice admitted no argument. Submissive now to his +greater strength, this daughter of wealth and power lay back, closed her +tired eyes and let the revolutionist, the proletarian, minister to her. + +Dipping the piece of shawl into the warm water, he deftly moistened the +dried blood on her brow and cheek, and washed it all away. He cleansed +her sullied hair, as well, and laid it back from the wound. + +"Tell me if I hurt you, now," he bade, gently as a woman. "I've got to +wash the cut itself." + +She answered nothing, but lay quite still. And so, hardly wincing, she +let him lave the jagged wound that stretched from her right temple up +into the first tendrils of the glorious red-gold hair. + +"H'm!" thought Gabriel, as he now observed the cut with close +attention. "I'm afraid there'll have to be some stitches taken here!" +But of this he said nothing. All he told her was: "Nothing to worry +over. You'll be as good as new in a few days. As a miracle, it's _some_ +miracle!" + +Having completed the cleansing of the cut, he fetched his knapsack and +produced a clean handkerchief, which he folded and laid over the wound. +This pad he secured in place by a long bandage cut from the edge of the +shawl and tied securely round her shapely head. + +"There," said he, surveying his improvisation with considerable +satisfaction. "Now you'll do, till we can undertake the next thing. +Sorry I haven't any brandy to give you, or anything of that sort. The +fact is, I don't use it, and have none with me. How do you feel, now?" + +She opened her eyes and looked up at him with the ghost of a smile on +her pale lips. + +"Oh, much, much better, thank you!" she answered. "I don't need any +brandy. I'm--awfully strong, really. In a little while I'll be all +right. Just give me a little more water, and--and tell me--who are you?" + +"Who am I?" he queried, holding up her head while she drank from the tin +cup he had now taken from his knapsack. "I? Oh, just an out-of-work. +Nobody of any interest to you!" + +A certain tinge of bitterness crept into his voice. In health, he knew, +a woman of this class would not suffer him even to touch her hand. + +"_Don't_ ask me who I am, please. And I--I won't ask _your_ name. We're +of different worlds, I guess. But for the moment, Fate has levelled the +barriers. Just let it go at that. And now, if you can stay here, all +right; perhaps I can hike back to the next house, below here, and +telephone, and summon help." + +"How far is it?" she asked, looking at him with wonder in her lovely +eyes--wonder, and new thoughts, and a strange kind of longing to know +more of this extraordinary man, so strong, so gentle, so unwilling to +divulge himself or ask her name. + +"How far?" he repeated. "Oh, four or five miles. I can make it in no +time. And with luck, I can have an auto and a doctor here before dark. +Well, does that suit you?" + +"Don't go, please," she answered. "I--I may be still a little weak and +foolish, but--somehow, I don't want to be left alone. I want to be kept +from remembering, from thinking of those last, awful moments when the +car was running away; when it struck the wall, at the turn; when I was +thrown out, and--and knew no more. Don't go just yet," the girl +entreated, covering her eyes with both hands, as though to shut out the +horrible vision of the catastrophe. + +"All right," Gabriel answered. "Just as you please. Only, if I stay, you +must promise to stop thinking about the accident, and try to pull +together." + +"I promise," she agreed, looking at him with strange eyes. "Oh dear," +she added, with feminine inconsequentiality, "my hair's all down, and +Lord knows where the pins are!" + +He smiled to himself as she managed, with the aid of such few hairpins +as remained, to coil the coppery meshes once more round her head and +even somewhat over the bandage, and secure them in place. + +At sight of his face as he watched her, she too smiled wanly--the first +time he had seen a real smile on her mouth. + +"I'm only a woman, after all," she apologized. "You don't understand. +You can't. But no matter. Tell me--why need you go, at all?" + +"Why? For help, of course." + +"There's sure to be a motor, or something, along this road, before very +long," she answered. "Put up some signal or other, to stop it. That will +save you a long, long walk, and save me from--remembering! I need you +here with me," she added earnestly. "Don't go--please!" + +"All right, as you will," the man made reply. "I'll rig a danger-signal +on the road; and then all we can do will be to wait." + +This plan he immediately put into effect, setting his knapsack in the +middle of the road and piling up brush and limbs of trees about it. + +"There," he said to himself, as he surveyed the result, "no car will get +by _that_, without noticing it!" + +Then he returned to the sugar-house, some hundred yards back from the +highway in the grove, now already beginning to grow dim with the shadows +of approaching nightfall. The glowing coals of the fire gleamed redly, +through the rough place. The girl, still lying on her bed of leaves and +auto-robes, with the mutilated shawl drawn over her, looked up at him +with an expression of trust and gratitude. For a second, only one, +something quick and vital gripped at the wanderer's heart--some vague, +intangible longing for a home and a woman, a longing old as our race, +deep-planted in the inmost citadel of every man's soul. But, +half-impatiently, he drove the thought away, dismissed it, and, smiling +down at her with cheerful eyes and white, even teeth, said reassuringly: + +"Everything's all right now. The first machine that passes, will take +you to civilization." + +"And you?" she asked. "What of you, then?" + +"Me? Oh, I'll hike," he answered. "I'll plug along just as I was doing +when I found you." + +"Where to?" + +"Oh, north." + +"What for?" + +"Work. Please don't question me. I'd rather you wouldn't." + +She pondered a moment. + +"Are you--what they call a--workingman?" she presently resumed. + +"Yes," said he. "Why?" + +"And are you happy?" + +"Yes. In a way. Or shall be, when I've done what I mean to do." + +"But--forgive me--you're very poor?" + +"Not at all! I have, at this present moment, more than eighteen dollars +in my pocket, and I have _these_!" + +He showed her his two hands, big and sinewed, capable and strong. + +"Eighteen dollars," she mused, half to herself. "Why, I have spent that, +and more, for a single ounce of a new perfume--something very rare, you +know, from Japan." + +"Indeed? Well, don't tell _me_," he replied. "I'm not interested in how +you spend money, but how you get it." + +"Get it? Oh, father gives me my allowance, that's all." + +"And he squeezes it out of the common people?" + +She glanced at him quickly. + +"You--you aren't a Socialist, into the bargain, are you?" she inquired. + +"At your service," he bowed. + +"This is strange, strange indeed," she said. "Tell me your name." + +"No," he refused. "I'd still rather not. Nor shall I ask yours. Please +don't volunteer it." + +Came a moment's silence, there in the darkening hut, with the fire-glow +red upon their faces. + +"Happy," said the girl. "You say you're happy. While I--" + +"Are not unhappy, surely?" asked Gabriel, leaning forward as he sat +there beside her, and gazing keenly into her face. + +"How should I know?" she answered. "Unhappy? No, perhaps not. But +vacant--empty--futile!" + +"Yes, I believe you," Gabriel judged. "You tell me no news. And as you +are, you will ever be. You will live so and die so. No, I won't preach. +I won't proselytize. I won't even explain. It would be useless. You are +one pole, I the other. And the world--the whole wide world--lies +between!" + +Suddenly she spoke. + +"You're a Socialist," said she. "What does it mean to be a Socialist?" + +He shook his head. + +"You couldn't understand, if I told you," he answered. + +"Why not?" + +"Oh, because your ideas and environments and interests and everything +have been so different from mine--because you're what you are--because +you can never be anything else." + +"You mean Socialism is something beyond my understanding?" she demanded, +piqued. "Of course, that's nonsense. I'm a human being. I've got brains, +haven't I? I can understand a scheme of dividing up, or levelling down, +or whatever it is, even if I can't believe in it!" + +He smiled oddly. + +"You've just proved, by what you've said," he answered slowly, "that +your whole concepts are mistaken. Socialism isn't anything like what you +think it is, and if I should try to explain it, you'd raise ten thousand +futile objections, and beg the question, and defeat my object of +explanation by your very inability to get the point of view. So you +see--" + +"I see that I want to know more!" she exclaimed, with determination. "If +there's any branch of human knowledge that lies outside my reasoning +powers, it's time I found that fact out. I thought Socialists were wild, +crazy, erratic cranks; but if you're one, then I seem to have been +wrong. You look rational enough, and you talk in an eminently sane +manner." + +"Thank you," he replied, ironically. + +"Don't be sarcastic!" she retorted. "I only meant--" + +"It's all right, anyhow," said he. "You've simply got the old, stupid, +wornout ideas of your class. You can't grasp this new ideal, rising +through the ruck and waste and sin and misery of the present system. I +don't blame you. You're a product of your environment. You can't help +it. With that environment, how can you sense the newer and more vital +ideas of the day?" + +For a moment she fixed eager eyes on him, in silence. Then asked she: + +"Ideals? You mean that Socialism has ideals, and that it's not all a +matter of tearing down and dividing up, and destroying everything good +and noble and right--all the accumulated wisdom and resources of the +world?" + +He laughed heartily. + +"Who handed you that bunk?" he demanded. + +"Father told me Socialism was all that, and more," + +"What's your father's business?" + +"Why, investments, stocks, bonds, industrial development and all that +sort of thing." + +"Hm!" he grunted. "I thought as much!" + +"You mean that father misinformed me?" + +"Rather!" + +"Well, if he did, what is Socialism?" + +"Socialism," answered the young man slowly, while he fixed his eyes on +the smouldering fire, "Socialism is a political movement, a concept of +life, a philosophy, an interpretation, a prophecy, an ideal. It embraces +history, economics, science, art, religion, literature and every phase +of human activity. It explains life, points the way to better things, +gives us hope, strengthens the weary and heavy-laden, bids us look +upward and onward, and constitutes the most sublime ideal ever conceived +by the soul of man!" + +"Can this be true?" the girl demanded, astonished. + +"Not only can, but is! Socialism would free the world from slavery and +slaves, from war, poverty, prostitution, vice and crime; would cleanse +the sores of our rotting capitalism, would loose the gyves from the +fettered hands of mankind, would bid the imprisoned soul of man awake to +nobler and to purer things! How? The answer to that would take me weeks. +You would have to read and study many books, to learn the entire truth. +But I am telling you the substance of the ideal--a realizable ideal, and +no chimera--when I say that Socialism sums up all that is good, and +banishes all that is evil! And do you wonder that I love and serve it, +all my life?" + +She peered at him in wonder. + +"You serve it? How?" she demanded. + +"By spreading it abroad; by speaking for it, working for it, fighting +for it! By the spoken and the printed word! By every act and through +every means whereby I can bring it nearer and nearer realization!" + +"You're a dreamer, a visionary, a fanatic!" she exclaimed. + +"You think so? No, I can't agree. Time will judge that matter. +Meanwhile, I travel up and down the earth, spreading Socialism." + +"And what do you get out of it, personally?" + +"I? What do you mean? I never thought of that question." + +"I mean, money. What do you make out of it?" + +He laughed heartily. + +"I get a few jail-sentences, once in a while; now and then a crack over +the head with a policeman's billy, or maybe a peek down the muzzle of a +rifle. I get--" + +"You mean that you're a martyr?" + +"By no means! I've never even thought of being called such. This is a +privilege, this propaganda of ours. It's the greatest privilege in the +world--bringing the word of life and hope and joy to a crushed, bleeding +and despairing world!" + +She thought a moment, in silence. + +"You're a poet, I believe!" said she. + +"No, not that. Only a worker in the ranks." + +"But do you write poetry?" + +"I write verses. You'd hardly call them poetry!" + +"Verses? About Socialism?" + +"Sometimes." + +"Will you give me some?" + +"What do you mean?" + +"Tell me some of them." + +"Of course not! I can't recite my verses! They aren't worth bothering +you with!" + +"That's for me to judge. Let me hear something of that kind. If you only +knew how terribly much you interest me!" + +"You mean that?" + +"Of course I do! Please let me hear something you've written!" + +He pondered a moment, then in his well-modulated, deep-toned voice +began: + + + _HESPERIDES_. + + + I. + + My feet, used to pine-needles, moss and turf, + And the gray boulders at the lip o' the sea, + Where the cold brine jets up its creamy surf, + Now tread once more these city ways, unloved by me, + Hateful and hot, gross with iniquity. + And so I grieve, + Grieve when I wake, or at high blinding noon + Or when the moon + Mocks this sad Ninevah where the throngs weave + Their jostling ways by day, their paths by night; + Where darkness is not--where the streets burn bright + With hectic fevers, eloquent of death! + I gasp for breath.... + Visions have I, visions! So sweet they seem + That from this welter of men and things I turn, to dream + Of the dim Wood-world, calling out to me. + Where forest-virgins I half glimpse, half see + With cool mysterious fingers beckoning! + Where vine-wreathed woodland altars sunlit burn, + Or Dryads dance their mystic rounds and sing, + Sing high, sing low, with magic cadences + That once the wild oaks of Dodona heard; + And every wood-note bids me burst asunder + The bonds that hold me from the leaf-hid bird. + I quaff thee, O Nepenthe! Ah, the wonder + Grows, that there be who buy their wealth, their ease + By damning serfs to cities, hot and blurred, + Far from thy golden quest, Hesperides!... + + + II. + + I see this August sun again + Sheer up high heaven wheel his angry way; + And hordes of men + Bleared with unrestful sleep rise up another day, + Their bodies racked with aftermaths of toil. + Over the city, in each gasping street, + Shudders a haze of heat, + Reverberant from pillar, span and plinth. + Once more, cribbed in this monstrous labyrinth + Sacrificed to the Minotaur of Greed + Men bear the turmoil, glare, sweat, brute inharmonies; + Denial of each simplest human need, + Loss of life's meaning as day lags on day; + And my rebellious spirit rises, flies + In dreams to the green quiet wood away, + Away! Away! + + + III. + + And now, and now...I feel the forest-moss... + Come! On these moss-beds let me lie with Pan, + Twined with the ivy-vine in tendrill'd curls, + And I will hold all gold, that hampers man, + Only the ashes of base, barren dross! + On with the love-dance of the pagan girls! + The pagan girls with lips all rosy-red, + With breasts upgirt and foreheads garlanded, + With fair white foreheads nobly garlanded! + With sandalled feet that weave the magic ring! + Now...let them sing, + And I will pipe a tune that all may hear, + To bid them mind the time of my wild rhyme; + To warn profaning feet lest they draw near. + Away! Away! Beware these mystic trees! + Who dares to quest you now, Hesperides? + + + IV. + + Great men of song, what sing ye? Woodland meadows? + Rocks, trees and rills where sunlight glints to gold? + Sing ye the hills, adown whose sides blue shadows + Creep when the westering day is growing old? + Sing ye the brooks where in the purling shallows + The small fish dart and gleam? + Sing ye the pale green tresses of the willows + That stoop to kiss the stream? + Or sing ye burning streets, foul with the breath + Of sweatshop, tenement, where endlessly + Spawned swarms of folk serve tyrant masters twain-- + Profit, and his twin-brother, grinning Death? + Where millions toil, hedged off from aught save pain? + Far from thee ever, O mine Arcady?... + + +His voice ceased and silence fell between the man and woman in the old +sugar-house. Gabriel sat there by the dying fire, which cast its ruddy +light over his strongly virile face, and gazed into the coals. The girl, +lying on the rude bed, her face eager, her slim strong hands tightly +clasped, had almost forgotten to breathe. + +At last she spoke. + +"That--that is wonderful!" she cried, a tremor of enthusiasm in her +voice. + +He shook his head. + +"No compliments, please," said he. + +"I'm not complimenting you! I think it _is_ wonderful. You're a true +poet!" + +"I wish I were--so I might use it all for Socialism!" + +"You could make a fortune, if you'd work for some paper or +magazine--some regular one, I mean, not Socialist." + +He shook his head. + +"Dead sea fruit," he answered. "Fairy gold, fading in the clutch, +worthless through and through. No, if my work has any merit, it's all +for Socialism, now and ever!" + +Silence again. Neither now found a word to say, but their eyes met and +read each other; and a kind of solemn hush seemed to lie over their +hearts. + +Then, as they sat there, looking each at each--for now the girl had +raised herself on the crude bed and was supporting herself with one +hand--a sudden sound of a motor, on the road, awakened them from their +musing. + +Came the raucous wail of a siren. Then the engine-exhaust ceased; and a +voice, raised in some annoyance, hailed loudly through the maple-grove: + +"Hello! Hello? What's wrong here?" + +Gabriel stepped to the sugar-house door: + +"Here! Come here!" he shouted in a ringing voice that echoed wildly from +between his hollowed palms. + +As the motorist still sat there, uncomprehending, Gabriel made his way +toward the road. + +"Accident here," said he. "Girl in here, injured. Can you take her to +the nearest town, at once? She needs a doctor." + +Instantly the man was out of his car, and hastening toward Gabriel. + +"Eh? What?" he asked. "Anything serious?" + +In a few words, Gabriel told him the outlines of the tale. + +"The quicker you get the girl to a town, and let her have a doctor and +communication with her family, the better," he concluded. + +"Right! I'll do all in my power," said the other, a rather stout, +well-to-do, vulgar-looking man. + +"Good! This way, then!" + +The man followed Gabriel to the sugar-house. They found the girl already +on her feet, standing there a bit unsteadily, but with determination to +be game, in every feature. + +Five minutes later she was in the new-comer's car, which had been turned +around and now was headed back toward Haverstraw. The shawl and robe +serving her as wraps, she was made comfortable in the tonneau. + +"Think you can stand it, all right?" asked Gabriel, as he took in his +the hand she extended. "In half an hour, you'll be under a doctor's +care, and your father will be on his way toward you." + +She nodded, and for a second tightened the grasp of her hand. + +"I--I'm not even going to know who you are?" she asked, a strange tone +in her voice. + +"No," he answered. "And now, good luck, and good-bye!" + +"Good-bye," she echoed, her voice almost inaudible. "I--I won't forget +you." + +He made no answer, but only smiled in a peculiar way. + +Then, as the car rolled slowly forward, their hands separated. + +Gabriel, bareheaded and with level gaze, stood there in the middle of +the great highway, looking after her. A minute, under the darkening +arches of the forest road, he saw her, still. Then the car swung round +a bend, and vanished. + +Had she waved her hand at him? He could not tell. Motionless he stood, a +while, then cleared away the barrier of branches that obstructed the +road, took up his knapsack, and with slow steps returned to the +sugar-house. + +Almost on the threshold, a white something caught his eye. He picked it +up. Her handkerchief! A moment he held the dainty, filmy thing in his +rough hand. A vague perfume reached his nostrils, disquieting and +seductive. + +"More than eighteen dollars an ounce, perhaps!" he exclaimed, with +sudden bitterness; but still he did not throw the handkerchief away. +Instead, he looked at it more keenly. In one corner, the fading light +just showed him some initials. He studied them, a moment. + +"C. J. F." he read. Then, yielding to a sudden impulse, he +folded the kerchief and put it in his pocket. + +He entered the sugar-house, to make sure, before departing, that he had +left no danger of fire behind him. + +Another impulse bade him sit down on a rough box, there, before the +dying embers. He gazed at the bed of leaves, a while, immersed in +thought, then filled his pipe and lighted it with a glowing brand, and +sat there--while the night came--smoking and musing, in a reverie. + +The overpowering lure of the woman who had lain in his arms, as he had +borne her thither; her breath upon his face; the perfume of her, even +her blood that he had washed away--all these were working on his senses, +still. But most of all he seemed to see her eyes, there in the +ember-lit gloom, and hear her voice, and feel her lithe young body and +her breast against his breast. + +For a long time he sat there, thinking, dreaming, smoking, till the last +shred of tobacco was burned out in the heel of his briar; till the last +ember had winked and died under the old sheet-iron stove. + +At last, with a peculiar laugh, he rose, slung the knapsack once more on +his shoulders, settled his cap upon his head, and made ready to depart. + +But still, one moment, he lingered in the doorway. Lingered and looked +back, as though in his mind's eye he would have borne the place away +with him forever. + +Suddenly he stooped, picked up a leaf from the bed where she had lain, +and put that, too, in his pocket where the kerchief was. + +Then, looking no more behind him, he strode off across the maple-grove, +through which, now, the first pale stars were glimmering. He reached the +road again, swung to the north, and, striking into his long marching +stride, pushed onward northward, away and away into the soft June +twilight. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. + +TIGER WALDRON "COMES BACK." + + +Old Isaac Flint loved but two things in all this world--power, and his +daughter Catherine. + +I speak advisedly in putting "power" first. Much as he idolized the +girl, much as she reminded him of the long-dead wife of his youth, he +could have survived the loss of her. The loss of power would inevitably +have crushed and broken him, stunned him, killed him. Yet, so far as +human affection could still blossom in that withered heart, shrunk by +cold scheming and the cruel piracies of many decades, he loved the girl. + +And so it was that when the message came in, that evening, over the +telephone, the news that Kate had been injured in an auto-accident which +had entirely destroyed the machine and killed Herrick, he paled, +trembled, and clutched the receiver, hardly able to hold it to his ear +with his shaking hand. + +"Here! You!" he cried. "She--she's not badly hurt? She's living? She's +safe? No lies, now! The truth!" + +"Your daughter is very much alive, and perfectly safe," a voice +answered. "This is Doctor MacDougal, of Haverstraw, speaking. The +patient is now having a superficial scalp wound dressed by my assistant. +You can speak to her, in a few minutes, if you like." + +"Now! For God's sake, let me speak _now_!" entreated the Billionaire; +but the doctor refused. Not all Flint's urging or bribing would turn him +one hair's breadth. + +"No," he insisted. "In ten minutes she can talk to you. Not now. But +have no fear, sir. She is perfectly safe and--barring her wound, which +will probably heal almost without a scar--is as well as ever. A little +nervous and unstrung, of course, but that's to be expected." + +"What happened, and how?" demanded Flint, in terrible agitation. + +The doctor briefly gave him such facts as he knew, ending with the +statement that a passing automobilist had brought the girl to him, and +outlining the situation of the first-aid measures in the sugar-house. At +the thought that Herrick, the drunken cause of it all, was dead and +burned, Flint smiled with real satisfaction. + +"Damn him! It's too good for the scum!" he muttered. Then, aloud, he +asked over the wire: + +"And who was the rescuer?" + +"I don't know," MacDougal answered. "Your daughter didn't tell me. But +from what I've learned, he must have been a man of rare strength and +presence of mind. It may well be that you owe your daughter's life to +his prompt work." + +"I'll find him, yet. He'll be suitably rewarded," thought the +Billionaire. "No matter what my enemies have called me, I'm not +incapable of gratitude!" + +Some few minutes later, having paced the library floor meanwhile, in +great excitement, he called the doctor's house again by long-distance, +and this time succeeded in having speech with his daughter. Her voice, +though a little weak, vastly reassured him. Once more he asked for the +outline of the story. She told him all the essentials, and finished by: + +"Now, come and get me, won't you, father dear? I want to go home. And +the quicker you come for me, the happier I'll be." + +"Bless your heart, Kate!" he exclaimed, deeply moved. "Nothing like the +old man, after all, is there? Yes, I'll start at once. I've only been +waiting here, to talk with you and _know_ you're safe. In five minutes +I'll be on my way, with the racing-car. And if I don't break a few +records between here and Haverstraw, my name's not Isaac Flint!" + +After an affectionate good-bye, the old man hung up, rang for Slawson, +his private valet, and ordered the swiftest car in his garage made ready +at once, for a quick run. + +Two hours later, Doctor MacDougal had pocketed the largest fee he ever +had received or ever would, again; and Kate was safe at home, in Idle +Hour. + +On the homeward journey, Flint learned every detail of the affair, from +start to finish; and again grimly consigned the soul of the dead +chauffeur to the nethermost pits of Hell. Yes, he realized, he must have +the body brought in and decently buried, after the coroner's verdict had +been rendered; but in his heart he knew that, save for the eye of public +opinion and the law, he would let those charred remnants lie and rot +there, by the river bank, under the twisted wreckage of the car--and +revel in the thought of that last, barbarous revenge. + +Arrived at home, Flint routed specialists out of their offices, and at a +large expense satisfied himself the girl had really taken no serious +harm. Next day, and the days following, all that money and science +could do to make the gash heal without a scar, was done. Waldron called, +greatly unnerved and not at all himself; and Kate received him with +amicable interest. She had not yet informed her father of the rupture +between Waldron and herself, nor did he suspect it. As for "Tiger," he +realized the time was inopportune for any statement of conditions, and +held his peace. But once she should be well, again, he had savagely +resolved this decision of hers should not stand. + +"Damn it, it can't! It mustn't!" he reflected, as on the third evening +he returned to his Fifth Avenue house. "Now that I'm really in danger of +losing her, I'm just beginning to realize what an extraordinary woman +she is! As a wife, the mistress of my establishment, a hostess, a social +leader, what a figure she would make! And too, the alliance between +Flint and myself simply must not be shattered. Kate is the only child. +The old man's billion, or more, will surely come to her, practically +every penny of it. Flint is more than sixty-three this very minute, he's +a dope-fiend, and his heart's damned weak. He's liable to drop off, any +moment. If I get Kate, and he dies, what a fortune! What a prize! Added +to my interests, it will make me master of the world! + +"Then, too, this new Air Trust scheme positively demands that Flint and +I should be bound together by something closer than mere financial +association. I've simply got to be one of the family. I've got to be his +son-in-law. That's a positive necessity! God, what a fool I was at +Longmeadow, to have taken those three drinks, and have been piqued at +her beating me--to have let my tongue and temper slip--in short, to have +acted like an ass!" + +Ugly and grim, he puffed at his Londres. Vast schemes of finance and of +conquest wove through his busy, plotting brain. Visions of the girl +arose, too, tempting him still more, though his chill heart was +powerless to feel the urge of any real, self-sacrificing or devoted +love. Sensual passion he knew, and ambition, and the lust of power; +nothing else. But these all opened his eyes to the vast blunder he had +committed, and nerved him to reconquest of the ground that he had lost. + +"I can win her, yet," reflected he, as his car swung into the long and +brilliant night-vista of Fifth Avenue. "I know women, and I understand +the game. Flowers, letters, telephone calls, attention every day--every +hour, if need be--these are the artillery to batter down the strongest +fortresses of indifference, even of dislike. And she shall have them +all--all and more. Wally, old chap, you've never been beaten at any +game, whether in the Street or in the pursuit of woman. You'll win yet; +you're bound to win! And Kate shall yet open the door to you, toward +wealth and power and position such as never yet were seen on earth!" + +Thus fortified by his own determination, he slept more calmly that +night. And, on the morrow, his campaign began. + +It lasted but a week. + +At the end of that time, a friendly little note from Idle Hour told him, +frankly and in the kindest manner possible, that--much as she still +liked and respected him--Catherine could not, now or ever, think of him +in any other way than as a friend. + +Stunned by this body-blow, "Tiger" first swore with hideous blasphemies +that caused his valet to retreat precipitately from the famous, +nymph-frieze bedchamber; then ordered drink, then walked the floor a +while in a violent passion; and finally knit up his decision. + +"By God!" he swore, shaking his fist in the direction of Englewood. +"She's balky, eh? She won't, eh? But _I_ say she _will_! And if I can't +make her, there's her father, who can. Together we can break this +stiff-necked spirit and bring her to time. Hm! Fancy anybody or anything +in this world setting up opposition to Flint and Waldron, combined! Just +fancy it, that's all! + +"So then, what's to do? This: See her father and have a heart-to-heart +talk with him. It's obvious she hasn't told him, yet, the real state of +affairs. I doubt if the old idiot has even noticed the absence of my +ring from her finger. And if he has, she's been able to fool him, easily +enough. But not much longer, so help me! + +"No, this very morning he shall hear from me, the whole infernal +story--he shall learn his daughter's unreasonable rebellion, the slight +she's put upon me and her opposition to his will. _Then_ we shall +see--we shall see who's master in that family, he or the girl!" + +With this strong determination in his superheated mind, Waldron rang up +Flint, asked for a private talk, at eleven, in the Wall Street office, +and made ready the mustering of his arguments; his self-defense; his +appeals to Flint's every sense of interest and liking; his whole plea +for the resumption of the broken betrothal. + +And Catherine, all this time of convalescence--what were her thoughts, +and whither were they straying? Not thoughts of Waldron, that is sure, +despite his notes, his telephoning, his flowers, his visits. Not to him +did they wander, as she sat in her sunny bedroom bay-window, looking +out over the great, close cropped lawn, through the oaks and elms, to +the Palisades and the sparkling Hudson beneath. + +No, not to Waldron. Yet wander they did, despite her; and with +persistence they followed channels till then quite unknown to her. + +What might these channels be? And whither, I ask again, did the girl's +memories and fancies, her wondering thoughts, her vague, half-formulated +longings, lead? + +You, perhaps, can answer, as well as I, if you but remember +that--Billionaire's daughter though she was, and all unversed in the +hard realities of life--she was, at heart and soul, very much a woman +after all. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. + +THOUGHTS. + + +During the long days, the June days, of her convalescence, Catherine +found herself involuntarily reverting, more often than she could +understand, to thoughts of the inscrutable and unknown man who had in +all probability saved her life. + +"Had it not been for him," she reflected, as she sat there gazing out +over the river, "I might not be here, this minute. Caught as I was, on +the very brink of the precipice, I should almost certainly have slipped +and fallen over, in my dazed condition, when I tried to get up. If I'd +been alone, if he hadn't found me just when he did--!" + +She shuddered at thought of what must almost inevitably have happened, +and covered her face with both hands. Her cheeks burned; she knew +emotion such as not once had Waldron's kiss ever been able to arouse in +her. The memory of how she, half-unconscious, had lain in that +stranger's arms, so powerful and tense; had been carried by him, as +though she had been a child; had felt his breath upon her face and the +quick, vigorous beating of his heart--all this, and more, dwelt in her +soul, nor could she banish it. + +Gratitude? Yes, and more. For the first time in her two-and-twenty +years, Catherine had sensed the power, the virility of a real man--not +of the make-believe, manicured and tailored parasites of her own +class--and something elemental in her, some urge of primitive womanhood, +grappled her to that memory and, all against her will, caused her to +live and re-live those moments, time and time again, as the most strange +and vital of her life. + +Yet, it was not this physical call alone, in her, that had awakened her +being. The man's eyes, and mouth and hair, true, all remained with her +as a subtly compelling lure; his strength and straight directness seemed +to conquer her and draw her to him; but beyond all this, something in +his speech, in his ideas and the strange reticence that had so puzzled +her, kept him even more constantly in her wondering thoughts. + +"A workingman," she murmured to herself, in uncomprehending revery, "he +said he was a workingman--and he knew that I was very, very rich. He +knew my father would have rewarded him magnificently, given him money, +work, anything he might have asked. And yet, and yet--he would not even +tell his name. And he refused to know mine! He didn't want to know! His +pride--why, in all my life, among all the proud, rich people that I've +known, I've never found such pride as that!" + +She reflected what would have happened had any man of the usual type +rescued her, even a man of wealth and position. Of course, thought she, +that man would have made himself known and would have called on her, +ostensibly to inquire after her condition, yet really to ingratiate +himself. At this reflection she shuddered again. + +"Ugh!" she whispered. "He'd have tried to take liberties, any other man +would. He'd have presumed on the accident--he'd have been--oh, +everything that _that_ man was not, and could never be!" + +Now her thoughts wandered to the brief talk they two had had there in +the old sugar-house. Every word of it seemed graven on her memory. +Disconnected bits of what he had told her, seemed to float before her +mental vision--: "I? Oh, I'm just an out-of-work--don't ask me who I am; +and I won't ask who _you_ are. We're of different worlds, I guess--don't +question me; I'd rather you wouldn't. Am I happy? Yes, in a way, or +shall be, when I've done what I mean to do!" + +Such were some of his phrases that kept coming back to her, as she sat +there in that luxurious and beautiful room, her book lying unread in her +lap, the scent of flowers everywhere, and, merely for her taking, all +the world's treasures hers to command. Strange man, indeed, and stranger +speech, to her! Never had she been thus spoken to. His every word and +thought and point of view, commonplace enough, perhaps, seemed +peculiarly stimulating to her, and wakened eager curiosity, and would +not let her live in peace, as heretofore. + +"He said he was a Socialist, too," she murmured, "whatever that may be. +But he--he didn't _look_ it! On the contrary, he looked remarkably clean +and intelligent. And the words he used were the words of an educated +man. Far better vocabulary than Waldron's, for example; and as for poor +little Van Slyke, and that set, why this man's mind seems to have +towered above them as the Palisades tower above the river! + +"Happy? Rich? He said he was both--and all he had was eighteen dollars +and his two big hands! Just fancy that, will you? He might as well have +said eighteen cents; it would have been about as much! And I--what did +I tell him? I told him I, with all my money and everything, was vacant, +empty, futile! Just those words. And--God help me, I--I am!" + +Suddenly, she felt her eyes were wet. What was the reason? Herself she +knew not. All she knew was that with her beautiful and queenly head +bowed on the arm of her Japanese silk morning gown, as its loose sleeves +lay along the edge of the Chippendale table, she was crying like a +child. + +Crying bitterly; and yet in a kind of new, strange joy. Crying with +tears so bitter-sweet that she, herself, could not half understand them; +could not fathom the deeper meaning that lay hidden there. + +"If!" she whispered to her heart. "If only I were of his class, or he of +mine!" + +And Gabriel, what of him? + +As he swung north and westward, day by day, on the long hike toward +Niagara, the memory of the girl went with him, and hour by hour bore him +company. + +He was not forgetting. Could he forget? Strive as he might, to thrust +her out of his heart and soul, she still indwelt there. + +Not all his philosophy, nor all his realization that this woman he had +saved, this woman who had lain in his two arms and mingled her breath +with his, belonged to another and an alien class, could banish her. + +And as he strode along, swinging his knotted stick at the daisies and +pondering on all that might have been and now could never be, a sudden, +passionate longing burst over him, as a long sea-roller, hurled against +a cliff, flings upward in vast tourbillions of spume. + +Raising his face to the summer sky, his bare head high with emotion and +his eyes wide with the thought of strange possibilities that shook and +intoxicated him, he cried: + +"Oh--would God she were an orphan and an outcast! Would God she had no +penny in this world to call her own!" + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. + +FLINT AND WALDRON PLAN. + + +"Tiger" Waldron's interview with old man Flint, regarding Catherine's +breaking of the engagement, was particularly electric. Promptly at the +appointed hour, Waldron appeared, shook hands with the older man, sat +down and lighted a cigar, then proceeded to business. + +"Flint," said he, without any ado, "I've come here to tell you some very +unpleasant news and to ask your help. Can you stand the one, and give me +the other?" + +The Billionaire looked at him through his pince-nez, poised on that +vulture-beak, with some astonishment. Then he smiled nervously, showing +his gleaming tooth of gold, and answered: + +"Yes, I guess so. What's wrong?" + +"What's wrong? Everything! Catherine has broken our engagement!" + +For a moment old Flint sat there motionless and staring. Then, moving +his head forward with a peculiar, pecking twitch that still further +enhanced his likeness to a buzzard, he stammered: + +"You--you mean--?" + +"I mean just what I say. Your daughter has severed the betrothal. +Haven't you noticed my ring was gone from her finger?" + +"Gone? Bless my soul, no--that is, yes--maybe. I don't know. But--but +at any rate, I thought nothing of it. So then, you say--she's broken it +off? But, why? And when? And--and tell me, Wally, what's it all about?" + +"Listen, and I _will_ tell you," Tiger answered. "And I'll give it to +you straight. I'm partly at fault. Mostly so, it may be. Let me assume +all the blame, at any rate. I'm not sparing myself and have no intention +of doing so. My conduct, I admit, was beastly. No excuses offered. All I +want to do, now, is to make the _amende honorable_, be forgiven, and +have the former status resumed." + +Thus spoke Waldron. But all the time his soul lay hot within him, at +having so to humble himself before Flint; at being thus obliged to eat +crow, and fawn and feign and creep. + +"If I didn't need your billion, old man," his secret thought was, as he +eyed Flint with pretended humility, "you might go to Hell, for all of +me--you and your daughter with you, damn you both!" + +The Billionaire sat blinking, for a moment. Then, picking up a pencil +and idly scrawling pothooks on the big clean sheet of blotting-paper +that covered his reference-book table, beside which the men were +sitting, he asked: + +"Well, what's the trouble all about? What are the facts? I must have +those, in full, before I can guarantee to do anything toward changing my +daughter's opinion. Much as I deplore her action, Wally, I don't know +whether she's right or wrong, till you tell me. Now, let's have it." + +"I will," the other answered; and he was as good as his word. Realizing +the prime futility of any subterfuge, or any misstatement of +fact--which Catherine would surely discover and tell her father, and +which would react against him--Waldron began at the beginning and +narrated the entire affair, with every detail precisely accurate. Nay, +he even exaggerated the offensiveness of his conduct, at the Longmeadow +Club, and in various ways gave the Billionaire to understand that he was +a more serious offender than in truth he really was. For, after all, the +only real offense was the lack of any compatibility between the girl and +himself--the total absence of love. + +Flint listened carefully and with a judicial expression. If he blamed +Waldron, he made no statement of that fact. A man himself, and one who +viewed man's weaknesses and woman's foibles with a cynic eye, he could +judge motives and weigh actions with considerable skill. + +"I see, I see," he commented, when Waldron had quite done, and had +poured forth a highly false declaration of his great love for the girl +and his determination that this rupture should not be permanent. "I +understand the case, I think. It all seems an unfortunate accident--just +one of those unavoidable incidents which strike into and upset human +calculations, against all expectation. + +"You're not terribly guilty, Waldron. You acted inconsiderably. +Irritatingly, perhaps, and not wholly like a gentleman--for which, blame +the rotten Scotch they _will_ persist in selling, out there at +Longmeadow. But even that's not fatal. Many men have done worse and been +forgiven. I'll have a talk with Catherine, inside a day or two, when the +psychological moment offers. And you may be sure, if a father's advice +and good offices are of any avail, this little quarrel will be all +patched up between you two. Surely will be! I can almost positively +promise you that!" + +"Promise it?" asked Waldron, leaning eagerly forward, a strange light in +those close-set, greenish eyes. + +Flint nodded. "Yes," he answered. "I've never yet failed to bring Kate +to reason and good common-sense, when I've set out to. This will be no +exception. My word and my counsel possess the greatest weight with her. +She'll listen and be advised, I'm sure. So have no uneasiness," he +concluded, holding out his hand to his partner. "Leave everything to me. +You'll see, it will all come right, in the end." + +"Tiger" shook his hand, cordially. + +"I haven't words to thank you!" he exclaimed, with as much emotion as he +could simulate from a perfectly cold heart and calculating soul. + +"Don't try to," the Billionaire replied, with seeming benevolence. "All +the thanks I want, Wally, is to patch up this little difficulty and +reunite two--that is--two loving, sympathetic hearts!" + +"You old hypocrite!" Waldron thought, eyeing him. "All _you_ want of me, +if anything, is to keep me as your partner, because you know you're +growing old and losing your grip, and I'm still in the game with all +four claws! Paternal philanthropist _you_ are--I don't think!" + +Wally was dead right. + +"I can't lose this man," the Billionaire was thinking. "Whether or no, +Kate has got to marry him. This Air Trust business demands a strong, a +quick, a perfectly unscrupulous hand. And no outsider will do. My +partner has got to be my son-in-law. Love be damned! Romantic slush can +go to Hell! Kate will marry him--she's _got_ to--or I'll know the reason +why! + +"Though, after all," he soothed his conscience, as Waldron stood up, +walked to the window and stood gazing out as he smoked, "after all, +Wally will make her as happy, I fancy, as any man. He's a fine figure in +the world, commanding, heavily propertied, energetic and successful, +also of the finest family connections. Yes, a husband any woman might +admire and be proud of. Certainly, the only son-in-law for _me_. Even if +she can't idolize and worship him, as some fool women think they must, a +man, she can respect and be respected with him. And with him she can +take the highest position in the land, without a qualm as to his +competence and manner. Beside all that, what's love? Love? Bah!" + +With which philosophy, he too arose, went back into his own office, and +returned to the dictating of some very private letters to Slade, the +Cosmos Detective Agency manager, _in re_ the ferreting-out and jailing +or deporting of all Socialists and labor leaders at Niagara. This +preparatory work on the ground of the huge new Air Trust plant, he +deemed most essential. The Cosmos people, scenting a big contract, had +fostered his belief, and now, already, the work was well under way. +Subterranean methods were still sufficing; but, should these fail, +others lay in the background. + +Flint smiled a grim, vulturine smile as he read over the finished +letters of instruction, a few minutes later. + +"And to think," he mused, as he finished them, "that these fanatics +believe--really believe--they can make headway anywhere in this country, +now! Ten years ago, yes, they might have. But that's not today. Then, +publie opinion--stupid and futile as it was--could still be aroused. +Then, there was a really effective labor and Socialist press. And the +Limited Franchise Bill hadn't gone through. Neither had the enlarged +Military Bill, the National Censorship nor even the Grays--the National +Mounted Police. While _now_--ah, thank Heaven, it's all so different and +so easy that I call myself a fool, at times, for even giving these +matters a single thought! + +"Well," he concluded, handing the letters back to his confidential +secretary, for mailing, "well, now _that's_ done, at any rate. So then, +to the S. & S. committee meeting. And tonight my little +talk with Kate. I'll soon bring her to reason, I'm sure. There's nothing +can't be accomplished by a little patience and persuasion." + +The old Billionaire chose his time well, that night, for the vital +interview with his daughter, who had so far rebelled against his +authority as to break with the man most eminently acceptable to him. +After a simple but exquisite dinner in the Venetian room, he asked the +girl to play for him, which (he knew) always pleased her and put her in +a receptive mood. + +"Play for you, father?" she answered. "Of course I will, anything and as +much as you like! What shall it be, tonight? Chopin, or Grieg, or--?" + +"Anything that pleases you, suits me, my dear," he answered, smiling +with satisfaction at his ruse. Never had he felt more masterful. He had +allowed himself a trifle more morphia than usual that day, by reason of +the approaching interview; and now the subtle drug filled him with +well-being and seemed to enhance his self-control and power. Lighting a +cigar--rare treat for him--he offered Kate his arm; and together, +unattended by any valet or domestic, they walked along the high, +paneled hallway, hung with Gobelin tapestries, and so reached the +magnificent music-room which Kate claimed, in a way, as her own special +place at Idle Hour. + +Here everything suggested harmony. The mahogany wainscotted walls were +decked with fine portraits of the world's great masters of melody. +Handsome cabinets contained costly and elaborate collections and folios +of music, a complete library of the entire world's best productions. The +girl's harp--a masterpiece by Pestalozzi of Venice--stood at one side; +on the other, a five hundred dollar Victrola, with a wonderful +repertoire of records. But the grand piano itself dominated all, +especially made for Catherine by Durand Frères, in Paris, and imported +on the Billionaire's own yacht, the "Bandit." A wondrous instrument, +this, finer even than the pipe-organ in an alcove at the far end of the +room. It summed up all that the world's masters knew of +instrument-production; and its cost, from factory to its present place +at Idle Hour, represented twenty years' wages, and more, of any of +Flint's slaves in the West Virginia mines or the Glenn Pool oil-fields +of Oklahoma. + +At this magnificent piano the girl now seated herself, on a bench of +polished teak, from Mindanao. And, turning to her father, who had sunk +down in his favorite easy-chair of Russia leather, she asked with a +smile: + +"Well, daddy, what shall I play for you, to-night?" + +He looked at her a minute, before replying. Never had she seemed to +dear, so beautiful to him. The rose-tinted light that fell softly from a +Bohemian chandelier over her head, flooded her coiled hair, her face, +her hands, with soft warm color. The slight dressing that her wound now +required was covered by a deft arrangement of her hair. She had regained +her usual tint. Nothing now told of the accident, the close call she had +had, from death, so short a time before. And old Flint smiled, as he +answered her: + +"What shall you play? Anything you like, my dear. You know best--only, +don't make it too classical. Your old father isn't up to that ultra +music, you know, and never will be!" + +She smiled again with understanding, and turned to the keyboard. Then, +without notes, and with a delicate touch of perfectly modulated +interpretation, she began to render "Traümerei," as though she, too, had +been dreaming of something that might have been. + +Flint listened, with perfect content. The music soothed and quieted him. +Even the foreknowledge of the difficult task that lay before him, the +interview that he must have with his daughter, faded from his mind, a +little, and left him wholly calm. Eyes closed, every sense intent on the +delicious harmony, he followed the masterpiece to the end; and sighed +when the last notes had died away, and kept silence. + +Then Kate, still needing no music on the rack before her, played the +"Miserere" from "Il Trovatore," a Hungarian "Czardas," Mendelssohn's +"Frühlingslied" and the overture from "William Tell." She followed these +with the "Intermezzo" and the "Pizzicato" from "Sylvia," and then with +"Narcissus" and "Sans Souci." And at the end of this, she paused again; +for now her father had arisen and come close to her. With a hand on her +shoulder, looking down at her with stern yet kindly eyes, he said: + +"'Sans Souci'? That means 'Without Care,' doesn't it, Kate?" + +"Yes, Daddy. Why?" she answered. + +"Oh, I was just thinking, that's all," said he. "It made me wish _I_ had +no cares, no troubles, no sorrows." + +"Sorrows, father? Why should you have sorrows?" she queried, turning to +him and taking both his shriveled hands in her warm, strong ones. + +"Sorrows? Why shouldn't I?" said he. "Every man of large affairs has +them. Every father has them, too." And he bent over her and kissed her, +with unusual emotion. + +"Every father?" asked she. "What do you mean? Am _I_ a sorrow to you?" + +"A joy in many ways," he answered. "In some, a sorrow." + +"In what ways?" she asked quickly, her eyes widening. + +"In this way, most of all," he told her, as he took her left hand up, +and pointed at the finger where Waldron's ring had been and now no +longer was. + +She looked at him a moment, hardly understanding; then bowed her head. + +"Father," she whispered. "Forgive me--but I couldn't! I--I couldn't! No, +not for the world!" + +Flint's drug-contracted eyes hardened as he stood there gazing down at +her. Once, twice he essayed to speak, but found no words. At last, +however, blinking nervously, he said: + +"This, Kate, is what I want to talk with you about, to-night. Will you +hear me?" + + + + +CHAPTER XIX. + +CATHERINE'S DEFIANCE. + + +"Hear you, best and dearest father in the world?" she cried, looking +quickly up at him again. "Of course I will! Only, I beg you, +don't--don't ask me to--" + +"I will ask you nothing, Kate, my girl, save this--to consider +everything well, and to act like a reasoning, thinking creature, not +like an impetuous and romantic school-girl!" + +Releasing her hands, he once more sat down in the easy-chair, crossed +his legs and peered keenly at her, to fathom if he could the inner +workings of that other brain and heart. + +"Well, father," she said, "I'll admit, right away, that I've done wrong +to keep this from you, or to try to. We--I--broke the engagement, that +day of the accident, out at Longmeadow. I _meant_ to tell you, tell you +everything and explain it all, but somehow--" + +"You needn't explain, my dear," said Flint, judicially. "Wally has +already done so." + +"And does he blame me, father?" cried the girl, eagerly, clasping her +hands on her knees. + +"No, not at all. On the contrary, he claims the fault is all his own. +And he's most contrite and repentant, Kate. Absolutely so. All he asks +in the world is to make amends and--well, resume the old relation, +whenever you are willing." + +Kate shook her head. + +"That's noble and big of him, father," said she, "to assume all the +blame. Really, half of it is mine. But he's acted like a true man, in +taking it. However, that can't change my decision. I want him for a +friend, in every way. But for a husband, no, no, never in this world!" + +The Billionaire frowned darkly. Already a stronger opposition was +developing than he had expected; and opposition was the one thing in all +the world that he could neither tolerate nor endure. + +"Listen, Kate," said he. "You don't grasp the situation at all. Waldron +is an extraordinary man in many ways. In refusing him, you seriously +injure yourself. Of course, he has never done any spectacular, heroic +thing for you, like--for instance--that young man who rescued you, and +whom I shall suitably reward as soon as I find him--" + +"What!" she exclaimed, peering eagerly at her father. "What do you mean? +Find him? Reward him?" + +"Eh? Why, naturally," the Billionaire replied, scowling at the +interruption. "His game of refusing his identity was, of course, just a +clever dodge on his part. He certainly must expect something out of it. +I have--er--set certain forces at work to discover him; and, as I say, +when I've done so, I will reward him liberally, and--" + +"You'd better _not_!" ejaculated Kate, with animation. "He isn't the +sort of man you can take liberties with!" + +"Hm? What now?" said Flint, with vexation. "What do _you_ know about +him?" + +"Oh, nothing, nothing, father," the girl answered quickly. "Only, I +think you're making a mistake to try and force a reward on a man who +doesn't want it. But no matter," she added, her face tinged by a warmer +glow--which Flint was quick to see. "Forgive my interruption. Now, about +Wally?" + +The old man peered intently at his daughter, a full minute, then with a +peculiar sinking at his heart, made shift to say: + +"About Wally, yes; you simply don't understand. That's all. Listen now, +Kate, and be reasonable." + +"I will, daddy. Only don't ask me to marry a man I don't and can't love, +ever, ever, so long as I live!" + +"That isn't anything, my girl. Love isn't all." + +"It is, to _me_! Without it, marriage is only--" She shuddered. "No, +daddy; a thousand times better for me to be an old maid, and--and all +that, than give myself to _him_!" + +Flint set his teeth hard together. + +"Kate," said he, his voice like wire, "now hear what I have to say! I +want you fully to understand the character and desirability of Maxim +Waldron!" + +Then in a cold, analytic voice, carefully, point by point, he analyzed +the suitor, told of his wealth and power, his connections and his +prospects, his culture, travel, political influence and world-wide +reputation. + +"Furthermore," he added, while Kate listened with an expression as cold +as her father's tone itself, "he is my partner. We are allied, in +business. I hope we may be, too, in family. This man is one that any +woman in the world might be proud to call her husband--proud, and glad! +Love flies away, in a few brief months or years. Wealth and power and +respect remain. And, with these, love too may come. Be strong, Kate! Be +sensible! You are no child, but a grown woman. I shall not try to force +you. All I want to do is show you your own best interest. Think this all +over. Sleep on it. Tomorrow, let us talk of it again. For your own sake, +and mine, do as you should, and let folly be averted. Renew the +engagement. Hush the breath of gossip and scandal. Conform. Play the +game! Do right--be strong!" + +She only shook her head; and now he saw the glister of tear-drops in +those beautiful gray eyes. + +"Father," cried she, standing up and holding out both hands to him. +"Have mercy on me! I can't--I can't! My heart refuses and I cannot force +it. All this--what is it to me?" She swept her hand at the glowing +luxury around her. "Without love, what would such another home be to me? +Worse than a prison-cell, I swear! A living death, to one like me! +Barter and sale--cold calculation--oh, horrible prostitution, horrible, +unspeakable! + +"Poverty, with love--yes, I would choose it. Without love, I never, +never can give myself! Never, as long as I live!" + +The Billionaire, too, stood up. He was shaking, now, as in a palsy, +striving to control his rage. His fingers twitched spasmodically, and +his eyes burned like firecoals behind those gleaming lenses. + +Then, as he peered at her, he suddenly went even paler than before. +Through his heart a stab of understanding had all at once gone home. The +veils were lifted, and he knew the truth. + +Her manner in speaking of that unknown, wandering rescuer; the blush +that had burned from breast to brow, when he had mentioned the fellow; +her aversion for Waldron and her reticence in talking of the +accident--all this, and more, now surged on Flint's comprehension, +flooding his mind with light--with light and with terrible anger. + +And, losing all control, he took a step or two, and raised his shaking +hand. His big-knuckled finger, shaken in denunciation, was raised almost +in her face. Choking, stammering, he cried: + +"Ah! Now I know! Now, now I understand you!" + +Terrified, she retreated toward the door of the music-room. + +"Father, father! What makes you look so?" she gasped. "Oh, you have +never looked or spoken to me this way! What--what can it be?" + +"What can it be?" he mouthed at her. "You ask me, you hypocrite, when +you well know?" + +Suddenly she faced him, stiffening into pride and hard rebellion. + +"No more of that, father!" she exclaimed, her eyes blazing. "I am your +daughter, but you can't talk to me thus. You must not!" + +"Who--who are _you_ to say 'must not?'" he gibed, now wholly beside +himself. "You--you, who love a vagabond, a tramp, scum and off-scouring +of the gutter?" + +A strange, half-choking sound was his only answer. Then, with no word, +she turned away from him, biting her lip lest she answer and betray +herself. + +"Go!" he commanded, bloodless and quivering. "Go to your room. No more +of this! We shall see, soon, who's master of this house!" + +She was already gone. + +Old Flint stood there a moment, listening to her retreating footfalls on +the parquetry of the vast hall. Then, as these died he turned and +groped his way, as though blind, back to his chair, and fell in it, and +covered his eyes with both his shaking hands. + +For a long time he sat there, anguished and crucified amid all that +unmeaning luxury and splendor. + +At last he rose and with uncertain steps sought his own suite, +above-stairs. + +Billionaire and world-master though he was, that night he knew his heart +lay dead within him. He realized that all the fruits of life were Dead +Sea fruits, withered to dust and ashes on his pale and quivering lips. + + + + +CHAPTER XX. + +THE BILLIONAIRE'S PLOT. + + +He was aroused from this bitter revery by a rapping at the door. +Opening, he admitted Slawson, his valet. The servile one handed him a +letter with a special-delivery stamp on it. + +"Excuse me for intruding, sir," said Slawson, meekly smiling, "but I +knew this was urgent." + +"All right. Get out!" growled Flint. When the man was gone, he fortified +himself with a couple of morphine tablets, and ripped the long envelope. +It was from Slade, he knew, of the Cosmos Agency. + +With a rapid eye he glanced it over. Then uttering a sudden oath, he +studied it carefully, under the electric bulb beside his dressing-table. + +"Gods and devils!" he ejaculated. "What next?" + +The letter read: + + 142A Park Row, New York City, June 28, 1921. + + Isaac L. Flint, Esq., + + Idle Hour, Englewood, N. J. + + Dear Sir: + + Reporting in the matter of the young man who rescued your + daughter, in the recent accident, let me say I have discovered his + identity and some important facts concerning him. I take the + liberty of thinking that your intention of rewarding him, when + found, will be somewhat modified by this information. + + This man's name is Gabriel Armstrong, age 24. Occupation, expert + electrical and chemical worker. A Socialist and labor agitator, of + the most dangerous type, because intellectual and well-read. A man + of considerable power and influence in Socialist and labor + circles. Has been something of a wanderer. Is well known to union + men and Socialists, all over the country. A powerful speaker, and + resourceful. + + He was last employed at your testing-works on Staten Island. + Discharged by your Mr. Herzog, about two weeks ago for having, I + understand, been in possession of a certain red-covered note-book, + which Mr. Herzog found in his pocket. This book is the same which + you commissioned me to find, but which Mr. Herzog returned to you + before I undertook the search for it. The inference is that this + Armstrong is in possession of some private information about your + work, which may make him even more dangerous. Herzog informs me + that you and Mr. Waldron have had Armstrong blacklisted. But this + seems of no importance to the man, as he is clever and can live + anywhere, by casual labor and by working with the Socialists. + + Armstrong is now at Syracuse. He has been tramping the roads. Have + had two of my operators enter his room at the Excelsior Lodging + House and search, his effects, while he was taking a bath. Can find + nothing to give me any legal means of proceeding against him. He + has some ready money, so a vagrancy-charge will not hold. If you + wish me to resort to extreme measures to "get" him, kindly give me + carte blanche, and guarantee me protection in case of trouble. The + job can be done, but it may be risky, in view of his influence and + backing among the Socialists and labor people. Before proceeding + further I want to know how far you will support me. + + Am having him shadowed. He cannot get away. As yet he suspects + nothing. On receipt of your next, will take measures to put him + away for a few months. I know that, once he lands behind bars, his + finish can be easily arranged. + + Trusting this information will prove satisfactory to you, and + awaiting your further instructions, I am, + + Very truly yours, + + THE COSMOS AGENCY, + + Dillon F. Slade, Mgr. + +Old Flint read this extraordinary communication twice through, then, +raising his head, growled in his shrunken throat, for all the world like +a wild beast. His gold tooth, gleaming in the light, made his rictus of +passion more venomous, more malevolent still. + +"The--the Hell-hound!" he stammered, his eyes narrowed with hate and +rage. "Oh, wait! Wait till we land him! And this--_this_ is the devil, +the scum, that Kate, my daughter--" + +He could not finish; but, clutching at his sparse gray hair, fell to +pacing the floor and mouthing execrations. Had he been of the sanguine +manner of body, he must inevitably have suffered an apoplexy. Only his +spare frame and bloodless type, due to the drug, saved his life, at that +first shock of rage and hate. + +Grown calmer, presently, he took quick action. Seating himself at a desk +in the corner of his bed-chamber--a desk where some of his most +important private matters had been put through--he chose a sheet of +blank paper, with no monogram, and wrote: + + Take immediate action. Will back you to the limit, and beyond. Ten + thousand bonus if you land him behind bars inside a week. Stop at + nothing, but get results. F. + +This he folded and put in an envelope which he addressed to Slade, and +was about to seal, when another idea struck him. + +"By God!" he exclaimed, smiting the desk. "It won't do to have this just +some ordinary charge. The thing has got to be disgraceful, unpardonable, +hideous! + +"There are two things to be considered now. One is to 'get' him, in +connection with that red book of my plans--to head him off from making +any possible trouble in the development of the Air Trust. + +"The other is--Kate! Nothing catches a woman, like martyrdom. If +anything happens to this cur, and she suspects that I've done it, out of +spite, all Hell can't hold her. I know her well enough for _that_. No, +this fellow has got to be put away on some charge that will absolutely +and utterly ruin him, in her eyes, for good and all--that will blast and +wreck him, forever, with her. Something that, when I tell her, will fill +her with loathing and horror. Something that will cause a terrible and +complete revulsion of feeling in her, and bring her back to Waldron, as +to a strong refuge in time of trouble. Something that will crush and +quell her, utterly cure her of those idiotic, school-girl notions of +hers, and make her--as she should be--submissive to my will and my +demands!" + +He pondered a moment, an ugly, crafty smile on those old lips of his; +then, struck by sudden inspiration, laughed a dry, harsh laugh. + +"The very thing!" he exulted, with the mirth of a vulture that has just +found a peculiarly revolting mass of carrion. "Fool that I was, not to +have thought of it before!" + +Hastily he withdrew the letter from the envelope, opened it, and with +eager hand wrote three short sentences. He read these over, nodded +approval, and this time sealed and addressed the letter. Then he pushed +an electric button over the desk. + +"Have this letter carried to this address at once," he commanded +Slawson. "Mr. Dillon Slade, 432 Highland Avenue, Rutherford, N. J. +See? Special delivery won't do. Have Sanders take it at once, in the +racer. No answer required. And after you've seen it start on its way, +come back here. I want to go to bed." + +"Yes, sir. All right, sir," the valet bowed as he took the letter and +departed. + +Ten minutes later, he was back again, helping old Flint undress. + +Long after the Billionaire was in bed, in the big, luxurious room, with +its windows open toward the river--the room guarded all night by armed +men in the house and on the lawn outside--he lay there thinking of his +plot, chuckling to himself over its infernal cunning, and filled with +joy at the prospects now opening out ahead of him. + +"Two birds with one stone, this time, for sure," he pondered. "Ha! +They'll try to beat old Isaac Flint at this or any other game, will +they? Man or woman, I don't care which, they'll never get away with +it--never, so long as life and breath remain in me!" + +Then, soothed by these happy thoughts, and by a somewhat increased +dosage of his drug, the Billionaire gradually and contentedly fell +asleep, to dream of victory, and vengeance, and power. + +Not in weeks had he slumbered so peacefully. + +But for many hours after her father was asleep, Catherine sat at her +window, in a silk kimono, and with fevered pulses and dry eyes, with +throbbing heart and leaping pulses, thought long thoughts. + +Sleepless she sat there, counting the hours tolled from the church-spire +in the town, below. + +Morning still found her at the window, her brain afire, her heart laid +desolate and waste by the consuming struggle which, that night, had +swept and ravaged it. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI. + +GABRIEL, GOOD SAMARITAN. + + +On the evening of July third, a week later, Gabriel Armstrong found +himself at Rochester, having tramped the hundred miles from Syracuse, by +easy stages. During this week, old Flint took good care not to reopen +the subject of the break with Waldron; and his daughter, too, avoided +it. They two were apparently at an impasse regarding it. But Flint +inwardly rejoiced, knowing full well the plot now under way. And though +Waldron urged him to take some further action and force the issue, Flint +bade him hold his peace, and wait, telling him all would yet be well. + +Outwardly calmer, the old man was raging, within, more and ever more +bitterly, against Armstrong. On July first, Slade had reported in person +that his operators who were trailing the quarry had--in the +night--discovered in one of his pockets a maple leaf wrapped in a fine +linen handkerchief marked "C. J. F." Flint, recognizing his +daughter's initials, well-nigh burst a blood-vessel for wrath. But he +instructed Slade not to have the handkerchief abstracted from +Armstrong's possession. By no sign or hint must the victim be made aware +that he was being spied upon. When the final blow should fall, then +(reflected the Billionaire, with devilish satisfaction) all scores would +be paid in full, and more than paid. + +July third, then, found Gabriel at Rochester, now seventy-five or +eighty miles from Niagara Falls, his goal, where--he had already +heard--ground was being actually broken for the huge new power plant of +which he alone, of all outsiders, understood the meaning. Gabriel +counted on spending the Fourth at Rochester where a Socialist picnic and +celebration had been arranged. Ordinarily, he would have taken part in +the work and volunteered as a speaker, but now, anxious to keep out of +sight, he counted merely on forming one of the crowd. There could be +little danger, thought he, in such a mass. Despite the recent stringent +censorship and military rule of the district by the new Mounted Police, +a huge gathering was expected. The big railway and lake-traffic strikes, +both recently lost, had produced keen resentment, and, as political and +economic power had been narrowed here, as all over the country, in these +last few months of on-sweeping capitalist domination, the Socialist +movement had been growing ever more and more swiftly. + +"It will be worth seeing," thought Gabriel, as he stood outside the +lodging-house where he had taken a room for the night. The workers are +surely awakening, at last. The spirit I've been meeting, lately, is +uglier and more determined than anything I ever used to find, a year or +two ago. It seems to me, if conditions are like this all over the +country, the safety-valve is about ready to pop, and the masters had +better look out, or some of them are going to land in Hell! + +"Yes, I'll stop over here, one day, and look and listen. Sorry I can't +take part, but I mustn't. My game, now, is to travel underground as it +were. I've got a bigger job in view than soap-boxing, just _now_!" + +He ate a simple supper at an "Owl" lunch-cart, totally unaware that, +across the street, a couple of Cosmos men were waiting for him to come +out. And, after this, buying a Socialist paper, he strolled into Evans +Park to sit and read, a while, by the red light of the descending sun. + +Here he remained till dark, smoking his briar, watching the dirty, +ragged children of the wretched wage-slaves at play; observing the +exploited men and women on the park-benches, as they sought a little +fresh air and respite from toil; and pondering the problems that still +lay before him. At times--often indeed--his thoughts wandered to the +maple-grove and the old sugar-house, far away on the Hudson. Memories of +the girl would not be banished, nor longings for her. Who she might be, +he still knew not. Unwilling to learn, he had refrained from looking up +the number he had copied from the plate of the wrecked machine. He had +even abstained from reading the papers, a few days, lest he might see +some account of the accident. A strange kind of unwillingness to know +the woman's name possessed him--a feeling that, if he positively +identified her as one of some famous clan of robbers and exploiters, he +could no longer cherish her memory or love the thought of how they two +had, for an hour, sat together and talked and been good, honest friends. + +"No," he murmured to himself, "it's better this way--just to recall her +as a girl in need, a girl who let me help her, a girl I can always +remember with kind thoughts, as long as I live!" + +From his pocket he took the little handkerchief, which wrapped the +leaf, once part of her bed. A faint, elusive scent still hung about +it--something of her, still it seemed. He closed his eyes, there on the +hard park bench, and let his fancies rove whither they would; and for a +time it seemed to him a wondrous peace possessed him. + +"If it could only have been," he murmured, at last. "If only it could +be!" + +Then suddenly urged by a realization of the hopelessness of it all, he +stood up, pocketed the souvenirs of her again, and walked away in the +dusk; away, through the park; away, at random, through squalid, ugly +streets, where the first electric-lights were just beginning to flare; +where children swarmed in the close heat, wallowing along the gutters, +dodging teams and cars, as they essayed to play, setting off a few +premature firecrackers and mocking the police--all in all, leading the +ugly, unnatural, destructive life of all children of the city +proletariat. + +"Poor little devils!" thought Gabriel, stopping to observe a dirty group +clustered about an ice-cream cart, where cheap, adulterated, +high-colored stuff was being sold for a penny a square--aniline poison, +no doubt, and God knows what else. "Poor little kids! Not much like the +children of the masters, eh? with their lawns and playgrounds, their +beaches and flowery fields, their gardens and fine schools, their dogs, +ponies, autos and all the rest! Some difference, all right--and it takes +a thousand of _these_, yes, ten thousand, to keep one of _those_. +And--and _she_ was one of the rich and dainty children! Her beauty, +health and grace were bought at the price of ten thousand other +children's health, and joy and lives! Ah, God, what a price! What a +cruel, awful, barbarous price to pay!" + +Saddened and pensive, he passed on, still thinking of the woman he could +not banish from his mind, despite his bitterness against her class. + +So he walked on and on, now through better streets and now through +worse, up and down the city. + +Here and there, detonations and red fire marked the impatience of some +demonstrator who could not wait till midnight to show his ardent +patriotism and his public spirit by risking life and property. The +saloons were all doing a land-office business, with the holiday +impending and the thermometer at 97. Now and then, slattern women, in +foul clothes and with huge, gelatinous breasts, could be seen rushing +the growler, at the "family entrance" of some low dive. Even little +girls bore tin pails, for the evening's "scuttle o' suds" to be consumed +on roof, or in back yard of stinking tenement, or on some fire-escape. +The city, in fine, was relaxing from its toil; and, as the workers for +the most part knew no other way, nor could afford any, they were trying +to snatch some brief moment of respite from the Hell of their slavery, +by recourse to rough ribaldry and alcohol. + +Nine o'clock had just struck from the church-spires which mocked the +slums with their appeal to an impassive Heaven, when, passing a foul and +narrow alley that led down to the Genesee River, Gabriel saw a woman +sitting on a doorstep, weeping bitterly. + +This woman--hardly more than a girl--was holding a little bundle in one +hand. The other covered her face. Her sobs were audible. Grief of the +most intense, he saw at once, convulsed her. Two or three by-standers, +watching with a kind of pleased curiosity, completed the scene, most +sordid in its setting, there under the flicker of a gas-light on the +corner. + +"Hm! What now?" thought Gabriel, stopping to watch the little tragedy. +"More trouble, eh? It's trouble all up and down the line, for these poor +devils! Nothing but trouble for the slave-class. Well, well, let's see +what's wrong _now_!" + +Gabriel turned down the alley, drew near the little group, and halted. + +"What's wrong?" he asked, in the tone of authority he knew how to use; +the tone which always overbore his outward aspect, even though he might +have been clad in rags; the tone which made men yield to him, and women +look at him with trustful eyes, even as the Billionaire's daughter had +looked. + +"Search _me_!" murmured one of the men, shrugging his shoulders. "_I_ +can't git nothin' out o' her. She's been sittin' here, cryin', a few +minutes, that's all I know; an' she won't say nothin' to nobody. + +"Any of you men know anything about it?" demanded Gabriel, looking at +the rest. + +A murmur of negation was his only answer. One or two others, scenting +some excitement, even though only that of a distressed woman--common +sight, indeed!--lingered near. The little group was growing. + +Gabriel bent and touched the woman's shoulder. + +"What's the matter?" asked he, in a gentle voice. "If you're in trouble, +let me help you." + +Renewed sobs were her only answer. + +"If you'll only tell me what's the matter," Gabriel went on, "I'm sure +I can do something for you." + +"You--you can't!" choked the woman, without raising her head from the +corner of the ragged shawl that she was holding over her eyes. "Nobody +can't! Bill, he's gone, and Eddy's gone, and Mr. Micolo says he won't +let me in. So there ain't nothin' to do. Let me alone--oh dear, oh dear, +dear!" + +Fresh tears and grief. The little knot of spectators, still growing, +nodded with approval, and figuratively licked its lips, in satisfaction. +Somewhere a boy snickered. + +"Come, come," said Gabriel, bending close over the grief-stricken woman, +"pull together, and let's hear what the trouble is! Who's Bill, and +who's Eddy--and what about Mr. Micolo? Come, tell me. I'm sure I can do +something to straighten things out." + +No answer. Gabriel turned to the increasing crowd, again. + +"Any of you people know what about it?" he asked. + +Again no answer, save that one elderly man, standing on the steps beside +the woman, remarked casually: + +"I guess she's got fired out of her room. That's all I know." + +Gabriel took her by the arm, and drew her up. + +"Come, now!" said he, a sterner note in his voice. "This won't do! You +mustn't sit here, and draw a crowd. First thing you know an officer will +be along, and you may get into trouble. Tell me what's wrong, and I +promise to see you through it, as far as I can." + +She raised her face, now, and looked at him, a moment. Tear-stained and +dishevelled though she was, and soiled by marks of drink and +debauchery, Gabriel saw she must once have been very beautiful and still +was comely. + +"Well," he asked. "Aren't you going to tell me?" + +"Tell you?" she repeated. "I--oh, I can't! Not in front of all them +men!" + +"Very well!" said he, "walk with me, and give me your story. Will you do +that? At all events, you mustn't stay here, making a disturbance on the +highway. If you knew the police as well as I do, you'd understand that!" + +"You're right, friend," said she, hoarsely. "I'm on, now. Come along +then--I'll tell you. It ain't much to tell; but it's a lot to me!" + +She glanced at the curious faces of the watchers, then turned and +followed Gabriel, who was already walking up the alley, toward the +brighter lights of Stuart Street. For a moment, one or two of the men +hesitated as though undecided whether or not to follow after; but one +backward look by Gabriel instantly dispelled any desire to intrude. And +as Gabriel and the woman turned into the street, the little knot of +curiosity-seekers dissolved into its component atoms, and vanished. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII. + +THE TRAP IS SPRUNG. + + +"It--it's all along o' that there Mr. Micolo!" the woman suddenly +exclaimed, "Him an' his rent-bill! If he'd ha' let me in, there, +tonight, I could ha' got Ed's things an' then started to my sister's, +out to Scottsville. But he wouldn't. He claimed they was +two-seventy-five still owin', and I didn't have but about fifty cents, +so I couldn't pay it. So he wouldn't let me in. Natchally, anybody'd +feel bad, like that, 'specially when a man told 'em he'd hold their +kid's clothes an' things till they paid--which they couldn't!" + +"Naturally, of course," answered Gabriel, rather dazed by this sudden +burst of details, with which she seemed to think he should already be +quite familiar--details all sordid and commonplace, through which he +seemed to perceive, dimly as in a dark glass, some mean and ugly tragedy +of poverty and ignorance and sin. + +"Are you hungry?" he asked, all at once. "If so, come in here, where we +can talk quietly and get things straight." He pointed at a cheap +restaurant, across the street. + +"Hungry? Gord, yes!" she exclaimed. Only I--I wouldn't ask, if I fell on +the sidewalk! Fifty cents--yes, I got that much, but I been tryin' to +get enough to pay Mr. Micolo, an' get hold of Ed's things, an'--" + +"All right, forget that, now," commanded Gabriel. He took her by the +arm and piloted her across the thoroughfare, then into the dingy +hash-house and to a table in a far corner. A few minutes later, pretty +much everything on the bill of fare was before them on the greasy table. + +"Not a word till you're satisfied," directed Armstrong. "I'll just take +a little bread and coffee, to keep you company." + +The woman adequately proved her statement that she was hungry. Rarely +had Gabriel seen anybody eat with such ravenous appetite. He watched her +with satisfaction, and when she could consume no more, smiled as he +asked: + +"Now, then, feel better? If so, let's tackle the next problem. What's +your grief?" + +The woman stared at him a long moment before she made reply. Then she +exclaimed suddenly: + +"You ain't no kind of 'bull,' are you? Nor plain-clothes man?" + +Gabriel shook his head. + +"No," said he, "nothing of that kind. You can trust me. Let's have the +story." + +"Hm! It ain't much, I s'pose," she answered still half-suspiciously. +"Bill and me was livin' together, that's all. No, not married, nor +nothin'--but--" + +"All right. Go on." + +"That was last winter. When the kid happened--Ed, you know--Bill, he got +sore, an' beat it. Then I--I went on the street, to keep Ed. Nothin' +else to do, Mister, so help me, an'--" + +"Never mind, I understand," said Gabriel. "What next?" + +"And after that, I gets sick. _You_ know. Almost right away. So I has +to go to St. Luke's hospital. I leaves Ed with Mrs. McCane, at the same +house. That place in the alley, you know. Well, when I gets out, the +boy's dead. _An_' they never even tells me, till I goes back! An' I +can't even get his things. Because why? Mrs. McCane's gone, Gord knows +where, an' Mr. Micolo says I still owe two-seventy-five. I want to get +down there to Scottsville, to my sister's; but curse _me_ if I'll go +till I pay that devil an' get them clothes!" + +A sudden savage light in her blurred eyes betrayed the passion of the +mother-love, through all the filth and soilure of her degradation. +Gabriel felt his heart deeply moved. He bent toward her, across the +table, touched her hand and asked: + +"Will you accept five dollars, to pay this man and get you down to +Scottsville?" + +"Huh?" she queried, gazing at him with vacant, uncomprehending eyes. + +He repeated his query. Then, as he saw the slow tears start and roll +down her wan cheeks, he felt a greater joy within his breast than if the +world and all its treasures had been his. + +"Will I take it?" she whispered. "Gord, _will_ I? You bet I will! That +is, if I can have your name, an' pay it back some time?" + +He promised, and wrote it down for her, giving as his address Socialist +Headquarters in Chicago. Then, without publicity, he slipped a V into +her trembling hand. + +"Come on," said he. "_That's_ all settled!" + +He paid the check, and they went out, together. For a moment they stood +together, undecided, on the sidewalk. + +"Couldn't I get them things to-night, an' start?" asked she, eagerly. +"There's a train at 11:08, on the B. R. & P." + +"All right," he assented. "Can you see this Micolo, now? It's after +ten." + +"Oh, _that_ don't make no difference," she answered. "He runs a pawnshop +over here on Dexter Street, two blocks east. He'll be open till +midnight, easy, tomorrow bein' the Fourth." + +"Come on, then," said Gabriel. "I'll see you through the whole business, +and onto the train. Maybe I can help you, all along." + +Without another word she started, with Gabriel at her side. They +traversed the main street, two blocks, then turned to the left down a +narrower, darker one. + +"Here's Micolo's," said she, pausing at a doorway. Gabriel nodded. "All +right," he answered. He had not noted, nor did he dream, that, at the +corner behind them, two slinking, sneaking figures were now watching his +every move. + +The woman turned the knob, and entered. Gabriel followed. + +"It's on the second floor," said she. Gabriel saw a sign, on the +landing: "S. L. Micolo, Pawn Broker," and motioned her to precede +him. + +In a minute they had reached the upper hallway. The woman opened another +door. The room, inside, was dark. + +"This way," said she. "He's in the inside office, I guess. The light +must ha' gone out here, some way or other." + +Gabriel hesitated. Some inkling, some vague intuition all at once had +come upon him, that all was not well. At his elbow some invisible force +seemed plucking. "Come away! Come back, before it is too late!" some +ghostly voice seemed calling in his ear. + +But still, he did not fully understand. Still he remained there, his +mind obsessed by the plausibility of the woman's story and by the pity +he so keenly felt. + +And now he heard her voice again: + +"Mr. Micolo! Oh, Mr. Micolo! Where are you?" + +Striking a match, he advanced into the room. + +"Any gas here?" he asked, peering about for a burner. + +Suddenly he started with violent emotion. Behind him, in some +unaccountable way, the door had been closed. He heard a key turn, +softly. + +"What--what's this?" he exclaimed. He heard the woman moving about, +somewhere in the gloom. "See here!" he cried. "What kind of a--?" + +The match burned brightly, all at once. He peered about him, wide-eyed. + +"This is no office!" shouted he. "Here, you! What's the meaning of this? +This is a bed-room!" + +Sudden realization of the trap stunned and sickened him. + +"God! They've got me! Flint and Waldron--they've landed me, at last!" he +choked. "But--but not till I've broken a few heads, by God!" + +The match fell from his burnt fingers. Whirling toward the door, he +rained powerful kicks upon it. He would get out, he must get out, at all +hazards! + +Suddenly the woman began to scream, with harsh and piercing cries that +seemed to rip the very atmosphere. + +[Illustration: Aiming at the base of the skull she struck.] + +At the third scream, or the fourth, the key was turned and the door +jerked open. + +In its aperture, three men stood--the two who had been so long trailing +Gabriel, and a policeman, burly, red-jowled, big-paunched. + +Gabriel stared at them. His mouth opened, then closed again without a +word. As well for a trapped animal to make explanations to the Indian +hunter, as for him to tell these men the truth. The truth? _They_ knew +the truth; and they were there to crucify him. He read it in their +cruel, eager eyes. + +The woman had stopped screaming now, and was weeping with abandon, +pouring forth a tale of insults and abuse and robbery, with hysterical +sobs. + +Full in the faces of the three men Gabriel sneered. + +"You've done a good job of it, this time, you skunks!" he gibed. "I'm +on. You'll get me, in the end; but not just yet. The first man through +this door gets his head broken--and that goes, too!" + +With a snarl of "You damned white slaver!" the officer raised his +night-stick and hurled himself at Gabriel. + +Gabriel ducked and planted a terrific left-hander on the "bull's" ear. +Roaring, the majesty of the law careened against the bed, crashed the +flimsy thing to wreckage and went down. + +Then, fighting back into the gloom of the trap, Gabriel engaged the two +detectives. For a moment he held them. One went to the floor with an +uppercut under the chin; but came back. The other landed hard on +Gabriel's jaw. + +He turned to strike down, again, the first of the two. He heard the bed +creaking, and saw the policeman struggling to arise. In a whirlwind of +blows, the second detective flailed at him, striving to beat down his +guard and floor him with a vicious rib-jolt. + +"All's fair, here!" thought Gabriel, snatching up a chair. For a moment +he brandished it on high. With this weapon, he knew--though final defeat +was inevitable, when reinforcements should arrive--he could sweep a +clear space. + +Perhaps he might even yet escape! He heard feet trampling on the stairs, +and his heart died within him. Well, even though escape were impossible, +he would fight to a finish and die game, if die he must! + +Down swung the chair, and round, crashing to ruin as it struck the +policeman who was just getting to his feet again. Oaths, cries, screams +made the place hideous. Dust rose, and blood began to flow. + +Armed now with one leg of the chair, Gabriel retreated; and as he went, +he hurled the bitterness of all his scorn and hate upon these vile +conspirators. + +And as he flayed them with his tongue, he struck; and like Samson +against the Philistines, he did great execution. + +Like Samson, too, he lost his power through a woman's treachery. For, +even as the attackers seemed to fall back, shattered and at a loss +before such fury and tremendous strength, behind Gabriel the woman rose, +a laugh of malice on her lips, the policeman's long and heavy +night-stick in her hand. + +A moment she poised it, crouching as he--seeing her not--swung his +weapon and hurled his defiance at the baffled men in front. + +Then, aiming at the base of the skull, she struck. + +Sudden bright lights spangled the darkness, for Gabriel. Everything +whirled about, in dizzying confusion. A strange, far roaring sounded in +his ears. + +Then he fell; and oblivion took him to its blessed peace and rest; and +all grew still and black. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII. + +THE BEAST GLOATS. + + +"Fer Gawd's sake, let's have a light here, somebody!" panted the +dishevelled policeman. Outside, the ringing of a gong became audible. +Then came a clattering of hoofs, as the police-patrol, nicely-timed by +the conspirators, and summoned by a confederate, drew up at the box on +the corner. + +Somebody struck another match, and a raw gas-light flared. From the +hallway, two or three others crowded into the wrecked room. Disjointed +exclamations, oaths and curses intermingled with harsh laughter. + +The woman--Lillian Rafter, probably the finest actress and stool-pigeon +in the whole detective world of graft and crookedness--lighted a +cigarette at the gas-burner, and laughed with triumph. + +"Some make-up, eh kid?" she demanded of the taller detective, who was +now nursing a bad "shiner," as a black eye is known in the under-world, +and whose face was battered to a bleeding pulp. "Believe me, as a job, +this is some job! From start to finish, a pippin. He was bound to fall +for it though. No help for him. Even if he hadn't butted into the +'plant' we fixed for him in the alley, there, I could have braced him in +the street with my tale of woe. He was just bound to be 'it,' this time. +We had him going, all ways for Sunday!" + +Scornfully the woman Gabriel had befriended in her seeming misery, spat +at him as he lay there stunned and scarcely breathing on the dirty +floor. + +"And just pipe this, will you, too?" she exulted, holding up the +five-dollar bill he had given her. "And this?" She exhibited his name +and address, written on a card. "In his own writing, boys. As evidence +to hold him on a white slave charge, is this some evidence or isn't it?" + +"Oh, we'll hold him, all right!" growled the other detective, whose +right arm dangled limp, where the chair had struck him. "The ---- ---- +of a ----! He'll go up for a finif, a five-spot, or I'm a liar! And once +we get him behind bars, good-night!" + +He deliberately drew back his heavy boot and kicked Gabriel full in the +face. + +"You ---- ----!" he cursed. "Try to bean _me_, will you? Damn you! +You've made _your_ last soap-box spiel!" + +"Come on, now, boys, out with him, an' no more rag-chewin'!" the +policeman exclaimed. "Git him in the wagon, an' away, before a gang +piles in here! You, Caffery, take his feet. I'll manage his head. Jesus, +but he's some big guy, though, the ---- ---- of a ----!" + +Together, the battered policeman and the detective who still had some +strength left in him, raised Gabriel's limp body and carried it from the +room. The woman, meanwhile, stood there inhaling cigarette-smoke and +laughing viciously to herself. + +"You easy mutt!" she exclaimed. "Dead baby, room-rent due, wanted to get +home to sister--and you fell for that old gag with whiskers on it! +You're some wise guy all right, all right, I don't think. Well, as a +stall it was a beaut. And I must say I never screamed better in all my +life. And that wallop I handed out, was a peach. If I don't pull down +five hundred for this night's work--" + +"Shut up, you ----!" snarled Caffery, as he turned into the stairway. +"Keep that lip o' yours quiet, will you, or--" + +The woman stared at him a moment, then laughed insolently and snapped +her smoke-yellowed fingers at him in defiance. + +"Mind you show up in court, in the mornin'!" panted the officer, +staggering downstairs under the weight of Gabriel's huge shoulders. + +"Better arrest her now," suggested Caffery, "an' hold her." + +"You will, like Hell!" retorted the woman. + +"Shhh! In one door an' out the other," the second detective whispered in +her ear, as she stood there in the doorway. "I'll see to it you get +fifty extra for _that_!" + +"Oh, if that's the game, fine business!" she smiled. "Go to it--I'm your +huckleberry!" + +Thus it befell that, while a large and growing crowd observed, under the +arc-light on the corner--a crowd where no fewer than six reporters, all +duly tipped off in advance, were taking notes--Gabriel Armstrong, the +Socialist speaker and leader, was bundled, unconscious, into a patrol +wagon of the City of Rochester; and with him, a drunken-acting harlot, +babbling charges of white-slave extortion and violence against him; and +with them both, several witnesses, who would have sworn that Heaven was +Hell, for five dollars cash in hand. + +Thus was the stage set, for the next session of the honorable court. +Thus were the wires pulled. Thus, the prison doors were swung wide open, +and, above all, the honor and the reputation of a man swept to the +garbage-heaps of life. + +True, at the morrow's great mass-meeting, there were destined to be +protests and calls for investigation. The Socialist press was destined +to take it up, defend him and demand the truth. But, swamped by a +perfectly overwhelming capitalist press, not only naturally hostile but +in this case already heavily subsidized; shattered by the close-knit, +circumstantial evidence; hamstrung and hampered in every way by the +power of unlimited money and Tammany pull, the Socialists might as well +have tried to sweep back the sea with a broom as save this man from +legal crucifixion. Worse still, they themselves, and the beaten strikers +with whom they had been fraternizing, got a black eye in the affair; and +many an editorial column, many a pulpit, unctuously discoursed thereon. +Many an anti-Socialist thug and grafter, loud-mouthed and blatant, +bellowed revamped platitudes of "immorality" and "breaking up the home," +and the "nation of fatherless children," pointing at Gabriel Armstrong +as a shining example of Socialist hypocrisy and filth. + +Press, law, church, capitalism itself nailed this man and the movement +he stood for, to the cross. And the pimps and parasites of the private +detective agency chuckled in their well-paid glee. The woman, Gabriel's +betrayer, counted her "thirty pieces of silver" and laughed in the foul +dark. The police cut a fine melon secretly handed them by Flint; and so, +too, did the local papers and more than one local pulpit. + +So, in Gabriel's grief and woe and desolation, as he sat in his grim +cell with aching head, bruised face and bleeding heart, with all his +plans now broken, with the very soul within him dead--in this grief and +anguish, I say, the foul harpy-brood of Capitalism revelled and rioted +like maggots in carrion. + +None more viciously than old Flint, himself. None with more brutal joy, +more savage satisfaction. One of the culminant moments of his life, he +felt, was on the evening after the dastardly plot had been carried to +its putrid conclusion. + +Opening the Rochester "News-Intelligencer" which Slade had sent him, his +glittering eyes seemed to sparkle joy as a blue-penciled column met his +gaze. + +Eagerly he read it all, every word, and weighed it, and re-read it, as +men do when news is dear to their souls. Already, through the New York +papers he had got the essentials of the affair. Already, by long +distance 'phone he had received the outlines of the news from Slade, as +well as a code telegram of more than 500 words, giving him additional +details. But this paper especially pleased him. The other Rochester +sheets, which Slade would send as fast as they appeared, he already was +looking forward to, with keenest pleasure. + +"Ah! _This_ is what I call efficiency!" he exclaimed, settling himself +in his big chair, adjusting the pince-nez on his hawk-bill and preparing +to read the column for the third time. "The way this thing was planned +and carried out, and the manner in which Slade has managed to get it +played up in the papers, proves to me he's a general in his line, a true +Napoleon. I may safely intrust any affair of this sort to him and his +agency. No fee of his shall ever be questioned; and as for +bonuses--well, he shall have no reason to complain. An admirable man, in +every way--a wonderful organization! With men and agencies like _these_ +at work in our interests, what have we, really, to be uneasy about?" + +Smacking his mental lips, if I may be pardoned the phrase, he once more +slowly read the delightful, gratifying news: + + _SOCIALIST WHITE-SLAVER!_ + + _Rotten Affair Unearthed by Police!_ + + _Gabriel Armstrong, Socialist Leader, Caught With the Goods!!!_ + + Rochester, July 4. + + "In one of the most sensational raids ever made in this city, by + the vice squad, under the auspices of the Purity League, what is + believed to be a well-organized white-slave business was unearthed + last night. The leader and brains of the association, Gabriel + Armstrong, a Socialist speaker and worker of national prominence, + was arrested, and is now lodged in Police Headquarters, with + serious charges pending. + + "The arrest was made as a result of the keen work of Officer + Michael P. Duffey, sergeant of the vice squad. Hearing screams in + the assignation house at 42A Belding street, he made his way up + stairs, accompanied by two or three citizens. The screams were + coming from a room on the second floor. Duffey promptly battered + the door down only to be met by a furious assault from Armstrong, + who was intoxicated and extremely violent. + + "A savage hand-to-hand struggle took place, in which furniture was + broken, the policeman badly injured and two of the volunteers + knocked out. Armstrong was finally subdued, however, by the + jiu-jitsu method, in which Duffey is an expert, and was lodged in + the Central Station, together with the woman. + + "According to her statement, the man, Armstrong, had not only been + guilty of grossly immoral practices with her, but had also been + trying to force her to share with him the proceeds of her life of + shame, thus making out against him a clear case under the Mann + White-Slave Traffic law. She has material evidence of this + fact--money which he had given her, to finance her till she could + begin bringing in revenue to him, and also his name and address, + written by his own hand. A significant fact is that the address + given by this white slaver is Socialist headquarters, in Chicago. + The police are now working on the theory that the entire Socialist + organization is honeycombed with this traffic, and that the + Socialist movement is only a blind to cover a wholesale + distribution of women for immoral purposes. Drastic Federal action + against the Socialist Party is now being considered. + + "Still further and more sensational facts are expected to develop + at the preliminary hearing, which will take place tomorrow morning. + In case Armstrong is bound over to the Grand Jury, and convicted, + he may get a heavy fine and as much as five years in a Federal + penitentiary. He is described as being a surly, low type, reticent + and vindictive, of vicious characteristics and mentally defective. + The local Socialists have already taken up arms in his defense, as + was to be expected. + + "Interest is added to the case by the fact that Armstrong is known + to be the man who, at the time of the recent automobile accident to + Miss Catherine Flint--daughter of Isaac Flint, of Englewood, + N. J.--gave the alarm. A theory is now being formed that he + was, in some way, involved in a plot with Miss Flint's chauffeur to + wreck the machine and share a big reward for rescuing the girl. The + plot, however, evidently miscarried, for the chauffeur was killed, + and Armstrong, after giving the alarm, feared to divulge his + identity but fled in disguise. + + "Public interest is greatly aroused in this matter. And if, as now + seems positively certain, this arrest and forthcoming conviction + break up the vicious white-slave gang for some time operating in + Rochester and Ontario Beach, the public will have a still greater + debt of gratitude toward the Purity League, the Vice Squad and the + untiring efforts and bravery of Sergeant Duffey." + +"That, ah that," remarked old Flint, as he finished his last reading, +"is what I call literature! It may not be Scott or Shelley or Dickens, +but it's got far more than _they_ ever had--tremendous value to--er--to +the rightful masters of society. I dare say that this article and also +others like it that are bound to be printed during the trial and after, +will do more to secure our position in society than a whole army with +machine guns. Socialism, eh? After this campaign gets through, by God, +we'll sweep up the leavings in a dustpan and throw them out the window!" + +Again he surveyed the article, smiling thinly. + +"Literature, yes," he repeated. "The writer of those lines, and the +master-minds who engineered the whole affair, must and shall be +liberally rewarded. Editors, preachers, writers, they're all on our +side. All safe and sane--that is, nearly all--enough, at any event, to +assure our safety. I rejoice that I have lived to see this day!" + +He turned the sheets of the paper, to see if any other notice of the +affair was printed; and as he looked, he pondered. + +"Imagine the effect of this, on Kate!" thought he. "It will be just as I +planned it. Nothing will be left in her mind now, but loathing, hate and +rage against this man. In two days, she and Waldron will have patched up +their little difference, and all will be well. A master-stroke on my +part, eh? Yes, yes indeed, a master-stroke!" + +His eye caught another blue-pencilling. + +"Editorial, eh?" said he, adjusting his glasses. "Better and better! +This affair will sweep those troublemakers off the map, or I'm a +beggar!" + +Then, with the keenest of satisfaction, he focussed his attention on the +sapient editorial: + + _SOCIALISM UNVEILED_. + + The arrest and impending conviction of Gabriel Armstrong, the noted + Socialist leader, on a white-slave traffic charge, will do much to + set all sane thinkers right in regard to this whole matter of + Socialist ethics. Socialists, as we have all heard, contend that + their system of thought teaches a high and pure form of morality. + How will they square this assertion with the hard, cold facts, as + brought to light in this most revolting case? + + Much more seems to lie beneath the surface than at first sight + appears. Though we desire to suspend judgment until all the data + are known, it appears conclusively proved that Armstrong is but one + of a band of white-slavers operating through the organization of, + and with the consent of the Socialist party, or at least of its + responsible officials. + + If this prove to be the case, it will substantiate the suspicion + long felt in many quarters that this whole movement, ostensibly + political, is really a menace to the moral and social welfare of + the nation. A foreign importation, openly standing against the + home, the family and religion, may well be expected to foster such + crimes and to be a "culture-medium" for the growth of such vile + microbes as this man Armstrong, and others of his kind. + + Turn on the light! Bring the social antiseptics! Let all the facts + be established; and when known, if--as we anticipate--they prove + this nasty conspiracy, let us make an end, now and forever, to this + un-American, immoral and filthy thing, Socialism! To this object + this paper now and henceforth pledges its policy; and all decent + publications, all citizens who love their country, their God, their + homes, their flag, will join with it in a nation-wide crusade to + choke this slimy monster of Anarchy and Free-love, and fling it + back into the Pit where it belongs. + + Long live religion, purity and the flag! Down with Socialism! + +Flint regarded this masterpiece with an approving eye. Then, chuckling +to himself, he arose and with slow steps advanced toward the dining-room +where already Catherine was awaiting him. + +"Now," he murmured to himself, and smiled thinly, "now for a little +scene with Kate!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. + +CATHERINE'S SUPREME DECISION. + + +The meal was almost at an end--silently, like all their hours spent +together, now--before the old man sprang his _coup_. It was +characteristic of him to wait thus, to hold his fire till what he +conceived to be the opportune moment; never to act prematurely, under +any circumstances whatever. + +"By the way, Kate," he remarked, casually, when coffee had been served +and he had motioned the butlers out of the room, "by the way, I've been +rather badly disappointed, today. Did you know that?" + +"No, father," she answered. She never called him "daddy," now. "No, I'm +sorry to hear it. What's gone wrong?" + +He looked at her a moment before replying, as though to gauge her mind +and the effect his announcement might have. Very charming she looked, +that evening, in a crêpe de Chine gown with three-quarter lace sleeves +and an Oriental girdle--a wonderful Nile-green creation, very simple +(she had told herself) yet of staggering cost. A single white rose +graced her hair. The low-cut neck of the gown revealed a full, strong +bosom. Around her throat she wore a fine gold chain, with a French +20-franc piece and her Vassar Phi Beta Kappa key attached--the only +pendants she cared for. The gold coin spoke to her of the land of her +far ancestry, a land oft visited by her and greatly loved; the gold key +reminded her of college, and high rank taken in studies there. + +Old Flint noted some of these details as he sat looking at her across +the white and gleaming table, where silver and gold plate, cut glass and +flowers and fine Sèvres china all combined to make a picture of splendor +such as the average workingman or his wife has never even dreamed of or +imagined; a picture the merest commonplace, however, to Flint and +Catherine. + +"A devilish fine-looking girl!" thought he, eyeing his daughter with +approval. "She'd grace any board in the world, whether billionaire's or +prince's! Waldron, old man, you'll never be able to thank me +sufficiently for what I'm going to do for you tonight--never, that is, +unless you help me make the Air Trust the staggering success I think you +can, and give me the boost I need to land the whole damned world as my +own private property!" + +He chuckled dryly to himself, then drew the paper from his pocket. + +"Well, father, what's gone wrong?" asked Kale, again. "Your +disappointment--what was it?" + +She spoke without animation, tonelessly, in a flat, even voice. Since +that night when her father had tried to force Waldron upon her, and had +taunted her with loving the vagabond (as he said) who had rescued her, +something seemed to have been broken, in her manner; some spring of +action had snapped; some force was lacking now. + +"What's wrong with me?" asked Flint, trying to veil the secret malice +and keen satisfaction that underlay his speech. "Oh, just this. You +remember about a week ago, when we--ah--had that little talk in the +music room--?" + +"Don't, father, please!" she begged, raising one strong, brown hand. +"Don't bring that up again. It's all over and done with, that matter is. +I beg you, don't re-open it!" + +"I--you misunderstand me, my dear child," said Flint, trying to smile, +but only flashing his gold tooth. "At that time I told you I was looking +for, and would reward, if found, the--er--man who had been so brave and +quick-witted as to rescue you. You remember?" + +"Really, father, I beg you not to--" + +"Why not, pray?" requested Flint, gazing at her through his pince-nez. +"My intentions, I assure you, were most honest and philanthropic. If I +had found him--_then_--I'd have given him--" + +"Oh, but he wouldn't have taken anything, you see!" the girl +interrupted, with some spirit. "I told you that, at the time. It's just +as true, now. So please, father, let's drop the question altogether." + +"I'm sorry not to be able to grant your request, my dear," said the old +man, with hidden malice. "But really, this time, you must hear me. My +disappointment arises from the fact that I've just discovered the young +man's identity, and--" + +"You--you have?" Kate exclaimed, grasping the edge of the table with a +nervous hand. Her father smiled again, bitterly. + +"Yes, I have," said he, with slow emphasis, "and I regret to say, my +dear child, that my diagnosis of his character is precisely what I first +thought. Any interest you may feel in that quarter is being applied to a +very unworthy object. The man is one of my discharged employees, a +thorough rascal and hard ticket in every way--one of the lowest-bred and +most villainous persons yet unhung, I grieve to state. The fact that he +carried you in his arms, and that I owe your preservation to him, is one +of the bitterest facts in my life. Had it been any other man, no matter +of what humble birth--" + +"Father!" she cried, bending forward and gazing at him with strange +eyes. "Father! By what right and on what authority do you make these +accusations? That man, I know, was all that innate gentleness and +upright manhood could make any man. His nobility was not of wealth or +title, but of--" + +"Nonsense!" Flint interrupted. "Nobility, eh? Read _that_, will you?" + +Leering, despite himself, he handed the paper across the table to his +daughter. + +"Those marked passages," said he. "And remember, this is only the +beginning. Wait till all the facts are known, the whole conspiracy laid +bare and everything exposed to public view! _Then_ tell me, if you can, +that he is poor but noble! Bah! Sunday-school dope, that! Noble, yes!" + +Catherine sat there staring at the paper, a minute, as though quite +unable to decipher a word. Through a kind of wavering mist that seemed +to swim before her eyes, she vaguely saw the words: "Socialist White +Slaver!" but that these bore any relation to the man she remembered, +back there at the sugar-house, had not yet occurred to her mind. She +simply could not grasp the significance of the glaring headlines. And, +turning a blank gaze on her father's face, she stammered: + +"Why--why do you give me this? What has this got to do with--_me_? With +_him_?" + +"Everything!" snarled the Billionaire, violently irritated by his +daughter's seeming obtuseness. "Everything, I tell you! That man, that +strong and noble hero of yours, is this man! This white slaver! This +wild beast--this Socialist--this Anarchist! Do you understand now, or +don't you? Do you grasp the truth at last, or is your mind incapable of +apprehending it?" + +He had risen, and now was standing there at his side of the table, +shaking with violent emotion, his glasses awry, face wrinkled and drawn, +hands twitching. His daughter, making no answer to his taunts, sat with +the paper spread before her on the table. A wine glass, overset, had +spilled a red stain--for all the world like the workers' blood, spilled +in war and industry for the greater wealth and glory of the masters--out +across the costly damask, but neither she nor Flint paid any heed. + +For he was staring only at her; and she, now having mastered herself a +little, though her full breast still rose and fell too quickly, was +struggling to read the slanderous lies and foul libels of the +blue-penciled article. + +Silently she read, paling a little but otherwise giving no sign to show +her father how the tide of her thought was setting. Twice over she read +the article; then, pushing the paper back, looked at old Flint with eyes +that seemed to question his very soul--eyes that saw the living truth, +below. + +"It is a lie!" said she, at last, in a grave, quiet voice. + +"What?" blurted the old man. "A--a lie?" + +She nodded. + +"Yes," said she. "A lie." + +Furious, he ripped open the paper, and once more shoved it at her. + +"Fool!" cried he. "Read _that_!" And his shaking, big-knuckled finger +tapped the editorial on "Socialism Unveiled." + +"No," she answered, "I need read no more. I know; I understand!" + +"You--you know _what_?" choked Flint. "This is an editorial, I tell you! +It represents the best thought and the most careful opinion of the +paper. And it condemns this man, absolutely, as a criminal and a menace +to society. It denounces him and his whole gang of Socialists or +Anarchists or White-slavers--they're all the same thing--as a plague to +the world. That's the editor's opinion; and remember, he's on the +ground, there. He has all the facts. You--_you_ are at a distance, and +have none! Yet you set up your futile, childish opinion--" + +"No more, father! No more!" cried Catherine, also standing up. She faced +him calmly, coldly, magnificently. "You can't talk to me this way, any +more. Cannot, and must not! As I see this thing--and my woman's +intuition tells me more in a minute than you can explain away in an +hour--this fabrication here has all, or nearly all, been invented and +carried out by you. For what reason? This--to discredit this man! To +make me hate and loathe him! To force me back to Waldron. To--" + +"Stop!" shouted the old man, in a well-assumed passion. "No daughter of +mine shall talk to me this way! Silence! It is monstrous and +unthinkable. It--it is horrible beyond belief! Silence, I tell +you--and--" + +"No, father, not silence," she replied, with perfect poise. "Not +silence now, but speech. Either this thing is true or it is false. In +either case, I must know the facts. The papers? No truth in _those_! The +finding of the courts? today, they are a by-word and a mockery! All I +can trust is the evidence of my own senses; what I hear, and feel, and +see. So then--" + +"Then?" gulped the Billionaire, holding the back of his chair in a +trembling grasp. + +"Just this, father. I'm going to Rochester, myself, to investigate this +thing, to see this man, to hear his side of the story, to know--" + +"Do that," cried Flint in a terrible voice, "and you never enter these +doors again! From the minute you leave Idle Hour on that fool's errand, +my daughter is dead to me, forever!" + +Swept clean off his feet by rage, as well as by the deadly fear of what +might happen if his daughter really were to learn the truth, he had lost +his head completely. + +With quiet attention, the girl regarded him, then smiled inscrutably. + +"So it be," she replied. "Even though you disinherit me or turn me off +with a penny, my mind is made up, and my duty's clear. + +"While things like these are going on in the world, outside, I have no +right to linger and to idle here. I am no child, now; I have been +thinking of late, reading, learning. Though I can't see it all clearly, +yet, I know that every bite we eat, means deprivation to some other +people, somewhere. This light and luxury mean poverty and darkness +elsewhere. This fruit, this wine, this very bread is ours because some +obscure and unknown men have toiled and sweat and given them to us. Even +this cut glass on our table--see! What tragedies it could reveal, could +it but speak! What tales of coughing, consumptive glass-cutters, bending +over wheels, their lungs cut to pieces by the myriad spicules of sharp +glass, so that we, we of our class, may enjoy beauty of design and +coloring! And the silken gown I wear--that too has cost--" + +"No more! No more of this!" gurgled old Flint, now nearly in apoplexy. +"I deny you! I repudiate you, Anarchist that you are! Go! Never come +back--never, never--!" + +Stumbling blindly, he turned and staggered out of the room. She watched +him go, nor tried to steady his uncertain steps. In the hallway, +outside, she heard him ring for Slawson, heard the valet come, and both +of them ascend the stairs. + +"Father," she whispered to herself, a look of great and pure spiritual +beauty on her noble face, "father, this had to come. Sooner or later, it +was inevitable. Whatever you have done, I forgive you, for you _are_ my +father, and have surely acted for what you think my interest. + +"But none the less, the end is here and now. Between you and me, a great +gulf is fixed. And from tonight I face the world, to battle with it, +learn from it, and know the truth in every way. Enough of this false, +easy, unnatural life. I cannot live it any longer; it would crush and +stifle me! Enough! I must be free, I shall be free, to know, and dare, +and do!" + +That night, having had no further speech with old Flint, Kate left Idle +Hour, taking just a few necessities in a suit-case, and a few dollars +for her immediate needs. + +Giving no explanation to maid, valet or anyone, she let herself out, +walked through the great estate and down Englewood Avenue, to the +station, where she caught a train for Jersey City. + +The midnight special for Chicago bore her swiftly westward. No sleeping +car she took, but passed the night in a seat of an ordinary coach. Her +ticket read "Rochester." + +The old page of her Book of Life was closed forever. A new and better +page was open wide. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV. + +THROUGH STEEL BARS. + + +True to her plan, Catherine ended her journey at Rochester. She engaged +a room at a second-rate hotel--marvelling greatly at the meanness of the +accommodations, the like of which she had never seen--and, at ten +o'clock of the morning, appeared at the Central Police Station. The +bundle of papers in her hand indicated that she had read the latest lies +and venom poured out on Gabriel's defenseless head. + +The haughty, full-fed sergeant in charge of the station made some +objections, at first, to letting her see Gabriel; but the tone of her +voice and the level look of her gray eye presently convinced him he was +playing with fire, and he gave in. Summoning an officer, he bade the man +conduct her. Iron doors opened and closed for her. She was conscious of +long, ill-smelling, concrete-floored corridors, with little steel cages +at either side--cages where hopeless, sodden wrecks of men were +standing, or sitting in attitudes of brutal despair, or lying on foul +bunks, motionless and inert as logs. + +For a moment her heart failed her. + +"Good Lord! Can such things be?" she whispered to herself. "So +this--this is a police station? And real jails and penitentiaries are +worse? Oh, horrible! I never dreamed of anything like this, or any men +like these!" + +The officer, stopping at a cell-door and banging thereon with some +keys, startled her. + +"Here, youse," he addressed the man within, "lady to see youse!" + +Catherine was conscious that her heart was pounding hard and her breath +coming fast, as she peered in through those cold, harsh metal bars. For +a minute she could find no thought, no word. Within, her eyes--still +unaccustomed to the gloom--vaguely perceived a man's figure, big and +powerful, and different in its bearing from those other cringing +wretches she had glimpsed. + +Then the man came toward her, stopped, peered and for a second drew +back. And then--then she heard his voice, in a kind of startled joy: + +"Oh--is it--is it _you_?" + +"Yes," she answered. "I must see you! I must talk with you, again, and +know the truth!" + +The officer edged nearer. + +"Youse can talk all y' want to," he dictated, hoarsely, "but don't you +pass nothin' in. No dope, nor nothin', see? I'll stick around an' watch, +anyhow; but don't try to slip him no dream powders or no 'snow.' 'Cause +if you do--" + +"What--what _on_ earth are you talking about?" the girl demanded, +turning on the officer with absolute astonishment. But he, only winking +wisely, repeated: + +"You heard me, didn't you? No dope. I'm wise to this whole game." + +At a loss for his meaning, yet without any real desire to fathom it, +Kate turned back toward Gabriel. + +A moment they two looked at each other, each noting any change that +might have taken place since that wonderful hour in the sugar-house, +each hungering and thirsting for a sight of the other's face. In her +heart, already Kate knew as well as she knew she was alive, that this +man was totally innocent of the foul charges heaped upon him. And so she +looked at him with eyes wherein lay no reproach, no doubt and no +suspicion. And, as she looked, tears started, and her heart swelled +hotly in her breast; for he was bruised and battered and a helpless +captive. + +"He, caged like a trapped animal!" her thought was. "He, so strong, and +free, and brave! Oh, horrible, horrible!" + +He must have read something of this feeling, in her face; for now, +coming close to the bars, he said in a low tone: + +"Girl--your name I don't know, even yet--girl, you mustn't pity me! +That's _one_ thing I can't have. I'm here because the master class is +stronger than my class, the working class. Here, because I'm dangerous +to that master class. This isn't said to make myself out a martyr. It's +only to make you see things right. I'm not complaining at this plight. +I've richly earned it--under Capitalism. So, then, _that's_ settled. + +"And now, what's more important, tell me how _you_ are! And did your +wound cause you much trouble? I confess I've passed many an anxious +hour, thinking of your narrow escape and of your injury. It wasn't too +bad, was it? Tell me!" + +"No," she answered, still holding to the bars, for she somehow felt +quite unaccountably weak. "It wasn't very bad. There's hardly any scar +at all--or won't be, when it's fully healed. But all this is trifling, +compared to what _you've_ suffered and are suffering. Oh, what a +horrible affair! What frightful accusations! Tell me the truth, +Boy--how, why could--?" + +He looked at her a moment, in silence, noting her splendid hair and eyes +and mouth, the firm, well-moulded chin, the confident and self-reliant +poise of the shapely head; and as he looked, he knew he loved this +woman. He understood, at last, how dear she was to him--dearer than +anything else in all the world save just his principles and stern life +work. He comprehended the meaning of all, his dreams and visions and +long thoughts. And, caring nothing for consequences, unskilled in the +finesse of dealing with women, acting wholly on the irresistible +impulses of a heart that overflowed, he looked deep into those gray eyes +and said in a tone that set her heart-strings vibrating: + +"Listen! The truth? How could I tell you anything else? I know not who +you are, and care not. That you are rich and powerful and free, while I +am poor and in captivity, means nothing. Love cares not for such +trifles. It dares all, hopes all, trusts all, believes all--and is +patient in adversity." + +"Love?" she whispered, her face paling. "How do you dare to--?" + +"Dare? Because my heart bids me. And where it bids, I care not for +conventions or consequences!" He flung his hand out with a splendid +gesture, his head high, his eyes lustrous in the half-light of the cell. +"Where it leads, I have to follow. That is why I am a Socialist! That is +why I am here, today, outcast and execrated, a prisoner, in danger of +long years of living death in the pestilential tomb of some foul +penitentiary!" + +"You're here because--because you are a Socialist?" she asked. + +He nodded. + +"Yes," said he. "I tried to help a suffering, outcast woman--or one who +posed as such. And she betrayed me to my enemies. And so--" + +"There _was_ a woman in this affair, then?" Catherine queried with +sudden pain. "The newspapers haven't made the story _all_ up out of +whole cloth?" + +"No. There _was_ a woman. A Delilah, who delivered me into the hands of +the Philistines, when I tried to help her in what she lied in telling me +was her need. Will you hear the story?" + +Still very pale, she formed a half-inarticulate "Yes!" with her full +lips. Then, seeming to brace herself by a tighter clasp on the hard +steel grating, she listened while he spoke. + +Earnestly, honestly and with perfect straightforwardness, omitting +nothing, adding nothing, he gave her the narrative of that fatal night's +events, from the first moment he had laid eyes on the +wonderfully-disguised woman, till her cudgel-blow had laid him senseless +on the floor. + +He told her the part that every actor therein had played; how the whole +drama had been staged, to dishonor and convict him, to railroad him to +the Pen for a long term, perhaps to kill him. He spoke in a low voice, +to prevent the watching officer from overhearing; and as he talked, he +thanked his stars that in all this network of conspiracy and crime +against the Party and against himself, his captors had not yet placed +him incommunicado. For some reason--perhaps because they thought their +case against him absolutely secure and wanted to avoid any appearance of +unfairness or of martyrizing him--this restriction had not yet been laid +upon him. So now his message of the truth could reach the ears of her +who, more than all the world beside, had grown dear to him and precious +beyond words. + +He told her, then, not only the story of that night, but also all that +had since happened--the newspaper attacks on him and on the Party; the +deliberate attempt to poison the community and the nation against him; +the struggle to fix a foul and lasting blot upon his name, and ruin him +beyond redemption. + +"And why, all this?" he added, while she--listening so intently that she +hardly breathed--knew that he spoke the living, vital truth. "Why this +persecution, this plotting, this labor and expense to 'get' me. Do you +want to know?" + +"Yes, tell me!" she whispered. "I don't understand. I can't! It--it all +seems so horrible, so unreal, so--so different from what I've always +believed about the majesty and purity of the law! Can these things be, +indeed?" + +He laughed bitterly. + +"Can they?" he repeated. "When you see that they _are_, isn't that +answer enough? And the reason of it all is that I'm a Socialist and know +certain secrets of certain men, which--if I should tell the +world--might, nay, surely would precipitate a revolution. So, these men, +and the System behind them, have tried to discredit me by this foul +charge. After this, if the charge sticks, I may shout my head off, +exposing what I know; and who will listen? You know the answer as well +as I! Do I complain? No, not once! What I must suffer, for this +wondrous Cause, is not a tenth what thousands suffer every day, in +silence and high courage. What has happened to me, personally, is but +the merest trifle beside what has already happened to thousands, +fighting for life and liberty, for wife and home and children; for the +right to work and live like men, not beasts!" + +"You mean the--the working class?" she ventured, wonderingly. "Is this +outrage really a minor one, compared with what they, who feed and warm +and carry the whole world, have to suffer? Tell me, for I--God help me, +I am ignorant! I am beginning to see, to half-see, awful, dim, ghostly +shapes of huge, unspeakable wrongs. Tell me the truth about all this, as +you have told it about yourself--and let me know!" + +Then Gabriel talked as never he had talked before. To this, his audience +of one, there in the dirty and ill-smelling police station, he unfolded +the sad tale of the disinherited, the enslaved, the wretched, as never +to a huge, and spell-bound audience in hall or park or city street. His +eloquence, always convincing, now became sublime. + +With master strokes he painted vast outlines of the whole sad +picture--the System based on robbery and fraud and exploitation; its +natural results in millionaire and tramp and harlot and degenerate; the +crime of armies of unemployed and starving men, of millions of women +forced into the factories and shops, there to compete with men and lower +wages and lose their finest feminine attributes in the sordid and +heartless drudging for a pittance. + +He told her of child slavery, and brought before her eyes the pictures +he himself had seen, of the pale, stunted little victims of Mammon's +greed, toiling by day and night in stifling, dangerous mines; in the +Hell-glare of the glass-factories; in the hand-bruising, +soul-obliterating Inferno of the coal-breakers; in the hot, linty, +sickening atmosphere of the southern cotton-mills. And as he talked, she +saw for the first time the figures of these bowed and bloodless little +boys and girls, giving their lives drop by drop, and cough by cough, +that _she_ might have purple and fine linen and the rich, soft, easy +paths of life. + + * * * * * + +Then, pausing not, he spoke to her of white slavery, of girls and women +by the uncounted thousand forced to barter their own bodies for a +mockery of life; and, stinging as a nagaika, he laid the lash of blame +on Capitalism, evil cause of an evil and rotten fruit, of disease and +crime, and misery, and death. He told her of political corruption beyond +belief; of cheating, lying, trickery and greed, for power. Of war, he +told her, and made all its inner, hideous motives clear. She seemed +verily to see the trenches, the "red rampart's slippery edge," the +spattered blood and brains and all the horror of Hell's nethermost +infamy--and then the blasted, wrecked and wasted homes, the long trail +of mourning and of hopeless ruin--the horror of this crime of crimes, +all for profit, all for gold and markets, all for Capitalism! + +And then, while the girl stood there listening, spell-bound by her first +insight, her first understanding of the true character of this, our +striving, slaving world, held by a few for their own inordinate pride +and power, the man's voice changed. + +With new intonations and a deeper tone, he launched into some outlines +of the great hope, the splendid vision, the Wondrous Ideal--Socialism, +the world-salvation. + +Sentence by sentence, imagery of this vast, noble thought flowed from +his inspired lips. Clearly he showed this woman all the causes of the +world's travail and pain; and clearly made her see that only in one way, +only through the ownership of the world by the world's children as a +whole, could peace and justice, life and joy and plenty and the New Time +come to pass, dreamed of and yearned for by many sages and prophets, and +now close at hand on the very threshold of reality! + +Socialism! It leaped from his spirit like a living flame, consuming +dross and waste and evil, lighting up the future with its shining +beacon, its message of hope to the hopeless, of rest and cheer and peace +to all who labored and were heavy laden. + +Socialism! The glory of the vision seemed to blind and dazzle Catherine. +In its supernal light, things grievous to be understood and borne were +now made clear. For the first time in all her life, the woman saw, and +knew, and grasped the truths of this strange nexus of conflict, pain and +sorrow, that we know as our existence. + +"Socialism! The Hope of the World!" Gabriel finished. "And for this, and +for what I know about its enemies, I stand here in this cell and may yet +go to a living death. This is my crime, and nothing else--this battle +for the freedom and the joy of the world--this struggle against the +powers of ignorance and darkness, priestcraft and greed, lust, treachery +and foulness, cruelty and hate and war! This, and this only. You have +heard me. I have spoken!" + +He fell silent, crossed his arms upon the bars of the cage that pent +him, and laid his head upon them with a motion of weariness. + +Something strangely stirred the heart of the woman. Her hand went out +and touched his thick, black hair. + +"Be of good cheer," she whispered. "Though I am ignorant and do not +fully understand, as yet, some glimmer of the light has reached my eyes. +I can learn, and I _will_ learn, and dare, and do! All my life I have +eaten the bread of this bitter slavery, taken the thing I had no right +to take, unknowingly wielded the lash on bleeding backs of men and women +and children. + +"All my life have I, in ignorance and idleness, done these things. But +never shall I do them again. That is all past and gone, an evil dream +that is no more. From now, if you will be patient and forgive and teach +me, I will stand with you and yours, and glory in the new-found strength +and majesty of this supreme ideal!" + +He made no answer, save to reach one hand to her, through the bars. +Their hands met in a long, clinging tension. The policeman, somewhat +down the corridor, moved officiously in their direction. + +"Here, now, none o' that!" he blurted. "Break away! An' say, time's up. +Yuh stayed too long, miss, as it is!" + +Their hands parted. Still Gabriel did not look up. + +"Are--are you coming back again?" he asked. + +"Yes, Gabriel. Tomorrow." + +"And will you tell me then who you are?" + +"I'll tell you now, if you want to know." + +"I do," he answered, and raised his head. Their eyes met, steadily. "I +do, now that you too have seen the light, and that you understand. Tell +me, who are you?" + +A moment's pause. + +Then, facing him, she answered: + +"I am Catherine Flint, only daughter of Isaac Flint, the Billionaire!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI. + +"GUILTY." + + +Speechless and dazed, Gabriel stared at her as though at some strange +apparition. + +"Daughter of--of Isaac Flint?" he stammered, clinging to the bars. + +"Come, come, lady, yuh can't stay no longer!" the officer again +insisted, tapping her on the shoulder. "Yuh'd oughta been out o' here +ten minutes ago! No, nuthin' doin'!" he concluded, as she turned to him +appealingly. "Not today! Time's up an' more than up!" + +Catherine stretched out her hand to Gabriel, in farewell. He took it, +silently. + +"Good-bye!" said she. "Until I come again, good-bye. Keep up a stout +heart, for I am with you. We--we _can't_ lose. We shall win--we _must_ +win! Don't condemn me for being what I am and who I am, Gabriel. Only +think what--with your help--I may yet be! And now again, good-bye!" + +Their hands parted. Gabriel, still silent, stood there in his cell, +watching her till she vanished from his sight down the long corridor of +grief and tears. The officer, winking wisely to himself, thrust his +tongue into his cheek. + +"Daughter of Isaac Flint, th' Billionaire!" he was thinking, with +derision. "Oh, yes, billionaires' daughters would be visitin' Socialists +an' bums an' red-light con-workers like this geezer. Oh yes, sure, sure +they would--I should worry!" + +Which mental attitude was fortunate, indeed; for it, and it alone, +preserved the girl from a wild blare of newspaper notoriety. Had the +truth been known, who could have imagined the results? + +For a long time after the girl had departed, Gabriel sat there in his +cell, motionless and sunk in deepest thought. His emotions passed +recording. That this woman, his ideal, his best-beloved, the cherished, +inmost treasure of his heart and soul--she whom he had rescued, she who +had lain in his arms and shared with him that unforgettable hour in the +old sugar-house--should now prove to be the daughter of his bitterest +enemy, surpassed belief and stunned all clear understanding. + +Flint! The very name connoted, for Gabriel, all that was cruel and +rapacious, hateful, vicious and greedy; all that meant pain and woe and +death to him and his class. Visions of West Virginia and Colorado rose +before his mind. He heard again the whistle of the "Bull Moose Death +Special" as it sped on its swift errand of barbarism up Cabin Creek, +hurling its sprays of leaden death among the slaves of this man and his +vulturine associates. + +Flint! He whispered the name; and now he seemed to see the burning tents +at Ludlow; the fleeing women and children, shot down by barbarous thugs +and gunmen, ghouls in human form! He saw the pits of death, where the +charred bodies of innocent victims of greed and heartless rapacity lay +in mute protest under the far Colorado sky. And more he saw, east and +west, north and south, of this man's inhuman work; and his thoughts, +projected into the future, dwelt bitterly on the Air Trust now already +under way--the terrible, coming slavery which he, Gabriel, had struggled +to checkmate, only to find himself locked like a rat in a steel trap! + +"And this woman," he groaned in agony of soul, "this woman, all in all +to me, is--is _his_ daughter!" + +Flinging himself upon his hard and narrow bunk, he buried his head in +his powerful arms, and tried to blot out thought from his fevered brain; +but still the current ran on and on and on, endlessly, maddeningly. And +to the problem, no answer seemed to come. + +"She must know who I am," he pondered. "Even if her father has not told +her, the papers have. True, she doesn't believe the infamous charge +against me; but what then? Can she, on the other hand, believe the +truth, that her father has conspired with Slade and those Cosmos thugs, +and with the press and courts and the whole damnable prostituted system, +to suppress and kill me? + +"Can she believe her father guilty of all that? And of all the horrors +of this capitalist Hell, that I have told her about? No! Human nature is +incapable of such vast turnings from all the habits and environments of +a lifetime. In her veins flows the blood of that arch-criminal, Flint. +Her thoughts must be, to some extent, his thoughts. She must share his +viewpoint, and be loyal to him. After this first flush of reaction +against her father, she will go back to him. It is inevitable. Betwixt +her and me is fixed a boundless space, wider than Heaven and earth. She +is one pole, and I the other. If I have any strength or resolution or +philosophy, now is the hour for its trial. + +"This woman must be, shall be put away from every thought and wish and +hope. And the word FINIS must be written at the end of the one brief +chapter where our life-stories seem to have run along together in a +false harmony and a fictitious peace!" + +Thus pondered Gabriel, in the gloom of his harsh cell, branded with +crime and writhing in the agony of soul that only those who love +hopelessly can ever know. + +And Catherine, what of her? What were her thoughts, emotions, +inspirations as--seeming to live in a dream, with Gabriel's eloquence +and the new vision of a better, saner, kindlier world shining through +her soul--she made her way back to the dingy hotel where now, shabby as +it was, she felt she had no right to stay, while others, homeless, +walked the brutal streets? + +Who shall know them? Who shall tell? A blind man, suddenly made to see, +can find no words to express the wonder and bright glory of that sudden +sight. A deaf man, regaining his lost sense, cannot describe the sudden +burst of sound that fills the new, strange world wherein he finds +himself. So, now, this cultured, gently bred woman, for the first time +in her life understanding the facts, glimpsing the tragedy and grasping +the answer to it all, felt that no words could compass her strange +exultation and enlargement. + +"It--it's like a chrysalis emerging into the form of a light, swift +butterfly!" she pondered, as, back in her room once more, she prepared +to write two letters. "Just for the present, I can't understand it all. +I don't know, yet, whether I'm worthy to be a Socialist, to be one of +that company of earnest, noble men and women striving for life and +liberty and joy for all the world. But with the help of the man I trust +and honor and believe in, and--and love--perhaps I may yet be. God +grant it may be so!" + +She thought, a few minutes more, her face lighted by an inner radiance +that made its beauty spiritual and pure and calm. Then, having somewhat +composed her thoughts, she wrote this letter to Maxim Waldron: + + My Dear Wally: + + I am writing you without date or place, just as I shall write my + father, because whatever happens, I insist that you two let me go + my way in peace, without trying to find, or hamper, or importune + me. My mind is fully made up. Nothing can change it. We have come + to the parting of the ways, forever. + + Though I may feel bitterly toward you for what I now understand as + your harsh and cruel attitude toward the world, and the rôle you + play as an exploiter of human labor, I shall not reproach you. You + simply cannot see these things as I have come to see them since my + feet have been set upon the road toward Socialism. Don't start, + Wally--that's the truth. Perhaps I'm not much of a Socialist yet, + because I don't know much about it. But I am learning, and shall + learn. My teacher is the best one in the world, I'm sure; and added + to this, all my natural energy and innate radicalism have flamed + into activity with this new thought. So, you see, the past is even + more effectively buried than ever. How could anything ever be + possible, now, between you and me? + + Cease to think of me, Wally. I am gone out of your life, for all + time, as out of that whole circle of false, insincere, wicked and + parasitic existence that we call "society." That other world, where + you still are, shall see me no more. I have found a better and a + nobler kind of life; and to this, and to all it implies, I mean to + be forever faithful. I beg you, never try to find me or to answer + this. + + Good-bye, then, forever. + + Catherine. + +After having read this over and sealed it, she wrote still another: + + Dear Father: + + It is hard to write these words to you. I owe you a debt of + gratitude and love, in many ways; yet, after all, your will and + mine conflict. You have tried to force me to a union abhorrent and + impossible to me. My only course is this--independence to think, + and act, and live as I, no longer a child but a grown woman, now + see fit. + + I shall never return to you, father. Life means one thing to you, + another to me. You cannot change; I would not, now, for all the + world. I must go my way, thinking my own thoughts, doing my own + work, living up to my own ideals, whatever these may be. Your money + cannot lure me back to you, back to that old, false, sheltered, + horrible life of ease and idleness and veiled robbery! The skill + you have given me as a musician will open out a way for me to earn + my own living and be free. For this I thank you, and for much else, + even as I say good-bye to you for all time. + + I have written Wally. He will tell you more about me, and about + the change in my views and ambitions, which has taken place. Do not + think harshly of me, father, and I will try to forgive you for the + burden I now know you have laid upon the aching shoulders of this + sad, old world. + + And now, good-bye. Though you have lost a daughter, you may still + rejoice to know that that daughter has found peace and joy and vast + outlets for the energies of her whole heart and soul and being, in + working for Socialism, the noblest ideal ever conceived by the mind + of man. + + Farewell, father; and think sometimes, not too unkindly, of + + Your + + Kate. + +One week after these letters were mailed, "Tiger" Waldron, fanning the +fires of the old man's terrible rage, had decided Flint to disinherit +Catherine and to name him, Waldron, as his executor. Gabriel's fervent +wish that she might be penniless, was granted. + +On the very day this business was put through, practically delivering +the Flint interests into Waldron's hands in the case of the old man's +death, a verdict was reached in Gabriel's case, at Rochester. + +This case, crammed through the calendar, ahead of a large jam of other +business, proved how well unlimited funds can grease the wheels of Law. +It proved, also, that in the face of infinitely-subsidized witnesses, +lawyers, judge and jurymen, black becomes white, and a good deed is +written down a crime. + +Catherine, working incognito, co-operated with the Socialist defense, +and did all that could be humanely done to have the truth made known, to +overset the mass of perjury and fraud enmeshing Gabriel, and to force +his acquittal. + +As easily might she have bidden the sea rise from its bed and flood the +dry and arid wastes of old Sahara. Her voice and that of the Socialists, +their lawyers and their press, sounded in vain. A solid battery of +capitalist papers, legal lights, private detectives and other +means--particularly including the majority of the priests and +clergy--swamped the man and damned him and doomed him from the first +word of the trial. + +Money flowed in floods. Perjury overran the banks of the River of +Corruption. Herzog branded the man a thief and fire-eater. Dope-fiends +and harlots from the Red-Light district, "madames" and pimps and +hangers-on, swore to the white-slave activities of this man, who never +yet in all his four and twenty years had so much as entered a brothel. + +Forged papers fixed past crimes and sentences on him. By innuendo and +direct statement, dynamitings, arsons, violence and rioting in many +strikes were laid at his door. His Socialist activities were dragged in +the slime of every gutter; and his Party made to suffer for evil deeds +existing only in the foul imagination of the prosecuting attorneys. The +finest "kept" brains in the legal profession conducted the case from +start to finish; and not a juryman was drawn on the panel who was not, +from the first, sworn to convict, and bought and paid for in hard cash. + +After three days--days in which Gabriel plumbed the bitterest depths of +Hell and drank full draughts of gall and wormwood--the verdict came. +Came, and was flashed from sea to sea by an exulting press; and preached +on, and editorialized on, and gloated over by Flint and Waldron and +many, many others of that ilk--while Catherine wept tears that seemed to +drain her very heart of its last drops of blood. + +At last she knew the meaning of the Class Struggle and her terrible +father's part in it all. At last she understood what Gabriel had so long +understood and now was paying for--the fact that Hell hath no fury like +Capitalism when endangered or opposed. + +The Price! Gabriel now must pay it, to the full. For that foul verdict, +bought with gold wrung from the very blood and marrow of countless +toilers, opened the way to the sentence which Judge Harpies regretted +only that he could not make more severe--the sentence which the +detectives and the prison authorities, well "fixed," counted on making a +death-sentence, too. + +"Gabriel Armstrong, stand up!" + +He arose and faced the court. A deathlike stillness hushed the room, +crowded with Socialists, reporters, emissaries of Flint, private +detectives and hangers-on of the System. Heavily veiled, lest some of +her father's people recognize her, Catherine herself sat in a back seat, +very pale yet calm. + +"Prisoner at the bar, have you anything to say, why sentence should not +be pronounced upon you?" + +Gabriel, also a little pale, but with a steadfast and fearless gaze, +looked at the legal prostitute upon the bench, and shook his head in +negation. He deigned not, even, to answer this kept puppet of the ruling +class. + +Judge Harpies frowned a trifle, cleared his throat, glanced about him +with pompous dignity; and then, in a sonorous and impressive tone--his +best asset on the bench, for legal knowledge and probity were not +his--announced: + +"_It is the judgment of this court that you do stand committed to pay a +fine of three thousand dollars into the treasury of the United States, +and to serve five years at hard labor in the Federal Penitentiary at +Atlanta!_" + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII. + +BACK IN THE SUNLIGHT. + + +Four years and two months from the day when this iniquitous verdict fell +from the lips of the "bought and paid for" judge, a sturdily built and +square jawed man stood on the steps of the Atlanta Penitentiary and, for +the first time in all these weary months and years, faced the sun. + +Pale with the prison-pallor that never fails to set its seal on the +victims of a diseased society, which that society retaliates upon by +shutting away from God's own light and air, this man stood there on the +steps, a moment, then advanced to meet a woman who was coming toward him +in the August glare. As he removed his cheap, convict-made cap, one saw +his finely shaped head, close cropped with the infamous prison badge of +servitude. Despite the shoddy miserable prison-suit that the prostituted +government had given him--a suit that would have made Apollo grotesque +and would have marked any man as an ex-convict, thus heavily +handicapping him from the start--Gabriel Armstrong's poise and strength +still made themselves manifest. + +And the smile as they two, the woman and he, came together and their +hands clasped, lighted his pale features with a ray brighter than that +of the blistering Southern sunshine flooding down upon them both. + +"I knew you'd come, Catherine," said he, simply, his voice still the +same deep, vibrant, earnest voice which, all that time ago, had thrilled +and inspired her at the hour of her great conversion. Still were his +eyes clear, level and commanding; and through his splendid body, despite +all his jailers had been able to do, coursed an abundant life and strong +vitality. + +Gabriel had served his time with consummate skill, courage and +intelligence. Like all wise men, he had recognized _force majeure_, and +had submitted. He had made practically no infractions of the prison +rules, during his whole "bit." He had been quiet, obedient and +industrious. His work, in the brush factory, had always been well done; +and though he had consistently refused to bear tales, to spy, to inform +or be a stool-pigeon--the quickest means of winning favor in any +prison--yet he had given no opportunity for savagery and violence to be +applied to him. Not even Flint's eager wish to have his jailers force +him into rebellion had succeeded. Realizing to the full the sort of +tactics that would be used to break, and if possible to kill him, +Gabriel had met them all with calm self-reliance and with a generalship +that showed his brain and nerves were still unshaken. On their own +ground he had met these brutes, and he had beaten them at their own +game. + +Their attempt to make a "dope" out of him had ignominiously failed. He +had detected the morphine they had cleverly mixed with his water; and, +after his drowsiness and weird dreams had convinced him of the plot, had +turned the trick on it by secretly emptying this water out and by +drinking only while in the shop, where he could draw water from the +faucet. The cell guards' intelligence had been too limited to make them +inquire of the brush shop guards about his habits. Also, Gabriel, had +feigned stupefaction while in the cell. Thus he had simulated the +effects of the drug, and had really thrown his tormentors off the track. +For months and months they were convinced that they were weakening his +will and destroying his mentality, while as a matter of fact his +reasoning powers and determination never had been more keen. + +By bathing as often as possible, by taking regular and carefully planned +calisthenics, by reading the best books in the prison library, by +attention to every rule of health within his means, and by allowing +himself no vices, not even his pipe, Gabriel now was emerging from the +Bastile of Capitalism in a condition of mind and body so little impaired +that he knew a few weeks would entirely restore him. The good conduct +allowance, or "copper," which they had been forced to allow him for +exemplary conduct, had cut ten months off his sentence. And now in +mid-August of 1925, there he stood, a free man again, with purpose still +unshaken and with a woman by his side who shared his high ambition and +asked no better lot than to work with him toward the one great +aim--Socialism! + +Now, as these two walked side by side along the sunbaked street of the +sweltering Southern town, Gabriel was saying: + +"So I haven't changed as much as you expected? I'm glad of that, Kate. +Only superficial changes, at most. Just give me a little time to pull +together and get my legs under me again, and--forward march! Charge the +forts! Eh, Catherine?" + +She nodded, smiling. Smiles were rare with her, now. She had grown +sober and serious, in these years of work and battle and stern endeavor. +The Catherine Flint of the old times had vanished--the Catherine of +country club days, and golf and tennis, and the opera--the Catherine of +Newport, of the horse show, of Paris, of "society." In her place now +lived another and a nobler woman, a woman known and loved the length and +breadth of the land, a woman exalted and strengthened by new, high and +splendid race-aspirations; by a vision of supernal beauty--the vision of +the world for the workers, each for all and all for each! + +She had grown more mature and beautiful, with the passing years. No mark +of time had yet laid its hand upon her face or figure. Young, still--she +was now but five-and-twenty, and Gabriel only twenty-eight--she walked +like a goddess, lithe, strong and filled with overflowing vigor. Her +eyes glowed with noble enthusiasms; and every thought, every impulse and +endeavor now was upward, onward, filled with stimulus and hope and +courage. + +Thus, a braver, broader and more splendid woman than Gabriel had known +in the other days of his first love for her--the days when he had wished +her penniless, the days when her prospective millions stood between +them--she walked beside him now. And they two, comrades, understood each +other; spoke the same language, shared the same aspirations, dreamed the +same wondrous dreams. Their smile, as their eyes met, was in itself a +benediction and a warm caress. + +"Charge the forts!" Gabriel repeated. "Yes, Kate, the battle still goes +on, no matter what happens. Here and there, soldiers fall and die. Even +battalions perish; but the war continues. When I think of all the +fights you've been in, since I was put away, I'm unspeakably envious. +You've been through the Tawana Valley strike, the big Consolidated +Western lockout and the Imperial Mills massacre. You were a delegate to +the 1923 Revolution Congress, in Berlin, and saw the slaughter in Unter +den Linden--helped nurse the wounded comrades, inside the Treptow Park +barricades. Then, out in California--" + +She checked him, with a hand on his arm. + +"Please don't, Gabriel," she entreated. "What I have done has been so +little, so terribly, pitiably little, compared to what _needs_ to be +done! And then remember, too, that in and through all, this thought has +run, like the red thread through every cable of the British navy--the +thought that in my every activity, I am working against my own father, +combatting him, being as it were a traitor and--" + +"Traitor?" exclaimed the man. "Never! The bond between you two is +forever broken. You recognize in him, now, an enemy of all mankind. +Waldron is another. So is every one of the Air Trust group--that is to +say, the small handful of men who today own the whole world and +everything in it. + +"Your father, as President of that world-corporation which potentially +controls two thousand millions of human beings--and which will, +tomorrow, absolutely control them, is no longer any father of yours. + +"He is a world-emperor, and his few associates are princes of the royal +house. Your life and thought have forever broken with him. No more can +bonds and ties of blood hold you. Your larger duty calls to battle +against this man. Treachery? A thousand times, no! Treason to tyrants +is obedience to God! Or, if not God, then to mankind!" + +He paused and looked at her. They had now reached a little park, some +half mile from the grim and dour old walls of the Federal Pen. Trees and +grass and playing children seemed to invite them to stop and rest. +Though strong, moreover, Gabriel had for so long been unused to walking, +that even this short distance had tired him a little. And the oppressive +heat had them both by the throat. + +"Shall we sit down here and wait a little?" asked he. "Plan a little, +see where we are and what's to be done next?" + +She nodded assent. + +"Of course," she said, "even if I could have got word in to you, I +wouldn't have given you our real plans." + +"Hardly!" he exclaimed. Then, coming to a fountain, they sat down on a +bench close by. Nobody, they made sure, was within ear-shot. + +"Thank God," he breathed, "that you, Kate, and only you, met me as I +came out! It was a grand good idea, wasn't it, to keep my time of +liberation a secret from the comrades? Otherwise there might have been a +crowd on hand, and various kinds of foolishness; and time and energy +would have been used that might have been better spent in working for +the Revolution!" + +She looked at him a trifle curiously. + +"You forget," said she, "that all public meetings have been prohibited, +ever since last April. Federal statute--the new Penfield Bill--'The +Muzzler' as we call it." + +"That's so!" he murmured. "I forgot. Fact is, Kate, I _am_ out of touch +with things. While you've been fighting, I've been buried alive. Now, I +must learn much, before I can jump back into the war again. And above +all, I must lose my identity. That's the first and most essential thing +of all!" + +"Of course," she assented. "They--the Air Trust World-corporation--will +trail you, everywhere you go. All this, as you know, has been provided +for. You must vanish a while." + +"Indeed I must. If they 'jobbed' me like that, in 1921, what won't they +do now in 1925?" + +"They won't ever get you, again, Gabriel," she answered, "if your wits +and ours combined, can beat them. True, the Movement has been badly shot +to pieces. That is, its visible organization has suffered, and it's +outlawed. But under the surface, Gabriel, you haven't an idea of its +spread and power. It's tremendous--it's a volcano waiting to burst! Let +the moment come, the leader rise, the fire burst forth, and God knows +what may not happen!" + +"Splendid!" exclaimed Gabriel. "The battle calls me, like a +clarion-call! But we must act with circumspection. The Plutes, powerful +as they now are, won't need even the shadow of an excuse to plant me for +life, or slug or shoot me. Things were rotten enough, then; but today +they're worse. The hand of this Air Trust monopoly, grasping every line +of work and product in the world, has got the lid nailed fast. We're all +slaves, every man and woman of us. Even our Socialists in Congress can +do nothing, with all these muzzling and sedition and treason bills, and +with this conscription law just through. Now that the government--the +Air Trust, that is to say--is running the railways and telegraphs and +telephones, a strike is treason--and treason is death! Kate, this year +of grace, 1925, is worse than ever I dreamed it would be. Oh, infinitely +worse! No wonder our movement has been driven largely underground. No +wonder that the war of mass and class is drawing near--the actual, +physical war between the Air Trust few and the vast, toiling, suffering, +stifling world!" + +She nodded. + +"Yes," said she, "it's coming, and soon. Things are as you say, and even +worse than you say, Gabriel. I know more of them, now, than you can +know. Remember London's 'Iron Heel?' When I first read it I thought it +fanciful and wild. God knows I was mistaken! London didn't put it half +strongly enough. The beginning was made when the National Mounted Police +came in. All the rest has swiftly followed. If you and I live five years +longer, Gabriel, we'll see a harsher, sterner and more murderous +trampling of that Heel than ever Comrade Jack imagined!" + +"Right!" said he. "And for that very reason, Kate, I've got to go into +hiding till my beard and hair grow and I can reappear as a different +man. Don't look, just now, but in a minute take a peek. Over on that +third bench, on the other side of the park, see that man? Well, he's a +'shadow.' There were three waiting for me, at the prison gates. You +couldn't spot them, but I could. One was that Italian banana-seller that +stood at the curb, on the first corner. Another was a taxi driver. And +this one, over there, is the third. From now till they 'get' me again, +they'll follow me like bloodhounds. I can't go free, to do my work and +take part in the impending war, till I shake them. Look, now, do you +see the one I mean?" + +Cautiously the girl looked round, with casual glance as though to see a +little boy playing by the fountain. + +"Yes," she murmured. "Who is he? Do you know his name?" + +"No," answered Gabriel. "His name, no. But I remember him, well enough. +He's the larger of the two detectives I knocked out, in that room in +Rochester. Beside his pay, he's got a personal motive in landing me back +in 'stir,' or sending me 'up the escape,' as prison slang names a +penitentiary and a death. So then," he added, "what's the first thing? +Where shall I go, and how, to hide and metamorphose? I'm in your hands, +now, Kate. More than four years out of the world, remember, makes a +fellow want a little lift when he comes back!" + +She smiled and nodded comprehension. + +"Don't explain, Gabriel," said she. "I understand. And I've got just the +place in mind for you. Also, the way to get there. You see, comrade, +we've been planning on this release. When can you go?" + +"When? Right now!" exclaimed Gabriel, standing up. "The quicker, the +better. Every minute I lose in getting myself ready to jump back into +the fight, is a precious treasure that can never be regained!" + +"Go, then," said she, with pride in her eyes. "I will wait here. Don't +think of me; leave me here; I am self-reliant in every way. Go to the +Cuthbert House, on Desplaines Street. Everything has been arranged for +your escape. Every link in the chain is complete. Remember, we are +working more underground, now, than when you were sentenced. And our +machinery is almost perfect. Register at the hotel and take a room for a +week. Then--" + +"Register, under my own name?" asked he. + +"Under your own name. Stay there two days. You won't be molested so +soon, and things won't be ready for you till the third day. On that +day--" + +"Well, what then?" + +"A message will come for you, that's all. Obey it. You have nothing more +to do." + +He nodded. + +"I understand," said he. "But, Kate--who's paying for all this? Not +_you_? I--I can't have _you_ paying, now that every dollar you have must +be earned by your own labor!" + +She smiled a smile of wonderful beauty. + +"Foolish, rebellious boy!" said she. "Have no fear! All expense will be +borne by the Party, just as the Party paid your fine. It needs you and +must have you; and were the cost ten times as great, would bear it to +get you back! Remember, Gabriel, the Party is far larger than when you +were buried alive in a cell. Even though in some ways outlawed and +suppressed, its potential power is tremendous. All it needs is the +electric spark to cause the world-shaking explosion. All that keeps us +from power now is the Iron Heel--that, and the clutch of the Air Trust +already crushing and mangling us! + +"Go, now," she concluded. "Go, and rest a while, and wait. All shall be +well. But first, you must get back your strength completely, and find +yourself, and take your place again in the ranks of the great, +subterranean army!" + +"And shall I see you soon, again?" he asked, his voice trembling just a +little as their hands clasped once more, and once more parted. + +"You will see me soon," she answered. + +"Where?" + +"In a safe place, where we can plan, and work, and organize for the +final blow! Now, you shall know no more. Good-bye!" + +One last look each gave the other. Their eyes met, more caressingly than +many a kiss; and, turning, Gabriel took his way, alone, toward +Desplaines Street. + +At the exit of the park, he looked around. + +There Catherine sat, on the bench. But, seemingly quite oblivious to +everything, she was now reading a little book. Though he lingered a +moment, hoping to get some signal from her, she never stirred or looked +up from the page. + +Sighing, with a strange feeling of sudden loneliness and a vast, empty +yearning in his heart, Gabriel continued on his way, toward what? He +knew not. + +The detective on the other side of the park, no longer sat there. +Somehow, somewhere, he had disappeared. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII. + +IN THE REFUGE. + + +Far on the western slopes of Clingman Dome in the great Smoky Mountains +of North Carolina, a broad, low-built bungalow stood facing the setting +sun. Vast stretches of pine forest shut it off from civilization and the +prying activities of Plutocracy. The nearest settlement was Ravens, +twenty miles away to eastward, across inaccessible ridges and ravines. +Running far to southward, the railway left this wilderness untouched. +High overhead, an eagle soared among the "thunder-heads" that presaged a +storm up Sevier Pass. And, red through the haze to westward, the great +huge sunball slid down the heavens toward the tumbled, jagged mass of +peaks that rimmed the far horizon. + +Within the bungalow, a murmur of voices sounded; and from the huge stone +chimney a curl of smoke, arising, told of the evening meal, within, now +being made ready. On the wide piazza sat a man, writing at a table of +plain boards roughly pegged together. Still a trifle pale, yet with a +look of health and vigor, he sat there hard at work, writing as fast as +pen could travel. Hardly a word he changed. Sheet by sheet he wrote, and +pushed them aside and still worked on. Some of the pages slid to the +porch-floor, but he gave no heed. His brow was wrinkled with the +intensity of his thought; and over his face, where now a disguising +beard was beginning to be visible, the light of the sinking sun cast as +it were a kind of glowing radiance. + +At last the man looked up, and smiled, and eyed the golden mountain-tops +far off across the valley. + +"Wonderful aerie in the hills!" he murmured. "Wonderful retreat and +hiding-place--wonderful care and forethought to have made this possible +for me! How shall I ever repay all this? How, save by giving my last +drop of blood, if need be, for the final victory?" + +He pondered a moment, still half-thinking of the poem he had just +finished, half-reflecting on the strange events of the past week--the +secret ways, by swift auto, by boat, by monoplane which had brought him +hither to this still undiscovered refuge. How had it all been arranged, +he wondered; and who had made it possible? He could not tell, as yet. No +information was forthcoming. But in his heart he understood, and his +lips, murmuring the name of Catherine, blessed that name and tenderly +revered it. + +At last Gabriel bent, picked up the pages that had fallen, and arranged +them all in order. + +"Tomorrow this shall go out to the world," said he, "and to our +press--such of it as still remains. It may inspire some fainting heart +and thrill some lagging mind. Now, that the final struggle is at hand, +more than guns we need inspiration. More than force, to meet the force +that has ravished our every right and crushed Constitution and Law, +alike, we need spiritual insight and integrity. Only through these, and +by these, come what may, can a true, lasting victory be attained!" + +In the doorway of the bungalow a woman appeared, her smile illumined by +the sunset warmth. + +"Come, Gabriel," said she. "We're waiting--the Granthams, Craig, and +Brevard. Supper's ready. Not one of them will sit down, till you come." + +"Have I been delaying you?" asked Gabriel, turning toward the woman, +with a smile that matched her own. + +"I'm afraid so, just a little," she answered. "But no matter; I'm glad. +When you get to writing, you know, nothing else matters. One line of +your verse is worth all the suppers in the world." + +"Nonsense!" he retorted. "I'm a mere scribbler!" + +"We won't argue that point," she answered. "But at any rate, you're +done, now. So come along, boy--or the comrades will begin 'dividing up' +without us; for this mountain air won't brook delay." + +Gabriel took a long breath, stretched his powerful arms out toward the +mountains, and raised his face to the last light of day. + +"Nature!" he whispered. "Ever beautiful and ever young! Ah, could man +but learn thy lessons and live close to thy great heart!" + +Then, turning, he followed Catherine into the bungalow. + +Beautiful and restful though the outside was, the interior was more +restful and more charming still. + +In the vast fireplace, to left, a fire of pine roots was crackling. The +room was filled with their pitchy, wholesome perfume, with the dancing +light of their blaze and with the warmth made grateful by that mountain +height. + +Simple and comfortable all the furnishings were, hand-wrought for use +and pleasure. Big chairs invited. Broad couches offered rest. No +hunting-trophies, no heads of slaughtered wild things disfigured the +walls, as in most bungalows; but the flickering firelight showed +pictures that inspired thought and carried lessons home--pictures of +toil and of repose, pictures of life, and love, and simple joy--pictures +of tragedy, of reality and deep significance. Here one saw Millet's +"Sower," and "Gleaners" and "The Man with the Hoe." There, Fritel's "The +Conquerors," and Stuck's "War." A large copy of Bernard's "Labor,"--the +sensation of the 1922 Paris Salon--hung above the mantelpiece, on which +stood Rodin's "Miner" in bronze. Portraits of Marx, Engels, LaSalle and +Debs, with others loved and honored in the Movement, showed between +original sketches by Walter Crane, Balfour Kerr, Art Young and Ryan +Walker. And in the well-filled bookshelves at the right, Socialist books +in abundance all told the same tale to the observer--that this was a +Socialist nest high up there among the mountains, and that every thought +and word and deed was inspired by one great ideal and one alone--the +Revolution! + +At a plain but well-covered table near the western windows, where fading +sunlight helped firelight to illumine the little company, sat three +men--two of them armed with heavy automatics--and a woman. Another +woman, Catherine, was standing by her chair and beckoning Gabriel to +his. + +"Come, Comrade!" she exclaimed. "If you delay much longer, everything +will be stone cold, and _then_ beg forgiveness if you dare!" + +Gabriel laughed. + +"Your own fault, if you wait for me," he answered, seating himself. "You +know how it is when you get to scribbling--you never know when to stop. +And the scenery, up here, won't let you go. Positively fascinating, +that view is! If the Plutes knew of it, they'd put a summer resort +here, and coin millions!" + +"Yes," answered Craig, once Congressman Craig, but now hiding from the +Air Trust spies. "And what's more, they'd mighty soon confiscate this +resting-up place of the Comrades, and have us back behind bars, or +worse. But they _don't_ know about it, and aren't likely to. Thank +Heaven for at least one place the Party can maintain as an asylum for +our people when too hard-pressed! Not a road within ten miles of here. +No way to reach this place, masked here in the cliffs and mountains, +except by aeroplane. Not one chance in a thousand, fellows, that they'll +ever find it. Confusion take them all!" + +The meal progressed, with plenty of serious and earnest discussion of +the pressing problems now close at hand. Brevard, a short, spare man, +editor of the recently-suppressed "San Francisco Revolutionist" and now +in hiding, made a few trenchant remarks, from time to time. Grantham and +his wife, both active speakers on the "Underground Circuit" and both +under sentence of long imprisonment, said little. Most of the +conversation was between Catherine, Craig and Gabriel. Long before the +supper was done, lamps had to be brought and curtains lowered. At last +the meal was over. + +"Dessert, now, Gabriel!" exclaimed Grantham. "Your turn!" + +"Eh? What?" asked Armstrong. "My turn for what?" + +"Your turn to do your part! Don't think that you're going to write a +poem and then put it in your pocket, that way. Come, out with it!" + +Gabriel's protests availed nothing. The others overbore him. And at +last, unwillingly, he drew out the manuscript and spread it open on his +knee. + +"You really want to hear this?" he demanded. "If you can possibly spare +me, I wish you would!" + +For all answer, Craig pushed a lamp over toward him. The warm light on +Gabriel's face, now slightly bearded, and on his strong, corded throat, +made a striking picture as he cast his eyes on the manuscript and in +vibrant and harmonious voice, read: + + + _I SAW THE SOCIALIST_ + + I saw the Socialist sitting at a great Banquet of Men, + Sitting with honored leaders of the blind, unwitting Multitude; + I saw him there with the writers, editors, painters, men of letters, + Legislators and judges, the Leaders of the People, + Leaders flushed with the wines of price, eating costly and rare + foods, + Making loud talk, and boastful, of that marvel, American Liberty! + Thinking were they no thought of hunger and pinching cold; + Of the blue-lipped, skinny children, the thin-chested, coughing men, + The dry-breasted mothers, the dirt, disease and ignorance, + The mangled workmen, the tramps, drunkards, pickpockets, + prostitutes, thieves, + The mad-houses, jails, asylums and hospitals, the sores, the blood + of war, + And all the other wondrous blessings that attend our civilization-- + That civilization through which the wines and foods were given them. + + I saw the Socialist there, calm, unmoved, unsmiling, thoughtful, + Sober, serious, full of dispassionate and prophetic vision, + Not like the other men, the all-wise Leaders of the People. + The political economists, the professors, the militarists, heroes + and statisticians; + Not like the kings and presidents and emperors, the nobles and + gold-crammed bankers, + But mindful, more than they, of the cellars under the House of Life + Where blind things crawl in the dark, things men and yet not human, + Things whose toil makes possible the Banquets of the Leaders of Men, + Things that live and yet are not alive; things that never taste of + Life; + Things that make the rich foods, themselves snatching filthy crumbs; + Things that produce the wines of price, and must be content with + lees; + Things that shiver and cringe and whine, that snarl sometimes, + That are men and women and children, and yet that know not Life! + + I saw the Socialist there; I sat at the banquet; beside him, + Listened to the surging music, saw all the lights and flowers, + Flowers and lights and crystal cups, whereof the price for each + Might have brought back from Potter's Field some bloodless, + starving baby. + I heard the Leaders' speeches, the turgid oratory, + The well-turned phrases of the Captains, the rotund babble of + prosperity, + (Prosperity for whom? Nay, ask not troublesome questions!) + The Captains' vaunting I heard, their boasts of glory and victory, + While red, red, red their hands dripped red with the blood of the + butchered workers. + I heard the Judges' self-glorification, Quixotic fighting of + windmills, + Heard also the unclean jests that those respected Leaders told. + And as I looked and listened, I still observed the Socialist, + Unmoved and patient and serious, calm, full of sober reflections. + + Then there spake (among many others) an honored and full-paunched + Bishop. + Rubicund he was, and of portly habit of body, + Shepherd of a well-pastured flock, mightily content with God, + Out of whose omnipotent Hand (no doubt) the blessings of his life + descended. + I heard this exponent of Christ the Crucified, Christ the Carpenter, + Christ the Leader of Workingmen, the Agitator, the Disturber, + Christ the Labor-organizer, Christ the Archetypal Socialist, + Friend of the dwellers in the pits of Life, Consoler of earth's + exploited, + Who once with the lash scourged from the Temple the unclean + graft-brood of usurers. + And the rotund Bishop's words were as the crackling of dry thorns + Under a pot, bubbling without use in the desert of dreary + platitudes. + The story he told was spiced and garnished with profane words, + Whereat the Leaders laughed in their cups, making great show of + merriment, + So that the banquet-hall rang, and wine was spilt on the linen. + Wine as red as blood--the blood of the shattered miner, + Blood of the boy in the rifle-pits, blood of the coughing + child-slave, + Blood of the mangled trainman, blood that the Carpenter shed. + + And still I watched the Socialist. Sober, judicial, observant + And full of greater wisdom he was than to laugh with the tipsy + Leaders. + His eyes were fixed on the Bishop, vice-regent of God upon earth. + And as I watched the Socialist, the unmoved, the contemplative one, + He thoughtfully took his pencil, he took the fine and large card + Whereon the names of the rich foods and all the costly wines were + printed, + And made a few notes of the feast, notes of the Bishop's speech, + Notes to remind him to search the slums for the great, God-given + prosperity, + Which all the Judges, Lawmakers, Captains and Leaders knew to be + "our" portion; + Notes of the flowers, the wine, the lights, the music, the splendor, + Notes of the Leaders' oratory, notes of the Bishop's deep-voiced + unctiousness, + Notes he made; and as I looked at the notes he was carefully + writing, + The words ran red like wine and blood, they blazed like the blazing + lights! + Words they were of blood and fire, that spread, that filled the + banquet-hall. + Words of old, I read them--"MENE, MENE, TEKEL, UPHARSHIN!-- + Weighed in the Balance you are, ye Leaders respected of men, + You Statesmen, Lawmakers, Judges, Captains, Bishops, vice-regents of + God! + Weighed and tried and found wanting. Give way, now, to what shall + come after! + Make ye way for the Men who shall do what ye have but neglected and + shirked! + Make ye way for a Time which hath more than Power and Greed for its + watchwords! + Soon your day shall decline forever, your sun shall sink and shall + vanish. + Then from the Cellars of Life the darkness-dwellers shall issue, + Greeting another daunt which shall have more than pain for its + portion. + Then no more shall the humble, the lowly, the friends of the + Nazarene Carpenter + Be starved, be mangled for gold, be crucified, slaughtered, bled. + Make ye way!...Make ye way!..." + + Such was the message I read, the words of that fire-writ warning. + Then peace came back to my spirit, calm peace, and hope and + patience: + Then, through my anger and heat, I thought of the Retribution. + But even more clearly I saw the New Birth of this weary world, + This world now groaning in chains, with the bloody sweat of + oppression. + These things and many more, such as were hard to write of, + I read in the words of the Socialist, patient, peaceful and sober, + Full of prophetic vision, above all things hopeful and patient, + Written in living flame at the Feast of the Leaders of Men.... + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX. + +"APRÈS NOUS LE DÉLUGE!" + + +As Gabriel's voice fell to silence, after the last words, a stillness +came upon the lamp-lit room, a hush broken only by the snapping of the +pine-root fire on the hearth and by the busy ticking of the clock upon +the chimneypiece. Then, after a minute's pause, Craig reached over and +took Gabriel by the hand. + +"I salute you, O poet of the Revolution now impending!" he cried, while +Catherine's eyes gleamed bright with tears. "Would God that _I_ could +write like that, old man!" + +"And would God that my paper was still being issued!" Brevard added, +making a gesture with the pipe that, in his eagerness to hear, he had +allowed to die. "If it were I'd give that poem my front page, and fling +its message full in the faces of Plutocracy!" + +Gabriel smiled a bit nervously. + +"Don't, please don't," he begged. "If you really do like it help me +spread it. Don't waste words on praise, but plan with me, tonight, how +we can get this to the people--how we can perfect our final +arrangements--what we must do, now, at once, to meet the Air Trust and +defeat it before its terrible and unrelenting grip closes on the throat +of the world!" + +"Right!" said Craig. "We must act at once, while there's yet time. +today, all seems safe. The Air Trust spies haven't ferreted this place +out. A week from now, they may have, and one of the most secure and +useful Socialist refuges in the country may be only a heap of +ashes--like the ones at Kenwyck, Hampden, Mount Desert and Loftiss. +Every day is precious. Every one helps to perfect Gabriel's disguise and +adds materially to his strength." + +"True," assented Gabriel. "We mustn't wait too long, now. That last +report we got yesterday, by our wireless, ought to stimulate us. +Brainard says, in it, that the Air Trust people are now putting the +finishing touches on the Niagara plant. That will give them condensing +machinery for over 90,000,000 horsepower, all told. As I see the thing, +it looks absolutely as though, when _that_ is done, the whole Capitalist +system of the world will center right there--focus there, as at a point. +Let kings and emperors continue to strut and mouth vain phrases; let our +own President and Congress make the motions of governing; even let Wall +Street play at finance and power. All, all are empty and meaningless! + +"Power has been sucked dry, out of them all, comrades. You know as well +as I know--better, perhaps--that all real power in the world, today, +whether economic or political--nay, even the power of life and death, +the power of breath or strangulation, has clotted at Niagara, in the +central offices of the Air Trust; nay, right in Flint and Waldron's own +inner office!" + +Gabriel had stood up, while speaking; and now, pacing the floor of the +big living-room, glanced first at one eager and familiar face, then at +another. + +"Comrades," said he, "we should not sleep, tonight. We should get out +all our plans and data, all the dispatches that have come to us here, +all the information at hand about our organization, whether open or +subterranean. We should make this room and this time, in fact, the place +and the hour for the planning of the last great blow on which hangs the +fate of the world. If it succeed, the human race goes free again. If it +fail--and God forbid!--then the whole world will lie in the grip of +Flint and Waldron! With our other centers broken up and under espionage, +our press forced into impotence--save our underground press--and +political action now rendered farcical as ever it was in Mexico, when +Diaz ruled, we have but one recourse!" + +"And that is?" asked Catherine. "The general strike?" + +"A final, general, paralyzing strike; and with it, the actual, physical +destruction of the colossal crime of crimes, the Air Trust works at +Niagara!" + +A little silence followed. They all drew round the reading-table, now, +near the fireplace. Mrs. Grantham brought a lamp; and Brevard, opening a +chest near the book-case, fetched a portfolio of papers, dispatches, +plans, reports and data of all kinds. + +"Gabriel's right," said he. "The time is ripe, now, or will be in a week +or so. Nothing can be gained by delaying any longer. Every day adds to +their power and may weaken ours. Our organization, for the strike and +the attack on the works, is as complete as we can make it. We must come +to extreme measures, at once, or world-strangulation will set in, and we +shall be eternally too late!" + +"Extreme measures, yes," said Gabriel, while Brevard spread the papers +out and sorted them, and Craig drew contemplatively at his pipe. "The +masters would have it so. Our one-time academic discussion about ways +and means has become absurd, in the face of plutocratic savagery. We're +up against facts, now, not theories. God knows it's against the dictates +of my heart to do what must be done; but it's that or stand back and see +the world be murdered, together with our own selves! And in a case of +self-defense, no measures are unjustifiable. + +"Whatever happens our hands are clean. The plutocrats are the attacking +force. They have chosen, and must take the consequences; they have sown, +and must reap. One by one, they have limited and withdrawn every +political right. They have taken away free speech and free assemblage, +free press and universal suffrage. They have limited the right to vote, +by property qualifications that have deprived the proletariat of every +chance to make their will felt. They have put through this National +Censorship outrage and--still worse--the National Mounted Police Bill, +making Cossack rule supreme in the United States of America, as they +have made it in the United States of Europe. + +"Before they elected that tool of tools, President Supple, in 1920, on +the Anti-Socialist ticket, we still had some constitutional rights +left--a few. But now, all are gone. With the absorption and annexation +of Canada, Mexico and Central America, slavery full and absolute settled +down upon us. The unions simply crumbled to dust as you know, in face of +all those millions of Mexican peons swamping the labor-market with +starvation-wage labor. Then, as we all remember, came the terrible +series of strikes in 1921 and 1922, and the massacres at Hopedale and +Boulder, at Los Angeles and Pittsburg, and, worst of all, Gary. That +finished what few rights were left, that killing did. And then came the +army of spies, and the proscriptions, and the electrocution of those +hundred and eleven editors, speakers and organizers--why bring up all +these things that we all know so well? _We_ were willing to play the +game fair and square, and _they_ refused. Say that, and you say all. + +"No need to dwell on details, comrades. The Air Trust has had its will +with the world, so far. It has crushed all opposition as relentlessly as +the car of Juggernaut used to crush its blind, fanatical devotees. True, +our Party still exists and has some standing and some representatives; +but we all know what _power_ it has--in the open! Not _that_ much!" And +he snapped his fingers in the air. + +"In the open, none!" said Craig, blowing a cloud of smoke. "I admit +that, Gabriel. But, underground--ah!" + +"Underground," Gabriel took up the word, "forces are now at work that +can shatter the whole infernal slavery to dust! This way of working is +not our choice; it is theirs. They would have it so--now let them take +their medicine!" + +"Yes, yes," eagerly exclaimed Catherine, her face flushed and intense. +"I'm with you, Gabriel. To work!" + +"To work, yes," put in Craig, "but with system, order and method. My +experience in Congress has taught me some valuable lessons. The +universal, all-embracing Trust made marionettes of us, every one. Our +strength was, to them, no more than that of a mouse to a lion. Their +system is perfect, their lines of supply and communication are without a +flaw. The Prussian army machine of other days was but a bungling +experiment by comparison with the efficiency of this new mechanism. I +tell you, Gabriel, we've got to give these tyrants credit for being +infernally efficient tyrants! All that science has been able to devise, +or press and church and university teach, or political subservience make +possible, is theirs. And back of that, military power, and the courts +and the prisons and the electric chair! And back of all _those_, the +power to choke the whole world to submission, in a week!" + +Gabriel thought, a moment, before replying. Then said he: + +"I know it, Craig. All the more reason why we must hit them at once, and +hit hard! These reports here," and he gestured at the papers that +Brevard had spread out under the lamp-light, "prove that, at the proper +signal, every chance indicates that we can paralyze transportation--the +keynote of the whole situation. + +"True, the government--that is to say, the Air Trust, and _that_ is to +say, Flint and Waldron--can keep men in every engine-cab in the country. +They can keep them at every switch and junction. But this isn't France, +remember, nor is it any small, compact European country. Conditions are +wholly different here. Everywhere, vast stretches of track exist. No +power on earth--not even Flint and Waldron's--can guard all those +hundreds of thousands of miles. And so I tell you, taking our data +simply from these reports and not counting on any more organized +strength than they show, we have today got the means of cutting and +crippling, for a week at least, the movements of troops to Niagara. And +that, just that, is all we need!" + +A little silence. Then said Catherine: + +"You mean, Gabriel, that if we can keep the troops back for a little +while, and annihilate the Air Trust plant itself, the great revolution +will follow?" + +He nodded, with a smouldering fire in his eyes. + +"Yes," said he. "If we can loosen the grip of this monster for only +forty-eight hours, and flash the news to this bleeding, sweating, +choking land that the grip _is_ loosened--after that we need do no more. +_Après nous, le déluge_; only not now in the sense of wreck and ruin, +but meaning that this deluge shall forever wash away the tyranny and +crime of Capitalism! Forever and a day, to leave us free once more, free +men and women, standing erect and facing God's own sunlight, our +heritage and birthplace in this world!" + +Catherine made no answer, but her hand clasped his. The light on her +magnificent masses of copper-golden hair, braided about her head, +enhanced her beauty. And so for a moment, the little group sat there +about the table--the group on which now so infinitely much depended; and +the lamp-glow shone upon their precious plans, reports and diagrams. + +Into each others' eyes they looked, and knew the moment of final +conflict was drawn very near, at last. The moment which, in failure or +success, should for long years, for decades, for centuries perhaps, +determine whether the world and all its teeming millions were to be +slave or free. + +They spoke no word and took no oath of life-and-death fidelity, those +men and women who now had been entrusted with the fate of the world. But +in their eyes one read unshakable devotion to the Cause of Man, +unswerving loyalty to the Great Ideal, and a calm, holy faith that would +make light of death itself, could death but pave the way to victory! + + + + +CHAPTER XXX. + +TRAPPED! + + +Brevard was the first to speak. "Gabriel," said he, "we have agreed that +you must be the leader in this whole affair. The actual, personal +leader. To begin with, you're younger and physically stronger than any +of us men. Your executive ability is, without any question whatever, far +and away ahead of ours--for we are more in the analytical, compiling, +organizing, preparing line. To cap all, your personality carries more, +far more, with the mass of the comrades than any of ours. Your career, +in the past, your conflict with Flint and Waldron, and your long +imprisonment, have given you the necessary following. You, and you +alone, must issue the final call, lead the last, supreme attack, and +carry the old flag, the Crimson Banner of Brotherhood, to the topmost +battlement of an annihilated Capitalism!" + +Gabriel demurred, but they overruled him. So, presently, he consented; +and pledged his life to it; and thrilled with pride and joy at thought +of what now lay written in the Book of Fate, for him to read. + +Catherine's eyes shone with a strange light, as she looked upon him +there, so modest yet so strong. And he, smiling a little as his gaze met +hers, foresaw other things than war, and was glad. His heart sang within +him, that memorable and wondrous night, up there in the hiding-place +among the Great Smokies--there with Catherine and the other +comrades--there planning the last great blow to strike away forever the +shackles from the bleeding limbs of all the human race! + +But serious and urgent things were to be thought of, and at once, for on +the morrow Brevard was going down, disguised, to Louisville, in one of +the two monoplanes, to attend a final secret meeting of the North-middle +Section Committee. From this he would proceed to the refuge near Port +Colborne, Ontario. + +"Let us make that our meeting-place, one week from tonight," said +Gabriel, "in case anything happens. Should we be detected, or should any +accident befall, we must have some time and place to rally by. Is my +suggestion taken?" + +They all agreed, after some discussion. + +"But," added Mrs. Grantham, "let's hope we're still secure here, for a +while. It doesn't seem possible they could find us _here_, in this broad +mountain wilderness!" + +Brevard, meanwhile, was spreading out diagrams and plans. + +"The plant at Niagara," said he. "Gabriel, study this, now, as you never +yet have studied anything! For on your intimate knowledge of these +plans--which, by the way, have been obtained only at the cost of eight +lives of our comrades, and through adventures which alone would make a +wonderful book--depends everything. With all communications cut, and +troops kept away, and our own people storming the works, you will yet +fail, Gabriel, unless you know every building, every courtyard, wall and +passage, every door and window, almost, I might say. For the place is +more than a manufacturing plant. It's a fortress, a city in itself, a +wonderful, gigantic center to the whole web of world-domination! + +"So now, to the plans!" + +For hours, while Gabriel took notes and listened keenly, asked questions +and made minute memoranda, Brevard explained the situation at the great +Air Trust works. The others looked on, listened, and from time to time +made suggestions; but for the most part they kept silent, unwilling to +disturb this most important work. + +Carefully and with painstaking accuracy he showed Gabriel how the plant +now embraced more than two square miles of territory around the Falls, +all guarded by tremendous barricades mounting machine-guns and +search-lights. On both sides of the river this huge monster had +squatted, effectually shutting out all sight of the Falls and depriving +the people of their birthright of beauty, at the same time that it had +harnessed the vast waterpower to the task of enslaving the world. + +"From the Grand Trunk steel arch bridge up to and including the former +plant of the Niagara Falls Power Company," said Brevard, "you see the +plant extends. And, on the Canadian side--or what was the Canadian, +before 'we' absorbed Canada--it stretches from the Ontario Power +Company's works to those of the Toronto-Niagara Power Company, including +both. In addition to having absorbed these, it has taken over the +Niagara Falls Hydraulic Power and Manufacturing Company, the Canadian +Power Company and half a dozen others, and has, as you see, established +its central offices and plant on Goat Island. + +"Here Flint and Waldron have what may be called a citadel within a +citadel--twelve acres of administration buildings, laboratories (in +charge of your old friend Herzog, by the way!) and experimental works, +including also the big steel chambers, vacuum-lined, where they are +already storing their liquid oxygen to be turned into their pipe-lines +and tank-cars. This Goat Island central plant will be the real kernel in +the nut, Gabriel. Once _that_ is gone, you'll have ripped the heart out +of the beast, smashed the vital ganglia, and given the world the +respite, the breathing-space it must have, to free itself!" + +"And if I don't?" asked Gabriel. "If anything happens to upset our +blockading tactics, or if our attacking forces are defeated or our +aeroplanes shot down, what then?" + +"Then," said Brevard, slowly, "then the world had better die than +survive under the abominable slavery now impending. Already the +pipe-lines have been laid to Buffalo, Cleveland, Albany and Scranton. +Already they're under way to New York City itself, and to Cincinnati. +Already other plants have been projected for Chicago, Denver, San +Francisco and New Orleans, to say nothing of half a dozen in the Old +World. At this present moment, as we all sit here in this quiet room on +this remote mountain-slope, the world's air is being cornered! All the +atmospheric nitrogen is planned for, by Flint and Waldron, to pass under +their control--and with it, every crop that grows. All the oxygen will +follow. They're already having their domestic-service apparatus +manufactured--their cold-pipe radiators, meters, evaporators and +respirators. I tell you, comrades, this thing is close upon us, not as a +theory, now, but as a terrible, an inconceivably ghastly reality! + +"Even as we talk this thing over, those devils in human form are at +work impoverishing the atmosphere, the very basis of all life. My +oxymeter, today, showed a diminution of .047 per cent. in the amount of +free oxygen in the air right on this mountain. And their plant is hardly +running yet! Wait till they get it under full swing--wait till their +pipe-lines and tanks and instruments and all their vast, infernal +apparatus of exploitation and enslavement are in operation! Even in a +week from now, or less, by the time you issue the call, Gabriel, you may +see wretches gasping in vain for breath, in some dark alley of Niagara +where the air is being drained!" + +"Oh, devilish and infernal plot against the world!" said Gabriel, +bitterly. "Yet in essence, after all, no different from the system of +ten years ago, which kept food and shelter, light and fuel, under lock +and key--and made the dollar the only key to fit the lock! Yet this +seems worse, somehow; and though I die for it, my last supreme blow +shall be against such unutterable, such murderous villainy! So then, +comrades--" + +He paused, suddenly, as Kate laid a hand on his arm. + +"Hark! What's that?" she whispered. + +Outside, somewhere, a sound had made itself heard. Then on the porch, a +loose board creaked. + +Gabriel sprang to his feet. The others stood up and faced the door. + +"In heaven's name, what's that outside?" demanded Craig. + +On the instant, a heavy foot crashed through the panels of their door. +The door, burst open, flew back. + +In the aperture, stood a man, in aviator's dress, with another dimly +visible behind him. Both these men held long, blue-nosed, +oxygen-bullet-shooting revolvers levelled at the little group around the +table. + +"My God! Air Trust spies!" cried Grantham, pale as death. + +"Hands up, you!" shouted the man in the doorway, with a wild triumph in +his voice. "You're caught, all of you! Not a move, you ---- ---- ----! +Hands up!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI. + +ESCAPE! + + +Quick as thought, at sound of the imperative summons and sight of the +levelled weapons, Gabriel swept up most of the papers and crammed them +into the breast of his loose flannel shirt, then dashed the lamp to the +floor, extinguishing it. The room grew dark, for now the fire had burned +down to hardly more than glowing coals. + +There was no panic; the men did not curse, neither did the women scream. +As though the tactic had already been agreed on, Craig tipped the table +up, making a kind of barricade; and over it Grantham's revolver, +snatched from his belt, spat viciously. + +It all happened in a moment. + +The foremost spy grunted, coughed and plunged forward. As he fell, he +fired his terrible weapon. + +The bullet--a small, thin metal shell, filled with a secret chemical and +liquid oxygen--went wild. It struck the wall, some feet to the left of +the fireplace, and instantly the wood burst into vivid flame. Flesh +would crisp to nothing, solid stone would crumble, metal would gutter +and run down, under that awful incandescence. + +Again Grantham's revolver barked, while Bevard tugged at his own, which +had unaccountably got stuck in its holster. But this second shot missed. +And even as Grantham's bullet snicked a long splinter from the +door-jamb, the second spy fired. + +Brevard's choking cry died as the gushing flame enveloped him. He +staggered, flung up both arms and fell stone dead, the life seared clean +out of him, as a lamp sears a moth. + +Gasping, blinded, the others scattered; and for the third time--while +the room now glowed with this unquenchable blossoming of flame--Grantham +shot. + +The spy's body burst into a sheaf of fire. Up past the lintel streamed +the burning swirl. Mute and annihilated, his charred body dropped beside +that of his mate. + +The total time from challenge to complete victory had not exceeded ten +seconds. + +"I exploded some of his cartridges!" choked Grantham. shielding his wife +from the glare, while Gabriel protected Catherine. + +"His--his cartridge belt!" gasped Craig. + +"Yes! And now, out--out of here!" + +"Brevard? We must save his body!" cried Gabriel, pointing. + +"Impossible!" shouted Grantham. "That hellish compound will burn for +hours! And in three minutes this whole place will be a roaring furnace! +Out of here--out--away! We must save the hangar, at all hazards!" + +Against their will, but absolutely unable to approach the now +wildly-roaring fire on the floor that marked the spot where Brevard had +fallen in the Battle with Plutocracy, the comrades quickly retreated. + +Raging fire now hemmed them on three sides. Their only avenue of escape +was through the eastern windows, eight or ten feet above the ground. +Hastily snatching up such of the plans and papers as he had not already +secured--and some of these already were beginning to smoke and turn +brown, in the infernal heat--Gabriel shielded Catherine's retreat. The +others followed. + +Craig and Grantham first jumped from the windows, then caught Mrs. +Grantham and Catherine as Gabriel helped them to escape. He himself was +the last to leave the room, now a raging furnace. Together they all ran +from the building, and none too soon; for suddenly the roof collapsed, a +tremendous burst of crackling flames and sheaved sparks leaped high +above the tree-tops, and the walls came crashing in. + +In the welter of incandescence, where now only the stone chimney +stood--and this, too, was already cracking and swaying--Brevard had +found his tomb, together with the two Air Trust spies. All that +pleasant, necessary place was now a mass of white-hot ruin; all those +books and pictures now had turned to ash. + +The five remaining comrades paused by the hangar, and looked mournfully +back at the still-leaping volcano of destruction. + +"Poor Brevard! Poor old chap!" said Craig. He peered at the women. +Neither one was crying--they were not that type--but both were pale. + +"I don't feel that way," said Gabriel. "Brevard is not to be pitied. +He's to be envied! He died in the noblest war we can conceive--the war +for the human race! And his last act was to take part in a battle that +stamped out two vipers, Air Trust spies, who would have joyed to burn us +all alive!" + +[Illustration: The spy's body burst into a sheaf of fire.] + +"Thank God, I got the Hell-hounds!" muttered Craig. "Two less of Slade's +infamous army, anyhow." Though Gabriel knew it not, the first one to +fall was the same who had battled with him in the trap at Rochester, the +same who had trailed him when he, Gabriel, had left the Federal pen. So +one score, at least, was settled. + +"They're gone, anyhow," said Gabriel, "and five of us still live--and +I've still got the plans and all. Moreover, the monoplanes are safe. The +quicker we get away from here, now, the better. Away, and to our last +remaining refuge near Port Colborne, on the shores of Lake Erie. Other +Air Trust forces may be here, before morning. We must get away!" + +A frightful shock awaited them when, entering the hangar--eager now to +escape at once from the scene of the tragedy--they beheld their +aeroplanes. + +By the ruddy light which shone in through the wide doors, from the fire, +they saw long strips and tatters of canvas hanging from the 'planes. + +"Smashed! Broken! Wrecked!" cried Gabriel, starting back aghast. + +The others stared. Only too true; the monoplanes were practically +destroyed. Not only had the spies, before attacking the refuge, slashed +the 'planes to rags, but they had also partly dismantled the motors. +Bits of machinery lay scattered on the floor of the hangar. + +Stunned and unable to gather speech or coherent thought, the five +Socialists stood staring. Then, after a moment, Craig made shift to +exclaim bitterly: + +"A good job, all right! The curs must have got in at the window, and +spent an hour in this work. Whatever happened, they didn't intend we +should have any means of retreat--for of course it's out of the question +for anybody to get away from here through the forest over the ridges +and down the cliffs!" + +"They meant to trap us, this way, that's certain," added Gabriel. "There +surely will be others of the same breed, here before morning. They must +not find us here!" + +"But Gabriel, how shall we escape?" asked Catherine, her face illumined +by the leaping flames of the bungalow. + +"How! In their own machine! The machine that Slade and the Air Trust +secret-service gave them, to come here and catch or murder us!" + +"By the Almighty! So we will!" cried Grantham. "Come on, let's find it!" + +The little party hurried off toward the landing-ground, a cleared and +levelled space further up the mountainside. The light of the burning +bungalow helped show them their path; and Craig had also taken an +electric flash-lamp from the hangar. With this he led the way. + +"Right! There it is!" suddenly exclaimed Gabriel, pointing. Craig +painted a brush of electric light over the vague outlines of the Air +Trust machine, a steel racer of the latest kind. + +"A Floriot biplane," said he. "Will hold two and a passenger. Familiar +type. I guess all of us, here, can operate it." + +They all--even the women--could. For you must understand that after the +Great Massacres had foreshown the only possible trend the Movement could +take, practically all the leaders in the work had studied aeronautics, +also chemistry, as most essential branches of knowledge in the +inevitable war. + +"Two, and a passenger," repeated Gabriel, as though echoing Craig's +words. "Who goes first?" + +"You!" said Grantham. "You and Catherine, with Craig to bring the +machine back. You're needed, now, at the front--imperatively needed. +Freda and I," gesturing at his wife, "will hold the fort, here--will +keep watch over our dead, over poor old Brevard, the first to fall in +this great, final battle!" + +A spirited argument followed. Gabriel insisted on being left for the +second trip. A compromise was made by having him get the two women out +of danger, at once, leaving Craig and Grantham on the mountain. + +"I'll send Hazen or Keyes back with the 'plane, for you," said he, as he +climbed into the driving seat, after the passengers had been stowed. +"That will be tomorrow night. Of course, we daren't fly by day. And +mind," he added, adjusting his spark and throttle, "mind you meet me +with this very same machine, safe and sound, at the Lake Erie refuge!" + +"Why this same machine?" inquired Craig. + +"Why? Because I intend to use this, and no other, in the final attack. +Could poetic justice be finer than that the Air Trust works be destroyed +with the help of one of their own 'planes?" + +No more was said, save brief good-byes. Those were times when +demonstrativeness, whether in life or death, was at a discount. A +hand-clasp and a few last instructions as to the time and place of +meeting, sufficed. Then Gabriel pressed the button of the self-starter +and opened the throttle. + +With a sudden gusty chatter, the engine caught. A great wind sprang up, +from the roaring, whirling blades. The Floriot rolled easily forward, +speeded up, and gathered headway. + +Gabriel suddenly rotated the rising-plane. The great gull soared, +careened and took the air with majestic power. The watchers on the +mountain-side saw its hooded lights, that glowed upon its compass and +barometric-gauge, slowly spiralling upward, ever upward, as Gabriel +climbed with his two passengers. + +Then the lights sped forward, northward, in a long tangent, and, as they +swiftly diminished to mere specks, the echo of a farewell hail drifted +downward from the black and star-dusted emptiness above. + +Craig turned to Grantham, when the last gleam of light had faded in a +swift trajectory. + +"God grant they reach the last remaining refuge safely!" said he, with +deep emotion. "And may their flight be quick and sure! For the fate of +the world, its hope and its salvation from infinite enslavement, are +whirling through the trackless wastes of air, to-night!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII. + +OMINOUS DEVELOPMENTS. + + +The first intimation that Flint and Waldron had of any opposition to +their plans, of any revolt, of any danger, was at quarter past three on +the afternoon of October 8th, 1925. All that afternoon, busy with their +final plans for the immediate extension of their system, they had been +going over certain data with Herzog, receiving reports from branch +managers and conferring with the Congressional committee that--together +with Dillon Slade, their secret-service tool, now also President +Supple's private secretary--they had peremptorily summoned from +Washington to receive instructions. + +In the more than four years that had passed since they had put Gabriel +behind bars--years fruitful in strikes and lockouts, in prostitutions of +justice, in sluggings and crude massacres--both men had altered notably. + +Though the National Censorship now no longer permitted any cartooning of +a "seditious" nature, i.e., representing any of the Air Trust notables, +old Flint's features tempted the artist's pencil more than ever. Save +for a little white fringe of hair at the back of his head, he had become +almost bald, thus adding greatly to his strong suggestion of a vulture. +His face was now more yellow and shrunken than ever, due to a rather +heavier consumption of his favorite drug, morphine; his nose had hooked +more strongly, and his one gold tooth of other days now had two more to +bear it company. His eyes, too, behind his thick pince-nez, had grown +more shifty, cold and cruelly calculating. If it be possible to conceive +a fox, a buzzard and a jackal merged in one, old Isaac Flint today +represented that unnatural and hideous hybrid. + +Now, as he stood facing "Tiger" Waldron, in the inner and sancrosanct +office of the Air Trust plant at Niagara--the office that even the +President of these United States approached with deference and due +humility--the snarl on his face revealed the beast-soul of the man. + +"Damnation!" he was saying, as he shook a newly-received aerogram at his +partner. "What's this, I'd like to know? What does this mean? All +telegraphic communication west of Chicago has suddenly stopped, and from +half a dozen points in the Southern States news is coming in that +railway service is being interrupted! See here, Waldron, this won't do! +Your part of the business has always been to carry on the publicity end, +the newspaper end, the moulding of public opinion and political thought, +_and_ the maintenance of free, clear rail and aero communication +everywhere, all over the world. But now, all at once, see here?" + +Waldron raised red, bleared eyes at his irate partner. He, too, was more +the beast than four years ago. No less the tiger, now, but more the pig. +High, evil living had done its work on him. An unhealthy purple suffused +his heavily-jowled face. Beneath his eyes, sodden bags of flesh hung +pendant. His lips, loose and lascivious, now sucked indolently at the +costly cigar he was smoking as he sat leaning far back in his +desk-chair. And so those two, angry accuser and indifferent accused, +faced each other for a moment; while, incessant, dull, mighty, the +thunders of the giant cataract mingled with the trembling diapason of +the stupendous turbines in the rock-hewn caverns where old Niagara now +toiled in fetters, to swell their power and fling gold into their +bottomless coffers. + +"See here!" Flint repeated angrily, once more shaking the dispatches at +his mate. "Even our wireless system, all over the west and southwest, +has quit working! And you sit there staring at me like--like--" + +"That'll do, Flint!" the younger man retorted in a rough, hoarse voice. +"If there's any trouble, I'll find it and repair it. Very well. But I'll +not be talked to in any such way. Damn it, you can't speak to me Flint, +as if I were one of the people! If you own half the earth, I'll have you +understand I own the other half. So go easy, Flint--go damned easy!" + +Malevolently he eyed the old man's beast-like face. The scorn and +dislike he had conceived for Flint, years ago, when Flint had failed to +win back Catherine to him, had long grown keener and more bitter. +Waldron took it as a personal affront that Flint, apparently so worn and +feeble, could still hang on to life and brains enough to dominate the +enterprise. A thousand times, if once, he had wished Flint well dead and +buried and out of the way, so that he, Waldron, could grasp the whole +circle of the stupendous Air Trust. This, his supreme ambition, had been +constantly curbed by Flint's survival; and as the months and years had +passed, his hate had grown more deep, more ugly, more venomous. + +"Why, curse it," Waldron often thought, "the old dope has taken enough +morphine in his lifetime to have killed a hundred ordinary men! And yet +he still clings on, and withers, and grows yellow like an old dead leaf +that will not drop from the tree! When _will_ he drop? When _will_ +Father Time pick the despicable antique? My God, is the man immortal?" + +Such being the usual tenor of his thoughts, concerning Flint, small +wonder that he took the old man's chiding with an ill grace, and warned +him pointedly not to continue it. Now, facing the Billionaire, he fairly +stared him out of countenance. An awkward silence followed. Both heard, +with relief, a rapping at the office door. + +"Come!" snapped Flint. + +A clerk appeared, with a yellow envelope in hand. + +"Another wireless, sir," said he. + +Flint snatched it from him. + +"Send Herzog and Slade, at once," he commanded, as he ripped the +envelope. + +"Well, more trouble?" insolently drawled "Tiger" happy in the paling of +the old man's face and the sudden look of apprehension there. + +For all answer, Flint handed him the message. Waldron read: + + Southern and Gulf States all seemingly cut off from every kind of + communication this P.M. Can get no news. Is this according to your + orders? If not, can you inform me probable cause? I ask + instructions. "K." + +Silence, a minute, then Waldron whistled, and began pulling at his thick +lower lip, a sure sign of perturbation. + +"By the Almighty, Flint" said he. "I--maybe I was wrong just now, to be +so confoundedly touchy about--about what you said. This--certainly looks +odd, doesn't it? It _can't_ be a series of coincidences! There must be +something back of it, all. But--but _what_? Rebellion is out of the +question, now, and has been for a long time. Revolution? The way we're +organized, the very idea's an absurdity! But, if not these, what?" + +Flint stared at him with drug-contracted eyes. + +"Yes, that's the question," he rapped out. "What can it mean? Ah, +perhaps Slade can tell us," he added, as the secret-service man quietly +entered through a private door at the rear of the office. + +"Tell you what, gentlemen?" asked Slade, smirking and rubbing his hands. + +"The meaning of that, and that, and _that_!" snapped old Flint, +thrusting the telegrams at the newcomer. + +"Hm!" grunted the secret-service man, as he glanced them over. "That's +damned odd! But it's of no real moment. If--if there's really any +trouble, any outbreak or what not, of course it can't amount to +anything. All you have to do is order the President to call out the +troops, and--" + +"Yes, I can order him, all right," snarled Flint, "but in case all our +wires are down and all our wireless plants put out of commission, to say +nothing of our transport service interrupted, what then? There's no +doubt in _my_ mind, Slade, that another upheaval is upon us. The fact +that we stamped out the 1918 and 1922 uprisings, and that rivers ran red +and city streets were flushed with blood, apparently hasn't made any +impression on the cattle! Damn it all, I say, _can't_ you keep things +quiet? _Can't_ you?" + +In a very frenzy he paced the office, his face twitching, his bony +fingers snapping with the extremity of his agitation. Suddenly he faced +Slade. + +"See here, you!" he exclaimed. "This certainly means another uprising. +It can't mean anything else! And you've allowed it, you hear? No, no, +don't deny the fact!" he cried, as the detective tried to oppose a word +of self-defense. "It's your fault, at last analysis; and if anything +happens, you and the President, Supple, have got to answer to me, +personally, do you hear? You've got to pay!" + +"Pay, and with devilish big interest, too!" growled "Tiger," fixing his +bleared, savage eyes on Slade. + +"What did I make that man President for, anyhow?" snarled Flint, "if not +to do my bidding and keep things still? Why did I put you in as his +private secretary, if not to have you watch him and see that he _did_ do +my bidding? Why did I have Congress pass all those bills and things, +except to give you the weapons and tools to hold the lid on? + +"You've had a huge army and a conscripted militia given you; and +hundreds of wireless plants, and military roads and war-equipment beyond +all calculating. You've had thousands of spies organized and put under +your control. At your suggestion I've had all political power taken away +from the dogs--and everything done that you've asked for--and this, +_this_ is the kind of work you do!" + +Livid with rage, the old Billionaire stood there shaking by his desk, +his face a fearful mask of passions and evil lusts for vengeance and +power. Slade, recognizing his master, even as President Supple on more +than one occasion had been forced in terrible personal interviews to +recognize him, said no word; but in the secret-service man's eyes a +brutal gleam flashed its message of hate and loathing. Foul as Slade +was, he balked at times, in face of this man's cruel and naked savagery. + +"I tell you," continued Flint, now having recovered his breath, "I tell +you, you're worse than useless, you and your President, ha! +ha!--President Puppet, indeed! Take that great Smoky Mountain clue, for +instance! On the rumor that the ring-leaders of the swine were up there, +somewhere, in the North Carolina mountains, you sent your two best men. +And what's the latest news? What have you to tell me? _You_ know! Other +airmen of yours have just reported that nothing can be found but ruins +of the Socialist refuge, there--nothing but those, and the half-melted +vanadium steel identification-tags of your best scouts! _And_ their +machine is gone--and with it, the birds we wanted! Then, close on the +heels of this, all wires go flat, all wireless breaks down, all rails +are interrupted, and--and Hell's to pay!" Fair in Slade's face he shook +his trembling first. + +"Urrh! You devilish, impotent faker! You four-flusher! You toy +detective! You and your President, too, aren't worth the liquid oxygen +to blow you to Hades! See here, Slade, you get out on this job, now, and +do it damned quick, you understand, or there'll be _some_ shake-up in +your office and in the White House, too. When I buy and pay for tools, I +insist that the tools work. If they don't--!" + +He snatched up a pencil from the desk, broke it in half and threw the +pieces on the floor. + +"Like that!" said he, and stamped on them. + +Waldron nodded approval. + +"Just like that," he echoed, "and then some!" + +"Go, now!" Flint commanded, pointing at the door. "Inside an hour, I +want some reports, and I want them to be satisfactory. If you and Supple +can't get things open again, and start the troops and machine-guns +before then, look out! That's all I've got to say. Now, _go_!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII. + +"NOW COMES THE HOUR SUPREME." + + +Hardly had the secret-service man taken his leave, slinking away like a +whipped cur, yet with an ugly snarl that presaged evil, when Herzog +appeared. + +"Come here," said Flint, curtly, heated with his burst of passion. + +"Yes, sir," the scientist replied, approaching. "What is it, sir?" + +Still shifty and cringing was he, in presence of the masters; though +with the men beneath him, at the vast plant--and now his importance had +grown till he controlled more than eight thousand--rumor declared him an +intolerable tyrant. + +"Tell me, Herzog, what's the condition of the plant, at this present +moment?" + +"Just how do you mean, sir?" + +"Suppose there were to be trouble, of any kind, how are we fixed for it? +How's the oxygen supply, and--and everything? Good God, man, unlimber! +You're paid to know things and tell 'em. Now, talk." + +Thus adjured, Herzog washed his hands with imaginary soap and in a +deprecating voice began: + +"Trouble, sir? What trouble could there be? There's not the faintest +sign of any organization among the men. They're submissive as so many +rabbits, sir, and--" + +"Damn you, shut up!" roared Flint. "I didn't summon you to come up here +and give me a lecture on labor conditions at the works! The trouble I +refer to is possible outside interference. Maybe some kind of wild-eyed +Socialist upheaval, or attack, or what not. In case it comes, what's our +condition? Tell me, in a few words, and for God's sake keep to the +point! The way you wander, and always have, gives me the creeps!" + +Herzog ventured nothing in reply to this outburst, save a conciliatory +leer. Then, collecting his thoughts, he began: + +"Well, sir, in a general way, our condition is perfect. We've got two +regiments of rifle and machine gunmen, half of them equipped with the +oxygen bullets. I guarantee that I could have them away from their +benches and machines, and on the fortifications, inside of fifteen +minutes. Slade's armed guards, 2,500 or so, are all ready, too. + +"Then, beside that, there are eight 'planes in the hangars, and plenty +of men to take them up. If you wish, sir, I can have others brought in. +The aerial-bomb guns are ready. As for the oxygen supply, Tanks F and L +are full, K is half filled, and N and Q each have about 6,000 gallons, +making a total of--let's see, sir--a total of just about 755,000 +gallons." + +"How protected? Have you got those bomb-proof overhead nets on, yet?" + +"Not yet, sir. That is, not over all the lines of tanks. We ran short of +steel wire, last week, and have only got eight of the tanks under +netting. But the work is going on fast, sir, and--" + +"Rush it! At all hazards, get nets over the rest of the tanks. If +anything happens, through this delay, remember, Herzog, I shall hold +you personally responsible, and it will go hard with you!" + +"Yes, sir; thank you, sir," murmured the servile wretch. "Anything else, +sir?" + +Flint thought a moment, glaring at Herzog with angry eyes, then shook +his head in negation. + +"Very well, sir," said Herzog, withdrawing. "I'll go to work at once. By +tomorrow, everything will be safe, I guarantee." + +He closed the door softly--as softly as he had spoken--as softly as he +always did everything. + +Flint glared at the door. + +"The sneaking whelp!" he murmured. "He makes my very flesh crawl. I wish +to heaven he weren't so essential to us; we'd let him go, damned quick!" + +"You forget," put in Tiger, "that he knows too much to be let go, ever. +No, he's a fixture. And now, dismiss him from your mind, and let's go +over those telegrams and radiograms again. If there _is_ a new Socialist +revolt under way--and I admit it certainly begins to look like it--we've +got to understand the situation. Slade will have some more reports for +us, in an hour or so. Till then, these must suffice." + +Flint, curbing his agitation, sat down at the big table and turned on +the vacuum-glow light, for the October afternoon was foggy--a fog that +mingled with the spray of the vast Falls and hung heavy over the +world--and already daylight was beginning to fail. + +"Fools!" he muttered to himself. "Fools, to think they can rebel against +_us_! Ants would have just as much show of success, charging elephants, +as _they_ have against the Air Trust! By tomorrow they'll be wiped out, +smeared out, shattered and annihilated, whoever and wherever they are. +By tomorrow, at the latest. Again I say, blind, suicidal fools!" + +"Right you are," assented Waldron, drawing up his chair. "They don't +seem to realize, even yet, that we own the whole round earth and all +that is in it. They don't understand that their rebelling is like a +tribe of naked savages going against a modern army with explosive +bullets. Ah, well, let them learn, let them learn! It takes a whip to +teach a cur. Let them feel the lash, and learn!..." + + +At this same hour, in the last retreat, near Port Colborne, in the State +of Ontario--once a province of Canada--half a dozen grim and determined +men were gathered together. We already recognize Craig, Grantham and +Gabriel. The other three, like them, all wore the Socialist button and +the little tab of red ribbon that marked them as members of the Fighting +Sections. + +"Tonight," Gabriel was saying, as he stood there in the gathering +dusk--they dared not show a light, even behind the drawn curtains of +their refuge--"tonight, comrades, the final die is cast. Everything is +ready, or as nearly ready as we shall ever be able to make it. Our +reports already show that every line of communication has been broken by +one swift, sharp blow. True, in a few hours all these avenues can be +opened up again. By morning, the Niagara works will be in receipt of +messages; trains will be running; the troop-planes will be carrying +their hordes at the command of Flint. By morning, yes. But in the +meantime--" + +He spread his fingers, upward, with an expressive gesture. + +"By morning," Craig mumbled, "what will there be left to protect?" + +A little silence followed. Each was busy with his own thoughts. + +All at once, one of the three newcomers spoke--a tall, light-haired +fellow, he seemed, in that dim light, with a strong Southern accent. + +"Pardon me for asking, Gabriel," said he, removing a pipe from his +mouth, "or for discussing details familiar to you all. But, coming as I +_have_ come direct from the New Orleans refuge--they blew it up, last +week, you know--of course I haven't got things as clearly in mind yet, +as you-all have. Now, as I understand it, while we manoeuvre over the +plant, blow up the barricades and, if possible, 'get' the oxygen-tanks, +our men on the ground will pour in through the gaps and storm the place, +under the command of Edward Hargreaves. Is that the idea?" + +"Exactly, Comrade Marion," answered Gabriel. "You've hit it to a T." + +Craig laughed grimly, as he drew at his pipe. + +"Just as we're going to hit those big tanks!" said he. "It's tonight or +never, comrades. They're putting steel nets over them, already. By +tomorrow the whole place will be protected by huge grill-work fully a +hundred feet above the tops of the tanks. Oh, they seem to have thought +of everything, those plutes! But they'll be just a shade too late, this +time; just a shade too late!" + +Another silence, broken again by the tall Southerner. + +"Just let me get this thing quite clear," said he. "We're to start at +5:30, you say, walk past the Welland Canal Feeder out to the Monck +Aviation Grounds, and find everything ready there?" + +"Correct," said Gabriel. "All six of us. That's our part of the program. +Comrades you don't know, out there--comrades in the employ of the Air +Trust itself--will have six machines ready. One of them will be the very +machine that they tried to get us with, in the Great Smokies! So you +see, we're going to use the Air Trust equipment, their field and even +their own telenite, to put them out of business forever and to free the +world!" + +"Poetic justice, all right enough!" laughed Marion. "At the same time +that we're attacking from an elevation of perhaps three thousand feet, +the lateral attack will be delivered. About how many men do you count, +on, for that?" + +"Well," judged Gabriel, "within a ten-mile radius of the plant, at least +a hundred thousand men are waiting, this very instant, with every nerve +keyed up to fighting tension. Scattered in a vast variety of ingenious +and cleverly-devised hiding places, with their chlorine grenades and +their revolvers shooting little hydrocyanic acid gas bullets, they're +waiting the signal--a rocket in mid-heaven." + +"Hydrocyanic acid gas!" exclaimed Marion, forgetting to smoke. "Why, one +whiff of that is death!" + +"It is," agreed Gabriel. "Remember, this is a war of extermination. It's +a case of _them_ or _us_! And if we're worsted, the whole world loses; +while if they are, then liberty is born! That's why this gas is +justifiable. They'll try to use oxygen-bullets on us, never fear. But +where they can kill ten, with those, we can annihilate a hundred with +our kind. Swine, they have called us, and fools and apes. Well, we +shall see, we shall see, when it comes to an out-and-out fight between +Plutocrat and Proletarian, who is the better man!" + +Again came silence. And this time it was Grantham who broke it. + +"Comrades," said he, "after you've seen as many Socialists shot down as +_I_ have--shot down and burned, as Brevard was--you'll lose any +lingering ideas of civilized warfare you may still retain. They hunt us +like beasts, prison us in foul traps, ride us down, crush us, break and +tear us, and burn us alive, because we struggle to be free men and +women, not slaves. Now that our hour has struck, now that their lines of +communication and defense are breached, and they--though they still +don't fully understand it--are penned there in their heaven-offending, +monstrous, horrible plant at the Falls, no true man can hesitate to +smash them down with no more compunction than as though they were so +many rattlesnakes or scorpions! + +"This isn't 1915, when political and civil rights still existed, and we +weren't hunted outlaws. This is 1925, and conditions are all different. +It's war, war, war to the death, now; and if war is Hell, then _they_ +are going to get Hell this time, not we." + +Nobody spoke, for a little while; but Marion and Craig smoked +contemplatively, and the others sat there in the dusk, sunk in thought. + +All at once a door opened, and the vague form of a woman became visible. + +"Comrades, you must go," said she. "It's nearly half past five. By the +time you've got everything in readiness, you'll have no time to lose." + +"Right, Catherine," answered Gabriel. "Come, comrades! Up and at it!" + +Ten minutes later they all issued forth into the soft gloom. All were in +aviator's dress, and each carried a parcel by a handle held with stout +straps. Had you seen them, you would have noticed they took particular +pains not to jar or shake these parcels, or approach unduly near each +other. + +At the door of the refuge, Catherine said good-bye to each, and added +some brave word of cheer. Her farewell to Gabriel was longer than to the +others; and for a moment their hands met and clung. + +"Go," she whispered, "go, and God bless you! Go even though it be to +death! Their airmen will take toll of some of the attackers, Gabriel. +Not all the Comrades will return. Oh, may _you_--may _you_!" + +"What is written on the Book of Fate, will be," he answered. "Our petty +hopes and fears are nothing, Catherine. If death awaits me, it will be +sweet; for it will come, tonight, in the supreme service of the human +race! Good-bye!" + +With a sudden motion, the girl took his face between her hands, and +kissed his forehead. For all her courage and strength, he sensed her +heart wildly beating and he felt her tears. + +"Good-bye, Gabriel," she breathed. "Would I might go with you! Would +that my duty did not hold me here! Good-bye!" + +Then he was gone, gone with the others, into the thickening obscurity of +the fog-shrouded evening. Now Catherine stood there alone, head bowed +and wet face hidden in both hands. + +As the little fighting band disappeared, back to the girl drifted a few +words of song, soft-hummed through the dusk--the deathless chorus of the +International: + + "Now comes the hour supreme! + To arms, each in his place! + The new dawn's International + Shall be the human race!..." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV. + +THE ATTACK. + + +"Halt! Who goes there?" + +The challenge rang sharply on the night air, outside a small gate in the +barricade of the Monck Aviation Grounds. + +"Liberty!" answered Gabriel, pausing as he gave the password. + +"All right, come on," said a vague figure at the gate. The little group +approached. The gate opened. Silently they entered the enclosure. + +Another man stepped from a hangar. In his hand he held an electric +flash, which he threw upon the newcomers, one by one. + +"Right!" he commented, and took Gabriel by the hand. "This way!" + +Ten minutes later, all of them were in the air, save only Gabriel, who +insisted on staying till his entire squad had made a clean getaway. Then +he too rose; and now in a long, swift line, the fighting squadron +straightened away to north-eastward, on the twenty-mile run to Niagara. + +The night was foggy, chill and dark. All the aviators had instructions +to fly not less than 2,500 feet high, to keep a careful lookout lest +they collide, and to steer by the lights of the great Air Trust plant. +For, misty though the heavens were, still Gabriel could see the dim glow +of the tremendous aerial search-lights dominating Goat Island--lights +of 5,000,000 candle-power, maintained by current from the Falls, +incessantly sweeping the sky on the lookout for just such perils as now, +indeed, were drawing near. + +Momently, as he flew, Gabriel perceived these huge lights growing +brighter, through the mist, and apprehension won upon him. + +"Incredibly strong!" he muttered to himself, as he glanced from his +barometer to the shining fog ahead. "Even though the mist will be +thicker over the Falls than anywhere else, there's a good possibility +they may pierce it and pick us up--and _then_, look out for their +'planes and swift, fighting dirigibles!" + +He rotated the rising-plane, and now soared to 2,800 feet. Below and on +either side of him, nothing but tenuous fog. Ahead, the +swiftly-approaching fan of radiance, white, dazzling, beautiful, that +seemed to gush from earth so far below and to the eastward. Already the +thunders of the Falls were audible. + +"Where are the others?" Gabriel wondered, his thoughts seeming to hum +and roar in his head, in harmony with the shuddering diapason of the +muffler-deadened exhaust. "No way of telling, now. Each man for +himself--and each to do his best!" + +And then his thoughts reverted to Catherine; and round his heart a +sudden yearning seemed to strengthen his stern, indomitable +resolve--"Victory or death!" + +But now there was scant time for thought. The moment of action was +already close at hand. Far below there, hidden by night and dark and +mist, Gabriel knew a hundred thousand comrades, of the Fighting +Sections, were lying hidden, waiting for the signal to advance. + +"And it's time, now!" he said aloud, thrilled by a wondrous sense of +vast responsibility--a sense that on this moment hung the fate of the +world. "It's time for the signal. Now then, up and at them!" + +Taking the rocket--a powerful affair, capable of casting an intense, +calcium light--he touched the fuse to a bit of smouldering punk fastened +in a metal cup at his right hand. Then, as it flared, he launched the +rocket far into the void. + +Below, came a quick spurt of radiance, in a long, vivid streak that shot +away with incredible rapidity. Gabriel followed it a moment, with his +gaze, then smiled. + +"The Rubicon is crossed," said he. "The gates of the Temple of Janus are +open wide--and now comes War!" + +He rose again, skimming to a still higher altitude as the glare of the +great Works drew closer and closer underneath. The wind roared in his +ears, louder than the whirling propellers. The whole fabric of the +aeroplane quivered as it climbed, up, up above the rushing, bellowing +cataract. + +"Where are the others?" thought he, and reached for a thanatos +projectile, in the rack near the metal cup where the punk still +glowered. + +All at once, a glare of light burst upward through the white-glowing +mist; and the 'plane reeled with the air-wave, as now a thunderous +concussion boomed across the empty spaces of the sky. + +At the same moment, a faint, ripping noise mounted to Gabriel--a sound +for all the world like the tearing of stout canvas. Then followed a +chattering racket, something like distant mowing-machines at work; and +now all blent to a steady, determined uproar. Gabriel almost thought to +hear, as he launched his own projectile, far sounds as of the shouts and +cries of men; but of this he could not make sure. + +"They're at it, anyhow!" he exulted. "At it, at last! By the way our men +have launched the attack, the first explosion must have breached a wall! +God! What wouldn't I give to be down there, in the thick of it, rather +than here! I--" + +_Crash_! + +Again a spouting geyser of light and uproar burst into mid-air. + +"That was _my_ thanatos speaking!" cried Gabriel. "Now for another!" + +Before he could drop it, as he circled round and round, directly over +the great, flailing beams of the Air Trust search-lights, a third +detonation shattered the heavens, nearly unseating him. Up sprang the +roar, with wonderful intensity, reflected from the earth as from a giant +sounding-board. And Gabriel noted, with keen satisfaction, that one of +the huge light-beams had gone dark. + +"Put out _one_ of them, anyway, so far!" thought he, and swung again to +westward, and once more dropped a messenger of death to tyranny. + +Now the bombardment became general. Trust aerial-gun projectiles began +bursting all about. Every second or two, terrible concussions leaped +toward the zenith; and the earth, hidden somewhere down there below the +fog-blanket, seemed flaming upward like a huge volcano. One by one the +search-lights, whipping the sky, went black; and now the glow of them +was fast diminishing, only to be replaced by a ruddier and more +intermittent glare. + +"The plant's burning, at last," thought Gabriel. "Heaven grant the fire +may spread to the oxygen-tanks! If we can only get _those_--!" + +Again he launched a projectile, and again he circled over the doomed +plant. + +A swift black shape swooped by him. He had just time to exchange a yell +of warning, when it was gone. The near peril gripped his heart, but did +not shake it. + +"Close call!" said he. + +If that machine and his had met, good-bye forever! But after all, the +danger of collision in mid-air, or of being struck by a projectile from +some other machine, above, was no greater than his comrades on the +ground were facing. Not so great, perhaps. Many a one would meet his +death from the aerial attack. In a war like this, a thousand perils +threatened. Gabriel only hoped that Hargreaves, down below there, could +hold them back, away, till the walls should have been destroyed. + +Circling, ever circling, now hearing some echoes of the earth-battle, +some grenade-volleys and rapid-fire clattering, now deafened and all but +blinded by the vast, up-belching explosions of the thanatos projectiles, +Gabriel flew among the drifting mists and vapors. Still was he guided by +one or two search-lights; but most of these were gone, now. Yet the +glare of the conflagration, below, was luridly shuddering through the +fog, painting it all a dull and awful red. + +Red! Suddenly words came into Gabriel's mind--the words of his own poem: + + ... Red as blood, red as blood! The blood of the shattered miner, + Blood of the boy in the rifle pits, blood of the coughing child-slave, + Blood of the mangled trainman, blood that the Carpenter shed! + +"For your sake! For the world's sake, this!" he cried, and hurled +another thanatos. "If ever war of liberation was holy, this is that +war!" + +Suddenly, through all the turmoil of shattering explosions, tossing +air-currents and drifting, acrid smoke, he became conscious of a sudden, +swift-flying pursuer. + +By the light of the burning Plant, down there somewhere in the vapors of +the thunderous Falls, he saw a hawk-like 'plane that swooped toward him +with incredible velocity, savage and lean and black. + +Off to the right, a sudden spattering of shots in mid-air told him the +battle in the sky was likewise being engaged. He saw vague, veiled +explosions, there, then a swift, falling trail of flame. A pang shot +through his heart. Had one of his companions fallen and been dashed to +death? He could not tell--he had no time to wonder, even, for already +the attacker was upon him, the swift Air Trust _épervier,_ one of the +dreaded air-fleet of the world-monopoly! + +Gabriel had just time to swerve from the attack, and swoop +aloft--dropping his next to last projectile as he did so--when the +whirling shape zoomed past, swung round and once more charged. He saw, +vaguely, two men sat in it. One was the pilot, a "Gray" or Cosmos +mercenary. The other--could it be? Yes, there was no mistaking! The +other was Slade himself, commander of the hireling army of Plutocracy! + +Out from the attacking 'plane jetted sadden spurts of fire. Gabriel +heard the zip-zip-zip of bullets; heard a ripping tear, as one of his +canvas wings was punctured--God help him, had that explosive bullet +struck a wire or a stay! + +Then, maddened to despair; and burning with fierce rage against this +monster of the upper air that now was hurling death at him, he once more +"banked," brought his machine sharp round, and charged, full drive, at +the attacker! + +This tactic for a second must have disconcerted the Air Trust +mercenaries. Gabriel's speed was terrific. With stupefying suddenness, +the _épervier_ loomed up ahead of him. + +"Now!" he shouted. "Take this, from me!" + +Half rising from his seat, he hurled his last remaining projectile full +at Slade, then wrenched his own 'plane off sharply to the left. + +A thunderous concussion and a dazzling burst of light told him his +chance shot had been effective. + +He got a second's vision of a shattered black mass, a tangle of girders, +wires, collapsed planes, that seemed to hang a moment in midair--of +whirling bodies--of wreckage indescribable. Then the broken debris +plunged with awful speed and vanished through the red-glowing mist. + +Even as he shuddered, sickened at the terrible, though necessary deed, +the deed which alone could save him from swift death, an overwhelming +air-wave from the terrible explosion struck his speeding machine, the +machine captured in the Great Smokies from the Air Trust itself. + +It heeled over like an unballasted yacht under the lash of a hurricane. +Vainly Gabriel jerked at wheel and levers; he could not right it. + +As it seemed to come under control, a stay snapped. The 'plane swooped, +yawned forward and stuck its nose into an air-hole, caused by the vast, +uprising smoke and heat of the huge conflagration beneath. + +Then, lost and beyond all guidance, it somersaulted, slid away down a +long drop and, whirling wildly over and over, plunged with Gabriel into +the glowing, smoking, detonating void! + + + + +CHAPTER XXXV. + +TERROR AND RETREAT. + + +When, despite Flint's imperative orders, Slade failed to reopen the +lines of communication for him, before nightfall, and when President +Supple wired in code for a little more time in obeying Air Trust orders, +the Billionaire recognized that something of terrible menace now had +suddenly broken in upon his dream of universal power. + +He summoned Waldron and Herzog for another conference and together they +feverishly planned to put the works under defense, until such time as +troops could be got through to them. + +The plant regiment was mustered and the Cosmos mercenaries and scabs +were made ready. The machine-guns were unlimbered for action and large +quantities of ammunition were delivered to them and to the aerial-bomb +guns, as nightfall lowered. Herzog set eight hundred men to work +covering all the tanks possible, with wire netting of heavy steel. The +search-lights were all ordered into use; steam and electrical +connections were made, the air-fleet was manned, and everything was done +that unlimited wealth and bitter hate of the Workers could suggest. + +With curses on the fog, which hid the upper air from view, the old man +now stood at one of the west windows of his inner office--the office on +the top floor of the main Administration Building, overlooking nearly +the whole Plant. + +"Damn the weather!" he snarled, his gold teeth glinting. "In addition to +all this mist from the Falls, there's a regular cloud-bank settling +down, tonight! Under cover of it, what may not happen? Nothing could +have been worse, Waldron. Though we shall soon control the air, that +won't be enough, so long as fogs and mists escape us. Our next +problem--hello! Now what the devil's _that_?" + +"What's what?" retorted Waldron, testily. He had been drinking rather +more heavily than usual, that day, both because of the dull weather and +because the Falls invariably got on his nerves, during his brief +sojourns there. Away from New York and his favorite haunts, Waldron was +lost. "What's what?" he repeated with an ugly look. "This roaring, +glaring, trembling place gives me--" + +"That! That light in the sky!" cried Flint, excitedly pointing. "See? +No--it's gone now! But it looked like--like a rocket! A signal, of some +kind, thrown from an aeroplane! A--" + +Waldron laughed harshly. + +"Seeing things, eh?" he sneered, coming across to the window, himself, +and peering out. "_I_ don't see anything! Nothing here to worry about, +Flint. With all these walls and guns, and netting, and air-ships and a +private army and all, what more do you want? Not getting nervous in your +old age, are you, eh?" he gibed bitterly. "Or is your conscience +beginning to wake up, as the graveyard becomes more a probability +than--" + +"Enough!" Flint snapped at him. "When you drink, Waldron, you're an +idiot! Now, forget all this, and let's get down to work. I tell you, I +just now saw a signal-light up there in the mist. There's trouble coming +tonight, as sure as we own the earth. Trouble, maybe big trouble. +Merciful God, I--I rather think we oughtn't to be here, in person, eh? +We'd be much better off out of here. If there--there should be any +fighting, you know--" + +His voice broke in a falsetto pipe. Waldron laughed brutally. + +"Bravo!" cried he, with flushed and mottled face. "You'll do, Flint! I +see, right now, the firing-line is the life for you! Well, let the row +come, and devil take it, say I. Better anything than--" + +The sentence was never finished, For suddenly a shattering explosion +hurled a vast section of the western encircling wall outward, out into +the River, and, where but a moment before, the partners had been gazing +at a high concrete-and-steel barrier, with electric lights on top, now +only a huge gap appeared, through which the foam-tossed current could be +seen leaping swiftly onward toward the Falls. + +Hurled back from the window by the force of the explosion, both men were +struck dumb with terror and amaze. Flint rallied first, and with a cry +of rage, inarticulate as a beast's howl, sprang to the window again. + +Outside, a scene of desolation and wild activity was visible. The great, +paved courtyard, flanked by the turbine houses and the wall, on one +hand, and on the other by the oxygen tanks' huge bulk that loomed +vaguely through the electric-lighted mist, now had begun to swarm with +men. + +Flint saw a few forms lying prone under the hard glare of the arcs and +vacuum lights. Others were crawling, writhing, making strange +contortions. Here, there, men with rifles were running to take their +posts. Hoarse orders were shouted, and shrill replies rang back. + +Then, all at once, a kind of sputtering series of small explosions began +to rip along the edge of the south wall. And now, machine-guns began to +talk, with a dry, hard metallic clatter. And--though whence these came, +Flint could not see--grenades began flying over the wall and bursting in +the court. Though unwounded, men fell everywhere these gas-projectiles +exploded--fell, stone dead and stiffening at once--fell, in strange, +monstrous, awful attitudes of death. + +Steam began billowing up; and crackling electrical discharges leaped +along the naked wires of the outer barricades. + +The whole Plant shook and rattled with the violent concussions of the +aerial-bomb guns, already searching the upper air with shrapnel. + +Somewhere, out of the range of vision, another terrible shock made the +building tremble to its nethermost foundation; and wild yells and cries, +as of a charge, a repulse, a savage and determined rush, echoed through +the vast enclosure. Came a third detonation--and, blinding in its +intensity, a globe of fire burst almost beneath the window, five stories +below. + +The partners, shaking and pale, retreated hastily. A swift, +upward-rising shape swept over the courtyard and was gone--one of the +air-fleet now launched to meet the attackers. + +Far below a sudden crumbling shudder of masonry told the Billionaire +not a moment was to be lost, for already one wing of the Administration +Building was swaying to its fall. + +"Quick, Waldron! Quick!" he shouted, in the shrill treble of senility, +and ran into the corridor that led to the north wing. Waldron, suddenly +sobered, followed; and from the offices, where the night-shift of clerks +were laboring (or had been, till the first explosion), came crowding +pale and frightened men. Not the fighting cast of Air Trust slaves, +these, but the anaemic chemists and experimenters and clerical workers, +scabs, to a man. Now, in the common sentiment of fear, they jostled +Flint and Waldron, as though these plutocrats had been but common clay. +And in the corridor a babel rose, through which fresh volleys and ever +more and more violent explosions ripped and thundered. + +Flint struck savagely at some who barred his way; and Waldron elbowed +through, with curses. + +"Get out of the way, you swine!" shrilled the old Billionaire. "Make +way, there! Way!" + +The two men reached a door that led by a private passage, through to the +steel-and-concrete laboratories. + +"Here, this way, Flint!" shouted Waldron. "If those Hell-devils drop a +bomb on us, this building will cave in like jackstraws! Our only safety +is here, _here_!" + +Thoroughly cowed now, with all the brutal bluster and half-drunken +swagger gone, Waldron whipped out a bunch of keys, tremblingly unlocked +the door and blundered through. Flint followed. Behind them, others +tried to press, on toward the armored laboratories; but with vile +blasphemies the plutocrats beat them back and slammed the door. + +"To Hell with _them_!" shouted Flint, perfectly ashen now and shaking +like a leaf, the fear of death strong on his withered soul. "We've got +all we can do to look after ourselves! Quick, Waldron, quick!" + +Both men, sick with panic, with fear of the unknown terror from above, +stumbled rather than ran along the passage, and presently reached the +laboratory. + +Here Waldron unlocked another door, this time a steel one, and--as they +both crowded through--pressed a hand to his dizzy head. + +"Safe!" he gulped, slamming the door again. "They can't get us _here_, +at any rate, no matter what happens! This place is like a fort, and--" + +His speech was interrupted by a dazing, deafening tumult of sound. The +earth trembled, and the laboratory, steel though it was, with concrete +facing, rocked on its foundation. A glare through the windows, quickly +fading, told them the building they had just quitted was now but a +smoking pile of ruin. + +Flint gasped, unable to speak. Waldron, shaking and cowed, tried to +moisten his dry lips with a thick tongue. + +"We--we weren't any too soon!" he gulped, without one thought of the +doomed scabs in the Administration Building. Stern justice was now +overtaking these wretches. False to the working-class, and eager to +serve the Air Trust--not only eager to serve, but zealous in any attack +on the proletariat, and by their very employment serving to rivet the +shackles on the world--now they were abandoned by their masters. + +Between upper and nether millstone, moving with neither, they were +caught and crushed. And as the great building quivered, gaped wide +open, swayed and came thundering down in a vast pile of flame-lit ruin, +whence a volcanic burst of fire, smoke and dust arose, they perished +miserably, time-servers, cowards and self-seekers to the last. + +But Flint and Waldron still survived. Though the very earth shook and +trembled with the roar of bombs, the crumbling of massive walls, the +rattle of volley-fire and the crashing of the terrible grenades that +mowed down hundreds as they spread their poisonous gas abroad--though +the shriek of projectiles, the thunder of the air-ship guns now sweeping +the sky in blind endeavor to shatter the attackers all swelled the +tumult to a frightful storm of terror and of death; they still lived, +cowered and cringed there in the bomb-proof steel-and-concrete of the +inner laboratories. + +"Come, come!" Flint quavered, peering about him at the deserted room, +still glaring with electric light--the room now abandoned by all its +workers, who, members of Herzog's regiment, had run to take their posts +at the first signal of attack. "Come--this isn't safe enough, even here. +In--in there!" + +He pointed toward a vault-like door, leading to the subterranean steel +chambers where Herzog eventually counted on storing some hundreds of +thousands of tons of liquid oxygen--the reserve-chambers, impregnable to +lightning, fire, frost or storm, to man's attacks or nature's--the +chambers blasted from the living rock, deep as the Falls themselves, +vacuum-lined, wondrous achievement of the highest engineering skill the +world could boast. + +"There! There!" repeated Flint, plucking at the dazed Waldron's sleeve. +"Tool-steel and concrete, twenty-five feet thick--and vacuum chambers +all about--_there_ we can hide! There's safety! Come, come quick!" + +Staring, white-faced (he who had been so red!) and dumb, Waldron +yielded. Together, furtive as the criminals they were, these two +world-masters slunk toward the steel door, while without, their empire +was crashing down in smoke, and flame, and blood! + +They had almost reached it when a smash of glass at the far end of the +laboratory whipped them round, in keener terror. + +Staring, wild-eyed, they beheld the crouching figure of Herzog. Running, +even as he cringed, he had upset a glass retort, which had shattered on +the concrete floor. And as he ran, he screamed: + +"_They're in! They're coming! Quick--the steel vaults! Let me in, there! +Let me in!_" + +The coward was now a maniac with terror, his face perfectly white, +writhen with panic, and with staring eyes that gleamed horribly under +the greenish vacuum-lights. + +"Back, you! Get out!" roared Waldron, raising a fist. "We--" + +A sudden belch of flame, outside, split the night with terrible +virescence. The whole steel building trembled and swayed. Some of its +girders buckled; and the east wall, nearest the oxygen-tanks, caved +inward as a mass of many tons was hurled against it. + +A stunning concussion flung all three men to the floor; and, as they +fell, a withering heat-wave quivered through the place. + +"The oxygen-tanks!" gasped Flint. "They're blown up--they're +burning--God help us!" + +Scorching, yet still eager to live, he crawled on hands and knees toward +the steel door. Waldron dragged himself along, half-dead with terror. +Now, dripping gouts of inextinguishable fire were raining on the roof of +the building. A whirlwind of flame was sweeping all its eastern side; +and a glare like that of Hell itself seared the eyes of the fugitives. + +Quivering, trembling, slavering, the old man and Waldron wrenched the +steel door open. + +"_Me! Me! Let me in! Me! Save me!_" howled Herzog, dragging himself +toward them. + +They only laughed derisively, with howls of demoniacal scorn. + +"You slave! You cur!" shouted Waldron, and spat at him as he drew the +vault door shut. "You cringing dog--stay there, now, and face it!" + +The great door boomed shut. In the cool of the winding stairway of steel +which led, lighted by electricity, to the trap-door and the ladder down +into the tremendous vaults, the world-masters breathed deeply once more, +respited from death. + +Herzog, screaming like a fiend in torment, clawed at the impenetrable +steel door, raved, begged, entreated, and tore his fingers on the lock. + +No answer, save the muffled echo of a jeer, from within. + +_Boom!_ + +What was that? + +Mad with terror though he was, he whirled about, and faced the room now +quivering with heat. + +Even as he looked, a great gap yawned in the western wall, farthest from +the flame-belching oxygen-tank that had been struck. + +Through this gap, pouring irresistibly as the sea, swept a tide of +attackers, storming the inner citadel of the infernal, world-strangling +Air Trust. + +At the head of this victorious army, this flood triumphant of the +embattled proletaire, Herzog's staring eyes caught a moment's glimpse of +a dreaded face--the face of Gabriel Armstrong. + +Gasping, the coward and tool of the world-masters made one supreme +decision. Close by, a rack of vials stood. He whirled to it, snatched +out a tiny bottle and waiting not even to draw the cork--craunched the +bottle, glass and all, in his fang-like, uneven teeth. + +An instant change swept over him. His staring eyes closed, his head fell +forward, his whole body collapsed like an empty sack. He fell, twitched +once or twice, and was dead--dead ere the attackers could reach the door +of steel where his bestial masters had betrayed him. + +Thus perished Herzog, coward and tool, a victim of the very forces he +himself had helped create. + +And at the moment of his death, the masters he had cringed to and had +served, sneering with scorn at him even in their mortal terror, were +tremblingly descending the long metal ladder to the impregnable vaults +of steel below. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVI. + +THE STORMING OF THE WORKS. + + +Plunged into the abyss of mist and flame by the attack of the Air Trust +_épervier_, Gabriel had abandoned himself for lost. Death, mercifully +swift, he had felt could be his only fate; and with this thought had +come no fear, but only a wild joy that he had shared this glorious +battle, sure to end in victory! This was his only thought--this, and a +quick vision of Catherine. + +Then, as he hurtled down and over, whirling drunkenly in the void, all +clear perception left him. Everything became a swift blur, a rushing +confusion of terrible wind, and lurid light, and the wild roar of myriad +explosions. + +Came a shock, a sudden checking of the plunge, a long and rapid glide, +as the DeVreeland stabilizer of the machine, asserting its automatic +action, brought it to a level keel once more. + +But now the engine was stopped. Gabriel, realizing that some chance +still existed to save his life, wrenched madly at his levers. + +"If I can volplane down!" he panted, sick and dizzy, "there may yet be +hope!" + +Hope! Yes, but how tenuous! What chance had he, coasting to earth at +that low level, to avoid the detonating bombs, the aerial shrapnel being +hurled aloft, the poisonous gas, the surface-fire? + +Here, there and yonder, terrific explosions were shattering the echoes, +as the Air Trust batteries swept the fog with their aeroplane-destroying +missiles. Whither should he steer? He knew not. All sense of direction +was lost, nor could the compass tell him anything. A glance at the +barometric gauge showed him an altitude of but 850 feet, and this was +decreasing with terrible rapidity. + +Strive as he might, he could not check the swift descent. + +"God send me a soft place to fall on!" he thought, grimly, still +clinging to his machine and laboring to jockey it under control. + +Close by, a thunderous detonation crashed through the mist. His machine +reeled and swerved, then plunged more swiftly still. All became vague, +to Gabriel--a dream--a nightmare! + +_Crash!_ + +Flung from the seat, he sprawled through treetops, caught himself, fell +to a lower limb, slid off and landed among thick bushes; and through +these came to earth. + +The wrecked 'plane, whirling away and down, fell crashing into the river +that rushed cascading by, and vanished in the firelit mist. + +Stunned, yet half-conscious, Gabriel presently sat up and pressed his +right hand to his head. His left arm felt numb and useless; and when he +tried to raise it, he found it refused his will. + +"Where am I, now, I'd like to know?" he muttered. "Not dead, anyhow--not +_yet_!" + +A continuous roar of explosions shuddered the air, mingled with the +booming of the mighty Falls. Shouts and cheers and the rattle of +machine-guns assailed his ear. The glare of the search-lights, through +the mist and steam, was darkened momentarily by thick, greasy coils of +smoke, shot through by violent flashes of light as explosions took +place. + +Gabriel struggled to his feet, and peered about him, + +"Still alive!" said he. "And I must get back into the fight! That's all +that matters, now--the fight!" + +He knew not, yet, where he was; but this mattered nothing. His machine +had, in fact, fallen near the river bank, in the eastern section of +Prospect Park, beyond the Goat Island bridge--this region of the Park +having been left outside the fortifications, in the extension of the Air +Trust plant. + +The trees, here, had saved his life. Had he smashed to earth a hundred +yards further north, he would have been shattered against high walls and +roofs. + +Still giddy, but sensing no pain from his injured left arm, Gabriel made +way toward the scene of conflict. He knew nothing of how the tide of +battle was going; nothing of his position; nothing as to what men he +would first meet, his comrades or the enemy. + +But for these considerations he had no thought. His only idea, fixed and +grim, was "The fight!" Dazed though he still was, he nerved himself for +action. + +And so, pressing onward through the livid glare, through the night +shattered by stupendous detonations, he drew his revolver and broke into +a run. + +Strange evidences of the battle now became evident. He saw an unexploded +grenade lying beside a wounded man who grasped at him and moaned with +pain. Over a wrecked motor-car, greasy smoke was rising, as it burned. +Louder shouting drew him down a path to the left. Masses of moving +figures became dimly visible, through the mist. And now, stabs of fire +pierced the confusion and clamorous night. + +Gabriel jerked up his revolver, as he ran, the terrible weapon shooting +bullets charged with hydrocyanic-acid gas. + +A man rose before him, shouting. + +Gabriel levelled the weapon; but a glimpse of red ribbon in the other's +coat brought it down again. + +"Comrade!" cried he. "Where's the attack?" + +The other pointed. + +"Gabriel! Is that you?" he gasped, staring. + +"Yes! I fell--machine smashed--come on!" + +"Hurt?" + +"No! Arm, maybe. No matter! God! What's this?" + +Toward them a sudden swirl of men came sweeping, stumbling, shouting, in +pandemonium. + +"Our men!" cried Gabriel, starting forward again. "We're being driven! +Rally, here! Rally!" + +Beyond, a louder crackling sounded. Here, there, men plunged down. The +retreat was becoming a rout! + +Yelling, Gabriel flung himself upon the men. + +"Back there!" he vociferated. "Back, and at the walls! Come on, boys, +now! Come on!" + +His voice, well known to nearly all, thrilled them again with new +determination. A shout rose up; it swelled, deepened, roared to majestic +volume. + +Then the tide turned. + +Back went the fighting men of the great Revolution. back at the +machine-guns, mounted in the breached walls. + +Gabriel was caught and whirled along in that living tide. He found +himself at its crest, its foremost wave. Behind him, a roaring, rushing +river of men. Before the Inner Citadel. + +Gathering speed and weight as it rolled up, the wave broke like an ocean +surge over a crumbling dyke. + +Down went the Air Trust gunners and the guns, down, down to +annihilation! + +Through the breach, foaming and swelling with irresistible power burst +the tides of victory. + +Silenced now were the Trust guns. The steam-jets had none to man them. +Far aloft, a last explosion told the death story of the final +_épervier_. + +Here and there, from windows and corners of the wrecked and blazing +plant, a little intermittent firing still continued; but now the hearts +of these Air Trust defenders--scabs, thugs and scourings of the +slum--had turned to water, in face of the triumphant army of the working +class. + +They fled, those mercenaries, and all the ways and inner +strongholds--such as still were left--now lay open to Gabriel and his +comrades. + +Lighted by the blazing buildings and the vast fire torch of an +oxygen-tank off to eastward, they stormed the final citadel, the steel +and concrete laboratories, heart and soul and center of the hellish +world-conspiracy. + +Stormed it, as it began to blaze and crumble; stormed it, in search of +Flint and Waldron, would-be murderers of the world. + +Stormed it, only to see Herzog gnash his teeth upon the flask, and +fall, and die; only to know that there, within the rock-hewn, +steel-lined tanks, below, their enemies had still outwitted them! + +The swift onrush of the fire drove the victors back. + +"_Out, comrades! Out of here_!" shouted Gabriel, facing the attackers. + +None too soon. Hardly had they beaten a retreat, back into the vast +courtyard again, strewn with the dead, when a second oxygen tank +exploded, overwhelming the laboratory building with tons of flying +steel. + +Leaping toward the zenith, a giant tongue of flame roared heavenward. So +intense the heat had now become, that the solid brick and concrete +walls, exposed to the direct verberation of the flame, began to crack +and crumble. + +Gabriel ordered a general retreat of the attacking army. Victory was +won; and to stay near that gushing tornado of flame, with new explosions +bound to occur as the other oxygen tanks let go, must mean annihilation. + +So the triumphant Army of the Proletaire fell back and back still +further, out into the wrecked and trampled Park, and all through the +city, where shattered buildings, many of them ablaze, and broken trees, +dead bodies, smashed ordnance and chaos absolute told something of the +story of that brief but terrible war. + +Ringed round the perishing ruins of the Air Trust they stood, these +mute, thrilled thousands. Silence fell, now, as they watched the +roaring, ever-mounting flames that, whipped by the breeze, crashed +upward in long and cadenced tourbillions of white, of awful +incandescence. + +And the river, ever-hurrying, always foaming on and downward to its +titanic plunge, sparkled with eerie lights in that vast glow. Its voice +of thunder seemed to chant the passing and the requiem of the Curse of +the World, Capitalism. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVII. + +DEATH IN THE PIT OF STEEL. + + +And Flint, now, what of him! And Waldron? + +While the Air Trust plant was burning, crumbling, smashing down, what of +its masters, the masters of the world? + +A sense of vast relief possessed them both, at first, as the steel door +clanged after them. + +Now, for a time at least, they realized that they were safe, safe from +the People, safe from the awakened and triumphant Proletariat. Even now, +had they surrendered, they would have been spared; but nothing was +further from their thoughts than any treating with the despised and +hated enemy. + +Foremost in the mind of each, now, was the thought that if they could +but stand siege, a day or so, the troops of the government--their +government and their troops, their own personal property--would +inevitably rescue them. + +With this comforting belief, together they descended the long steel +staircase to the trap-door, passed through this, and climbed down the +metal ladder to the vast storage-vaults. + +Here, everything was cool and quiet and well-lighted. Not yet had the +electric-generating plant been put out of action. Though all its workers +had either been drafted into the ranks of the Cosmos mercenaries, or +Herzog's regiments, or else had fled to hiding, still the huge turbines +and enormous dynamos were whirling, unattended. Thus, for the first few +minutes, in their living tomb, down over which the ruins of the now +white-hot laboratory-building had crashed, the world-masters had +electric light. + +Reassured a little, they descended to the very bottom of the first huge +tank. + +"God!" snarled Flint, as he breathed deeply and glared about him. "The +curs! The swine! To think of this, _this_ really happening! And to think +that if we hadn't got here just in time, they'd actually have--have used +violence on _us_--" + +Waldron laughed brutally, his body still trembling and his face chalky. +His laugh echoed, hollowly, from the metal walls. + +"You old fool!" he spat. "Canting old hypocrite to the last, eh? +Violence? What the devil do you expect? Rosewater and confetti? Violence +was all that ever held 'em, wasn't it? And when they slipped the leash, +naturally they retorted--that's all! Violence? You make me sick! Damned +lucky for us if we get through this yet, without violence, you whining +cur!" + +Flint, for the first time hearing Waldron's honest opinion of him, +failed even to note it. All his panic-stricken ear had caught was the +note of hope, of survival. + +Clutching eagerly at Waldron's sleeve, he cackled: + +"If we get through? If we get through, you say? Then, in your opinion, +there _is_ a chance to get through? They can't get us here? We surely +shall be rescued?" + +"Bah!" Waldron flung at him, some latent spark of courage still +smouldering in his sodden breast, whereas old Flint was craven to the +marrow. "You nauseate me! Afraid to die, eh? Well, so am I; but not so +damned paralyzed and sick with panic as all that! If you'd taken less +dope, the last twenty years, you'd have more nerve now, to face the +music! World-master, you? Eh? Playing the biggest game on earth--and +now, when things break bad, you squeal! Arrrh! You called me a quitter +once, you mealy-mouthed old Pecksniff! We'll see, now, who quits! We'll +see, at a show-down, who can face it, you or I!" + +[Illustration: His fingers lost their hold--he dropped like a Plummet.] + +Waldron's brutality, the hard, savage quality that all his life had made +him "Tiger" Waldron, now was beginning to reassert itself. His first +sheer panic over, a little manhood was returning. But as for Flint, no +manhood dwelt in him to be awakened. Instead, each moment found him more +abject and more pitiable. Like an old woman he now wrung his hands and +groaned, hysterically; and now he paced the steel floor of the vault +that was destined to be his tomb; and now he stopped again and stared +about him with wild eyes. + +On all sides, sheer up a hundred feet or more, the smooth steel sides of +the vast oxygen tank rose, studded with long lines of rivets. + +Near the top a dark aperture showed where the six-inch pipe joined the +tank; the pipe destined to fill it, when Herzog's last process--never, +now, to be completed--should have been done. + +The huge floor, 150 feet in diameter, sloped gently downward toward the +center; and here yawned another pipe, covered by a grating--the pipe to +drain the liquid oxygen out to the pumping station. + +So deeply set in the rock of the Niagara cliff was this stupendous +tank, and so cunningly surrounded by vacuum-chambers, that now no +faintest sound of the Falls was audible. All that betrayed the nearness +of the cataract was a faint, incessant trembling of the metal walls, as +though the solid ribs of Earth herself were shuddering with the impact +of the plunge. + +Old Flint surveyed this extraordinary chamber with mingled feelings. It +surely offered absolute protection, for the present--or seemed to--but +his distressed mind conjured alarming pictures of the future, in case no +rescue came. Death by starvation, thirst and madness loomed before him. +Nervously he recommenced his pacing. Another terribly serious factor was +to be considered. He had now been three hours without his dose of +morphia, and his nerves were calling, tugging insistently for it. + +"Rotten luck," he grumbled, "that I've got none with me!" Even there, in +the imminent presence of disaster and death, his mind reverted to the +poison, more necessary to him than food. + +Waldron now had grown fairly calm. He stood leaning against the steel +ladder, down which they had descended. Choosing a cigar, he proceeded to +light up. + +"Might as well be comfortable while we wait," said he. "I only wish we +had a couple of chairs, down here. Oversight on our part that we didn't +have some steel ones put in, and a line of canned goods and a few quarts +of Scotch. The floor's a bit damp and cold to sit on, and I want a drink +damn bad!" + +Flint swung about and faced him, pale and shaking, tortured with fear +and with longing for his dope. + +"You--you don't think it _will_ be long, eh, do you?" he demanded. "Not +long before we're taken out?" + +Waldron shrugged his shoulders and blew a long, thin arrow of smoke +athwart the brightly-lighted air. + +"Search me!" he exclaimed. "To judge by what was happening when we made +our exit, the Plant must be a mess, by this time. We seem to have been +checked, even if not mated, Flint. I must admit they caught us by +surprise. Caught us napping, damn them, after all! They were stronger +than we thought, Flint, and cleverer, and better organized. And so--" + +"Don't say 'we,' curse you!" snarled Flint. "Blame yourself, if you want +to, but leave me out! _I_ knew there was trouble due, I tell you. _I_ +saw it coming! Who's been trying to crush the swine completely, if not +I? Who's worked night and day to have those bills put through, and who +had the army increased, and conscription started? Who's driven the +President to back all sorts of things? Who's forced them? Who made the +National Mounted Police a reality, if not I? Damn you, don't include +_me_ in your blame!" + +Waldron shrugged his shoulders, and smoked contemplatively. + +"Suit yourself," he answered. "If we both die, down here, it won't +matter much either way." + +"Die?" quavered the old jackal, suddenly forgetting his rage and peering +about with furtive eyes. "Did you say die, Wally? No, no! You didn't say +that! You didn't mean that, surely!" + +Waldron smiled, evilly, joying in this abject fear of his hated partner. + +"Oh, yes, I did, though," he retorted. "It's quite possible, you know. +In case our government--yours, if you prefer--can't get troops through, +here, or a big general revolution sweeps things, inside a day or two, +we're done. We'll starve and stifle, here, sure as shooting!" + +"No, no, no! Not that, not _that_!" whimpered Flint, shuddering. "I +can't die, yet. I--I'm not ready for it! There's all that missionary +work of mine not yet done, and my huge international Sunday School +League to perfect; and there's the tremendous ten-million-dollar +Cathedral of Saint Luke the Pious that I'm having built on Riverside +Drive, and there's--" + +"Cut it!" gibed Waldron, spitting with very disgust. "If your time's +come, Flint, you'll die, cathedrals or no cathedrals. Your Sunday +schools won't save you any more than my investments will--which have +largely been wine, women and song. As a matter of fact, if it comes to +starvation, if we aren't rescued and taken out from under the red-hot +wreckage that's on top of us, I'll outlive _you_! I can exist on my +surplus adipose tissue, for a while; but you--_you're_ nothing but skin +and bone. You'll starve far quicker than I will, old man." + +"Don't! Don't!" implored the shaking wretch, covering his eyes with both +trembling hands. + +"Moral, you oughtn't to have been a dope-fiend, all these years," +continued Waldron, cuttingly, determined that now, once for all, his +despised partner should hear the truth. "How you've lived so long, as it +is, I don't understand. When I tried to marry Kate, and failed, I +reckoned you'd pass over in almost no time--and, by the way, that's why +I was so insistent. But you've disappointed me, Flint. Disappointed me +sorely. You still live. It won't be long, however. Down here, you know, +you simply can't get any dope. In a little while you'll begin to suffer +the torments of Hell. You'll die of starvation and drug 'yen,' Flint, +and you'll die mad, mad, _mad_! Understand me! Mad, for morphine! And I, +I shall watch you, and exult!" + +Flint cringed, shuddering and stopped his ears. His partner, gloating +over him, smoked faster now. A strange light shone in his eyes. His +pulse beat faster than usual, and a certain extravagance of thought and +speech had become manifest in him. + +He tried to compose himself, feeling that he must not push the cowardly +Flint too far, but his ideas refused to flow in orderly sequence. +Wonderingly he stared at his cigar, the tip of which was now glowing +more brightly than before. + +And then, suddenly sniffing the air he understood. His eyes widened with +horror absolute. He started forward, gasped and cried: + +"_Flint! Flint! The oxygen is coming in!_" + +Uncomprehending, the old man still stood there, mumbling to himself. His +face was now tinged with unusual color, and his heart, too, was thumping +strangely. + +"_Oxygen_!" shouted Waldron, shaking him by the shoulder. "It--it's +leaking in, here, somewhere! If we can't stop it--_we're dead men_!" + +"Eh? _What_?" stammered the Billionaire, staring at him with eyes of +half-intoxicated fear. "What d'you mean, the oxygen? In--in here?" + +"_In here_!" cried "Tiger," casting a wild and terrible gaze about him +at the vast, empty trap of steel. "Can't you smell it? That ozone +smell? My God, we're lost! We're lost!" + +"You're crazy!" retorted Flint, with vigor. "Nothing of the sort could +happen!" His head was held high, now, and new life seemed surging +through that spent and drug-wrecked body. "There's no way those curs +could have turned on any gas, here. You're crazy, ha! ha! ha! Insane, +eh? A good joke--capital joke, that! I must tell it at the Union League +Club! 'Tiger' Waldron, suddenly insane, and--ha! ha! ha!" + +He burst into a long, shrill cacchination. Already his face was scarlet +and his mind a whirl. Though neither man understood the reason, yet the +fact remained that one of the last great explosions had ruptured a +subterranean check-valve closing the six-inch pipe that was to feed the +storage-tanks; and now a swift, huge stream of pure oxygen gas was +rushing at tremendous velocity into the vast chamber of steel. + +Waldron, his heart leaping as though it would burst his ribs, raised a +fist to strike down his insulter; then, with drunken indecision, joined +in the maniacal laughter of the staggering old man. + +In their ears a strange, wild humming now became audible. Lights danced +before their eyes; their senses reeled, and violent, extravagant ideas +surged through their drunken brains. + +"_Ha! Ha! Ha!_" rang Waldron's crazy laughter, echoing the old man's. +All at once, his cigar broke into flame. Cursing, he hurled it away, +staggering back against the ladder and stood there swaying, clutching it +to hold himself from falling. + +There he stood, and stared at Flint, with eyes that started from his +head, with panting breath and crimson face. + +The old man, in a sudden revulsion of terror, was now grovelling along +the floor, by one of the massive walls, clawing at the steel with +impotent hands and screaming mingled prayers and oaths. His ravings, +horrible to hear, echoed through the great tank, now swiftly filling +with gas. + +"Help! Help!" he screamed. "Save me--my God--save me--. Let me out, let +me out! A million, if you let me out! A billion--_the whole world_! The +world, ha! ha! ha! Damn it to Hell--the world, I say! I'll give the +world to be let out! It's mine--I own it--_all, all mine!_ Ha! Dogs! You +would rise up against your master and your God, would you? But it's no +use--we'll beat you yet--out! _out_!--the world--I own it! All this +plant--this gas, all mine! My oxygen--ah! it chokes me! _Help! +Help!_--Swine! I'll scourge you yet--_absolute power_--_the world_--!" + +With one final spark of energy, panting, his heart flailing itself to +death under the pitiless urge of the oxygen, old Flint sprang up, ran +wildly, blindly straight across the steel floor, and, screaming +blasphemies like a soul in Hell, dashed into the opposite wall. + +He recoiled, staggered, spun round and fell sprawling most +horribly--stone dead. + +Waldron, at sight of this awful end, felt an uncontrollable terror sweep +over his drunk and maddened senses. Though all his blood was leaping in +his arteries, and his breath coming so fast it choked him, yet a +moment's seeming sanity possessed his reeling brain. + +"The door! The door, up there!" he screamed, with a wild, terrible +curse. + +Then, turning toward the ladder, in spite of his fat and flabby muscles +quivering in terrible spasms, he ran up the long steel structure with a +supreme and ape-like agility. + +Fifty feet he made, seventy-five, ninety-- + +But, all at once, something seemed to break in his overtaxed heart. + +A blackness swam before his dazzled eyes. His head fell back. Unnerved, +his fingers lost their hold. And, whirling over and over in midair, he +dropped like a plummet. + +By one wall lay Flint's body. At the foot of the ladder, like a crushed +sack of bones, sprawled the corpse of "Tiger" Waldron. + +And still the rushing oxygen, with which they two had hoped to dominate +the world, poured through the six-inch main, far, far above--senseless +matter, blindly avenging itself upon the rash and evil men who impiously +had sought to cage and master it! + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVIII. + +VISIONS. + + +Thus perished Flint and Waldron, scourges of the earth. Thus they died, +slain by the very force which they had planned would betray mankind and +deliver it into their chains. Thus vanished, forever, the most sinister +and cruel minds ever evolved upon this planet; the greatest menace the +human race had ever known; the evil Masters of the World. + +And as they died, massed around their perished Air Trust plant, a throng +of silent, earnest watchers stood, with faces illumined by the symbolic, +sacrificial flames--a throng of emancipated workers, of toilers from +whose bowed shoulders now forever had been lifted the frightful menace +of a universal bondage. + +Explosion after explosion burst from the tortured Inferno of the vast +plant. Buildings came crashing, reeling, thundering down; walls fell, +amid vast, belching clouds of dust and smoke; a white, consuming sheet +of flame crackled across the sinister and evil place; and in its wake +glowed incandescent ruins. + +Then, in one final burst of thunderous tumult, the hugest tank of all, +exploding with a roar like that of Doom itself, hurled belching flames +on high. + +For many miles--in Buffalo, Rochester, Toronto and scores of cities on +both sides of the Great Lakes--silent multitudes watched the glare +against the midnight sky; and many wept for joy; and many prayed. All +understood the meaning of that sight. The light upon the heavens seemed +a signal and a beacon--a promise that the Old Times had passed away +forever--a covenant of the New. + +And, as the final explosion shattered the Temple of Bondage to wreckage, +flung it far into the rushing river and swept it over the leaping, +thundering Falls, the news flashed on a thousand wires, to all cities +and all lands; and though the mercenaries of the two dead world-masters +still might struggle and might strive to beat the toilers back to +slavery again, their days were numbered and their powers forever broken. + +Together in the doorway of the refuge at Port Colborne, Catherine stood +with Gabriel, watching the beacon of liberty upon the heavens. The +light, a halo round her eager face, showed his powerful figure and the +smile of triumph in his eyes. His left arm, broken by the fall in the +aeroplane, now rested in a sling. His right, protecting in its strength, +was round the girl. And as her head found shelter and rest, at length, +upon his shoulder, she, too, smiled; and her eyes seemed to see visions +in the glory of the sky. + +"Visions!" said she, softly, as though voicing a universal thought. "Do +you behold them, too?" + +He nodded. + +"Yes," he answered, "and they are beautiful and sweet and pure!" + +"Visions that we now shall surely see?" + +"Shall surely see!" he echoed; and a little silence fell. Far off, they +seemed to hear a vast and thousand-throated cheering, that the +night-wind brought to them in long and heart-inspiring cadences. + +"Gabriel," she said, at last. + +"Well?" + +"I wish _he_ might have seen them, and have understood! In spite of all +he did, and was, he was my father!" + +"Yes," answered Gabriel, sensing her grief. "But would you have had him +live through this? Live, with the whole world out of his grasp, again? +Live, with all his plans wrecked and broken? Live on in this new time, +where he could have comprehended nothing? Live on, in misery and rage +and impotence? + +"Your father was an old man, Catherine. You know as well as I +do--better, perhaps--the whole trend of his life's thought and ambition. +Even if he'd lived, he couldn't have changed, now, at his age. It would +have been an utter impossibility. Why say more?" + +Catherine made no reply; but in her very attitude of trust and +confidence, Gabriel knew he read the comfort he had given her. + +Silence, a while. At last she spoke. + +"Visions!" she whispered. "Wonderful visions of the glad, new time! How +do you see them, Gabriel?" + +"How do I see them?" His face seemed to glow with inspiration under the +shining light in the far heavens. "I see them as the realization of a +time, now really close at hand, when this old world of ours shall be, as +it never yet has been, in truth civilized, emancipated, free. When the +night of ignorance, kingcraft, priestcraft, servility and prejudice, +bigotry and superstition shall be forever swept away by the dawn of +intelligence and universal education, by scientific truth and light--by +understanding and by fearlessness. + +"When Science shall no longer be 'the mystery of a class,' but shall +become the heritage of all mankind. When, because much is known by all, +nothing shall be dreaded by any. When all mankind shall be absolutely +its own master, strong, and brave, and free!" + +"Like you, Gabriel!" the girl exclaimed, from her heart. + +"Don't say that!" he disclaimed. "Don't--" + +She put her hand over his mouth. + +"Shhhh!" she forbade him. "You mustn't argue, now, because your arm's +just been set and we don't want any fever. If my dreams include you, +too, Gabriel, don't try to tell me I'm mistaken--because I'm not, to +begin with, and I _know_ I'm not!" + +He laughed, and shook his head. + +"Do you realize," said he, "that when it comes to bravery, and strength, +and the splendid freedom of an emancipated soul, I must look to _you_ +for light and leading?" + +"Don't!" she whispered. "Look only to the future--to the newer, better +world now coming to birth! The time which is to know no poverty, no +crime, no children's blood wrung out for dividends! + +"The future when no longer Idleness can enslave Labor to its tasks. When +every man who will, may labor freely, whether with hand or brain, and +receive the full value of his toil, undiminished by any theft or +purloining whatsoever!" + +"The future," he continued, as she paused, "when crowns, titles, swords, +rifles and dreadnaughts shall be known only by history. When the earth +and the fulness thereof shall belong to all Earth's people; and when its +soil need be no longer fertilized with human blood, its crops no longer +be brought forth watered by sweat and tears. + +"Such have been my visions and my dreams, Catherine--a few of them. Now +they are coming true! And other dreams and other visions--dreams of you +and visions of our life together--what of them?" + +"Why need you ask, Gabriel?" she answered, raising her lips to his. + +The sound of singing, a triumphal chorus of the accomplished Revolution, +a vast and million-throated song, seemed wafted to them on the wings of +night. + +And the pure stars, witnessing their love and troth, looked down upon +them from the heavens where shone the fire-glow of the Great +Emancipation. + + +THE END. + + + +[Transcriber's note: In the following paragraph, I corrected the second +"Flint" to "Waldron": + +"Very likely," answered Flint, who had now at last entirely recovered +his sang-froid. "But in that event, our work would be at a standstill. +No, Flint, we mustn't oppose this fellow. Better let the check go +through, if he has nerve enough to fill it out and cash it. He won't +dare gouge very deep; and no matter what he takes, it won't be a drop in +the ocean, compared to the golden flood now almost within our grasp!"] + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Air Trust, by George Allan England + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 12826 *** diff --git a/12826-h/12826-h.htm b/12826-h/12826-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c8bcc13 --- /dev/null +++ b/12826-h/12826-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,10069 @@ +<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN"> +<html> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content= + "text/html; charset=UTF-8"> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Air Trust, by George Allan England. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + P { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + } + HR { width: 33%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + } + BODY{margin-left: 4%; + margin-right: 4%; + } + .linenum {position: absolute; top: auto; left: 4%;} /* poetry number */ + .note {margin-left: 2em; margin-right: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;} /* footnote */ + .blkquot {margin-left: 4em; margin-right: 4em;} /* block indent */ + .caption {margin-left: 13%; margin-right: 13%; font-size: smaller;} /* image caption */ + .pagenum {position: absolute; left: 92%; font-size: smaller; text-align: right;} /* page numbers */ + .sidenote {width: 20%; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: 1em; padding-left: 1em; font-size: smaller; float: right; clear: right;} + + .poem {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; text-align: left;} + .poem br {display: none;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem span {display: block; margin: 0; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i2 {display: block; margin-left: 2em;} + .poem span.i4 {display: block; margin-left: 4em;} + .poem .caesura {vertical-align: -200%;} + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 12826 ***</div> + +<a name="Page_1"></a> +<a name="Image_1"></a><center><img src="images/image-1.jpg" height="75%" alt=""Visions!" She said softly, "Do you behold them too?"" title=""> +</center> +<div class="caption"><center><b>"Visions!" She said softly, "Do you behold them too?"</b></center></div> + + + +<br /><hr style="width: 65%;" /><br /> +<h1>THE AIR TRUST</h1><a name="Page_2"></a> + +<h2>By George Allan England</h2> + +<h4>Author of +"Darkness and Dawn," "Beyond the Great Oblivion," +"The Afterglow," etc., etc.</h4> + +<h3>Illustrations by +John Sloan</h3> + +<h4><a name="Page_3"></a>1915</h4> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<a name="TO_EUGENE_V_DEBS"></a><h3><a name="Page_4"></a>TO EUGENE V. DEBS</h3> + +<h4>"Comrade 'Gene,"</h4> + +<h4>Lover of All Mankind and<br /> +Apostle of the World's Emancipation,</h4> + +<h4>I dedicate<br /> +THIS BOOK</h4> + +<br /> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<br /> + +<a name="FOREWORD"></a><h2><a name="Page_5"></a>FOREWORD</h2> +<br /> + +<p>This book is the result of an attempt to carry the monopolistic +principle to its logical conclusion. For many years I have entertained +the idea that if a monopoly be right in oil, coal, beef, steel or what +not, it would also be right in larger ways involving, for example, the +use of the ocean and the air itself. I believe that, had capitalists +been able to bring the seas and the atmosphere under physical control, +they would long ago have monopolized them. Capitalism has not refrained +from laying its hand on these things through any sense of decency, but +merely because the task has hitherto proved impossible.</p> + +<p>Granting, then, the premise that some process might be discovered +whereby the air-supply of the world could be controlled, the Air Trust +logically follows. I have endeavored to show how such a Trust would +inevitably lead to the utter enslavement of the human race, unless +overthrown by the only means then possible, i.e., violence. This book is +not a brief for "direct action." Doubtless the capitalist press (if it +indeed notice the work at all) will denounce it as a plea for +"bomb-throwing" and apply the epithet of "Anarchist" to me; but at this +the judicious and the intelligent will only smile; and as for our +friends the enemy, we esteem their opinion at its precise real value, +zero.</p> + +<p>Given the conditions supposed in this book, I repeat—a complete +monopoly of the air, with an absolute sup<a name="Page_6"></a>pression of all political +rights—no other outcomes are possible than slavery or violent, physical +revolution. As I have made Gabriel Armstrong say: "The masters would +have it so. Academic discussion becomes absurd, in the face of +plutocratic savagery. And in a case of self-defense, no measures are +unjustifiable."</p> + +<p>I believe in political action. I hope for a peaceful and bloodless +revolution. But if that be impossible, then by all means let us have +revolution in its other sense. And with the hope that this book may +perhaps revive some fainting spirit or renew the vision of emancipation +in some soul where it has dimmed, I give "The Air Trust" to the workers +of America and of the world.</p> + +<p>GEORGE ALLAN ENGLAND.</p> + +<p>Boston, Mass., November 1, 1915.</p> + +<br /> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<br /> + +<a name="TABLE_OF_CONTENTS"></a><h3><a name="Page_7"></a>TABLE OF CONTENTS</h3> + +<br /> + +<h4><a href="#FOREWORD">FOREWORD</a></h4> +<h4><a href="#THE_AIR_TRUST">THE AIR TRUST</a></h4> +<h4><a href="#CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I.—THE BIRTH OF AN IDEA</a></h4> +<h4><a href="#CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II.—THE PARTNERS</a></h4> +<h4><a href="#CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III.—THE BAITING OF HERZOG</a></h4> +<h4><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV.—AN INTERLOPER</a></h4> +<h4><a href="#CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V.—IN THE LABORATORY</a></h4> +<h4><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI.—OXYGEN, KING OF INTOXICATORS</a></h4> +<h4><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII.—A FREAK OF FATE</a></h4> +<h4><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII.—ONE UNBIDDEN, SHARES GREAT SECRETS</a></h4> +<h4><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX.—DISCHARGED</a></h4> +<h4><a href="#CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X.—A GLIMPSE OF THE PARASITES</a></h4> +<h4><a href="#CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI.—THE END OF TWO GAMES</a></h4> +<h4><a href="#CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII.—ON THE GREAT HIGHWAY</a></h4> +<h4><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII.—CATASTROPHE</a></h4> +<h4><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV.—THE RESCUE</a></h4> +<h4><a href="#CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV.—AN HOUR AND A PARTING</a></h4> +<h4><a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVI.—TIGER WALDRON "COMES BACK"</a></h4> +<h4><a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">CHAPTER XVII.—THOUGHTS</a></h4> +<h4><a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">CHAPTER XVIII.—FLINT AND WALDRON PLAN</a></h4> +<h4><a href="#CHAPTER_XIX">CHAPTER XIX.—CATHERINE'S DEFIANCE</a></h4> +<h4><a href="#CHAPTER_XX">CHAPTER XX.—THE BILLIONAIRE'S PLOT</a></h4> +<h4><a href="#CHAPTER_XXI">CHAPTER XXI.—GABRIEL, GOOD SAMARITAN</a></h4> +<h4><a href="#CHAPTER_XXII">CHAPTER XXII.—THE TRAP IS SPRUNG</a></h4> +<h4><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIII">CHAPTER XXIII.—THE BEAST GLOATS</a></h4> +<a name="Page_8"></a><h4><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIV">CHAPTER XXIV.—CATHERINE'S SUPREME DECISION</a></h4> +<h4><a href="#CHAPTER_XXV">CHAPTER XXV.—THROUGH STEEL BARS</a></h4> +<h4><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVI">CHAPTER XXVI.—"GUILTY"</a></h4> +<h4><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVII">CHAPTER XXVII.—BACK IN THE SUNLIGHT</a></h4> +<h4><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVIII">CHAPTER XXVIII.—IN THE REFUGE</a></h4> +<h4><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIX">CHAPTER XXIX.—"APRÈS NOUS LE DÉLUGE!"</a></h4> +<h4><a href="#CHAPTER_XXX">CHAPTER XXX.—TRAPPED!</a></h4> +<h4><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXI">CHAPTER XXXI.—ESCAPE!</a></h4> +<h4><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXII">CHAPTER XXXII.—OMINOUS DEVELOPMENTS</a></h4> +<h4><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIII">CHAPTER XXXIII.—"NOW COMES THE HOUR SUPREME"</a></h4> +<h4><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIV">CHAPTER XXXIV.—THE ATTACK</a></h4> +<h4><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXV">CHAPTER XXXV.—TERROR AND RETREAT</a></h4> +<h4><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXVI">CHAPTER XXXVI.—THE STORMING OF THE WORKS</a></h4> +<h4><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXVII">CHAPTER XXXVII.—DEATH IN THE PIT OF STEEL</a></h4> +<h4><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXVIII">CHAPTER XXXVIII.—VISIONS</a></h4> + +<br /> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<br /> + +<a name="LIST_OF_ILLUSTRATIONS"></a><h3><a name="Page_9"></a>LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS</h3> + +<p><a href="#Image_1">"VISIONS!" SHE SAID SOFTLY, "DO YOU BEHOLD THEM TOO?"</a></p> + +<p><a href="#Image_2">"CAN'T BE DONE, EH?" SAID FLINT</a></p> + +<p><a href="#Image_3">HE GATHERED HER UP AS THOUGH SHE HAD BEEN A CHILD</a></p> + +<p><a href="#Image_4">AIMING AT THE BASE OF THE SKULL SHE STRUCK</a></p> + +<p><a href="#Image_5">THE SPY'S BODY BURST INTO A SHEAF OF FIRE</a></p> + +<p><a href="#Image_6">HIS FINGERS LOST THEIR HOLD—HE DROPPED LIKE A PLUMMET</a></p> + +<br /> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<br /> + +<a name="THE_AIR_TRUST"></a><h2><a name="Page_10"></a>THE AIR TRUST</h2> + +<br /> + +<a name="CHAPTER_I"></a><h3>CHAPTER I.</h3> + +<h4>THE BIRTH OF AN IDEA.</h4> +<br /> + +<p>Sunk far back in the huge leather cushions of his morris chair, old +Isaac Flint was thinking, thinking hard. Between narrowed lids, his +hard, gray eyes were blinking at the morning sunlight that poured into +his private office, high up in the great building he had reared on Wall +Street. From his thin lips now and then issued a coil of smoke from the +costly cigar he was consuming. His bony legs were crossed, and one foot +twitched impatiently. Now and again he tugged at his white mustache. A +frown creased his hard brow; and, as he pondered, something of the +glitter of a snake seemed reflected in his pupils.</p> + +<p>"Not enough," he muttered, harshly. "It's not enough—there must be +more, more, more! Some way must be found. Must be, and shall be!"</p> + +<p>The sunlight of early spring, glad and warm over Manhattan, brought no +message of cheer to the Billionaire. It bore no news of peace and joy to +him. Its very brightness, as it flooded the metropolis and mellowed his +luxurious inner office, seemed to offend the master of the world. And +presently he arose, walked to the win<a name="Page_11"></a>dow and made as though to lower +the shade. But for a moment he delayed this action. Standing there at +the window, he peered out. Far below him, the restless, swarming life of +the huge city crept and grovelled. Insects that were men and women +crowded the clefts that were streets. Long lines of cars, toy-like, +crept along the "L" structures. As far as the eye could reach, tufted +plumes of smoke and steam wafted away on the April breeze. The East +River glistened in the sunlight, its bosom vexed by myriad craft, by +ocean liners, by tugs and barges, by grim warships, by sailing-vessels, +whose canvas gleamed, by snow-white fruitboats from the tropics, by +hulls from every port. Over the bridges, long slow lines of traffic +crawled. And, far beyond to the dim horizon, stretched out the hives of +men, till the blue depths of distance swallowed all in haze.</p> + +<p>And as Flint gazed on this marvel, all created and maintained by human +toil, by sweat and skill and tireless patience of the workers, a hard +smile curved his lips.</p> + +<p>"All mine, more or less," said he to himself, puffing deep on his cigar. +"All yielding tribute to me, even as the mines and mills and factories I +cannot see yield tribute! Even as the oil-wells, the pipe-lines, the +railroads and the subways yield—even as the whole world yields it. All +this labor, all this busy strife, I have a hand in. The millions eat and +drink and buy and sell; and I take toll of it—yet it is not enough. I +hold them in my hand, yet the hand cannot close, completely. And until +it does, it is not enough! No, not enough for me!"</p> + +<p>He pondered a moment, standing there musing at the window, surveying +"all the wonders of the earth" that in its fulness, in that year of +grace, 1921, bore <a name="Page_12"></a>tribute to him who toiled not, neither spun; and +though he smiled, the smile was bitter.</p> + +<p>"Not enough, yet," he reflected. "And how—how shall I close my grip? +How shall I master all this, absolutely and completely, till it be mine +in truth? Through light? The mob can do with less, if I squeeze too +hard! Through food? They can economize! Transportation? No, the traffic +will bear only a certain load! How, then? What is it they all must have, +or die, that I can control? What universal need, vital to rich and poor +alike? To great and small? What absolute necessity which shall make my +rivals in the Game as much my vassals as the meanest slave in my steel +mills? What can it be? For power I must have! Like Caesar, who preferred +to be first in the smallest village, rather than be second at Rome, I +can and will have no competitor. I must rule <i>all</i>, or the game is +worthless! But how?"</p> + +<p>Almost as in answer to his mental question, a sudden gust of air swayed +the curtain and brushed it against his face. And, on the moment, +inspiration struck him.</p> + +<p>"What?" he exclaimed suddenly, his brows wrinkling, a strange and eager +light burning in his hard eyes. "Eh, what? Can it—could it be possible? +My God! If so—if it might be—the world would be my toy, to play with +as I like!</p> + +<p>"If <i>that</i> could happen, kings and emperors would have to cringe and +crawl to me, like my hordes of serfs all over this broad land. Statesmen +and diplomats, president and judges, lawmakers and captains of industry, +all would fall into bondage; and for the first time in history one man +would rule the earth, completely and absolutely—<i>and that man would be +Isaac Flint!</i>"</p> + +<p><a name="Page_13"></a>Staggered by the very immensity of the bold thought, so vast that for a +moment he could not realize it in its entirety, the Billionaire fell to +pacing the floor of his office.</p> + +<p>His cigar now hung dead and unnoticed between his thinly cruel lips. His +hands were gripped behind his bent back, as he paced the priceless +Shiraz rug, itself having cost the wage of a hundred workmen for a +year's hard, grinding toil. And as he trod, up and down, up and down the +rich apartments, a slow, grim smile curved his mouth.</p> + +<p>"What editor could withstand me, then?" he was thinking. "What clergyman +could raise his voice against my rule? Ah! Their 'high principles' they +prate of so eloquently, their crack-brained economics, their rebellions +and their strikes—the dogs!—would soon bow down before <i>that</i> power! +Men have starved for stiff-necked opposition's sake, and still may do +so—but with my hand at the throat of the world, with the world's very +life-breath in my grip, what then? Submission, or—ha! well, we shall +see, we shall see!"</p> + +<p>A subtle change came over his face, which had been growing paler for +some minutes. Impatiently he flung away his cigar, and, turning to his +desk, opened a drawer, took out a little vial and uncorked it. He shook +out two small white tablets, on the big sheet of plate-glass that +covered the desk, swallowed them eagerly, and replaced the vial in the +desk again. For be it known that, master of the world though Flint was, +he too had a master—morphine. Long years he had bowed beneath its whip, +the veriest slave of the insidious drug. No three hours could pass, +without that dosage. His immense native will power still managed to +control the dose and not in<a name="Page_14"></a>crease it; but years ago he had abandoned +hope of ever diminishing or ceasing it. And now he thought no more of it +than of—well, of breathing.</p> + +<p>Breathing! As he stood up again and drew a deep breath, under the +reviving influence of the drug, his inspiration once more recurred to +him.</p> + +<p>"Breath!" said he. "Breath is life. Without food and drink and shelter, +men can live a while. Even without water, for some days. But without +<i>air</i>—they die inevitably and at once. And if I make the air my own, +then I am master of all life!"</p> + +<p>And suddenly he burst into a harsh, jangling laugh.</p> + +<p>"Air!" he cried exultantly, "An Air Trust! By God in Heaven, it can be! +It shall be!—it must!"</p> + +<p>His mind, somewhat sluggish before he had taken the morphine, now was +working clearly and accurately again, with that fateful and undeviating +precision which had made him master of billions of dollars and uncounted +millions of human lives; which had woven his network of possession all +over the United States, Europe and Asia and even Africa; which had +drawn, as into a spider's web, the world's railroads and steamship +lines, its coal and copper and steel, its oil and grain and beef, its +every need—save air!</p> + +<p>And now, keen on the track of this last great inspiration, the +Billionaire strode to his revolving book-case, whirled it round and from +its shelves jerked a thick volume, a smaller book and some pamphlets.</p> + +<p>"Let's have some facts!" said he, flinging them upon his desk, and +seating himself before it in a costly chair of teak. "Once I get an +outline of the facts and what I <a name="Page_15"></a>want to do, then my subordinates can +carry out my plans. Before all, I must have facts!"</p> + +<p>For half an hour he thumbed his references, noting all the salient +points mentally, without taking a single note; for, so long as the drug +still acted, his brain was an instrument of unsurpassed keenness and +accuracy.</p> + +<p>A sinister figure he made, as he sat there poring intently over the +technical books before him, contrasting strangely with the beauty and +the luxury of the office. On the mantel, over the fireplace of Carrara +marble, ticked a Louis XIV clock, the price of which might have saved +the lives of a thousand workingmen's children during the last summer's +torment. Gold-woven tapestries from Rouen covered the walls, whereon +hung etchings and rare prints. Old Flint's office, indeed, had more the +air of an art gallery than a place where grim plots and deals +innumerable had been put through, lawmakers corrupted past counting, and +the destinies of nations bent beneath his corded, lean and nervous hand. +And now, as the Billionaire sat there thinking, smiling a smile that +boded no good to the world, the soft spring air that had inspired his +great plan still swayed the silken curtains.</p> + +<p>Of a sudden, he slammed the big book shut, that he was studying, and +rose to his feet with a hard laugh—the laugh that had presaged more +than one calamity to mankind. Beneath the sweep of his mustache one +caught the glint of a gold tooth, sharp and unpleasant.</p> + +<p>A moment he stood there, keen, eager, dominant, his hands gripping the +edge of the desk till the big knuckles whitened. He seemed the +embodiment of harsh and unrelenting Power—power over men and things, +over their <a name="Page_16"></a>laws and institutions; power which, like Alexander's, sought +only new worlds to conquer; power which found all metes and bounds too +narrow.</p> + +<p>"Power!" he whispered, as though to voice the inner inclining of the +picture. "Life, air, breath—the very breath of the world in my +hands—power absolutely, at last!"</p> + + + +<br /><hr style="width: 65%;" /><br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_II"></a><h3><a name="Page_17"></a>CHAPTER II.</h3> + +<h4>THE PARTNERS.</h4> +<br /> + +<p>Then, as was his habit, translating ideas into immediate action, he +strode to a door at the far end of the office, flung it open and said:</p> + +<p>"See here a minute, Wally!"</p> + +<p>"Busy!" came an answering voice, from behind a huge roll-top desk.</p> + +<p>"Of course! But drop it, drop it. I've got news for you."</p> + +<p>"Urgent?" asked the voice, coldly.</p> + +<p>"Very. Come in here, a minute. I've got to unload!"</p> + +<p>From behind the big desk rose the figure of a man about five and forty, +sandy-haired, long-faced and sallow, with a pair of the coldest, +fishiest eyes—eyes set too close together—that ever looked out of a +flat and ugly face. A man precisely dressed, something of a fop, with +just a note of the "sport" in his get-up; a man to fear, a man cool, +wary and dangerous—Maxim Waldron, in fact, the Billionaire's right-hand +man and confidant. Waldron, for some time affianced to his eldest +daughter. Waldron the arch-corruptionist; Waldron, who never yet had +been "caught with the goods," but who had financed scores of industrial +and political campaigns, with Flint's money and his own; Waldron, the +smooth, the suave, the perilous.</p> + +<p>"<a name="Page_18"></a>What now?" asked he, fixing his pale blue eyes on the Billionaire's +face.</p> + +<p>"Come in here, and I'll tell you."</p> + +<p>"Right!" And Waldron, brushing an invisible speck of dust from the +sleeve of his checked coat, strolled rather casually into the +Billionaire's office.</p> + +<p>Flint closed the door.</p> + +<p>"Well?" asked Waldron, with something of a drawl. "What's the +excitement?"</p> + +<p>"See here," began the great financier, stimulated by the drug. "We've +been wasting our time, all these years, with our petty monopolies of +beef and coal and transportation and all such trifles!"</p> + +<p>"So?" And Waldron drew from his pocket a gold cigar-case, monogrammed +with diamonds. "Trifles, eh?" He carefully chose a perfecto. "Perhaps; +but we've managed to rub along, eh? Well, if these are trifles, what's +on?"</p> + +<p>"Air!"</p> + +<p>"Air?" Waldron's match poised a moment, as with a slight widening of the +pale blue eyes he surveyed his partner. "Why—er—what do you mean, +Flint?"</p> + +<p>"The Air Trust!"</p> + +<p>"Eh?" And Waldron lighted his cigar.</p> + +<p>"A monopoly of breathing privileges!"</p> + +<p>"Ha! Ha!" Waldron's laugh was as mirthful as a grave-yard raven's croak. +"Nothing to it, old man. Forget it, and stick to—"</p> + +<p>"Of course! I might have expected as much from you!" retorted the +Billionaire tartly. "You've got neither imagination nor—"</p> + +<p>"Nor any fancy for wild-goose chases," said Waldron, <a name="Page_19"></a>easily, as he sat +down in the big leather chair. "Air? Hot air, Flint! No, no, it won't +do! Nothing to it nothing at all."</p> + +<p>For a moment the Billionaire regarded him with a look of intense +irritation. His thin lips moved, as though to emit some caustic answer; +but he managed to keep silence. The two men looked at each other, a long +minute; then Flint began again:</p> + +<p>"Listen, now, and keep still! The idea came to me not an hour ago, this +morning, looking over the city, here. We've got a finger on everything +but the atmosphere, the most important thing of all. If we could control +<i>that</i>—"</p> + +<p>"Of course, I understand," interrupted the other, blowing a ring of +smoke. "Unlimited power and so on. Looks very nice, and all. Only, it +can't be done. Air's too big, too fluid, too universal. Human powers +can't control it, any more than the ocean. Talk about monopolizing the +Atlantic, if you will, Flint. But for heaven's sake, drop—"</p> + +<p>"Can't be done, eh?" exclaimed Flint, warmly, sitting down on the +desk-top and levelling a big-jointed forefinger at his partner. "That's +what every new idea has had to meet. It's no argument! People scoffed at +the idea of gas lighting when it was new. Called it 'burning smoke,' and +made merry over it. That was as recently as 1832. But ten years later, +gas-illumination was in full sway.</p> + +<p>"Electric lighting met the same objection. And remember the objection to +the telephone? When Congress, in 1843, granted Morse an appropriation of +$30,000 to run the first telegraph line from Baltimore to Washington, +one would-be humorist in that supremely intelligent body <a name="Page_21"></a><a name="Page_20"></a>tried to +introduce an amendment that part of the sum should be spent in surveying +a railroad to the moon! And—"</p> + +<a name="Image_2"></a><center> +<img src="images/image-2.jpg" height="75%" alt=""Can't be done, Eh?" said Flint." title=""> +</center> +<div class="caption"><center><b>"Can't be done, Eh?" said Flint.</b></center></div> + +<p>"Granted," put in Waldron, "that my objection is futile, just what's +your idea?"</p> + +<p>"This!" And Flint stabbed at him with his forefinger, while the other +financier regarded him with a fishily amused eye. "Every human being in +this world—and there are 1,900,000,000 of them now!—is breathing, on +the average, 16 cubic feet of air every hour, or about 400 a day. The +total amount of oxygen actually absorbed in the 24 hours by each person, +is about 17 cubic feet, or <i>over 30 billions of cubic feet of oxygen</i>, +each day, in the entire world. Get that?"</p> + +<p>"Well?" drawled the other.</p> + +<p>"Don't you see?" snapped Flint, irritably. "Imagine that we extract +oxygen from the air. Then—"</p> + +<p>"You might as well try to dip up the ocean with a spoon," said Waldron, +"as try to vitiate the atmosphere of the whole world, by any means +whatsoever! But even if you could, what then?"</p> + +<p>"Look here!" exclaimed the Billionaire. "It only needs a reduction of 10 +per cent. in the atmospheric oxygen to make the air so bad that nobody +can breathe it without discomfort and pain. Take out any more and people +will die! We don't have to monopolize <i>all</i> the oxygen, but only a very +small fraction, and the world will come gasping to us, like so many fish +out of water, falling over each other to buy!"</p> + +<p>"Possibly. But the details?"</p> + +<p>"I haven't worked them out yet, naturally. I needn't. Herzog will take +care of those. He and his staff. That's <a name="Page_22"></a>what they're for. Shall we put +it up to him? What? My God, man! Think of the millions in it—the +billions! The power! The—"</p> + +<p>"Of course, of course!" interposed Waldron, calmly, eyeing his smoke. +"Don't get excited, Flint. Rome wasn't built in a day. There may be +something in this; possibly there may be the germ of an idea. I don't +say it's impossible. It looks visionary to me; but then, as you well +say, so has every new idea always looked. Let me think, now; let me +think."</p> + +<p>"Go ahead and think!" growled the Billionaire. "Think and be hanged to +you! <i>I'm</i> going to act!"</p> + +<p>Waldron vouchsafed no reply, but merely eyed his partner with cold +interest, as though he were some biological specimen under a lens, and +smoked the while.</p> + +<p>Flint, however, turned to his telephone and pulled it toward him, over +the big sheet of plate glass. Impatiently he took off the receiver and +held it up to his ear.</p> + +<p>"Hello, hello! 2438 John!" he exclaimed, in answer to the query of +"Number, please?"</p> + +<p>Silence, a moment, while Waldron slowly drew at his cigar and while the +Billionaire tugged with impatience at his gray mustache.</p> + +<p>"Hello! That you, Herzog?"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>"All right. I want to see you at once. Immediately, understand?"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>"Very well. And say, Herzog!"</p> + +<p>"Bring whatever literature you have on liquid air, nitro<a name="Page_23"></a>gen extraction +from the atmosphere, and so on. Understand? And come at once!"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>"That's all! Good-bye!"</p> + +<p>Smiling dourly, with satisfaction, he hung up and shoved the telephone +away again, then turned to his still reflecting partner, who had now +hoisted his patent leather boots to the window sill and seemed absorbed +in regarding their gloss through a blue veil of nicotine.</p> + +<p>"Herzog," announced the Billionaire, "will be here in ten minutes, and +we'll get down to business."</p> + +<p>"So?" languidly commented the immaculate Waldron. "Well, much as I'd +like to flatter your astuteness, Flint, I'm bound to say you're barking +up a false trail, this time! Beef, yes. Steel, yes. Railroads, +steamships, coal, iron, wheat, yes. All tangible, all concrete, all +susceptible of being weighed, measured, put in figures, fenced and +bounded, legislated about and so on and so forth. But <i>air</i>—!"</p> + +<p>He snapped his manicured fingers, to show his well-considered contempt +for the Billionaire's scheme, and, throwing away his smoked-out cigar, +chose a fresh one.</p> + +<p>Flint made no reply, but with an angry grunt flung a look of scorn at +the calm and placid one. Then, furtively opening his desk drawer, he +once more sought the little vial and took two more pellets—an action +which Waldron, without moving his head, complacently observed in a +heavily-bevelled mirror that hung between the windows.</p> + +<p>"Air," murmured Waldron, suavely. "Hot air, Flint?"</p> + +<p>No answer, save another grunt and the slamming of the desk-drawer.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_24"></a>And thus, in silence, the two men, masters of the world, awaited the +coming of the practical scientist, the proletarian, on whom they both, +at last analysis, had to rely for most of their results.</p> + + + +<br /><hr style="width: 65%;" /><br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_III"></a><h3><a name="Page_25"></a>CHAPTER III.</h3> + +<h4>THE BAITING OF HERZOG.</h4> +<br /> + +<p>Herzog was not long in arriving. To be summoned in haste by Isaac Flint, +and to delay, was unthinkable. For eighteen years the chemist had +lickspittled to the Billionaire. Keen though his mind was, his character +and stamina were those of a jellyfish; and when the Master took snuff, +as the saying is, Herzog never failed to sneeze.</p> + +<p>He therefore appeared, now, in some ten minutes—a fat, rubicund, +spectacled man, with a cast in his left eye and two fingers missing, to +remind him of early days in experimental work on explosives. Under his +arm he carried several tomes and pamphlets; and so, bowing first to one +financier, then to the other, he stood there on the threshold, awaiting +his masters' pleasure.</p> + +<p>"Come in, Herzog," directed Flint. "Got some material there on liquid +air, and nitrogen, and so on?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir. Just what is it you want, sir?"</p> + +<p>"Sit down, and I'll tell you,"—for the chemist, hat in hand, ventured +not to seat himself unbidden in presence of these plutocrats.</p> + +<p>Herzog, murmuring thanks for Flint's gracious permission, deposited his +derby on top of the revolving book-case, sat down tentatively on the edge +of a chair and clutched his books as though they had been so many +shields against the redoubted power of his masters.</p> + +<p>"<a name="Page_26"></a>See here, Herzog," Flint fired at him, without any preliminaries or +beating around the bush, "what do you know about the practical side of +extracting nitrogen from atmospheric air? Or extracting oxygen, in +liquid form? Can it be done—that is, on a commercial basis?"</p> + +<p>"Why, no, sir—yes, that is—perhaps. I mean—"</p> + +<p>"What the devil <i>do</i> you mean?" snapped Flint, while Waldron smiled +maliciously as he smoked. "Yes, or no? I don't pay you to muddle things. +I pay you to <i>know</i>, and to tell me! Get that? Now, how about it?"</p> + +<p>"Well, sir—hm!—the fact is," and the unfortunate chemist blinked +through his glasses with extreme uneasiness, "the fact of the matter is +that the processes involved haven't been really perfected, as yet. +Beginnings have been made, but no large-scale work has been done, so +far. Still, the principle—"</p> + +<p>"Is sound?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir. I imagine—"</p> + +<p>"Cut that! You aren't paid for imagining!" interrupted the Billionaire, +stabbing at him with that characteristic gesture. "Just what do you know +about it? No technicalities, mind! Essentials, that's all, and in a few +words!"</p> + +<p>"Well, sir," answered Herzog, plucking up a little courage under this +pointed goading, "so far as the fixation of atmospheric nitrogen goes, +more progress has been made in England and Scandinavia, than here. +They're working on it, over there, to obtain cheap and plentiful +fertilizer from the air. Nitrogen <i>can</i> be obtained from the air, even +now, and made into fertilizers even cheaper than the Chili saltpeter. +Oxygen is liberated as a by-product, and—"</p> + +<p>"Oh, it is, eh? And could it be saved? In liquid form for instance?"</p> + +<p>"<a name="Page_27"></a>I think so, sir. The Siemens & Halske interests, in Germany, are doing +it already, on a limited scale. In Norway and Austria, nitrogen has been +manufactured from air, for some years."</p> + +<p>"On a paying, commercial basis?" demanded Flint, while Waldron, now a +trifle less scornful, seemed to listen with more interest as his eyes +rested on the rotund form of the scientist.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir, quite so," answered Herzog. "It's commercially feasible, +though not a very profitable business at best. The gas is utilized in +chemical combination with a substantial base, and—"</p> + +<p>"No matter about that, just yet," interrupted Flint. "We can have +details later. Do you know of any such business as yet, in the United +States?"</p> + +<p>"Well, sir, there's a plant building at Great Falls, South Carolina, for +the purpose. It is to run by waterpower and will develop 5000 H.P."</p> + +<p>"Hear that, Waldron?" demanded the Billionaire. "It's already beginning +even here! But not one of these plants is working for what I see as the +prime possibility. No imagination, no grasp on the subject! No wonder +most inventors and scientists die poor! They incubate ideas and then +lack the warmth to hatch them into general application. It takes men +like us, Wally—practical men—to turn the trick!" He spoke a bit +rapidly, almost feverishly, under the influence of the subtle drug. "Now +if <i>we</i> take hold of this game, why, we can shake the world as it has +never yet been shaken! Eh, Waldron? What do you think now?"</p> + +<p>Waldron only grunted, non-committally. Flint with <a name="Page_28"></a>a hard glance at his +unresponsive partner, once more turned to Herzog.</p> + +<p>"See here, now," directed he. "What's the best process now in use?"</p> + +<p>"For what, sir?" ventured the timid chemist.</p> + +<p>"For the simultaneous production of nitrogen and oxygen, from the +atmosphere!"</p> + +<p>"Well, sir," he answered, deprecatingly, as though taking a great +liberty even in informing his master on a point the master had expressly +asked about, "there are three processes. But all operate only on a small +scale."</p> + +<p>"Who ever told you I wanted to work on a large scale?" demanded Flint, +savagely.</p> + +<p>"I—er—inferred—beg pardon, sir—I—" And Herzog quite lost himself +and floundered hopelessly, while his mismated eyes wandered about the +room as though seeking the assurance he so sadly lacked.</p> + +<p>"Confine yourself to answering what I ask you," directed Flint, crisply. +"You're not paid to infer. You're paid to answer questions on chemistry, +and to get results. Remember <i>that!</i>"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir," meekly answered the chemist, while Waldron smiled with +cynical amusement. He enjoyed nothing so delightedly as any grilling of +an employee, whether miner, railroad man, clerk, ship's captain or +what-not. This baiting, by Flint, was a rare treat to him.</p> + +<p>"Go on," commanded the Billionaire, in a badgering tone. "What are the +processes?" He eyed Herzog as though the man had been an ox, a dog or +even some inanimate object, coldly and with narrow-lidded condescension. +To him, in truth, men were no more than Shelley's "plow or sword or +spade" for his own purpose—things <a name="Page_29"></a>to serve him and to be ruled—or +broken—as best served his ends. "Go on! Tell me what you know; and no +more!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir," ventured Herzog. "There are three processes to extract +nitrogen and oxygen from air. One is by means of what the German +scientists call <i>Kalkstickstoff</i>, between calcium carbide and nitrogen, +and the reaction-symbols are—"</p> + +<p>"No matter," Flint waived him, promptly. "I don't care for formulas or +details. What I want is results and general principles. Any other way to +extract these substances, in commercial quantities, from the air we +breathe?"</p> + +<p>"Two others. But one of these operates at a prohibitive cost. The +other—"</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes. What is it?" Flint slid off the edge of the table and walked +over to Herzog; stood there in front of him, and bored down at him with +eager eyes, the pupils contracted by morphine, but very bright. "What's +the best way?"</p> + +<p>"With the electric arc, sir," answered the chemist, mopping his brow. +This grilling method reminded him of what he had heard of "Third Degree" +torments. "That's the best method, sir."</p> + +<p>"Now in use, anywhere?"</p> + +<p>"In Notodden, Norway. They have firebrick furnaces, you understand, sir, +with an alternating current of 5000 volts between water-cooled copper +electrodes. The resulting arc is spread by powerful electro-magnets, +so." And he illustrated with his eight acid-stained fingers. "<a name="Page_30"></a>Spread +out like a disk or sphere of flame, of electric fire, you see."</p> + +<p>"Yes, and what then?" demanded Flint, while his partner, forgetting now +to smile, sat there by the window scrutinizing him. One saw, now, the +terribly keen and prehensile intellect at work under the mask of assumed +foppishness and jesting indifference—the quality, for the most part +masked, which had earned Waldron the nickname of "Tiger" in Wall Street.</p> + +<p>"What then?" repeated Flint, once more levelling that potent forefinger +at the sweating Herzog.</p> + +<p>"Well, sir, that gives a large reactive surface, through which the air +is driven by powerful rotary fans. At the high temperature of the +electric arc in air, the molecules of nitrogen and oxygen dissociate +into their atoms. The air comes out of the arc, charged with about one +per cent. of nitric oxide, and after that—"</p> + +<p>"Jump the details, idiot! Can't you move faster than a paralytic snail? +What's the final result?"</p> + +<p>"The result is, sir," answered Herzog, meek and cowed under this +harrying, "that calcium nitrate is produced, a very excellent +fertilizer. It's a form of nitrogen, you see, directly obtained from +air."</p> + +<p>"At what cost?"</p> + +<p>"One ton of fixed nitrogen in that form costs about $150 or $160."</p> + +<p>"Indeed?" commented Flint. "The same amount, combined in Chile +saltpeter, comes to—?"</p> + +<p>"A little over $300, sir."</p> + +<p>"Hear that, Wally?" exclaimed the Billionaire, turning to his now +interested associate. "Even if this idea never goes a step farther, +there's a gold mine in just the <a name="Page_31"></a>production of fertilizer from air! But, +after all, that will only be a by-product. It's the oxygen we're after, +and must have!"</p> + +<p>He faced Herzog again.</p> + +<p>"Is any oxygen liberated, during the process?" he demanded.</p> + +<p>"At one stage, yes, sir. But in the present process, it is absorbed, +also."</p> + +<p>Flint's eyebrows contracted nervously. For a moment he stood thinking, +while Herzog eyed him with trepidation, and Waldron, almost forgetting +to smoke, waited developments with interest. The Billionaire, however, +wasted but scant time in consideration. It was not money now, he lusted +for, but power. Money was, to him, no longer any great desideratum. At +most, it could now mean no more to him than a figure on a check-book or +a page of statistics in his private memoranda. But power, unlimited, +indisputable power over the whole earth and the fulness thereof, power +which none might dispute, power before which all humanity must bow—God! +the lust of it now gripped and shook his soul.</p> + +<p>Paling a little, but with eyes ablaze, he faced the anxious scientist.</p> + +<p>"Herzog! See here!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir?"</p> + +<p>"I've got a job for you, understand?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir. What is it?"</p> + +<p>"A big job, and one on which your entire future depends. Put it through, +and I'll do well by you. Fail, and by the Eternal, I'll break you! I +can, and will, mark that! Do you get me?"</p> + +<p>"I—yes, sir—that is, I'll do my best, and—"</p> + +<p>"<a name="Page_32"></a>Listen! You go to work at once, immediately, understand? Work out for +me some process, some practicable method by which the nitrogen and +oxygen can both be collected in large quantities from the air. +Everything in my laboratories at Oakwood Heights is at your disposal. +Money's no object. Nothing counts, now, but <i>results!</i></p> + +<p>"I want the process all mapped out and ready for me, in its essential +outlines, two weeks from today. If it isn't—" His gesture was a menace. +"If it is—well, you'll be suitably rewarded. And no leaks, now. Not a +word of this to any one, understand? If it gets out, you know what I can +do to you, and will! Remember Roswell; remember Parker Hayes. <i>They</i> let +news get to the Dillingham-Saunders people, about the new Tezzoni +radio-electric system—and one's dead, now, a suicide; the other's in +Sing-Sing for eighteen years. Remember that—and keep your mouth shut!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir. I understand."</p> + +<p>"All right, then. A fortnight from today, report to me here. And mind +you, have something to report, or—!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir."</p> + +<p>"Very well! Now, go!"</p> + +<p>Thus dismissed, Herzog gathered together his books and papers, blinked a +moment with those peculiar wall-eyes of his, arose and, bowing first to +Flint and then to the keenly-watching Waldron, backed out of the office.</p> + +<p>When the door had closed behind him, Flint turned to his partner with a +nervous laugh.</p> + +<p>"That's the way to get results, eh?" he exclaimed. "No dilly-dallying +and no soft soap; but just lay the lash right on, hard—they jump then, +the vermin! Results! That <a name="Page_33"></a>fellow will work his head off, the next two +weeks; and there'll be something doing when he comes again. You'll see!"</p> + +<p>Waldron laughed nonchalantly. Once more the mask of indifference had +fallen over him, veiling the keen, incisive interest he had shown during +the interview.</p> + +<p>"Something doing, yes," he drawled, puffing his cigar to a glow. "Only I +advise you to choose your men. Some day you'll try that on a real +man—one of the rough-necks you know, and—"</p> + +<p>Flint snapped his fingers contemptuously, gazed at Waldron a moment with +unwinking eyes and tugged at his mustache.</p> + +<p>"When I need advice on handling men, I'll ask for it," he rapped out. +Then, glancing at the Louis XIV clock: "Past the time for that C.P.S. +board-meeting, Wally. No more of this, now. We'll talk it over at the +Country Club, tonight; but for the present, let's dismiss it from our +minds."</p> + +<p>"Right!" answered the other, and arose, yawning, as though the whole +subject were of but indifferent interest to him. "It's all moonshine, +Flint. All a pipe-dream. Defoe's philosophers, who spent their lives +trying to extract sunshine from cucumbers, never entertained any more +fantastic notion than this of yours. However, it's your funeral, not +mine. You're paying for it. I decline to put in any funds for any such +purpose. Amuse yourself; you've got to settle the bill."</p> + +<p>Flint smiled sourly, his gold tooth glinting, but made no answer.</p> + +<p>"Come along," said his partner, moving toward the door. "They're waiting +for us, already, at the board <a name="Page_34"></a>meeting. And there's big business coming +up, today—that strike situation, you remember. Slade's going to be on +deck. We've got to decide, at once, whether or not we're going to turn +him loose on the miners, to smash that gang of union thugs and Socialist +fanatics, and do it right. <i>That's</i> a game worth playing, Flint; but +this Air Trust vagary of yours—stuff and nonsense!"</p> + +<p>Flint, for all reply, merely cast a strange look at his partner, with +those strongly-contracted pupils of his; and so the two vultures of prey +betook themselves to the board room where already, round the long +rosewood table, Walter Slade of the Cosmos Detective Company was laying +out his strike-breaking plans to the attentive captains of industry.</p> + + + +<br /><hr style="width: 65%;" /><br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_IV"></a><h3><a name="Page_35"></a>CHAPTER IV.</h3> + +<h4>AN INTERLOPER.</h4> +<br /> + +<p>On the eleventh day after this interview between the two men who, +between them, practically held the whole world in their grasp, Herzog +telephoned up from Oakwood Heights and took the liberty of informing +Flint that his experiments had reached a point of such success that he +prayed Flint would condescend to visit the laboratories in person.</p> + +<p>Flint, after some reflection, decided he would so condescend; and +forthwith ordered his limousine from his private garage on William +Street. Thereafter he called Waldron on the 'phone, at his Fifth Avenue +address.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Waldron is not up, yet, sir," a carefully-modulated voice answered +over the wire. "Any message I can give him, sir?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, hello! That you, Edwards?" Flint demanded, recognizing the suave +tones of his partner's valet.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir."</p> + +<p>"All right. Tell Waldron I'll call for him in half an hour with the +limousine. And mind, now, I want him to be up and dressed! We're going +down to Staten Island. Got that?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir. Any other message, sir?"</p> + +<p>"No. But be sure you get him up, for me! Good-bye!"</p> + +<p>Thirty minutes later, Flint's chauffeur opened the door of the big +limousine, in front of the huge Renaissance <a name="Page_36"></a>pile that Waldron's +millions had raised on land which had cost him more than as though he +had covered it with double eagles; and Flint himself ascended the steps +of Pentelican marble. The limousine, its varnish and silver-plate +flashing in the bright spring sun, stood by the curb, purring softly to +itself with all six cylinders, a thing of matchless beauty and rare +cost. The chauffeur, on the driver's seat, did not even bother to shut +off the gas, but let the engine run, regardless. To have stopped it +would have meant some trifling exertion, in starting again; and since +Flint never considered such details as a few gallons of gasoline, why +should <i>he</i> care? Lighting a Turkish cigarette, this aristocrat of labor +lolled on the padded leather and indifferently—with more of contempt +than of interest—regarded a swarm of iron-workers, masons and laborers +at work on a new building across the avenue.</p> + +<p>Flint, meanwhile, had entered the great mansion, its bronze +doors—ravished from the Palazzo Guelfo at Venice—having swung inward +to admit him, with noiseless majesty. Ignoring the doorman, he addressed +himself to Edwards, who stood in the spacious, mahogany-panelled hall, +washing both hands with imaginary soap.</p> + +<p>"Waldron up, yet, Edwards?"</p> + +<p>"No, sir. He—er—I have been unable—"</p> + +<p>"The devil! Where is he?"</p> + +<p>"In his apartments, sir."</p> + +<p>"Take me up!"</p> + +<p>"He said, sir," ventured Edwards, in his smoothest voice. "He said—"</p> + +<p>"I don't give a damn what he said! Take me up, at once!"</p> + +<p>"<a name="Page_37"></a>Yes, sir. Immediately, sir!" And he gestured suavely toward the +elevator.</p> + +<p>Flint strode down the hall, indifferent to the Kirmanshah rugs, the rare +mosaic floor and stained-glass windows, the Parian fountain and the +Azeglio tapestries that hung suspended up along the stairway—all old +stories to him and as commonplace as rickety odds and ends of furniture +might be to any toiler "cribbed, cabin'd and confined" in fetid East +Side tenement or squalid room on Hester Street.</p> + +<p>The elevator boy bowed before his presence. Edwards hesitated to enter +the private elevator, with this world-master; but Flint beckoned him to +come along. And so, borne aloft by the smooth force of the electric +motor, they presently reached the upper floor where "Tiger" Waldron +laired in stately splendor, like the nabob that he was.</p> + +<p>Without ceremony, Flint pushed forward into the bed-chamber of the +mighty one—a chamber richly finished in panels of the rare sea-grape +tree, brought from Pacific isles at great cost of money and some +expenditure of human lives; but this latter item was, of course, beneath +consideration.</p> + +<p>By the softened light which entered through rich curtains, one saw the +famous frieze of De Lussac, that banded the apartment, over the +panelling—the frieze of Bacchantes, naked and unashamed, revelling with +Satyrs in an abandon that bespoke the age when the world was young. +Their voluptuous forms entwined with clustering grapes and leaves, they +poured tipsy libations of red wine from golden chalices; while old +Silenus, god of drink, astride a donkey, applauded with maudlin joy.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_38"></a>Flint, however, had no eyes for this scene which would have gladdened a +voluptuary's heart—and which, for that reason was dear to Waldron—but +walked toward the huge, four-posted bed where Wally himself, now rather +paler than usual, with bloodshot eyes, was lying. This bed, despite the +fact that it had been transported all the way from Tours, France, and +that it once had belonged to an archbishop, had only too often witnessed +its owner's insomnia.</p> + +<p>"Hm! You're a devil of a man to keep an appointment, aren't you?" Flint +sneered at the master of the house. "Eleven o'clock, and not up, yet!"</p> + +<p>"Pardon me for remarking, my dear Flint," replied Waldron, stretching +himself between the silken sheets and reaching for a cigarette, "that +the appointment was not of my making. Also that I was up, last +night—this morning, rather—till three-thirty. And in the next place, +that scoundrel Hazeltine, trimmed me out of eighty-six thousand in four +hours—"</p> + +<p>"Roulette again, you idiot?" demanded Flint.</p> + +<p>"And in conclusion," said Wally, "that the bigness of my head and the +brown taste in my mouth are such as no 'soda and sermons, the morning +after' can possibly alleviate. So you understand my dalliance.</p> + +<p>"Damn those workmen!" he exclaimed, with sudden irritation, as a louder +chattering of pneumatic riveters from the new building all at once +clattered in at the window. "A free country, eh? And men are permitted +to make <i>that</i> kind of a racket when a fellow wants to sleep! By God, if +I—"</p> + +<p>"Drop that, Wally, and get up!" commanded Flint. "There's no time for +this kind of thing today. Herzog <a name="Page_39"></a>has just informed me his experiments +have brought results. We're going down to Oakwood Heights to sea a few +things for ourselves. And the quicker you get dressed and in your right +mind, the better. Come along, I tell you!"</p> + +<p>"Still chasing sunbeams from cucumbers, eh?" drawled the magnate, +inhaling cigarette smoke and blowing a thin cloud toward the wanton +Bacchantes. He affected indifference, but his dull eyes brightened a +trifle in his wan face, deep-lined by the savage dissipations of the +previous night. "And you insist on dragging me out on the same fatuous +errand?"</p> + +<p>"Don't be an ass!" snapped the Billionaire. "Get up and come along. The +sooner we have this thing under way, the better."</p> + +<p>"All right, anything to oblige," conceded Waldron, inwardly stirred by +an interest he took good care not to divulge in word or look. "Give me +just time for a cold plunge, a few minutes with my masseur and my +barber, a bite to eat and—"</p> + +<p>Flint laid hold on his partner and shook him roughly.</p> + +<p>"Move, you sluggard!" he commanded. And Tiger Waldron obeyed.</p> + +<p>Forty-five minutes later, the two financiers were speeding down the +asphalt of the avenue at a good round clip. Flint's gleaming car formed +one unit of the never-ending procession of motors which, day and night, +year in and year out, spin unceasingly along the great, hard, splendid, +cruel thoroughfare.</p> + +<p>"I tell you," Flint was asserting as they swung into Broadway, at +Twenty-third Street, and headed for South <a name="Page_40"></a>Ferry, "I tell you, Wally, +the thing is growing vaster and more potent every moment. The longer I +look at it, the huger its possibilities loom up! With air under our +control, as a source of manufacturing alone, we can pull down perfectly +inconceivable fortunes. We shan't have to send anywhere for our raw +material. It will come to us; it's everywhere. No cost for +transportation, to begin with.</p> + +<p>"With oxygen, nitrogen and liquid air as products, think of the +possibilities, will you? Not an ice-plant in the country could compete +with us, in the refrigerating line. With liquid air, we could sweep that +market clean. By installing it on our fruit cars and boats, and our beef +cars, the saving effected in many ways would run to millions. The sale +of nitrogen, for fertilizer, would net us billions. And, above all, the +control of the world's air supply, for breathing, would make us the +absolute, undisputed masters of mankind!</p> + +<p>"We'd have the world by the windpipe. Its very life-breath would be at +our disposal. Ha! What about revolution, then? What about popular +discontent, and stiff-necked legislators, and cranky editors? What about +commercial and financial rivals? What about these damned Socialists, +with their brass-lunged bazoo, howling about monopoly and capitalism and +all the rest of it? Eh, what? Just one squeeze," here Flint closed his +corded, veinous fingers, "just one tightening of the fist, and—all +over! We win, hands down!"</p> + +<p>"Like shutting the wind off from a runaway horse, eh?" suggested +Waldron, squinting at his cigar as though <a name="Page_41"></a>to hide the involuntary gleam +of light that sparkled in his narrow-set eyes.</p> + +<p>"Precisely!" assented Flint, smiling his gold-toothed smile. "The +wildest bolter has got to stop, or fall dead, once you close his +nostrils. That's what we'll do to the world, Wally. We'll get it by the +throat—and there you are!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, there we are," repeated Waldron, "but—"</p> + +<p>"But what, now?"</p> + +<p>Waldron did not answer, for a moment, but squinted up at the tall +buildings, temples of Mammon and of Greed, filled from pave to cornice +with toiling, sweated hordes of men and women, all laboring for +Capitalism; many of them, directly or indirectly, for him. Then, as the +limousine slowed at Spring Street, to let a cross-town car pass—a car +whose earnings he and Flint both shared, just as they shared those of +every surface and subway and "L" car in the vast metropolis—he said:</p> + +<p>"Have you weighed the consequences carefully, Flint? Quite carefully? +This thing of cornering all the oxygen is a pretty big proposition. Do +you think you really ought to undertake it?"</p> + +<p>"Why not?"</p> + +<p>"Have you considered the frightful suffering and loss of life it might +entail? Almost certainly would entail? Are you quite sure you <i>want</i> to +take the world by the throat and—and choke it? For money?"</p> + +<p>"No, not for money, Waldron. We're both staggering under money, as it +is. But power! Ah, that's different!"</p> + +<p>"I know," admitted Waldron. "But ought we—you—to attempt this, even +for the sake of universal power? Your plan contemplates a monopoly such +that everybody <a name="Page_42"></a>who refused or was unable to buy your product would, at +best, have to get along with vitiated air, and at worst would have to +stifle. Do you really think we ought to undertake this?"</p> + +<p>Keenly he eyed Flint, as he thus sounded the elder man's inhuman +determination. Flint, fathoming nothing of his purpose, retorted with +some heat:</p> + +<p>"Ha! Getting punctilious, all at once, are you? Talk ethics, eh? Where +were your scruples, a year ago, when people were paying 25 cents a loaf +for bread, because of that big wheat pool you put through? How about the +oil you've just lately helped me boost by a 20 per cent. increase? And +when the papers—though mostly those infernal Socialist or Anarchist +papers, or whatever they were—shouted that old men and women were +freezing in attics, last winter, what then? Did you vote to arbitrate +the D.K. coal strike? Not by a jugful! You stood shoulder to shoulder +with me, then, Wally, while <i>now</i>—!"</p> + +<p>"It's a bit different, now," interposed "Tiger," with an evil smile, +still leading his partner along. "Since then I've had the—ah—the +extreme happiness to become engaged to your daughter, Catherine. New +thoughts have entered my mind. I've experienced a—a—"</p> + +<p>"You quitter!" burst out Flint. "No, by God! you aren't going to put +this thing over on me. I'll have no quitter for <i>my</i> son-in-law! Wally, +I'm astonished at you. Astonished and disappointed. You're not yourself, +this morning. That eighty-six thousand you dropped last night, has +shaken your heart. Come, come, pull together! Where's your nerve, man? +Where's your nerve?"</p> + +<p>Waldron answered nothing. In silence the partners watched the press of +traffic, each busy with his own <a name="Page_43"></a>thoughts, Waldron waiting for Flint to +reopen fire on him, and the Billionaire decided to say no more till his +associate should make some move. Thus the limousine reached the Staten +Island ferry, that glorious monument of municipal ownership wrecked by +Tammany grafting. In silence they smoked while the car rolled down the +incline and out onto the huge ferry boat. Then, as the crowded craft got +under way, a minute later, both men left the car and strolled to the +rail to watch the glittering sparkle of the sunlight on the harbor; the +teeming commerce of the port; the creeping liners and busy tugs; the +towering figure of Liberty, her flameless torch held far aloft in +mockery.</p> + +<p>Suddenly Waldron spoke.</p> + +<p>"You can't do it, I tell you!" said he, waving an eloquent hand toward +the sky. "It's too big, the air is, as I said before. Too damned big! +Own coal and copper, if you will, and steel and ships, here; own those +buildings back there," with a gesture at the frowning line of +skyscrapers buttressing Manhattan, "but don't buck the impossible! And +incidentally, Flint, don't misunderstand me, either. When I asked you if +we <i>ought</i> to try it, I merely meant, would it be <i>safe?</i> The world, +Flint, is a dangerous toy to play with, too hard. The people are +perilous baubles, if you step on their corns a bit too often or too +heavily. Every Caesar has a Brutus waiting for him somewhere, with a +club.</p> + +<p>"Once let the unwashed get an idea into their low brows, and you can't +tell where it may lead them. Even a rat fights, in its last corner. +These human rats of ours have been getting a bit nasty of late. True, +they swallowed the Limited Franchise Bill, three years ago, with <a name="Page_44"></a>only a +little futile protest, so that now we've got them politically hamstrung. +True, there's the Dick Military Bill, recently enlarged and perfected, +so they can't move a hand without falling into treason and +court-martial. True again, they've stood for the Censorship and the +National Mounted Police—the Grays—all in the last year. But how much +more will they stand, eh? You close your hand on their windpipes, and by +God! something may happen even yet, after all!"</p> + +<p>Flint snapped his fingers with contempt.</p> + +<p>"Machine guns!" was all he said.</p> + +<p>"Yes, of course," answered Waldron. "But there may be life in the old +beast yet. They may yet kick the apple cart over—and us with it. You +never can tell. And those infernal Socialists, always at it, night and +day, never letting up, flinging firebrands into the powder magazine! +<i>Sometime</i> there's going to be one hell of a bang, Flint! And when it +comes, <i>suave qui peut!</i> So go slow, old man—go damned slow, that's all +I've got to say!"</p> + +<p>"On the contrary," said Flint, blinking in the golden spring sunshine as +he peered out over the swashing brine at a raucous knot of gulls, "on +the contrary, Wally, I'm going to push it as fast as the Lord will let +me. You can come in, or not, as you see fit—but remember this, no +quitter ever gets a daughter of mine! And another thing; we're in the +year 1921, now, not 1910 or 1915. Developments, political and otherwise, +have moved swiftly, these few years past. Then, there might have been +trouble. To-day, there can't be. We've got things cinched too tight for +that!</p> + +<p>"Ten years ago, they might have had our blood, the people might, or +given us a hemp-tea party in Wall Street. <a name="Page_45"></a>today, all's safe. Come, be +a man and grip your courage! We can put the initial stages through in +absolute secrecy—and then, once we get our clutch on the world's +breath, what have we to fear?"</p> + +<p>"Go slow, Flint!"</p> + +<p>"Nonsense! Oxygen is life itself. There's no substitute. Vitiate the air +by removing even 10 per cent. of it, and the world will lick our boots +for a chance to breathe! Everybody's got to have oxygen, all the way +from kings and emperors down to the toiling cattle, the Henry Dubbs, as +I believe they're commonly called in vulgar speech. Shut off the air, +and 'the captains and the kings' will run to heel like the rabble +itself. Run to heel, and pay for the privilege of doing it! We've got +the universities, press, churches, laws, judges, army and navy and +everything already in our hands. We'll be secure enough, no fear!"</p> + +<p>"Shhhhh!" And Waldron nudged the Billionaire with his elbow.</p> + +<p>In his excitement, Flint had permitted his voice to rise, a little. Not +far from him, leaning on the rail, a stockily built young fellow in +overalls, a cap pulled down firmly over his well-shaped head, was +apparently watching the gulls and the passing boats, with eyes no less +blue than the bay itself; eyes no less glinting than the sunlight on the +waves. He seemed to be paying no heed to anything but what lay before +him. But "Tiger" Waldron, possessed of something of the instinct of the +beast whose name he bore, subconsciously sensed a peril in his nearness. +The man's ear—if unusually quick—might, just <i>might</i> possibly have +caught a word or two meant for no interloper. And at that thought, +Waldron once more nudged his partner.</p> + +<p>"<a name="Page_46"></a>Shhh!" he repeated, "Enough. We can finish this, in the limousine."</p> + +<p>Flint looked at him a moment, in silence, then nodded.</p> + +<p>"Right you are," said he. And both men climbed back into the closed car.</p> + +<p>"You never can tell what ears are primed for news," said Waldron. +"Better take no chances."</p> + +<p>"Before long, we can throw away all subterfuge," the Billionaire replied +as he shut the door. "But for now, well, you're correct. Once our grasp +tightens on the windpipe of the world, we're safe. From our office in +Wall Street you and I can play the keys of the world-machine as an +organist would finger his instrument. But there must be no leak; no +publicity; no suspicion aroused. We'll play our music <i>pianissimo</i>, +Wally, with rare accompaniments to the tune of 'great public utility, +benefit to the public health,' and all that—the same old game, only on +a vastly larger scale.</p> + +<p>"Every modern composer in the field of Big Business knows that score and +has played it many times. <i>We</i> will play it on a monstrous pipe organ, +with the world's lungs for bellows and the world's breath to vibrate our +reeds—and all paying tribute, night and day, year after year, all over +the world, Wally, all over the world!</p> + +<p>"God! What power shall be ours! What infinite power, such as, since time +began, never yet lay in mortal hands! We shall be as gods, Waldron, you +and I—and between us, we shall bring the human race wallowing to our +feet in helpless bondage, in supreme abandon!"</p> + +<p>The ferry boat, nearing the Staten Island landing, slowed its ponderous +screws. The chauffeur flung away <a name="Page_47"></a>his cigarette, drew on his gauntlets +and accelerated his engine. Forward the human drove began to press, +under the long slave-driven habit of haste, of eagerness to do the +masters' bidding.</p> + +<p>The young mechanic by the rail—he of the overalls and keen blue +eyes—turned toward the bows, picked up a canvas bag of tools and stood +there waiting with the rest.</p> + +<p>For a moment his glance rested on the limousine and the two half-seen +figures within. As it did so, a wanton breeze from off the Island +flapped back the lapel of his jumper. In that brief instant one might +have seen a button pinned upon his blue flannel shirt—clasped hands, +surrounded by the legend: "Workers of the World, Unite!"</p> + +<p>But neither of the plutocrats observed this; nor, had they seen, would +they have understood.</p> + +<p>And whether the sturdy toiler had overheard aught of their infernal +conspiring—or, having heard it, grasped its dire and criminal +significance—who, who in all this weary and toil-burdened world, could +say?</p> + + + +<br /><hr style="width: 65%;" /><br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_V"></a><h3><a name="Page_48"></a>CHAPTER V.</h3> + +<h4>IN THE LABORATORY.</h4> +<br /> + +<p>Half an hour's run down Staten Island, along smooth roads lined with +sleepy little towns and through sparse woods beyond which sparkled the +shining waters of the harbor, brought the two plutocrats to the quiet +settlement of Oakwood Heights.</p> + +<p>Now the blasé chauffeur swung the car sharply to the left, past the +aviation field, and so came to the wide-scattered settlement—almost a +colony—which, hidden behind high, barb-wire-topped fences, carried on +the many and complex activities of the partners' experiment station. +Here were the several laboratories where new products were evolved and +old ones refined, for Flint's and Waldron's greater profit. Here stood a +complete electric power plant, for lighting and heating the works, as +well as for current to use in the retorts and many powerful machines of +the testing works.</p> + +<p>Here, again, were broad proving grounds, for fuel and explosives; and, +at one side, stood a low, skylighted group of brick buildings, known as +the electro-chemical station. Dormitories and boarding-houses for the +small army of employees occupied the eastern end of the enclosure, +nearest the sea. Over all, high chimney stacks and the aerials of a +mighty wireless plant dominated the entire works. A private railroad +spur pierced the western side of the enclosure, for food and coal +supplies, as well as for the <a name="Page_49"></a>handling of the numerous imports and +exports of this wonderfully complete feudal domain. As the colony lay +there basking in the sunshine of early spring, under its drifting +streamers of smoke, it seemed an ideal picture of peaceful activities. +Here a locomotive puffed, shunting cars; there, a steam-jet flung its +plumes of snowy vapor into air; yonder, a steam hammer thundered on a +massive anvil. And forges rang, and through open windows hummed sounds +of industry.</p> + +<p>And yet, not one of all those sounds but echoed more bitter slavery for +men. Not one of all those many activities but boded ill to humanity. For +the whole plan and purpose of the place was the devising of still wider +forms of human exploitation and enslavement. Its every motive was to +serve the greed of Flint and Waldron. Outwardly honest and industrious, +it inwardly loomed sinister and terrible, a type and symbol of its +masters' swiftly growing power. Such, in its essence, was the great +experiment station of these two men who lusted for dominion over the +whole world.</p> + +<p>As the long, glittering car drew up at the main gate of the enclosure, a +sharp-eyed watchman peered through a sliding wicket therein. Satisfied +by his inspection, he withdrew; and at once the big gate rolled back, +smoothly actuated by electricity. The car purred onward, into the +enclosure. When the gate had closed noiselessly behind it, the chauffeur +ran it down a splendidly paved roadway, swung to the right, past the +machine shops, and drew it to a stand in front of the administration +building.</p> + +<p>Flint and his partner alighted, and stood for a moment <a name="Page_50"></a>surveying the +scene with satisfaction. Then Flint turned to the chauffeur.</p> + +<p>"Put the car in the garage," he directed. "We may not want it till +afternoon."</p> + +<p>The blasé one touched his cap and nodded, in obedience. Then, as the car +withdrew, the partners ascended the broad steps.</p> + +<p>"Good chap, that Herrick," commented Waldron, casting a glance at the +retreating chauffeur. "Quick-witted, and mum. Give me a man who knows +how to mind <i>and</i> keep still about it, every time!"</p> + +<p>"Right," assented Flint. "Obedience is the first of all virtues, and the +second is silence. Well, it looks to me as though we had the whole world +coming our way, now, along that very same path of virtue. Once we get +this air proposition really to working, the world will obey. It will +have to! And as for silence, we can manage that, too. The mere turn of a +valve, and—!"</p> + +<p>Waldron smiled grimly, as though in derision of what he seemed to think +his partner's chimerical hopes, but made no answer. Together they +entered the administration building. Five minutes later, Herzog, their +servile experimenter, stood bowing and cringing before them.</p> + +<p>"Got it, Herzog?" demanded Flint, while Waldron lighted still another of +those costly cigars—each one worth a good mechanic's daily wage.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir, I believe so, sir," the scientist replied, depreciatingly. +"That is, at least, on a small scale. Two weeks was the time you allowed +me, sir, but—"</p> + +<p>"I know. You've done it in eleven days," interrupted, the Billionaire. +"Very well. I knew you could. You'll <a name="Page_51"></a>lose nothing by it. So no more of +that. Show us what you've done. Everything all ready?"</p> + +<p>"Quite ready, sir," the other answered. "If you'll be so good as to step +into the electro-chemical building?"</p> + +<p>Flint very graciously signified his willingness thus to condescend; and +without delay, accompanied by the still incredulous Waldron, and +followed by Herzog, he passed out of the administration building, +through a covered passage and into the electro-chemical works.</p> + +<p>A variety of strange odors and stranger sounds filled this large brick +structure, windowless on every side and lighted only by broad skylights +of milky wire-glass—this arrangement being due to the extreme secrecy +of many processes here going forward. The partners had no intention that +any spying eyes should ever so much as glimpse the work in this +department; work involving foods, fuels, power, lighting, almost the +entire range of the vast network of exploiting media they had already +flung over a tired world.</p> + +<p>"This way, gentlemen," ventured Herzog, pointing toward a metal door at +the left of the main room. He unlocked this, which was guarded by a +combination lock, like that of a bank vault, and waited for them to +enter; then closed it after them, and made quite sure the metal door was +fast.</p> + +<p>A peculiar, pungent smell greeted the partners' nostrils as they glanced +about the inner laboratory. At one side an electric furnace was glowing +with graphite crucibles subjected to terrific heat. On the other a +dynamo was humming. Before them a broad, tiled bench held a strange +assortment of test tubes, retorts and complex apparatus of glass and +gleaming metal. The whole was lighted by <a name="Page_52"></a>a strong white light from +above, through the milk-hued glass—one of Herzog's own inventions, by +the way; a wonderful, light-intensifying glass, which would bend but not +break; an invention which, had he himself profited by it, would have +brought him millions, but which the partners had exploited without ever +having given him a single penny above his very moderate salary.</p> + +<p>"Is that it?" demanded Flint, a glitter lighting up his +morphia-contracted pupils. He jerked his thumb at a complicated nexus of +tubes, brass cylinders, coiled wires and glistening retorts which stood +at one end of the broad work-bench.</p> + +<p>"That is it, sir," answered Herzog, apologetically, while "Tiger" +Waldron's hard face hardened even more. "Only an experimental model, you +understand, sir, but—"</p> + +<p>"It gets results?" queried Flint sharply. "It produces oxygen and +nitrogen on a scale that indicates success, with adequate apparatus?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir. I believe so, sir. No doubt about it; none whatever."</p> + +<p>"Good!" exclaimed the Billionaire. "Now show us!"</p> + +<p>"With pleasure, sir. But first, let me explain, a little."</p> + +<p>"Well, what?" demanded Flint. His partner, meanwhile, had drawn near the +apparatus, and was studying it with a most intense concentration. Plain +to see, beneath this man's foppish exterior and affected cynicism, dwelt +powerful purposes and keen intelligence.</p> + +<p>"Explain what?" repeated the Billionaire. "As far as details go, I'm not +interested. All I want is results. Go ahead, Herzog; start your machine +and let me see what it can do."</p> + +<p>"I will, sir," acceded the scientist. "But first, with <a name="Page_53"></a>your permission, +I'll point out a few of its main features, and—"</p> + +<p>"Damn the main features!" cried Flint. "Get busy with the +demonstration!"</p> + +<p>"Hold on, hold on," now interrupted Waldron. "Let him discourse, if he +wants to. Ever know a scientist who wasn't primed to the muzzle with +expositions? Here, Herzog," he added, turning to the inventor, "I'll +listen, if nobody else will."</p> + +<p>Undecided, Herzog smiled nervously. Even Flint had to laugh at his +indecision.</p> + +<p>"All right, go on," said the Billionaire. "Only for God's sake, make it +brief!"</p> + +<p>Herzog, thus adjured, cleared his throat and blinked uneasily.</p> + +<p>"Oxygen," he said. "Yes, I can produce it quickly, easily and in large +quantities. As a gas, or as a liquid, which can be shipped to any +desired point and there transformed into gaseous form. Liquid air can +also be produced by this same machine, for refrigerating purposes. You +understand, of course, that when liquid air evaporates, it is only the +nitrogen that goes back into the atmosphere at 313 degrees below zero. +The residue is pure liquid oxygen. In other words, this apparatus will +make money as a liquid air plant, and furnish you oxygen as a +by-product.</p> + +<p>"It will also turn out nitrogen, for fertilizing purposes. The income +from a full-sized machine, on this pattern, from all three sources, +should be very large indeed."</p> + +<p>"Good," put in Waldron. "And liquid air, for example, would cost how +much to produce?"</p> + +<p>"With power-cost at half a cent per H.P. hour, about <a name="Page_54"></a>$2.50 a ton. The +oxygen by-product alone will more than pay for that, in purifying and +cooling buildings, or used to promote combustion in locomotives and +other steam engines. The liquid air itself can be used as a motive power +for a certain type of expansion engine, or—"</p> + +<p>"There, there, that's enough!" interposed Flint, brusquely. "We don't +need any of your advice or suggestions, Herzog. As far as the disposal +of the product is concerned, we can take care of that. All we want from +you is the assurance that that product can be obtained, easily and +cheaply, and in unlimited quantities. Is that the case?"</p> + +<p>"It is, sir."</p> + +<p>"All right. And can liquid oxygen be easily transported any considerable +distance?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir. In what is known as Place's Vacuum-jacketed Insulated +Container, it can be kept for weeks at a time without any appreciable +loss."</p> + +<p>Flint pondered a moment, then asked, again:</p> + +<p>"Could large tanks, holding say, a million gallons, be built on that +principle, for wholesale storage? And could vacuum-jacketed pipes be +laid, for conveying liquid oxygen or its gas?"</p> + +<p>"No reason why not, sir. Yes, I may say all that is quite feasible."</p> + +<p>"Very well, then," snapped Flint. "That's enough for the present. Now, +show us your machine at work! Start it Herzog. Let's see what you can +do!"</p> + +<p>The Billionaire's eyes glittered as Herzog laid a hand on a gleaming +switch. Even Waldron forgot to smoke.</p> + +<p>"Gentlemen, observe," said Herzog, as he threw the lever.</p> + + + +<br /><hr style="width: 65%;" /><br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_VI"></a><h3><a name="Page_55"></a>CHAPTER VI.</h3> + +<h4>OXYGEN, KING OF INTOXICATORS.</h4> +<br /> + +<p>A soft humming note began to vibrate through the inner laboratory—a +note which rose in pitch, steadily, as Herzog shoved the lever from one +copper post to another, round the half-circle.</p> + +<p>"I am now heating the little firebrick furnace," said the scientist. "In +Norway, they use an alternating current of only 5,000 volts, between +water-cooled copper electrodes, as I have already told you. I am using +30,000 volts, and my electrodes, my own invention, are—"</p> + +<p>"Never mind," growled Flint. "Just let's see some of the product—some +liquid oxygen, that's all. The why and wherefore is your job, not ours!"</p> + +<p>Herzog, with a pained smile, bent and peered through a red glass +bull's-eye that now had begun to glow in the side of his apparatus.</p> + +<p>"The arc is good," he muttered, as to himself. "Now I will throw in the +electro-magnets and spread it; then switch in my intensifying condenser, +and finally set the turbine fans to work, to throw air through the +field. Then we shall see, we shall see!"</p> + +<p>Suiting the action to the words, he deftly touched here a button, there +a lever; and all at once a shrill buzzing rose above the lower drone of +the induction coils.</p> + +<p>"Gentlemen," said Herzog, straightening up and facing his employers, +"the process is now already at work. In <a name="Page_56"></a>five minutes—yes, in three—I +shall have results to show you!"</p> + +<p>"Good!" grunted Waldron. "That's all we're after, results. That's the +only way you hold your job, Herzog, just getting results!"</p> + +<p>He relighted his cigar, which had gone out during Herzog's +explanation—for "Tiger" Waldron, though he could drop thousands at +roulette without turning a hair, never yet had been known to throw away +a cigar less than half smoked. Flint, meanwhile, took out a little +morocco-covered note book and made a few notes. In this book he had kept +an outline of his plan from the very first; and now with pleasure he +added some memoranda, based on what Herzog had just told him, as well as +observations on the machine itself.</p> + +<p>Thus two minutes passed, then three.</p> + +<p>"Time's up, Herzog!" exclaimed Waldron, glancing at the electric clock +on the wall. "Where's the juice?"</p> + +<p>"One second, sir," answered the scientist. Again he peeked through the +glowing bull's-eye. Then, his face slightly pale, his bulging eyes +blinking nervously, he took two small flint glass bottles, set them +under a couple of pipettes, and deftly made connections.</p> + +<p>"Oxygen cocktail for mine," laughed Waldron, to cover a certain emotion +he could not help feeling at sight of the actual operation of a process +which might, after all, open out ways and means for the utter +subjugation of the world.</p> + +<p>Neither Flint nor the inventor vouchsafed even a smile. The Billionaire +drew near, adjusted a pair of pince-nez on his hawk-like nose, and +peered curiously at the appara<a name="Page_57"></a>tus. Herzog, with a quick gesture, turned +a small silver faucet.</p> + +<p>"Oxygen! Unlimited oxygen!" he exclaimed. "I have found the process, +gentlemen, commercially practicable. Oxygen!"</p> + +<p>Even as he spoke, a lambent, sparkling liquid began to flow through the +pipette, into the flask. At sight of it, the Billionaire's eyes lighted +up with triumph. Waldron, despite his assumed nonchalance, felt the +hunting thrill of Wall street, the quick stab of exultation when victory +seemed well in hand.</p> + +<p>"These bottles," said Herzog, "are double, constructed on the principle +of the Thermos bottle. They will keep the liquid gases I shall show you, +for days. Huge tanks could be built on the same principle. In a short +time, gentlemen, you can handle tons of these gases, if you +like—thousands of tons, unlimited tons.</p> + +<p>"The Siemens and Halske people, and the Great Falls, S.C., plant, will +be mere puttering experimenters beside you. For neither they nor any +other manufacturers have any knowledge of the vital process—my secret, +polarizing transformer, which does the work in one-tenth the time and at +one-hundredth the cost of any other known process. For example, see +here?"</p> + +<p>He turned the faucet, disconnected the flask and handed it to Flint.</p> + +<p>"There, sir," he remarked, "is a half-pint of pure liquid oxygen, drawn +from the air in less than eight minutes, at a cost of perhaps two-tenths +of a cent. On a large scale the cost can be vastly reduced. Are you +satisfied, sir?"</p> + +<p>Flint nodded, curtly.</p> + +<p>"You'll do, Herzog," he replied—his very strongest <a name="Page_58"></a>form of +commendation. "You're not half bad, after all. So this is liquid oxygen, +eh? Very cheap, and very cold?"</p> + +<p>His eyes gleamed with joy at sight of the translucent potent stuff—the +very stuff of life, its essence and prime principle, without which +neither plant nor animal nor man can live—oxygen, mother of all life, +sustainer of the world.</p> + +<p>"Very cheap, yes, sir," answered the scientist. "And cold, enormously +cold. The specimen you hold in your hand, in that vacuum-protected +flask, is more than three hundred degrees below zero. One drop of it on +your palm would burn it to the bone. Incidentally, let me tell you +another fact—"</p> + +<p>"And that is?"</p> + +<p>"This specimen is the allotropic or condensed form of oxygen, much more +powerful than the usual liquified gas."</p> + +<p>"Ozone, you mean?"</p> + +<p>"Precisely. Would you like to sense its effect as a ventilating agent?"</p> + +<p>"No danger?"</p> + +<p>"None, sir. Here, allow me."</p> + +<p>Herzog took the flask, pressed a little spring and liberated the top. At +once a whitish vapor began to coil from the neck of the bottle.</p> + +<p>"Hm!" grunted Waldron, smiling. "Mountain winds and sea breezes have +nothing on that!" He sniffed with appreciation. "Some gas, all right!"</p> + +<p>"You're right, Wally," answered the Billionaire. "If this works out on a +large scale, in all its details—well—I needn't impress its importance +on you!"</p> + +<p><a name="Page_59"></a>Yielding to the influence of the wonderful, life-giving gas, the rather +close air of the laboratory, contaminated by a variety of chemical +odors, and vitiated by its recent loss of oxygen, had begun to freshen +and purify itself in an astonishing manner. One would have thought that +through an open window, close at hand, the purest ocean breeze was +blowing. A faint tinge of color began to liven the somewhat pasty cheek +of the Billionaire. Waldron's big chest expanded and his eye brightened. +Even the meek Herzog stood straighter and looked more the man, under the +stimulus of the life-giving ozone.</p> + +<p>"Fine!" exclaimed Flint, with unwonted enthusiasm, and nearly yielded to +a laugh. Waldron went so far as to slap Herzog on the shoulder.</p> + +<p>"You're some wizard, old man!" he exclaimed, with a warmth hitherto +never known by him—for already the subtle gas was beginning to +intoxicate his senses. "And you can handle nitrogen with the same ease +and precision?"</p> + +<p>"Exactly," answered Herzog. "This other vial contains pure nitrogen. +With enlarged apparatus, I can supply it by the trainload. The world's +fertilizer problem is solved!"</p> + +<p>"Great work!" ejaculated Waldron, even more excited than before, but +Flint, his natural sourness asserting itself, merely growled some +ungracious remark.</p> + +<p>"Nitrogen can go hang," said he. "It's oxygen we're after, primarily. +Once we get our grip on that, the world will be—"</p> + +<p>Waldron checked him just in time.</p> + +<p>"Enough of this," he interrupted sharply. "I admit, I'm not myself, in +this rich atmosphere. I know <i>you're</i> <a name="Page_60"></a>feeling it, already, Flint. Come +along out of this, where we can regain our aplomb. We've seen enough, +for once."</p> + +<p>He turned to Herzog.</p> + +<p>"For God's sake, man," cried he, "cork that magic bottle of yours, +before all the oxygen-genii escape, or you'll have us both under the +table! And, see here," he added, pulling out his check-book, while Flint +stared in amazed disgust. "Here, take a blank check." He took his +fountain pen and scrawled his name on one. "The amount? That's up to +you. Now, let us out," he bade, as Herzog stood there regarding the +check with entire uncomprehension. "Out, I say, before I get +extravagant!"</p> + +<p>Herzog, perfectly comprehending the magnates' unusual conduct as due to +oxygen-intoxication in its initial stage, made no comment, but walked to +the door, spun the combination and flung it open.</p> + +<p>"Glad to have had the pleasure of demonstrating the process to you, +gentlemen," said he. "If you're convinced it's practicable, I'm at your +orders for any larger extension of the work. Have you any other question +or suggestion?"</p> + +<p>Neither magnate answered. Flint was trying hard to hold his +self-control. Waldron, red-faced now and highly stimulated, looked as +though he had been drinking even more than usual.</p> + +<p>Both passed out of the laboratory with rather unsteady steps. Together +they retraced their way to the administration building; and there, safe +at last in the private inner office, with the door locked, they sat down +and stared at each other with expressions of amazement.</p> + + + +<br /><hr style="width: 65%;" /><br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_VII"></a><h3><a name="Page_61"></a>CHAPTER VII.</h3> + +<h4>A FREAK OF FATE.</h4> +<br /> + +<p>Waldron was the first to speak. With a sudden laugh, boisterous and +wild, he cried:</p> + +<p>"Flint, you old scoundrel, you're drunk!"</p> + +<p>"Drunk yourself!" retorted the Billionaire, half starting from his +chair, his fist clenched in sudden passion. "How dare you—?"</p> + +<p>"Dare? I dare anything!" exclaimed Waldron. "Yes, I admit it—I <i>am</i> +half seas over. That ozone—God! what a stimulant! Must be some +wonderfully powerful form. If we—could market it—"</p> + +<p>Flint sank back in his chair, waving an extravagant hand.</p> + +<p>"Market it?" he answered. "Of course we can market it, and will! Drunk +or sober, Wally, I know what I'm talking about. The power now in our +grasp has never yet been equalled on earth. On the one side, we can +half-stifle every non-subscriber to our service, or wholly stifle every +rebel against us. On the other, we can simply saturate every subscriber +with health and energy, or even—if they want it—waft them to paradise +on the wings of ozone. The old Roman idea of 'bread and circus' to rule +the mob, was child's play compared to this! Science has delivered the +whole world into our hands. Power, man, power! Absolute, infinite power +over every living, breathing thing!"</p> + +<p><a name="Page_62"></a>He fell silent, pondering the vast future; and Waldron, gazing at him +with sparkling eyes, nodded with keen satisfaction. Thus for a few +moments they sat, looking at each other and letting imagination ran +riot; and as they sat, the sudden, stimulating effect of the condensed +oxygen died in their blood, and calmer feelings ensued.</p> + +<p>Presently Waldron spoke again.</p> + +<p>"Let's get down to brass tacks," said he, drawing his chair up to the +table. "I'm almost myself again. The subtle stuff has got out of my +brain, at last. Generalities and day-dreams are all very well, Flint, +but we've got to lay out some definite line of campaign. And the sooner +we get to it the better."</p> + +<p>"Hm!" sneered Flint. "If it's not more practical than your action in +giving Herzog that blank check, it won't be worth much. As an +extravagant action, Wally, I've never seen it equalled. I'm astonished, +indeed I am!"</p> + +<p>Waldron laughed easily.</p> + +<p>"Don't worry," he answered his partner. "That temporary aberration of +judgment, due to oxygen-stimulus, will have no results. Herzog won't +dare fill out the check, anyhow, because he knows he'd get into trouble +if he did; and even though he should, he can collect nothing. I'll have +payment stopped, at once, on that number. No danger, Flint!"</p> + +<p>"I don't know," mused the Billionaire. "It may be that this man has us +just a little under his thumb. He, and he alone, understands the +process. We've got to treat him with due consideration, or he may leave +us and carry his secret to others—to Masterson, for instance, or the +Amalgamated people, or—"</p> + +<p>"Nothing doing on that, old man!" interrupted "<a name="Page_63"></a>Tiger." "Have no fear. +The first move he makes, off to Sing Sing he goes, the way we jobbed +Parker Hayes. Slade and the Cosmos Agency can take care of <i>him</i>, all +right, if he asserts himself!"</p> + +<p>"Very likely," answered Flint, who had now at last entirely recovered +his sang-froid. "But in that event, our work would be at a standstill. +No, Waldron, we mustn't oppose this fellow. Better let the check go +through, if he has nerve enough to fill it out and cash it. He won't +dare gouge very deep; and no matter what he takes, it won't be a drop in +the ocean, compared to the golden flood now almost within our grasp!"</p> + +<p>Waldron pondered a moment, then nodded assent.</p> + +<p>"All right. Correct," he finally answered. "So then, we can dismiss that +trifle from our minds. Now, to work! We've got the process we were +after. What next?"</p> + +<p>"First of all," answered the Billionaire, "we'll let this Herzog +understand that he's to have a share in the results; that in this, as in +everything so far, he's merely a tool—and that when tools lose their +cutting edge we break 'em. He's a meek devil. We can hold <i>him</i> easily +enough."</p> + +<p>"Right. And then?" asked Waldron.</p> + +<p>"Then? First of all, a good, big, wide-sweeping publicity campaign. That +must begin today, to prepare opinion for the forthcoming development of +the new idea."</p> + +<p>"Henderson can handle that, all right," said Wally, leaning forward in +his chair. "Give him the idea, and turn him loose, and he'll get +results. A clever dog, that. He and his press bureau, working through +all the big dailies and many of the magazines, can turn this country +<a name="Page_64"></a>upside down in six months. Let him get on this job, and before you know +it the public will be demanding, be fighting for a chance to subscribe +to the new ventilating-service. That part of it is easy!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, you're right," replied Flint. "We'll see Henderson no later than +this afternoon. He and his writers can lay out a series of popular +articles and advertisements, to be run as pure reading matter, with no +distinguishing mark that they <i>are</i> ads, which will get the country—the +whole world, in fact—coming our way."</p> + +<p>"Good," the other assented. "Meantime, we can begin installing oxygen +machines on a big scale, a huge scale, to supply the demand that's bound +to arise. Where do you think we'd best manufacture? Herzog says water +power is the correct thing. We might use Niagara—use some of the +surplus power we already own there."</p> + +<p>"Niagara would do, very well," answered Flint. He had once more taken +out his little morocco-covered note book, and was now jotting down some +further memoranda. "It's a good location. Pipe-lines could easily be +extended, from it, to cover practically a quarter to a third of the +United States. Eventually we'll put in another plant in Chicago, one in +Denver and one on the Pacific Coast. Then, in time, there must be +distributing centers in Europe, Africa, Asia and Australia. But for the +present, we'll begin with the Niagara plant. After we get that under +full operation, the others will develop in due course of time."</p> + +<p>"Our charter covers this new line of work. There will be no need of any +legal technicalities," said Waldron, with a smile. "Some charter, if I +do say it, who shouldn't. <a name="Page_65"></a>I drew it, you remember. Nothing much in the +way of possible business-extension got past <i>me!</i>"</p> + +<p>Flint nodded.</p> + +<p>"You're right," he answered. "Nothing stands in our way, now. Positively +nothing. We have land, power and capital without limit. We have the +process. We control press, law, courts, judges, military and every other +form of government. All we need look out for is to secure public +confidence and keep the bandage on the eyes of the world till our system +is actually in operation—then there will be no redress, no come back, +no possible rebellion. As I've already said, Wally, we'll have the whole +world by the windpipe; and let the mob howl <i>then</i>, if they dare!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, let 'em howl!" chimed in "Tiger," with a snarl that proved his +nickname no misnomer. "Inside of a year we'll have them all where we +want them. You were right, Flint, when you called oil, coal, iron and +all the rest of it mere petty activities. Air—ah! that's the talk! Once +we get the <i>air</i> under our control, we're emperors of all life!"</p> + +<p>His words rang frank and bold, but something in his look, as he blinked +at his partner, might have given Flint cause for uneasiness, had the +Billionaire noticed that oblique and dangerous glance. One might have +read therein some shifty and devious plan of Waldron's to dominate even +Flint himself, to rule the master or to wreck him, and to seize in his +own hands the reins of universal power. But Flint, bending over his +note-book and making careful memoranda, saw nothing of all this.</p> + +<p>Waldron, an inveterate smoker, lighted a fresh cigar, leaned back, +surveyed his partner and indulged in a short <a name="Page_66"></a>inner laugh, which hardly +curved his cruel lips, but which hardened still more those pale-blue, +steely eyes of his.</p> + +<p>"All right," said he, at last. "Enough of this, Flint. Let's get back to +town, now, and have a conference with Henderson. That's the first step. +By tonight, the whole campaign of publicity must be mapped out. Come, +come; you can finish your memoranda later. I'm impatient to be back in +Wall Street. Come along!"</p> + +<p>Five minutes later, having left orders that Herzog was to attend upon +them in their private offices, next morning, they had ordered the +limousine and were making way along the hard road toward the gate of the +enclosure.</p> + +<p>The gate opened to let them pass, then swung and locked again, behind +them. At a good clip, the powerful car picked up speed on the homeward +way. The two magnates, exultant and flushed with the consciousness of +coming victory, lolled in the deeply-cushioned seat and spoke of power.</p> + +<p>As they swung past the aviation field and neared the Oakwood Heights +station, a train pulled out. Down the road came tramping a workingman in +overalls and jumper, with a canvas bag of tools swinging from his brawny +right hand. As he walked, striding along with splendid energy, he +whistled to himself—no cheap ragtime air, but Handel's Largo, with an +appreciation which bespoke musical feeling of no common sort.</p> + +<p>The Billionaire caught sight of him, just as the car slowed to take the +sharp turn by the station. Instant recognition followed. Flint's eyes +narrowed sharply.</p> + +<p>"Hm! The same fellow," he grunted to himself. "The same rascal who stood +beside us on the ferry boat, as we were talking over our plans. Now, +what the devil?"</p> + +<p><a name="Page_67"></a>Shadowed by a kind of instinctive uneasiness, not yet definite or clear +but more in the nature of a premonition of trouble, Flint gazed fixedly +at the mechanic as the car swung round the bend in the road. The glance +was returned.</p> + +<p>Yielding to some kind of imperative curiosity, the Billionaire leaned +over the side of the car—leaned out, with his coat flapping in the +stiff wind—and for a moment peered back at the disquieting workman.</p> + +<p>Then the car swept him out of sight, and Flint resumed his seat again.</p> + +<p>He did not know—for he had not seen it happen—that in that moment the +slippery, leather-covered note-book had slid from his lolling coat +pocket and had fallen with a sharp slap on the white macadam, skidded +along and come to rest in the ditch.</p> + +<p>The workingman, however, who had paused and turned to look after the +speeding car, <i>he</i> had seen all this.</p> + +<p>A moment he stood there, peering. Then, retracing his steps with +resolution he picked up the little book and slid it into the pocket of +his jeans.</p> + +<p>Deserted was the road. Not a soul was to be seen, save the crossing +flagman, musing in his chair beside his little hut, quite oblivious to +everything but a rank cob pipe. The workman's act had not been noticed.</p> + +<p>Nobody had observed him. Nobody knew. Not a living creature had +witnessed the slight deed on which, by a strange freak of fate, the +history of the world was yet to turn.</p> + + + +<br /><hr style="width: 65%;" /><br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_VIII"></a><h3><a name="Page_68"></a>CHAPTER VIII.</h3> + +<h4>ONE UNBIDDEN, SHARES GREAT SECRETS.</h4> +<br /> + +<p>Immediately on discovering his loss—which was soon after having reached +his office—Flint, in something like a fright, telephoned down to the +Oakwood Heights laboratory and instructed Herzog, in person, to make a +careful search for it and to report results inside an hour. Even though +some of the essentials of his plan were written in a code of his own +devising, Flint paled before the possible results should the book fall +into the hands of anybody intelligent enough to fathom its meaning.</p> + +<p>"Damn the luck!" he ejaculated, pacing the office floor, his fists +knotted. "If it had been a pocket book with a few thousand inside, that +would have been a trifle. But to lose my plan of campaign—God grant no +harm may come of it!"</p> + +<p>Waldron, slyly observing him, could not suppress a smile.</p> + +<p>"Calling on God, eh?" sneered he. "You <i>must</i> be agitated. I haven't +heard that kind of entreaty on your lips, Flint, since the year of the +big coal strike, when you prayed God the gun-men might 'get' the +strikers before they could organize. Come, come, man, brace up! Your +book will turn up all right; and even if it doesn't there's no cause for +alarm. It would take a man of extraordinary <a name="Page_69"></a>acumen to read <i>your</i> +hieroglyphics! Cheer up, Flint. There's really nothing to excite you."</p> + +<p>The Billionaire thus adjured, sat down and tried to calm his agitation.</p> + +<p>"Rotten luck, eh?" he queried. "But after all, Herzog is likely to find +the book. And even if he doesn't, I guess we're safe enough. The very +boldness of the plan—supposing even that the finder could grasp +it—would put it outside the seeming range of the possible. It's hardly +a hundred to one shot any harm may come of it."</p> + +<p>"All right, then, let it go at that," said Waldron. "And now, to +business. Suppose, for example, you've got a perfectly unlimited supply +of oxygen-gas and liquid. How are you going to market it? Just what +details have you worked out?"</p> + +<p>Flint pondered a moment, before replying. At last he said:</p> + +<p>"Of course you understand, Wally, I can't give you every point. The +whole thing will be an evolution, and new ideas and processes, new uses +and demands will develop as time passes. But in the main, my idea is +this: The big producing stations will steadily extract oxygen from the +atmosphere, thus leaving the air increasingly poorer and less adapted to +sustaining human life.</p> + +<p>"I shall store the oxygen in vast tanks, like the ordinary gas-tanks to +be found in every city, only much bigger. These tanks will be fed by +pipe-lines from the central stations, thus."</p> + +<p>Flint drew toward him a sheet of his heavily embossed letter-paper, and, +picking up a pencil, began to sketch a rough diagram. Waldron, making no +comment, followed every stroke with keen interest.</p> + +<p>"<a name="Page_70"></a>From these tanks," the Billionaire continued, "smaller pipes will +convey the gaseous oxygen to every house taking our service."</p> + +<p>"Just like ordinary gas?"</p> + +<p>"Precisely. Each room will be fitted with an oxygen jet apparatus, +something like a gas burner, with a safety device to prevent over supply +and avoid the dangers of combustion."</p> + +<p>"Combustion?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. In pure oxygen, a glowing bit of wire will burst into flame. Your +cigar, there, would catch fire, from the merest spark in its inmost +folds. Too much oxygen in a room not only intoxicates the +occupants—we've already seen <i>that</i> effect—but also develops a great +fire risk. So we shall have to make some provision for that, Wally. It +will be absolutely essential."</p> + +<p>"All right. Allowing it's been made, what then?" asked "Tiger," with +extraordinary interest.</p> + +<p>"Can't you see? We'll have every household under our absolute thumb?" +And Flint pressed his thumb on the table to illustrate. "My God, man, +think of it! Every city honeycombed by our pipes—yes, and every village +and hamlet too, and even every farm house that can afford it! At first, +the cost will be very low, till people have become accustomed to ozone +as they are to water. The whole ventilation problem will be solved, at +once and for all time. Where we can't pipe in the ozone, we can use +portable vaporizers, to be supplied once a month, and of sufficient +capacity to keep the air of an average-sized house perfectly pure for +thirty days.</p> + +<p>"Pure? More than pure! Exhilarating, life-giving, delicious! Under this +system, Wally, the middle and up<a name="Page_71"></a>per classes will thrive as never +before. They'll grow in size and weight, in health and intelligence, +under the steady influence of ozone, day and night. Every vital process +will be stimulated. Our invention will mark a new era in the welfare of +the world!"</p> + +<p>"Bunk!" sneered Wally. "That's all very well for your prospectuses and +newspaper articles, old man, but the fact is we don't give a damn +whether it helps the world or wrecks it. We're out for money and power. +My motto is, Get 'em and do good, if you can—but <i>get</i> 'em anyhow! So +you had better can the philanthropic part of it. Just show me the cash, +and you can have all the credit!"</p> + +<p>Flint shot a grim look at his partner, then continued:</p> + +<p>"Don't be flippant, Wally. This is a serious business and must be +treated as such. In addition to the respiratory service, we can put in +water-cooling and refrigerating services, at low cost, also cold-pipes +for cooling houses in summer. In fine, we can immeasurably add to the +health and comfort of the better classes; and can at last have everybody +using our gas, which, registering through our own sealed meters, will +flood us with wealth so vast as to make that of these Standard Oil +pifflers look like the proverbial thirty cents!"</p> + +<p>"Fine!" exclaimed Waldron, nodding approval. "Also, any time any +rebellion develops we can merely shut off the supply in that quarter, +and quickly reduce it. Or, again, we can increase the potency of the +gas, and fairly intoxicate the people, till they stand for anything. +Just fancy, now, our pipes connected with the sacred Halls of Congress +and with the White House! Even if any <a name="Page_72"></a>difficulty could possibly be +expected from these sources, just imagine how quickly we could nip it in +the bud!"</p> + +<p>"Quickly isn't the word, Wally," answered the Billionaire. "I tell you, +old man, the world lies in our hands, today. And we have only to close +our fingers, in order to possess it!"</p> + +<p>He glanced at his own fingers, as though he visibly perceived the great +world lying there for him to squeeze. Waldron's eyes, following the +Billionaire's, saw that Flint's hand was trembling, and understood the +reason. More than three hours had passed—nay, almost four—since Flint +had had any opportunity to take his necessary dose of morphia. Waldron +arose, paced to the window and stood there looking out over the vast +panorama of city, river and harbor, apparently absorbed in +contemplation, but really keen to hear what Flint might do.</p> + +<p>His expectations were not disappointed. Hardly had he turned his back, +when he heard the desk-drawer open, furtively, and knew the Billionaire +was taking out the little vial of white tablets, dearer to him than ever +the caress of woman to a Don Juan. A moment later, the drawer closed +again.</p> + +<p>"He'll do now, for a while," thought Waldron, with satisfaction. "Let +him go the limit, if he likes—the fool! The more he takes, the quicker +I win. It'll kill him yet, the dope will. And <i>that</i> means, my mastery +of the world will be complete. Let him go it! The harder, the better!"</p> + +<p>He turned back toward Flint, again, veiling in that impenetrable face of +his the slightest hint or expression which might have told Flint that he +understood the Billionaire's vice. If Flint were Vulture, Waldron was +<a name="Page_73"></a>Tiger, indeed. And so, for a brief moment, these two soulless men of +gold and power stood eyeing each other, in silence.</p> + +<p>Suddenly Waldron spoke.</p> + +<p>"There's one thing you've forgotten to speak of, Flint," he said.</p> + +<p>"And that is?" demanded the other, already calmed by the quick action of +the subtle, enslaving drug.</p> + +<p>"The effect on the world's poor—on the toiling millions! The results of +this innovation, in slum, and slave-quarter, and in the haunts of +poverty. Your talk has all been of the middle and upper classes, and of +the benefits accruing to them, from increased oxygen-consumption. But +how about the others? Every ounce of oxygen you take out of the air, +leaves it just so much poorer. Store thousands of tons of the +life-giving gas, in monster tanks, and you vitiate the entire +atmosphere. How about that? How can even the well-to-do breathe, then, +out-doors, to say nothing of the poverty-stricken millions?"</p> + +<p>Flint grimaced, showing a glint of his gold tooth—his substitute for a +smile.</p> + +<p>"That's all reckoned for," he answered. "I thought I made it quite +clear, in our previous talk. To begin with, we will withdraw the oxygen +from the atmosphere so slowly that at first there won't be any +noticeable effect on the out-door air. For a while, the only thing that +will be noticed by the world will be that our gas service, to private +residences and institutions, will result in greatly increased comfort +and health to the better classes. And the cost will be so low—at first, +mind you, only at first—that every family of any means at all can take +it. In fact, Wally, we can afford practically to give away the <a name="Page_74"></a>service, +for the first year, until we get our grip firmly fixed on the throat of +the world. Do you get the idea?"</p> + +<p>Waldron nodded, as he drew leisurely on his cigar.</p> + +<p>"Practical to a degree," he answered. "That is, until the poor begin to +gasp for breath. But what then?"</p> + +<p>"By the time the outer atmosphere really begins to show the effect of +withdrawing a considerable percentage of the oxygen," Flint answered, +"we will have our pocket respirators on the market. Well-to-do people +will as soon think of going out without their shoes, as they will with +their respirators. No, there won't be any visible tubes or attachments, +Wally. Nothing of that kind. Only, each person will carry a properly +insulated cake of solidified oxygen that will evaporate through the +special apparatus and surround him with a normally rich atmosphere. +And—"</p> + +<p>"Yes, but the poor? The workers? What of them?"</p> + +<p>"Devil take <i>them</i>, if it comes to that!" retorted Flint, with some +heat. "Who ever gives them any serious attention, as it is? Who bothers +about their health? They eat and drink and breathe the leavings, +anyhow—eat the cheapest and most adulterated food, drink the vilest +slop and breathe the most vitiated slum air. Nobody cares, except +perhaps those crazy Socialists that once in a while get up on the +street-corner and howl about the rights of man and all that rubbish! +Working-class? What do <i>I</i> care about the cattle? Let them die, if they +want to! D'you suppose, for one minute, I'm going to limit or delay this +big innovation, because there's a working-class that may suffer?"</p> + +<p>"They'll do more than suffer, Flint, if you seriously depreciate the +atmosphere. They'll die!"</p> + +<p>"<a name="Page_75"></a>Well, let them, and be damned to them!" retorted Flint, already +showing symptoms of drug-stimulation. Waldron, smoking meanwhile, eyed +him with a dangerous smile lurking in his cold eyes. "Let them, I say! +They die off, now, twice or thrice as fast as the better classes, but +what difference does it make? Great breeders, those people are. The more +they die, the faster they multiply. Let them go their way and do as they +like, so long as they don't interfere with <i>us!</i> The only really +important factor to reckon on is this, that with an impoverished air to +breathe, their rebellious spirit will die out—the dogs!—and we'll have +no more talk of social revolution. We'll draw their teeth, all right +enough; or rather, twist the bowstring round their damned necks so tight +that all their energy, outside of work, will be consumed in just keeping +alive. Revolution, then? Forget it, Waldron! We'll kill <i>that</i> viper +once and for all!"</p> + +<p>"Good idea, Flint," the other replied, with approbation. "Only a +master-mind like yours could have conceived it. I'm with you, all right +enough. Only, tell me—do you really believe we can put this whole +program through, without a hitch? Without a leak, anywhere? Without +barricades in the streets, wild-eyed agitators howling, machine-guns +chattering, and Hell to pay?"</p> + +<p>Flint smiled grimly.</p> + +<p>"Wait and see!" he growled.</p> + +<p>"Maybe you're right," his partner answered. "But slow and easy is the +only way."</p> + +<p>"Slow and easy," Flint assented. "Of course we can't go too fast. In +1850, for example, do you suppose the public would have tolerated the +sudden imposition of monopolies? Hardly! But now they lie down under +<a name="Page_76"></a>them, and even vote and fight to keep them! So, too, with this Air +Trust. Time will show you I'm right."</p> + +<p>Waldron glanced at his watch.</p> + +<p>"Long past lunch-time, Flint," said he. "Enough of this, for now. And +this afternoon, I've got that D. K. & E. directors' meeting on +hand. When shall we go on with our plans, and get down to specific +details?"</p> + +<p>"This evening, say?"</p> + +<p>"Very well. At my house?"</p> + +<p>"No. Too noisy. Run out to Englewood, to mine. We'll be quiet there. And +come early, Waldron. We've no end of things to discuss. The quicker we +get the actual work under way, now, the better. You can see Catherine, +too. Isn't that an inducement?"</p> + +<p>Thus ended the conference. It resumed, that night, in Flint's luxurious +study at "Idle Hour," his superb estate on the Palisades. Waldron paid +only a perfunctory court to Catherine, who manifested her pleasure by +studied indifference. Both magnates felt relieved when she withdrew. +They had other and larger matters under way than any dealing with the +amenities of life.</p> + +<p>Until past midnight the session in the study lasted, under the soft glow +of the Billionaire's reading-light. And many choice cigars were smoked, +many sheets of paper covered with diagrams and calculations, many vast +schemes of conquest expanded, ere the two masters said good-night and +separated.</p> + +<p>At the very hour of Waldron's leave-taking, another man was pondering +deeply, studying the problem from quite another angle, and—no less +earnestly, than the two magnates—laying careful plans.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_77"></a>This man, sturdy, well-built and keen, smoked an old briar as he +worked. A flannel shirt, open at the throat, showed a well-sinewed neck +and powerful chest. Under the inverted cone of a shaded incandescent in +his room, at the electricians' quarters of the Oakwood Heights +enclosure, one could see the deep lines of thought and careful study +crease his high and prominent brow.</p> + +<p>From time to time he gazed out through the open window, off toward the +whispering lines of surf on the eastern shores of Staten Island—the +surf forever talking, forever striving to give its mystic message to the +unheeding ear of man. And as he gazed, his blue eyes narrowed with the +intensity of his thought. Once, as though some sudden understanding had +come to him, he smote the pine table with a corded fist, and swore below +his breath.</p> + +<p>It was past two in the morning when he finally rose, stretched, yawned +and made ready for sleep on his hard iron bunk.</p> + +<p>"Can it be?" he muttered, as he undressed. "Can it be possible, or am I +dreaming? No—this is no dream! This is reality; and thank God, I +understand."</p> + +<p>Then, before he extinguished his light, he took from the table the +material he had been studying over, and put it beneath his pillow, where +he could guard it safe till morning.</p> + +<p>The thing he thus protected was none other than a small note-book, +filled with diagrams, jottings and calculations, and bound in red +morocco covers.</p> + +<p>That night, at Englewood—in the Billionaire's home <a name="Page_78"></a>and in the +workman's simple room at Oakwood Heights—history was being made.</p> + +<p>The outcome, tragic and terrible, who could have foreseen?</p> + + + +<br /><hr style="width: 65%;" /><br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_IX"></a><h3><a name="Page_79"></a>CHAPTER IX.</h3> + +<h4>DISCHARGED.</h4> +<br /> + +<p>Almost all the following morning, working at his bench in the +electro-chemical laboratories of the great Oakwood Heights plant, +Gabriel Armstrong pondered deeply on the problems and responsibilities +now opening out before him.</p> + +<p>The finding of that little red-leather note-book, he fully understood, +had at one stroke put him in possession of facts more vital to the +labor-movement and the world at large than any which had ever developed +since the very beginning of Capitalism. A Socialist to the backbone, +thoroughly class-conscious and dowered with an incisive intellect, +Gabriel thrilled at thought that he, by chance, had been chosen as the +instrument through which he felt the final revolution now must work. And +though he remained outwardly calm, as he bent above his toil, inwardly +he was aflame. His heart throbbed with an excitement he could scarce +control. His brain seemed on fire; his soul pulsed with savage joy and +magnificent inspiration. For he was only four-and-twenty, and the bitter +grind of years and toil had not yet worn his spirit down nor quelled the +ardor of his splendid strength and optimism.</p> + +<p>Working at his routine labor, his mind was not upon it. No, rather it +dwelt upon the vast discovery he had made—or seemed to have made—the +night before. Clear<a name="Page_80"></a>ly limned before his vision, he still saw the notes, +the plans, the calculations he had been able to decipher in the +Billionaire's lost note-book—the note-book which now, deep in the +pocket of his jumper that hung behind him on a hook against the wall, +drew his every thought, as steel draws the compass-needle.</p> + +<p>"Incredible, yet true!" he pondered, as he filed a brass casting for a +new-type dynamo. "These men are plotting to strangle the world to +death—to strangle, if they cannot own and rule it! And, what's more, I +see nothing to prevent their doing it. The plan is sound. They have the +means. At this very moment, the whole human race is standing in the +shadow of a peril so great, a slavery so imminent, that the most savage +war of conquest ever waged would be a mere skirmish, by comparison!"</p> + +<p>Mechanically he labored on and on, turning the tremendous problem in his +brain, striving in vain for some solution, some grasp at effective +opposition. And, as he thought, a kind of dumb hopelessness settled down +about him, tangible almost as a curtain black and heavy.</p> + +<p>"What shall I do?" he muttered to himself. "What can I do, to strike +these devils from their villainous plan of mastery?"</p> + +<p>As yet, he saw nothing clearly. No way seemed open to him. Alone, he +knew he could do nothing; yet whither should he turn for help? To rival +capitalist groups? They would not even listen to him; or, if they +listened and believed, they would only combine with the plotters, or +else, on their own hook, try to emulate them. To the labor movement? It +would mock him as a chimerical dreamer, despite all his proofs. At best, +he might start a few ineffectual strikes, petty and futile, indeed, +<a name="Page_81"></a>against this vast, on-moving power. To the Socialists? They, through +their press and speakers—in case they should believe him and co-operate +with him—could, indeed, give the matter vast publicity and excite +popular opposition; but, after all, could they abort the plan? He feared +they could not. The time, he knew, was not yet ripe when Labor, on the +political field, could meet and overthrow forces such as these.</p> + +<p>And so, for all his fevered thinking, he got no radical, no practical +solution of the terrible problem. More and more definitely, as he +weighed the pros and cons, the belief was borne in upon him that in this +case he must appeal to nobody but himself, count on nobody, trust in +nobody save Gabriel Armstrong.</p> + +<p>"I must play a lone hand game, for a while at least," he concluded, as +he finished his casting and took another. "Later, perhaps, I can enlist +my comrades. But for now, I must watch, wait, work, all alone. Perhaps, +armed with this knowledge—invaluable knowledge shared by no one—I can +meet their moves, checkmate their plans and defeat their ends. Perhaps! +It will be a battle between one man, obscure and without means, and two +men who hold billions of dollars and unlimited resources in their grasp. +A battle unequal in every sense; a battle to the death. But I may win, +after all. Every probability is that I shall lose, lose everything, even +my life. Yet still, there is a chance. By God, I'll take it!"</p> + +<p>The last words, uttered aloud, seemed to spring from his lips as though +uttered by the very power of invincible determination. A sneer, behind +him, brought him round with a start. His gaze widened, at sight of +Herzog stand<a name="Page_82"></a>ing there, cold and dangerous looking, with a venomous +expression in those ill-mated eyes of his.</p> + +<p>"Take it, will you?" jibed the scientist. "You thief!"</p> + +<p>Gabriel sprang up so suddenly that his stool clattered over backward on +the red-tiled floor. His big fist clenched and lifted. But Herzog never +flinched.</p> + +<p>"Thief!" he repeated, with an ugly thrust of the jaw. Servile and +crawling to his masters, the man was ever arrogant and harsh with those +beneath his authority. "I repeat the word. Drop that fist, Armstrong, if +you know what's good for you. I warn you. Any disturbance, here, +and—well, you know what we can do!"</p> + +<p>The electrician paled, slightly. But it was not through cowardice. Rage, +passion unspeakable, a sudden and animal hate of this lick-spittle and +supine toady shook him to the heart's core. Yet he managed to control +himself, not through any personal apprehension, but because of the great +work he knew still lay before him. At all hazards, come what might, he +must stay on, there, at the Oakwood Heights plant. Nothing, now, must +come between him and that one supreme labor.</p> + +<p>Thus he controlled himself, with an effort so tremendous that it +wrenched his very soul. This trouble, whatever it might be, must not be +noised about. Already, up and down the shop, workers were peering +curiously at him. He must be calm; must pass the insult, smooth the +situation and remain employed there.</p> + +<p>"I—I beg pardon," he managed to articulate, with pale lips that +trembled. He wiped the beaded sweat from his broad forehead. "Excuse me, +Mr. Herzog. I—you startled me. What's the trouble? Any complaint to +make? If so, I'm here to listen."</p> + +<p><a name="Page_83"></a>Herzog's teeth showed in a rat-like grin of malice.</p> + +<p>"Yes, you'll listen, all right enough," he sneered. "I've named you, and +that goes! You're a thief, Armstrong, and this proves it! Look!"</p> + +<p>From behind his back, where he had been holding it, he produced the +little morocco-covered book. Right in Armstrong's face he shook it, with +an oath.</p> + +<p>"Steal, will you?" he jibed. "For it's the same thing—no difference +whether you picked it out of Mr. Flint's pocket or found it on the floor +here, and tried to keep it! Steal, eh? Hold it for some possible reward? +You skunk! Lucky you haven't brains enough to make out what's in it! +Thought you'd keep it, did you? But you weren't smart enough, +Armstrong—no, not quite smart enough for me! After looking the whole +place over, I thought I'd have a go at a few pockets—and, you see? Oh, +you'll have to get up early to beat <i>me</i> at the game you—you thief!"</p> + +<p>With the last word, he raised the book and struck the young man a +blistering welt across the face with it.</p> + +<p>Armstrong fell back, against the bench, perfectly livid, with the wale +of the blow standing out red and distinct across his cheek. Then he went +pale as death, and staggered as though about to faint.</p> + +<p>"God—God in heaven!" he gasped. "Give me—strength—not to kill this +animal!"</p> + +<p>A startled look came into Herzog's face. He recognized, at last, the +nature of the rage he had awakened. In those twitching fists and that +white, writhen face he recognized the signs of passion that might, on a +second's notice, leap to murder. And, shot through with panic, <a name="Page_84"></a>he now +retreated, like the coward he was, though with the sneer still on his +thin and cruel lips.</p> + +<p>"Get your time!" he commanded, with crude brutality. "Go, get it at +once. You're lucky to get off so easily. If Flint knew this, you'd land +behind bars. But we want no scenes here. Get your money from Sanderson, +and clear out. Your job ended the minute my hand touched that book in +your pocket!"</p> + +<p>Still Armstrong made no reply. Still he remained there, dazed and +stricken, pallid as milk, a wild and terrible light in his blue eyes.</p> + +<p>An ugly murmur rose. Two or three of his fellow-workmen had come +drifting down the shop, toward the scene of altercation. Another joined +them, and another. Not one of them but hated Herzog with a bitter +animosity. And now perhaps, the time was come to pay a score or two.</p> + +<p>But Armstrong, suddenly lifting his head, faced them all, his comrades. +His mind, quick-acting, had realized that, now his possession of the +book had been discovered, his chances of discovering anything more, at +the works, had utterly vanished. Even though he should remain, he could +do nothing there. If he were to act, it must be from the outside, now, +following the trend of events, dogging each development, striving in +hidden, devious ways—violent ways, perhaps—to pull down this horrible +edifice of enslavement ere it should whelm and crush the world.</p> + +<p>So, acting as quickly as he had thought, and now ignoring the man Herzog +as though he had never existed, Armstrong faced his fellows.</p> + +<p>"It's all right, boys," said he, quite slowly, his voice <a name="Page_85"></a>seeming to +come from a distance, his tones forced and unnatural. "It's all right, +every way. I'm caught with the goods. Don't any of you butt in. Don't +mix with my trouble. For once I'm glad this is a scab shop, otherwise +there might be a strike, here, and worse Hell to pay than there will be +otherwise. I'm done. I'll get my time, and quit. But—remember one +thing, you'll understand some day what this is all about.</p> + +<p>"I'm glad to have worked with you fellows, the past few months. You're +all right, every one of you. Good-bye, and remember—"</p> + +<p>"Here, you men, get back to work!" cried Herzog, suddenly. "No +hand-shaking here, and no speech-making. This man's a sneak-thief and +he's fired, that's all there is to it. Now, get onto your job! The first +man that puts up a complaint about it, can get through, too!"</p> + +<p>For a moment they glowered at him, there in the white-lighted glare of +the big shop. A fight, even then, was perilously near, but Armstrong +averted it by turning away.</p> + +<p>"I'm done." he repeated. He gathered up a few tools that belonged to +him, personally, gave one look at his comrades, waved a hand at them, +and then, followed by Herzog, strode off down the long aisle, toward the +door.</p> + +<p>"Herzog," said he, calmly and with cold emphasis, "listen to this."</p> + +<p>"Get out! Get your time, I tell you, and go!" repeated the bully. "To +Hell with you! Clear out of here!"</p> + +<p>"I'm going," the young man answered. "But before I do, remember this; +you grazed death, just now. Well for you, Herzog, almighty well for you, +my temper didn't best me. For remember, you struck me and called me +<a name="Page_86"></a>'thief'—and that sort of thing can't be forgotten, ever, even though +we live a thousand years.</p> + +<p>"Remember, Herzog—not now, but sometime. Remember that one +word—sometime! That's all!"</p> + +<p>With no further speech, and while Herzog still stood there by the shop +door, sneering at him, Armstrong turned and passed out. A few minutes +later he had been paid off, had packed his knapsack with his few +belongings, and was outside the big palisade, striding along the hard +and glaring road toward the station.</p> + +<p>"I did it," his one overmastering thought was. "Thank heaven, I did it! +I held my temper and my tongue, didn't kill that spawn of Hell, and +saved the whole situation. I'm out of a job, true enough, and out of the +plant; but after all, I'm free—and I know what's in the wind!</p> + +<p>"There's yet hope. There'll be a way, a way to do this work! What a man +<i>must</i> do, he <i>can</i> do!"</p> + +<p>Up came Armstrong's chin, as he walked. His shoulders squared, with +strength and purpose, and his stride swung into the easy machine gait +that had already carried him so many thousand miles along the hard and +bitter highways of the world.</p> + +<p>As he strode away, on the long road toward he knew not what, words +seemed to form and shape in his strengthened and refortified mind—words +for long years forgotten—words that he once had heard at his mother's +knee:</p> + +<p>"<i>He that ruleth his spirit is better than he that taketh a city!</i>"</p> + + + +<br /><hr style="width: 65%;" /><br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_X"></a><h3><a name="Page_87"></a>CHAPTER X.</h3> + +<h4>A GLIMPSE AT THE PARASITES.</h4> +<br /> + +<p>The Longmeadow Country Club, on the Saturday afternoon following +Armstrong's abrupt dismissal, was a scene of gaiety and beauty without +compare. Set in broad acres of wood and lawn, the club-house proudly +dominated far-flung golf-links and nearer tennis-courts. Shining motors +stood parked on the plaza before the club garage, each valued at several +years' wages of a workingman. Men and women—exploiters all, or +parasites—elegantly and coolly clad in white, smote the swift sphere +upon the tennis-court, with jest and laughter. Others, attended by +caddies—mere proletarian scum, bent beneath the weight of cleeks and +brassies—moved across the smooth-cropped links, kept in condition by +grazing sheep and by steam-rollers. On putting-green and around bunkers +these idlers struggled with artificial difficulties, while in shops and +mines and factories, on railways and in the blazing Hells of +stoke-holes, men of another class, a slave-class, labored and agonized, +toiled and died that <i>these</i> might wear fine linen and spend the long +June afternoon in play.</p> + +<p>From the huge, cobble-stone chimney of the Country Club, upwafting smoke +told of the viands now preparing for the idlers' dinner, after +sport—rich meats and dainties of the rarest. In the rathskeller some of +the elder and more indolent men were absorbing alcohol while <a name="Page_88"></a>music +played and painted nymphs of abundant charms looked down from the +wall-frescoes. Out on the broad piazzas, well sheltered by awnings from +the rather ardent sun, men and women sat at spotless tables, dallying +with drinks of rare hues and exalted prices. Cigarette-smoke wafted away +on the pure breeze from over the Catskills, far to northwest, defiling +the sweet breath of Nature, herself, with fumes of nicotine and dope. A +Hungarian orchestra was playing the latest Manhattan ragtime, at the far +end of the piazza. It was, all in all, a scene of rare refinement, +characteristic to a degree of the efflorescence of American capitalism.</p> + +<p>At one of the tables, obviously bored, sat Catherine Flint, only +daughter of the Billionaire. A rare girl, she, to look +upon—deep-bosomed and erect, dressed simply in a middy-blouse with a +blue tie, a khaki skirt and low, rubber-soled shoes revealing a +silk-stockinged ankle that would have attracted the enthusiastic +attention of gentlemen in any city of the world. No hat disfigured the +coiled and braided masses of coppery hair that circled her shapely head. +A healthy tan on face and arms and open throat bespoke her keen devotion +to all outdoor life. Her fingers, lithe and strong, were graced by but +two rings—a monogram, of gold, and the betrothal ring that Maxim +Waldron had put there, only three weeks before.</p> + +<p>Impatience dominated her. One could see that, in the nervous tapping of +her fingers on the cloth; the slight swing of her right foot as she sat +there, one knee crossed over the other; the glance of her keen, gray +eyes down the broad drive-way that led from the huge stone gates up to +the club-house.</p> + +<p>Beside her sat a nonentity in impeccable dress, dangling <a name="Page_89"></a>a monocle and +trying to make small-talk, the while he dallied with a Bronx cocktail, +costing more than a day's wage for a childish flower-making slave of the +tenements, and inhaled a Rotten Row cigarette, the "last word" from +London in the tobacco line. To the sallies of this elegant, the girl +replied by only monosyllables. Her glass was empty, nor would she have +it filled, despite the exquisite's entreaties. From time to time she +glanced impatiently at the long bag of golf-sticks leaning against the +porch rail; and, now and then, her eyes sought the little Cervine watch +set in a leather wristlet on her arm.</p> + +<p>"Inconsiderate of him, I'm sure—ah—to keep so magnificent a Diana +waiting," drawled her companion, blowing a lungful of thin blue smoke +athwart the breeze. "Especially when you're so deuced keen on doing the +course before dinner. Now if <i>I</i> were the favored swain, wild horses +wouldn't keep me away."</p> + +<p>She made no answer, but turned a look of indifference on the shrimp +beside her. Had he possessed the soul of a real man, he would have +shriveled; but, being oblivious to all things save the pride of wealth +and monstrous self-conceit, he merely snickered and reached for his +cocktail—which, by the way, he was absorbing through a straw.</p> + +<p>"I say, Miss Flint?" he presently began again, stirring the ice in the +cocktail.</p> + +<p>"Well?" she answered, curtly.</p> + +<p>"If you—er—are really very, <i>very</i> impatient to have a go at the +links, why wait for Wally? I—I should be only too glad to volunteer my +services as your knight-errant, and all that sort of thing."</p> + +<p>"Thanks, awfully," she answered, "but Mr. Waldron <a name="Page_90"></a>promised to go round +the course with me, this afternoon, and I'll wait."</p> + +<p>The impeccable one grinned fatuously, invited her again to have a +drink—which she declined—and ordered another for himself, with profuse +apologies for drinking alone; apologies which she hardly seemed to +notice.</p> + +<p>"Deuced bad form of Wally, I must say," the gilded youth resumed, trying +to make capital for himself, "to leave you in the lurch, this way!"</p> + +<p>Silence from Catherine. The would-be interloper, feeling that he was on +the wrong track, took counsel with himself and remained for a moment +immersed in what he imagined to be thought. At last, however, with an +oblique glance at his indifferent companion, he remarked.</p> + +<p>"Devilish hard time women have in this world, you know! Don't you +sometimes wish you were a man?"</p> + +<p>Her answer flashed back like a rapier:</p> + +<p>"No! Do you wish <i>you</i> were?"</p> + +<p>Stunned by this "facer," Reginald Van Slyke gasped and stared. That he, +a scion of the Philadelphia Van Slykes, in his own right worth two +hundred million dollars—dollars ground out of the Kensington +carpet-mill slaves by his grandfather—should be thus flouted and put +upon by the daughter of Flint, that parvenu, absolutely floored him. For +a moment he sat there speechless, unable even to reach for his drink; +but presently some coherence returned. He was about to utter what he +conceived to be a strong rejoinder, when the girl suddenly standing up, +turned her back upon him and ignored him as completely as she might have +ignored any of the menials of the club.</p> + +<p>His irritated glance followed hers. There, far down <a name="Page_91"></a>the drive, just +rounding the long turn by the artificial lake, a big blue motor car was +speeding up the grade at a good clip. Van Slyke recognized it, and swore +below his breath.</p> + +<p>"Wally, at last, damn him!" he muttered. "Just when I was beginning to +make headway with Kate!"</p> + +<p>Vexed beyond endurance, he drummed on the cloth with angry fingers; but +Catherine was oblivious. Unmindful of the merry-makers at the other +tables, the girl waved her handkerchief at the swiftly-approaching +motor. Waldron, from the back seat, raised an answering hand—though +without enthusiasm. Above all things he hated demonstration, and the +girl's frank manner, free, unconventional and not yet broken to the +harness of Mrs. Grundy, never failed to irritate him.</p> + +<p>"Very incorrect for people in our set," he often thought. "But for the +present I can do nothing. Once she is my wife, ah, then I shall find +means to curb her. For the present, however, I must let her have her +head."</p> + +<p>Such was now his frame of mind as the long car slid under the +porte-cochère and came to a stand. He would have infinitely preferred +that the girl should wait his coming to her, on the piazza; but already +she had slung her bag of sticks over her strong shoulder, and was down +the steps to meet him. Her leave-taking of the incensed Van Slyke had +been the merest nod.</p> + +<p>"You're late, Wally," said she, smiling with her usual good humor, which +had already quite dissipated her impatience. "Late, but I'll forgive +you, this time. I'm afraid we won't have time to do all eighteen holes +round. What kept you?"</p> + +<p>"Business, business!" he answered, frowning. "Always <a name="Page_92"></a>the same old +grind, Kate. You women don't understand. I tell you, this slaving in +Wall Street isn't what it's cracked up to be. I couldn't get away till +11:30. Then, just had a quick bite of lunch, and broke every speed law +in New York getting here. Do you forgive me?"</p> + +<p>He had descended from the car, in speaking. They shook hands, while the +chauffeur stood at attention and all the gossips on the piazza, scenting +the possibility of a disagreement, craned discreetly eager necks and +listened intently.</p> + +<p>"Forgive you? Of course—this time, but never again," the girl laughed. +"Now, run along and get into your flannels. I'll meet you on the driving +green, in ten minutes. Not another second, mind, or—"</p> + +<p>"I'll be on the dot," he answered. "Here, boy," beckoning a caddy, "take +Miss Flint's sticks. And have mine carried to the green. Look sharp, +now!"</p> + +<p>Then, with a nod at the girl, he ran up the steps and vanished in the +club-house, bound for the locker-room.</p> + +<p>Fifteen minutes the girl waited on the green, watching others drive off +from the little tees and inwardly chafing to be in action. Fifteen, and +then twenty, before Waldron finally appeared, immaculate in white, +bare-armed and with a loose, checked cap shading his close-set eyes. The +fact was, in addition to having changed his clothes, he had felt obliged +to linger in the bar for a little Scotch; and one drink had meant +another; and thus precious moments had sped.</p> + +<p>But his smile was confident as he approached the green. Women, after +all, he reflected, were meant to be kept waiting. They never appreciated +a man who kept appointments exactly. Not less fatuous at heart, in +truth, was <a name="Page_93"></a>he, than the unfortunate Van Slyke. But his manner was +perfection as he saluted her and bade the caddy build their tees.</p> + +<p>The girl, however, was now plainly vexed. Her mouth had drawn a trifle +tight and the tilt of her chin was determined. Her eyes were far from +soft, as she surveyed this delinquent fiancé.</p> + +<p>"I don't like you a bit, today, Wally," said she, as he deliberated +over the club-bag, choosing a driver. "This makes twice you've kept me +waiting. I warn you don't let it happen again!"</p> + +<p>Under the seeming banter of her tone lurked real resentment. But he, +with a smile—partly due to a finger too much Scotch—only answered, in +a low tone:</p> + +<p>"You're adorable, today, Kate! The combination of fresh air and +annoyance has painted the most wonderful roses on your cheeks!"</p> + +<p>She shrugged her shoulders with a little motion she had inherited from +French ancestry, stooped, set her golf ball on the little mound of sand, +exactly to suit her, and raised her driver on high.</p> + +<p>"Nine holes," said she, "and I'm going to beat you, today!"</p> + +<p>He frowned a little at the spirit of the threat, for any self-assertion +in a woman crossed his grain; but soon forgot his pique in admiration of +the drive.</p> + +<p>Swishing, her club flashed down in a quick circle. <i>Crack!</i> It struck +the gutta-percha squarely. The little white sphere zipped away like a +rocket, rose in a far trajectory, up, up, toward the water-hazard at the +foot of the grassy slope, then down in a long curve.</p> + +<p>Even while the girl's cry of "Fore!" was echoing across <a name="Page_94"></a>the green, the +ball struck earth, ricochetted and sped on, away, across the turf, till +it came to rest not twenty yards from the putting green of the first +hole.</p> + +<p>"Wheeoo!" whistled Waldron. "Some drive. I guess you're going to make +good your threat, today, Kate of my heart!"</p> + +<p>The smile she flashed at him showed that her resentment had, for the +moment, been forgotten.</p> + +<p>"Come on, Wally, now let's see what <i>you</i> can do," said she, starting +off down the slope, while her meek caddy tagged at a respectful +distance.</p> + +<p>Waldron, thus adjured, teed up and swung at the ball. But the Scotch had +by no means steadied his aim. He foozled badly and broke his pet driver, +into the bargain. The steel head of it flew farther even than the ball, +which moved hardly ten yards.</p> + +<p>"Damn!" he muttered, under his breath, choosing another stick and +glancing with real irritation at Catherine's lithe, splendidly poised +figure already some distance down the slope.</p> + +<p>His second stroke was more successful, nearly equalling hers. But her +advantage, thus early won, was not destined to be lost again. And as the +game proceeded, Waldron's temper grew steadily worse and worse.</p> + +<p>Thus began, for these two people, an hour destined to be fraught with +such pregnant developments—an hour which, in its own way, vitally bore +on the great loom now weaving warp and woof of world events.</p> + + + +<br /><hr style="width: 65%;" /><br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_XI"></a><h3><a name="Page_95"></a>CHAPTER XI.</h3> + +<h4>THE END OF TWO GAMES.</h4> +<br /> + +<p>Trivial events sometimes precipitate catastrophies. It has been said +that had James MacDonald not left the farm gate open, at Hugomont, +Waterloo might have ended otherwise. So now, the rupture between +Catherine Flint and Maxim Waldron was precipitated by a single unguarded +oath.</p> + +<p>It was at the ninth hole, down back of the Terrace Woods bunker. +Waldron, heated by exercise and the whiskey he had drunk, had already +dismissed the caddies and had undertaken to carry the clubs, himself, +hoping—man-fashion—to steal a kiss or two from Catherine, along the +edge of the close-growing oaks and maples. But all his plans went agley, +for Catherine really made good and beat him, there, by half a dozen +strokes; and as her little sphere, deftly driven by the putting-iron +gripped in her brown, firm hands, rolled precisely over the cropped turf +and fell into the tinned hole, the man ejaculated a perfectly audible +"<i>Hell!</i>"</p> + +<p>She stood erect and faced him, with a singular expression in those level +gray eyes—eyes the look of which could allure or wither, could entice +or command.</p> + +<p>"Wally," said she, "did you swear?"</p> + +<p>"I—er—why, yes," he stammered, taken aback and realizing, despite his +chagrin, how very poor and unsportsmanlike a figure he was cutting.</p> + +<p>"<a name="Page_96"></a>I don't like it," she returned. "Not a little bit, Wally. It isn't +game, and it isn't manly. You must respect me, now and always. I can't +have profanity, and I won't."</p> + +<p>He essayed lame apologies, but a sudden, hot anger seemed to have +possessed him, in presence of this free, independent, exacting +woman—this woman who, worst of all, had just beaten him at the game of +all games he prided himself on playing well. And despite his every +effort, she saw through the veil of sheer, perfunctory courtesy; and +seeing, flushed with indignation.</p> + +<p>"Wally," she said in a low, quiet tone, fixing a singular gaze upon him, +"Wally, I don't know what to make of you lately. The other night at Idle +Hour, you hardly looked at me. You and father spent the whole evening +discussing some business or other—"</p> + +<p>"Most important business, my dear girl, I do assure you," protested +Waldron, trying to steady his voice. "Most vitally—"</p> + +<p>"No matter about that," she interposed. "It could have been abridged, a +trifle. I barely got six words out of you, that evening; and let me tell +you, Wally, a woman never forgets neglect. She may forgive it; but +forget it, never!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, well, if you put it that way—" he began, but checked himself in +time to suppress the cutting rejoinder he had at his tongue's end.</p> + +<p>"I do, and it's vital, Wally," she answered. "It's all part and parcel +of some singular kind of change that's been coming over you, lately, +like a blight. You haven't been yourself, at all, these few days past. +Something or other, I don't know what, has been coming between us. +You've got something else on your mind, beside me—<a name="Page_97"></a>something bigger and +more important to you than I am—and—and—"</p> + +<p>He pulled out his gold cigar-case, chose and lighted a cigar to steady +his nerve, and faced her with a smile—the worst tactic he could +possibly have chosen in dealing with this woman. Supremely successful in +handling men, he lacked finesse and insight with the other sex; and now +that lack, in his moment of need, was bringing him moment by moment +nearer the edge of catastrophe.</p> + +<p>"I don't like it at all, Waldron," she resumed, again. "You were late, +the other night, in taking me to the Flower Show. You were late, today, +for our appointment here; and the ten minutes I gave you to get ready +in, stretched out to twenty before you—"</p> + +<p>He interrupted her with a gesture of uncontrollable vexation.</p> + +<p>"Really, my dear Kate," he exclaimed, "if you—er—insist on holding me +to account for every moment—"</p> + +<p>"You've been drinking, too, a little," she kept on. "And you know I +detest it! And just now, when I beat you in a square game, you so far +forgot yourself as to swear. Now, Waldron—"</p> + +<p>"Oh, puritanical, eh?" he sneered, ignoring the danger signals in her +eyes. Even yet there might have been some chance of avoiding shipwreck, +had he heeded those twin beacons, humbled himself, made amends by due +apology and promised reformation. For though Catherine never had truly +loved this man, some years older than herself and of radically different +character, still she liked and respected him, and found him—by his very +force and dominance—far more to her taste than the insipid hangers-on, +sons of fortune or fortune-hunters, who, like the <a name="Page_98"></a>sap-brained Van +Slyke, made up so great a part of her "set."</p> + +<p>So, all might yet have been amended; but this was not to be. Never yet +had "Tiger" Waldron bowed the neck to living man or woman. Dominance was +his whole scheme of life. Though he might purr, politely enough, so long +as his fur was smoothed the right way, a single backward stroke set his +fangs gleaming and unsheathed every sabre-like claw. And now this woman, +his fiancée though she was, her beauty dear to him and her charm most +fascinating, her fortune much desired and most of all, an alliance with +her father—now this woman, despite all these considerations, had with a +few incisive words ruffled his temper beyond endurance.</p> + +<p>So great was his agitation that, despite his strongest instinct of +saving, he flung away the scarcely-tasted cigar.</p> + +<p>"Kate," he exclaimed, his very tongue thick with the rage he could not +quell, "Kate, I can't stand this! You're going too far. What do you know +of men's work and men's affairs? Who are you, to judge of their times of +coming and going, their obligations, their habits and man of life? What +do <i>you</i> understand—?"</p> + +<p>"It's obvious," she replied with glacial coldness, "that I don't +understand <i>you</i>, and never have. I have been living in a dream, Wally; +seeing you through the glass of illusion; not reality. After all, you're +like all men—just the same, no different. Idealism, self-sacrifice, con +true nobility of character, where are these, in you? What is there but +the same old selfishness, the same innate masculine conceit and—"</p> + +<p>"No more of this, Kate!" cried the financier, paling a little. "No more! +I can't have it! I won't—it's im<a name="Page_99"></a>possible! You—you don't understand, I +tell you. In your narrow, untrained, woman's way, you try to set up +standards for me; try to judge me, and dictate to me. Some old +puritanical streak in you is cropping out, some blue-law atavism, some I +know not what, that rebels against my taking a drink—like every other +man. That cries out against my letting slip a harmless oath—again, like +every other man that lives and breathes. Every man, that is, who <i>is</i> a +man, a real man, not a dummy! If you've been mistaken in me, how much +more have I, in you! And so—"</p> + +<p>"And so," she took the very words from his pale lips, "we've both been +mistaken, that's all. No, no," she forbade him with raised hand, as he +would have interrupted with protests. "No, you needn't try to convince +me otherwise, now. A thousand volumes of speeches, after this, couldn't +do it. An hour's insight into the true depths of a man's character—yes, +even a moment's—perfectly suffices to show the truth. You've just drawn +the veil aside, Wally, for me, and let me look at the true picture. All +that I've known and thought of you, so far, has been sham and illusion. +Now, I <i>know</i> you!"</p> + +<p>"You—you don't, Catherine!" he exclaimed, half in anger, half +contrition, terrified at last by the imminent break between them, by the +thought of losing this rich flower from the garden of womanhood, this +splendid financial and social prize. "I—I've done wrong, Kate. I admit +it. But, truly—"</p> + +<p>"No more," said she, and in her voice sounded a command he knew, at +last, was quite inexorable. "I'm not like other women of our set, +perhaps. I can't be bought and sold, Wally, with money and position. I +can't marry <a name="Page_100"></a>a man, and have to live with him, if he shows himself +petty, or small, or narrow in any way. I must be free, free as air, as +long as I live. Even in marriage, I must be free. Freedom can only come +with the union of two souls that understand and help and inspire each +other. Anything else is slavery—and worse!"</p> + +<p>She shuddered, and for a moment turned half away from him, as, now +contrite enough for the minute, he stood there looking at her with dazed +eyes. For a second the idea came to him that he must take her in his +arms, there in the edge of the woods, burn kisses on her ripe mouth, win +her back to him by force, as he had won all life's battles. He would +not, could not, let this prize escape him now. A wave of desire surged +through his being. He took a step toward her, his trembling arms open to +seize her lithe, seductive body. But she, retreating, held him away with +repellant palms.</p> + +<p>"No, no, no!" she cried. "Not now—never that, any more! I must be free, +Wally—free as air!"</p> + +<p>She raised her face toward the vast reaches of the sky, breathed deep +and for a moment closed her eyes, as though bathing her very soul in the +sweet freedom of the out-of-doors.</p> + +<p>"Free as air!" she whispered. "Let me go!"</p> + +<p>He started violently. Her simile had struck him like a lash.</p> + +<p>"Free—as what?" he exclaimed hoarsely. "As <i>air?</i> But—but there's no +such freedom, I tell you! Air isn't free any more—or won't be, soon! It +will be everything, anything but free, before another year is gone! Free +as air? You—you don't understand! Your father and I—<a name="Page_101"></a>we shall soon own +the air. Free as air? Yes, if you like! For that—that means you, too, +must belong to me!"</p> + +<p>Again he sought to take her, to hold her and overmaster her. But she, +now wide-eyed with a kind of sudden terror at this latest outbreak, this +seeming madness on his part, which she could nowise fathom or +comprehend, retreated ever more and more, away from him.</p> + +<p>Then suddenly with a quick effort, she stripped off the splendid, +blazing diamond from her finger, and held it out to him.</p> + +<p>"Wally," said she, calm now and quite herself again, "Wally, let's be +friends. Just that and nothing more. Dear, good, companionable friends, +as we used to be, long years ago, before this madness seized us—this +chimera of—of love!"</p> + +<p>As a bull charging, is struck to the heart by the sword of the matador, +and stops in his tracks, motionless and dazed before he falls, so +"Tiger" Waldron stopped, wholly stunned by this abrupt and crushing +denouement.</p> + +<p>For a moment, man and woman faced each other. Not a word was spoken. +Catherine had no word to say; and Waldron, though his lips worked, could +bring none to utterance. Then their eyes met; and his lowered.</p> + +<p>"Good-bye," said she quietly. "Good-bye forever, as my betrothed. When +we meet again, Wally, it will be as friends, and nothing more. And now, +let me go. Don't come with me. I prefer to be alone. I'd rather walk, a +bit, and think—and then go back quietly to the club-house, and so home, +in my car. Don't follow me. Here—take this, and—good-bye."</p> + +<p>Mechanically he accepted the gleaming jewel. Mechan<a name="Page_102"></a>ically, like a man +without sense or reason, he watched her walk away from him, upright and +strong and lithe, voluptuous and desirable in every motion of that +splendid body, now lost to him forever. Then all at once, entering a +woodland path that led by a short cut back to the club-house, she +vanished from his sight.</p> + +<p>Vanished, without having even so much as turned to look at him again, or +wave that firm brown hand.</p> + +<p>Then, seeming to waken from his daze, "Tiger" laughed, a terrible and +cruel laugh; and then he flung a frightful blasphemy upon the still June +air; and then he dashed the wondrous diamond to earth, and stamped and +dug it with a perfect frenzy of rage into the soft mold.</p> + +<p>And, last of all, with lowered head and lips that moved in fearful +curses, he crashed away into the woods, away from the path where the +girl was, away from the club-house, away, away, thirsting for solitude +and time to quell his passion, salve his wounded pride and ponder +measures of terrible revenge.</p> + +<p>The diamond ring, crushed into the earth, and the golf clubs, lying +where they had fallen from the disputants' hands, now remained there as +melancholy reminders of the double game—love and golf—which had so +suddenly ended in disaster.</p> + + + +<br /><hr style="width: 65%;" /><br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_XII"></a><h3><a name="Page_103"></a>CHAPTER XII.</h3> + +<h4>ON THE GREAT HIGHWAY.</h4> +<br /> + +<p>As violently rent from his job as Maxim Waldron had been torn from his +alliance with Catherine, Gabriel Armstrong met the sudden change in his +affairs with far more equanimity than the financier could muster. Once +the young electrician's first anger had subsided—and he had pretty well +mastered it before he had reached the Oakwood Heights station—he began +philosophically to turn the situation in his mind, and to rough out his +plans for the future.</p> + +<p>"Things might be worse, all round," he reflected, as he strode along at +a smart pace. "During the seven months I've been working for these +pirates, I've managed to pay off the debt I got into at the time of the +big E. W. strike, and I've got eighteen dollars or a little more in +my pocket. My clothes will do a while longer. Even though Flint +blacklists me all over the country, as he probably will, I can duck into +some job or other, somewhere. And most important of all, I know what's +due to happen in America—I've seen that note-book! Let them do what +they will, they can't take <i>that</i> knowledge away from me!"</p> + +<p>The outlook, on the whole, was cheering. Gabriel broke into a whistle, +as he swung along the highway, and slashed cheerfully with his heavy +stick at the dusty bushes by the roadside. A vigorous, pleasing figure +of a man <a name="Page_104"></a>he made, striding onward in his blue flannel shirt and +corduroys, stout boots making light of distance, somewhat rebellious +black hair clustering under his cap, blue eyes clear and steady as the +sunlight itself. There must have been a drop of Irish blood somewhere or +other in his veins, to have given him that ruddy cheek, those eyes, that +hair, that quick enthusiasm and that swiftness to anger—then, by +reaction, that quick buoyancy which so soon banished everything but +courageous optimism from his hot heart.</p> + +<p>Thus the man walked, all his few worldly belongings—most precious among +them his union card and his red Socialist card—packed in the knapsack +strapped to his broad shoulders. And as he walked, he formulated his +plans.</p> + +<p>"Niagara for mine," he decided. "It's there these hellions mean to start +their devilish work of enslaving the whole world. It's there I want to +be, and must be, to follow the infernal job from the beginning and to +nail it, when the right time comes. I'll put in a day or two with my old +friend, Sam Underwood, up in the Bronx, and maybe tell him what's doing +and frame out the line of action with him. But after that, I strike for +Niagara—yes, and on foot!"</p> + +<p>This decision came to him as strongly desirable. Not for some time, he +knew, could the actual work of building the Air Trust plant be started +at Niagara. Meanwhile, he wanted to keep out of sight, as much as +possible. He wanted, also to save every cent. Again, his usual mode of +travel had always been either to ride the rods or "hike" it on shanks' +mare. Bitterly opposed to swelling the railways' revenues by even a +penny, Arm<a name="Page_105"></a>strong in the past few years of his life had done some +thousands of miles, afoot, all over the country. His best means of +Socialist propaganda, he had found, was in just such meanderings along +the highways and hedges of existence—a casual job, here or there, for a +day, a week, a month—then, quick friendships; a little talk; a few +leaflets handed to the intelligent, if he could find any. He had laced +the continent with such peregrinations, always sowing the seed of +revolution wherever he had passed; getting in touch with the Movement +all over the republic; keeping his finger on the pulse of ever-growing, +always-strengthening Socialism.</p> + +<p>Such had his habits long been. And now, once more adrift and jobless, +but with the most tremendous secret of the ages in his possession, he +naturally turned to the comfort and the calming influence of the broad +highway, in his long journey towards the place where he was to meet, in +desperate opposition, the machinations of the Air Trust magnates.</p> + +<p>"It's the only way for me," he decided, as he turned into the road +leading toward Saint George and the Manhattan Ferry. "Flint and Herzog +will be sure to put Slade and the Cosmos people after me. Blacklisting +will be the least of what they'll try to do. They'll use slugging +tactics, sure, if they get a chance, or railroad me to some Pen or +other, if possible. My one best bet is to keep out of their way; and I +figure I'm ten times safer on the open road, with a few dollars to stave +off a vagrancy charge, and with two good fists and this stick to keep +'em at a distance, than I would be on the railroads or in cheap dumps +along the way.</p> + +<p>"<a name="Page_106"></a>The last place they'll ever think of looking for me will be the big +outdoors. <i>Their</i> idea of hunting for a workman is to dragnet the back +rooms of saloons—especially if they're after a Socialist. That's the +limit of their intelligence, to connect Socialism and beer. I'll beat +'em; I'll hike—and it's a hundred to one I land in Niagara with more +cash than when I started, with better health, more knowledge, and the +freedom that, alone, can save the world now from the most damnable +slavery that ever threatened its existence!"</p> + +<p>Thus reasoning, with perfect clarity and a long-headedness that proved +him a strategist at four-and-twenty, Gabriel Armstrong whistled a louder +note as he tramped away to northward, away from the hateful presence of +Herzog, away from the wage-slavery of the Oakwood Heights plant, +away—with that precious secret in his brain—toward the far scene of +destined warfare, where stranger things were to ensue than even he could +possibly conceive.</p> + +<p>Saturday morning found him, his visit with Underwood at an end, already +twenty miles or more from the Bronx River, marching along through +Haverstraw, up the magnificent road that fringes the Hudson—now hidden +from the mighty river behind a forest-screen, now curving on bold +abutments right above the sun-kissed expanses of Haverstraw Bay, here +more than two miles from wooded shore to shore.</p> + +<p>At eleven, he halted at a farm house, some miles north of the town, got +a job on the woodpile, and astonished the farmer by the amount of birch +he could saw in an hour. He took his pay in the shape of a bountiful +dinner, and—after half an hour's smoke and talk with the farmer, to +<a name="Page_107"></a>whom he gave a few pamphlets from the store in his knapsack—said +good-bye to all hands and once more set his face northward for the long +hike through much wilder country, to West Point, where he hoped to pass +the night.</p> + +<p>Thus we must leave him, for a while. For now the thread of our +narration, like the silken cord in the Labyrinth of Crete, leads us back +to the Country Club at Longmeadow, the scene, that very afternoon, of +the sudden and violent rupture between the financier and Catherine +Flint.</p> + +<p>Catherine, her first indignation somewhat abated, and now vastly +relieved at the realization that she indeed was free from her loveless +and long-since irksome alliance with Waldron, calmly enough returned to +the club-house. Head well up, and eyes defiant, she walked up the broad +steps and into the office. Little cared she whether the piazza +gossips—The Hammer and Anvil Club, in local slang—divined the quarrel +or not. The girl felt herself immeasurably indifferent to such +pettinesses as prying small talk and innuendo. Let people know, or not, +as might be, she cared not a whit. Her business was her own. No wagging +of tongues could one hair's breadth disturb that splendid calm of hers.</p> + +<p>The clerk, behind the desk, smiled and nodded at her approach.</p> + +<p>"Please have my car brought round to the porte-cochère, at once?" she +asked. "And tell Herrick to be sure there's plenty of gas for a long +run. I'm going through to New York."</p> + +<p>"So soon?" queried the clerk. "I'm sure your father will be +disappointed, Miss Flint. He's just wired that he's coming out tomorrow, +to spend Sunday here. He particularly asks to have you remain. See +here?"</p> + +<p><a name="Page_108"></a>He handed her a telegram. She glanced it over, then crumpled it and +tossed it into the office fire-place.</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry," she answered. "But I can't stay. I must get back, to-night. +I'll telegraph father not to come. A blank, please?"</p> + +<p>The clerk handed her one. She pondered a second, then wrote:</p> + +<div class="blkquot"><p><i>Dear Father: A change of plans makes me return home at once. + Please wait and see me there. I've something important to talk over + with you.</i></p> + +<p> <i>Affectionately</i>,</p> + +<p> <i>Kate</i>.</p></div> + +<p>Ordinarily people try to squeeze their message to ten words, and count +and prune and count again; but not so, Catherine. For her, a telegram +had never contained any space limit. It meant less to her than a +post-card to you or me. Not that the girl was consciously extravagant. +No, had you asked her, she would have claimed rigid economy—she rarely, +for instance, paid more than a hundred dollars for a morning gown, or +more than a thousand for a ball-dress. It was simply that the idea of +counting words had never yet occurred to her. And so now, she +complacently handed this verbose message to the clerk, who—thoroughly +well-trained—understood it was to be charged on her father's perfectly +staggering monthly bill.</p> + +<p>"Very well, Miss Flint," said he. "I'll send this at once. And your car +will be ready for you in ten minutes—or five, if you like?"</p> + +<p>"<a name="Page_109"></a>Ten will do, thank you," she answered. Then she crossed to the +elevator and went up to her own suite of rooms on the second floor, for +her motor-coat and veils.</p> + +<p>"Free, thank heaven!" she breathed, with infinite relief, as she stood +before the tall mirror, adjusting these for the long trip. "Free from +that man forever. What a narrow escape! If things hadn't happened just +as they did, and if I hadn't had that precious insight into Wally's +character—good Lord!—catastrophe! Oh, I haven't been so happy since +I—since—why, I've <i>never</i> been so happy in all my life!</p> + +<p>"Wally, dear boy," she added, turning toward the window as though +apostrophizing him in reality, "now we can be good friends. Now all the +sham and pretense are at an end, forever. As a friend, you may be +splendid. As a husband—oh, impossible!"</p> + +<p>Lighter of heart than she had been for years, was she, with the added +zest of the long spin through the beauty of the June country before +her—down among the hills and cliffs, among the forests and broad +valleys—down to New York again, back to the father and the home she +loved better than all else in the world.</p> + +<p>In this happy frame of mind she presently entered the low-hung, +swift-motored car, settled herself on the luxurious cushions and said +"Home, at once!" to Herrick.</p> + +<p>He nodded, but did not speak. He felt, in truth, somewhat incapable of +quite incoherent speech. Not having expected any service till next day, +he had foregathered with others of his ilk in the servants' bar, +below-stairs, and had with wassail and good cheer very effectively put +himself out of commission.</p> + +<p>But, somewhat sobered by this quick summons, he had <a name="Page_110"></a>managed to pull +together. Now, drunk though he was, he sat there at the wheel, steady +enough—so long as he held on to it—and only by the redness of his face +and a certain glassy look in his eye, betrayed the fact of his +intoxication. The girl, busy with her farewells as the car drew up for +her, had not observed him. At the last moment Van Slyke waved a foppish +hand at her, and smirked adieux. She acknowledged his good-bye with a +smile, so happy was she at the outcome of her golf-game; then cast a +quick glance up at the club windows, fearing to see the harsh face of +Wally peeping down at her in anger.</p> + +<p>But he was nowhere to be seen; and now, with a sudden acceleration of +the powerful six-cylinder engine, the big gray car moved smoothly +forward. Growling in its might, it swung in a wide circle round the +sweep of the drive, gathered speed and shot away down the grade toward +the stone gates of the entrance, a quarter mile distant.</p> + +<p>Presently it swerved through these, to southward. Club-house, waving +handkerchiefs and all vanished from Kate's view.</p> + +<p>"Faster, Herrick," she commanded, leaning forward, "I must be home by +half past five."</p> + +<p>Again he nodded, and notched spark and throttle down. The car, leaping +like a wild creature, began to hum at a swift clip along the smooth, +white road toward Newburgh on the Hudson.</p> + +<p>Thirty miles an hour the speedometer showed, then thirty-five and forty. +Again the drunken chauffeur, still master of his machine despite the +poison pulsing in his <a name="Page_111"></a>dazed brain, snicked the little levers further +down. Forty-five, fifty, fifty-five, the figures on the dial showed.</p> + +<p>Now the exhaust ripped in a crackling staccato, like a machine gun, as +the chauffeur threw out the muffler. Behind, a long trail of dust rose, +whirling in the air. Catherine, a sportswoman born, leaned back and +smiled with keen pleasure, while her yellow veil, whipping sharply on +the wind, let stray locks of that wonderful red-gold hair stream about +her flushed face.</p> + +<p>Thus she sped homeward, driven at a mad race by a man whose every sense +was numbed and stultified by alcohol—homeward, along a road up which, +far, far away, another man, keen, sober and alert, was trudging with a +knapsack on his broad back, swinging a stick and whistling cheerily as +he went.</p> + +<p>Fate, that strange moulder of human destinies, what had it in store for +these two, this woman and this man? This daughter of a billionaire, and +this young proletarian?</p> + +<p>Who could foresee, or, foreseeing, could believe what even now stood +written on the Book of Destiny?</p> + + + +<br /><hr style="width: 65%;" /><br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_XIII"></a><h3><a name="Page_112"></a>CHAPTER XIII.</h3> + +<h4>CATASTROPHE!</h4> +<br /> + +<p>For a time no danger seemed to threaten. Kate was not only fearless as a +passenger, but equally intrepid at the wheel. Many a time and oft she +had driven her father's highest-powered car at dizzying speeds along +worse roads than the one her machine was now following. Velocity was to +her a kind of stimulant, wonderfully pleasurable; and now, realizing +nothing of the truth that Herrick was badly the worse for liquor, she +leaned back in the tonneau, breathed the keen slashing air with delight, +and let her eyes wander over the swiftly-changing panorama of forest, +valley, lake and hill that, in ever new and more radiant beauty, sped +away, away, as the huge car leaped down the smooth and rushing road.</p> + +<p>Dust and pebbles flew in the wake of the machine, as it gathered +velocity. Beneath it, the highway sped like an endless white ribbon, +whirling back and away with smooth rapidity. No common road, this, but +one which the State authorities had very obligingly built especially for +the use of millionaires' motor cars, all through the region of +country-clubs, parks, bungalows and summer-resorts dotting the west +shore region of the Hudson. Let the farmer truck his produce through mud +and ruts, if he would. Let the country folk drive their ramshackle +buggies over rocks and stumps, if they so chose. Nothing of that sort +for millionaires! No, <i>they</i> must have ma<a name="Page_113"></a>cadam and smooth, long curves, +easy grades and—where the road swung high above the gleaming +river—retaining walls to guard them from plunging into the palisaded +abyss below.</p> + +<p>At just such a place it was, where the road made a sharper turn than any +the drunken chauffeur had reckoned on, that catastrophe leaped out to +shatter the rushing car.</p> + +<p>Only a minute before, Kate—a little uneasy now, at the truly reckless +speeding of the driver, and at the daredevil way in which he was taking +curves without either sounding his siren or reducing speed—had touched +him on the shoulder, with a command: "Not <i>quite</i> so fast, Herrick! Be +careful!"</p> + +<p>His only answer had been a drunken laugh.</p> + +<p>"Careful nothing!" he slobbered, to himself. "You wanted speed—an' +now—hc!—b'Jesus, you <i>get</i>—hc!—speed! <i>I</i> ain't +'fraid—are—hc!—<i>you?</i>"</p> + +<p>She had not heard the words, but had divined their meaning.</p> + +<p>"Herrick!" she commanded sharply, leaning forward. "What's the matter +with you? Obey me, do you hear? Not so fast!"</p> + +<p>A whiff of alcoholic breath suddenly told her the truth. For a second +she sat there, as though petrified, with fear now for the first time +clutching at her heart.</p> + +<p>"Stop at once!" she cried, gripping the man by the collar of his livery. +"You—you're drunk, Herrick! I—I'll have you discharged, at once, when +we get home. Stop, do you hear me? You're not fit to drive. I'll take +the wheel myself!"</p> + +<p><a name="Page_114"></a>But Herrick, hopelessly under the influence of the poison, which had +now produced its full effect, paid no heed.</p> + +<p>"Y'—can't dri' <i>thish</i> car!" he muttered, in maudlin accents. "Too +big—too heavy for—hc!—woman! I—<i>I</i> dri' it all right, drunk or +sober! Good chauffeur—good car—I know thish car! You won't fire +me—hc!—for takin' drink or two, huh? I drive you all ri'—drive you to +New York or to—hc!—Hell! Same thing, no difference, ha! ha!—I—"</p> + +<p>A sudden blaze of rage crimsoned the girl's face. In all her life she +never had been thus spoken to. For a second she clenched her fist, as +though to strike down this sodden brute there in the seat before her—a +feat she would have been quite capable of. But second thought convinced +her of the peril of such an act. Ahead of them a long down-grade +stretched away, away, to a turn half-hidden under the arching greenery. +As the car struck this slope, it leaped into ever greater speed; and +now, under the erratic guidance of the lolling wretch at the wheel, it +began to sway in long, unsteady curves, first toward one ditch, then the +other.</p> + +<p>Another woman would have screamed; might even have tried to jump out. +But Kate was not of the hysteric sort. More practical, she.</p> + +<p>"I've got to climb over into the front seat," she realized in a flash, +"and shut off the current—cut the power off—stop the car!"</p> + +<p>On the instant, she acted. But as she arose in the tonneau, Herrick, +sensing her purpose, turned toward her in the sudden rage of complete +intoxication.</p> + +<p>"Naw—naw y' don't!" he shouted, his face perfectly <a name="Page_115"></a>purple with fury +and drink. "No woman—he!—runs this old boat while I'm aboard, see? Go +on, fire me! <i>I</i> don't give—damn! But you don't run—car! Sit down! <i>I</i> +run car—New York or Hell—no matter which! <i>I</i>—"</p> + +<p>Hurtling down the slope like a runaway comet, now wholly out of control, +the powerful gray car leaped madly at the turn.</p> + +<p>Catherine, her heart sick at last with terror, caught a second's glimpse +of forest, on one hand; of a stone wall with tree-tops on some steep +abyss below, just grazing it, on the other. Through these trees she saw +a momentary flash of water, far beneath.</p> + +<p>Then the leaping front wheels struck a cluster of loose pebbles, at the +bend.</p> + +<p>Wrenched from the drunkard's grip, the steering wheel jerked sharply +round.</p> + +<p>A skidding—a crash—a cry!</p> + +<p>Over the roadway, vacant now, floated a tenuous cloud of dust and +gasoline-vapor, commingled.</p> + +<p>In the retaining-wall at the left, a jagged gap appeared. Suddenly, far +below, toward the river, a crashing detonation shattered harsh echoes +from shore to shore.</p> + +<p>Came a quick flash of light; then thick, black, greasy smoke arose, and, +wafting through the treetops, drifted away on the warm wind of that late +June afternoon.</p> + +<p>A man, some quarter of a mile to southward, on the great highway, paused +suddenly at sound of this explosion.</p> + +<p>For a moment he stood there listening acutely, a knotted stick in hand, +his flannel shirt, open at the throat, showing a brown and corded neck. +The heavy knapsack <a name="Page_116"></a>on his shoulders seemed no burden to that rugged +strength, as he stood, poised and eager, every sense centered in keen +attention.</p> + +<p>"Trouble ahead, there, by the Eternal!" he suddenly exclaimed. His eye +had just caught sight of the first trailing wreaths of smoke, from up +the cliff. "An auto's gone to smash, down there, or I'm a plute!"</p> + +<p>He needed no second thought to hurl him forward to the rescue. At a +smart pace he ran, halloo'ing loudly, to tell the victims—should they +still live—that help was at hand. At his right, extended the wall. At +his left, a grove of sugar-maples, sparsely set, climbed a long slope, +over the ridge of which the descending sun glowed warmly. Somewhat back +from the road, a rough shack which served as a sugar-house for the +spring sap-boiling, stood with gaping door, open to all the winds that +blew. These things he noted subconsciously, as he ran.</p> + +<p>Then, all at once, as he rounded a sharp turn, he drew up with a cry.</p> + +<p>"Down the cliff!" he exclaimed. "Knocked the wall clean out, and +plunged! Holy Mackinaw, what a smash!"</p> + +<p>In a moment he had reached the scene of the catastrophe. His quick eye +took in, almost at a glance, the skidding mark of the wheels, the ragged +rent in the wall, the broken limbs of trees below.</p> + +<p>"Some wreck!" he ejaculated, dropping his stick and throwing off his +knapsack. "<i>Hello, Hello, down there!</i>" he loudly hailed, scrambling +through the gap.</p> + +<p>From below, no answer.</p> + +<p>A silence, as of death, broken only by the echo of his own voice, was +all that greeted his wild cry.</p> + +<a name="Page_117"></a><a name="Image_3"></a><center> +<img src="images/image-3.jpg" height="75%" alt="He gathered her up as though she had been a child." title=""> +</center> +<div class="caption"><center><b>He gathered her up as though she had been a child.</b></center></div> + + +<br /><hr style="width: 65%;" /><br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_XIV"></a><h3><a name="Page_118"></a>CHAPTER XIV.</h3> + +<h4>THE RESCUE.</h4> +<br /> + +<p>Gabriel Armstrong leaped, rather than clambered, through the gap in the +wall, and, following the track of devastation through the trees, +scrambled down the steep slope that led toward the Hudson.</p> + +<p>The forest looked as though a car of Juggernaut had passed that way. +Limbs and saplings lay in confusion, larger trees showed long wounds +upon their bark, and here and there pieces of metal—a gray mud-guard, a +car door, a wind-shield frame, with shattered plate glass still clinging +to it—lay scattered on the precipitous declivity. Beside these, hanging +to a branch, Gabriel saw a gaily-striped auto robe; and, further down, a +heavy, fringed shawl.</p> + +<p>Again he shouted, holding to a tree-trunk at the very edge of a cliff of +limestone, and peering far down into the abyss where the car had taken +its final plunge. Still no answer. But, from below, the heavy smoke +still rose. And now, peering more keenly, Armstrong caught sight of the +wreck itself.</p> + +<p>"There it is, and burning like the pit of Hell!" he exclaimed. +"And—what's that, under it? A man?"</p> + +<p>He could not distinctly make out, so thick the foliage was. But it +seemed to him that, from under the jumbled wreckage of the blazing +machine, something protruded, <a name="Page_119"></a>something that suggested a human form, +horribly mangled.</p> + +<p>"Here's where I go down this cliff, whatever happens!" decided Gabriel. +And, acting on the instant, he began swinging himself down from tree to +bush, from shrub to tuft of grass, clinging wherever handhold or +foothold offered, digging his stout boots into every cleft and cranny of +the precipice.</p> + +<p>The height could not have been less than a hundred and fifty feet. By +dint of wonderful strength and agility, and at the momentary risk of +falling, himself, to almost certain death, Gabriel descended in less +than ten minutes. The last quarter of the distance he practically fell, +sliding at a tremendous rate, with boulders and loose earth cascading +all about him in a shower.</p> + +<p>He landed close by the flaming ruin.</p> + +<p>"Lucky this isn't in the autumn, in the dry season!" thought he, as he +approached. "If it were, this whole cliff-side, and the woods beyond, +would be a roaring furnace. Some forest-fire, all right, if the woods +weren't wet and full of sap!"</p> + +<p>Parting the brush, he made his way as close to the car as the intense +heat would let him. The gasoline-tank, he understood, had burst with the +shock, and, taking fire, had wrapped the car in an Inferno of +unquenchable flame. Now, the woodwork was entirely gone; and of the +wheels, as the long machine lay there on its back, only a few blazing +spokes were left. The steel chassis and the engine were red-hot, twisted +and broken as though a giant hammer had smitten them on some Vulcanic +anvil.</p> + +<p>"There's a few thousand dollars gone to the devil!" <a name="Page_120"></a>thought he. But his +mind did not dwell on this phase of the disaster. Still he was hoping, +against hope, that human life had not been dashed and roasted out, in +the wreck. And again he shouted, as he worked his way to the other side +of the machine—to the side which, seen from the cliff above, had seemed +to show him that inert and mangled body.</p> + +<p>All at once he stopped short, shielding his face with his hands, against +the blaze.</p> + +<p>"Good God!" he exclaimed; and involuntarily took off his cap, there in +the presence of death.</p> + +<p>That the man <i>was</i> dead, admitted of no question. Pinned under the +heavy, glowing mass of metal, his body must already have been roasted to +a char. The head could not be seen; but part of one shoulder and one arm +protruded, with the coat burned off and the flesh horribly crackled; +while, nearer Gabriel, a leg showed, with a regulation chauffeur's +legging, also burned to a crisp.</p> + +<p>"Nothing for me to do, here," said Gabriel aloud. "He's past all human +help, poor chap. I don't imagine there can be anybody else in this +wreck. I haven't seen anybody, and nobody has answered my shouts. What's +to be done next?"</p> + +<p>He pondered a moment, then, looking at the license plate of the +machine—its enamel now half cracked off, but the numbers still +legible—drew out his note-book and pencil and made a memo of the +figures.</p> + +<p>"Four-six-two-two, N.Y.," he read, again verifying his numbers. "That +will identify things. And now—the quicker I get back on the road again, +and reach a telephone at West Point, the better."</p> + +<p><a name="Page_121"></a>Accordingly, after a brief search through the bushes near at hand, for +any other victim—a search which brought no results—he set to work once +more to climb the cliff above him.</p> + +<p>The fire, though still raging, was obviously dying down. In half an +hour, he knew, it would be dead. There was no use in trying to +extinguish it, for gasoline defies water, and no sand was to be had +along that rocky river shore.</p> + +<p>"Let her burn herself out," judged Gabriel. "She can't do any harm, now. +The road for mine!"</p> + +<p>He found the upward path infinitely more difficult than the downward, +and was forced to make a long detour and do some hard climbing that left +him spent and sweating, before he again approached the gap in the wall. +Pausing here to breathe, a minute or two, he once more peered down at +the still-smoking ruin far below. And, as he stood there all at once he +thought he heard a sound not very far away to his right.</p> + +<p>A sound—a groan, a half-inchoate murmur—a cry!</p> + +<p>Instantly his every sense grew keen. Holding his breath he listened +intently. Was it a cry? Or had the breeze but swayed one tree limb +against another; or did some boatman's hail, from far across the river, +but drift upward to him on the cliff?</p> + +<p>"Hello! <i>Hello!</i>" he shouted again. "Anybody there?"</p> + +<p>Once more he listened; and now, once more, he heard the sound—this time +he knew it was a cry for help!</p> + +<p>"Where are you?" shouted he, plunging forward along the steep side of +the cliff. "Where?"</p> + +<p>No answer, save a groan.</p> + +<p>"Coming! Coming!" he hailed loudly. Then, guided <a name="Page_122"></a>as it seemed by +instinct, almost as much as by the vague direction of the moaning call, +he ploughed his way through brush and briar, on rescue bent.</p> + +<p>All at once he stopped short in his tracks, wild-eyed, a stammering +exclamation on his lips.</p> + +<p>"A woman!" he cried.</p> + +<p>True. There, lying as though violently flung, a woman was half-crouched, +half-prone behind the roots of a huge maple that leaned out far above a +sheer declivity.</p> + +<p>He saw torn clothing, through the foliage; a white hand, out-stretched +and bleeding; a mass of golden-coppery hair that lay dishevelled on the +bed of moss and last autumn's leaves.</p> + +<p>"A woman! Dying?" he thought, with a sudden stab of pity in his heart.</p> + +<p>Then, forcing his way along, he reached her, and fell upon his knees at +her side.</p> + +<p>"Not dead! Not dying! Thank God!" he exclaimed. One glance showed him +she would live. Though an ugly gash upon her forehead had bathed her +face in blood, and though he knew not but bones were broken, he +recognized the fact that she was now returning, fast, to consciousness.</p> + +<p>Already she had opened her eyes—wild eyes, understanding nothing—and +was staring up at him in dazed, blank terror. Then one hand came up to +her face; and, even as he lifted her in both his powerful arms, she +began to sob hysterically.</p> + +<p>He knew the value of that weeping, and made no attempt to stop it. The +overwrought nerves, he understood, must find some outlet. Asking no +question, speak<a name="Page_123"></a>ing no word—for Gabriel was a man of action, not +speech—he gathered her up as though she had been a child. A tall woman, +she; almost as tall as he himself, and proportioned like a Venus. Yet to +him her weight was nothing.</p> + +<p>Sure-footed, now, and bursting through the brambles with fine energy, he +carried her to the gap in the wall, up through it, and so to the roadway +itself.</p> + +<p>"Where—where am I?" the woman cried incoherently. "O—what—where—?"</p> + +<p>"You're all right!" he exclaimed. "Just a little accident, that's all. +Don't worry! I'll take care of you. Just keep quiet, now, and don't +think of anything. You'll be all right, in no time!"</p> + +<p>But she still wept and cried out to know where she might be and what had +happened. Obviously, Gabriel saw, her reason had not yet fully returned. +His first aim must be to bathe her wound, find out what damage had been +done, and keeping her quiet, try to get help.</p> + +<p>Swiftly he thought. Here he and the woman were, miles from any +settlement or house, nearly in the middle of a long stretch of road that +skirted the river through dense woods. At any time a motor might come +along; and then again, one might not arrive for hours. No dependence +could be put on this. There was no telephone for a long distance back; +and even had one been near he would not have ventured to leave the girl.</p> + +<p>Could he carry her back to Fort Clinton, the last settlement he had +passed through? Impossible! No man's strength could stand such a +tremendous task. And even had it been within Gabriel's means, he would +have chosen <a name="Page_124"></a>otherwise. For most of all the girl needed rest and quiet +and immediate care. To bear her all that distance in his arms might +produce serious, even fatal results.</p> + +<p>"No!" he decided. "I must do what I can for her, here and now, and trust +to luck to send help in an auto, down this road!"</p> + +<p>His next thought was that bandages and wraps would be needed for her cut +and to make her a bed. Instantly he remembered the shawl and the big +auto-robe that he had seen caught among the trees.</p> + +<p>"I must have those at once!" he realized. "When the machine went over +the edge, they were thrown out, just as the girl was. A miracle she +wasn't carried down, with the car, and crushed or burned to death down +there by the river, with that poor devil of a chauffeur!"</p> + +<p>Laying her down in the soft grass along the wall, he ran back to where +the wraps were, and, detaching them from the branches, quickly regained +the road once more.</p> + +<p>"Now for the old sugar-house in the maple-grove," said he. "Poor +shelter, but the best to be had. Thank heaven it's fair weather, and +warm!"</p> + +<p>The task was awkward, to carry both the girl and the bulky robes, but +Gabriel was equal to it She had by now regained some measure of +rationality; and though very pale and shaken, manifested her nerve and +courage by no longer weeping or asking questions.</p> + +<p>Instead, she lay in his arms, eyes closed, with the blood stiffening on +her face; and let him bear her whither he would. She seemed to sense his +strength and mastery, his tender care and complete command of the +situation. And, like a hurt and tired child, outworn and suffering, she +yielded herself, unquestioningly, to his ministrations.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_125"></a>Thus Gabriel, the discharged, blacklisted, outcast rebel and +proletarian, bore in his arms of mercy and compassion the only daughter +of old Isaac Flint, his enemy, Flint the would-be master of the world.</p> + +<p>Thus he bore the woman who had been betrothed to "Tiger" Waldron, +unscrupulous and cruel partner in that scheme of dominance and +enslavement.</p> + +<p>Such was the meeting of this woman and this man. Thus, in his arms, he +carried her to the old sugar-house.</p> + +<p>And far below, the mighty river gleamed, unheeding the tragedy that had +been enacted on its shores, unmindful of the threads of destiny even now +being spun by the swift shuttles of Fate.</p> + +<p>In the branches, above Gabriel and Catherine, birdsong and golden +sunlight seemed to prophesy. But what this message might be, neither the +woman nor the man had any thought or dream.</p> + + + +<br /><hr style="width: 65%;" /><br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_XV"></a><h3><a name="Page_126"></a>CHAPTER XV.</h3> + +<h4>AN HOUR AND A PARTING.</h4> +<br /> + +<p>Arriving at the sugar-house, tired yet strong, Gabriel put the wounded +girl down, quickly raked together a few armfuls of dead leaves, in the +most sheltered corner of the ramshackle structure, and laid the heavy +auto-robe upon this improvised bed. Then he helped his patient to lie +down, there, and bade her wait till he got water to wash and dress her +cut.</p> + +<p>"Don't worry about anything," he reassured her. "You're alive, and +that's the main thing, now. I'll see you through with this, whatever +happens. Just keep calm, and don't let anything distress you!"</p> + +<p>She looked at him with big, anxious eyes—eyes where still the full +light of understanding had not yet returned.</p> + +<p>"It—it all happened so suddenly!" she managed to articulate. "He was +drunk—the chauffeur. The car ran away. Where is it? Where is +Herrick—the man?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know," Gabriel lied promptly and with force. Not for worlds +would he have excited her with the truth. "Never you mind about that. +Just lie still, now, till I come back!"</p> + +<p>Already, among the rusty utensils that had served for the +"sugaring-off," the previous spring, he had routed out a tin pail. He +kicked a quantity of leaves in under the sheet-iron open stove, flung +some sticks atop of them, and started a little blaze. Warm water, he +reflected, <a name="Page_127"></a>would serve better than cold in removing that clotting blood +and dressing the hurt.</p> + +<p>Then, saying no further word, but filled with admiration for the girl's +pluck, he seized the pail and started for water.</p> + +<p>"Nerve?" he said to himself, as he ran down the road toward a little +brook he remembered having crossed, a few hundred yards to southward. +"Nerve, indeed! Not one complaint about her own injuries! Not a word of +lamentation! If this isn't a thoroughbred, whoever or whatever she is, I +never saw one!"</p> + +<p>He returned, presently, with the pail nearly full of cold and sparkling +water. Ignoring rust, he made her drink as deeply as she would, and then +set a dipperful of water on the now hot sheet-iron.</p> + +<p>Then, tearing a strip off the shawl, he made ready for his work as an +amateur physician.</p> + +<p>"Tell me," said he, kneeling there beside her in the hut which was +already beginning to grow dusk, "except for this cut on your forehead, +do you feel any injury? Think you've got any broken bones? See if you +can move your legs and arms, all right."</p> + +<p>She obeyed.</p> + +<p>"Nothing broken, I guess," she answered. "What a miracle! Please leave +me, now. I can wash my own hurt. Go—go find Herrick! He needs you worse +than I do!"</p> + +<p>"No he doesn't!" blurted Gabriel with such conviction that she +understood.</p> + +<p>"You mean?" she queried, as he brought the dipper of now tepid water to +her side. "He—he's dead?"</p> + +<p><a name="Page_128"></a>He hesitated to answer.</p> + +<p>"Dead! Yes, I understand!" she interpreted his silence. "You needn't +tell me. I know!"</p> + +<p>He nodded.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said he. "Your chauffeur has paid the penalty of trying to drive +a six-cylinder car with alcohol. Now, think no more of him! Here, let me +see how badly you're cut."</p> + +<p>"Let me sit up, first," she begged. "I—I'm not hurt enough to be lying +here like—like an invalid!"</p> + +<p>She tried to rise, but with a strong hand on her shoulder he forced her +back. She shuddered, with the horror of the chauffeur's death strong +upon her.</p> + +<p>"Please lie still," he begged. "You've had a terrific shock, and have +lived through it by a miracle, indeed. You're wounded and still +bleeding. You <i>must</i> be quiet!"</p> + +<p>The tone in his voice admitted no argument. Submissive now to his +greater strength, this daughter of wealth and power lay back, closed her +tired eyes and let the revolutionist, the proletarian, minister to her.</p> + +<p>Dipping the piece of shawl into the warm water, he deftly moistened the +dried blood on her brow and cheek, and washed it all away. He cleansed +her sullied hair, as well, and laid it back from the wound.</p> + +<p>"Tell me if I hurt you, now," he bade, gently as a woman. "I've got to +wash the cut itself."</p> + +<p>She answered nothing, but lay quite still. And so, hardly wincing, she +let him lave the jagged wound that stretched from her right temple up +into the first tendrils of the glorious red-gold hair.</p> + +<p>"H'm!" thought Gabriel, as he now observed the cut <a name="Page_129"></a>with close +attention. "I'm afraid there'll have to be some stitches taken here!" +But of this he said nothing. All he told her was: "Nothing to worry +over. You'll be as good as new in a few days. As a miracle, it's <i>some</i> +miracle!"</p> + +<p>Having completed the cleansing of the cut, he fetched his knapsack and +produced a clean handkerchief, which he folded and laid over the wound. +This pad he secured in place by a long bandage cut from the edge of the +shawl and tied securely round her shapely head.</p> + +<p>"There," said he, surveying his improvisation with considerable +satisfaction. "Now you'll do, till we can undertake the next thing. +Sorry I haven't any brandy to give you, or anything of that sort. The +fact is, I don't use it, and have none with me. How do you feel, now?"</p> + +<p>She opened her eyes and looked up at him with the ghost of a smile on +her pale lips.</p> + +<p>"Oh, much, much better, thank you!" she answered. "I don't need any +brandy. I'm—awfully strong, really. In a little while I'll be all +right. Just give me a little more water, and—and tell me—who are you?"</p> + +<p>"Who am I?" he queried, holding up her head while she drank from the tin +cup he had now taken from his knapsack. "I? Oh, just an out-of-work. +Nobody of any interest to you!"</p> + +<p>A certain tinge of bitterness crept into his voice. In health, he knew, +a woman of this class would not suffer him even to touch her hand.</p> + +<p>"<i>Don't</i> ask me who I am, please. And I—I won't ask <i>your</i> name. We're +of different worlds, I guess. But for <a name="Page_130"></a>the moment, Fate has levelled the +barriers. Just let it go at that. And now, if you can stay here, all +right; perhaps I can hike back to the next house, below here, and +telephone, and summon help."</p> + +<p>"How far is it?" she asked, looking at him with wonder in her lovely +eyes—wonder, and new thoughts, and a strange kind of longing to know +more of this extraordinary man, so strong, so gentle, so unwilling to +divulge himself or ask her name.</p> + +<p>"How far?" he repeated. "Oh, four or five miles. I can make it in no +time. And with luck, I can have an auto and a doctor here before dark. +Well, does that suit you?"</p> + +<p>"Don't go, please," she answered. "I—I may be still a little weak and +foolish, but—somehow, I don't want to be left alone. I want to be kept +from remembering, from thinking of those last, awful moments when the +car was running away; when it struck the wall, at the turn; when I was +thrown out, and—and knew no more. Don't go just yet," the girl +entreated, covering her eyes with both hands, as though to shut out the +horrible vision of the catastrophe.</p> + +<p>"All right," Gabriel answered. "Just as you please. Only, if I stay, you +must promise to stop thinking about the accident, and try to pull +together."</p> + +<p>"I promise," she agreed, looking at him with strange eyes. "Oh dear," +she added, with feminine inconsequentiality, "my hair's all down, and +Lord knows where the pins are!"</p> + +<p>He smiled to himself as she managed, with the aid of such few hairpins +as remained, to coil the coppery <a name="Page_131"></a>meshes once more round her head and +even somewhat over the bandage, and secure them in place.</p> + +<p>At sight of his face as he watched her, she too smiled wanly—the first +time he had seen a real smile on her mouth.</p> + +<p>"I'm only a woman, after all," she apologized. "You don't understand. +You can't. But no matter. Tell me—why need you go, at all?"</p> + +<p>"Why? For help, of course."</p> + +<p>"There's sure to be a motor, or something, along this road, before very +long," she answered. "Put up some signal or other, to stop it. That will +save you a long, long walk, and save me from—remembering! I need you +here with me," she added earnestly. "Don't go—please!"</p> + +<p>"All right, as you will," the man made reply. "I'll rig a danger-signal +on the road; and then all we can do will be to wait."</p> + +<p>This plan he immediately put into effect, setting his knapsack in the +middle of the road and piling up brush and limbs of trees about it.</p> + +<p>"There," he said to himself, as he surveyed the result, "no car will get +by <i>that</i>, without noticing it!"</p> + +<p>Then he returned to the sugar-house, some hundred yards back from the +highway in the grove, now already beginning to grow dim with the shadows +of approaching nightfall. The glowing coals of the fire gleamed redly, +through the rough place. The girl, still lying on her bed of leaves and +auto-robes, with the mutilated shawl drawn over her, looked up at him +with an expression of trust and gratitude. For a second, only one, +something quick and vital gripped at the wanderer's heart—<a name="Page_132"></a>some vague, +intangible longing for a home and a woman, a longing old as our race, +deep-planted in the inmost citadel of every man's soul. But, +half-impatiently, he drove the thought away, dismissed it, and, smiling +down at her with cheerful eyes and white, even teeth, said reassuringly:</p> + +<p>"Everything's all right now. The first machine that passes, will take +you to civilization."</p> + +<p>"And you?" she asked. "What of you, then?"</p> + +<p>"Me? Oh, I'll hike," he answered. "I'll plug along just as I was doing +when I found you."</p> + +<p>"Where to?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, north."</p> + +<p>"What for?"</p> + +<p>"Work. Please don't question me. I'd rather you wouldn't."</p> + +<p>She pondered a moment.</p> + +<p>"Are you—what they call a—workingman?" she presently resumed.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said he. "Why?"</p> + +<p>"And are you happy?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. In a way. Or shall be, when I've done what I mean to do."</p> + +<p>"But—forgive me—you're very poor?"</p> + +<p>"Not at all! I have, at this present moment, more than eighteen dollars +in my pocket, and I have <i>these!</i>"</p> + +<p>He showed her his two hands, big and sinewed, capable and strong.</p> + +<p>"Eighteen dollars," she mused, half to herself. "Why, I have spent that, +and more, for a single ounce of a new perfume—something very rare, you +know, from Japan."</p> + +<p>"<a name="Page_133"></a>Indeed? Well, don't tell <i>me</i>," he replied. "I'm not interested in how +you spend money, but how you get it."</p> + +<p>"Get it? Oh, father gives me my allowance, that's all."</p> + +<p>"And he squeezes it out of the common people?"</p> + +<p>She glanced at him quickly.</p> + +<p>"You—you aren't a Socialist, into the bargain, are you?" she inquired.</p> + +<p>"At your service," he bowed.</p> + +<p>"This is strange, strange indeed," she said. "Tell me your name."</p> + +<p>"No," he refused. "I'd still rather not. Nor shall I ask yours. Please +don't volunteer it."</p> + +<p>Came a moment's silence, there in the darkening hut, with the fire-glow +red upon their faces.</p> + +<p>"Happy," said the girl. "You say you're happy. While I—"</p> + +<p>"Are not unhappy, surely?" asked Gabriel, leaning forward as he sat +there beside her, and gazing keenly into her face.</p> + +<p>"How should I know?" she answered. "Unhappy? No, perhaps not. But +vacant—empty—futile!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I believe you," Gabriel judged. "You tell me no news. And as you +are, you will ever be. You will live so and die so. No, I won't preach. +I won't proselytize. I won't even explain. It would be useless. You are +one pole, I the other. And the world—the whole wide world—lies +between!"</p> + +<p>Suddenly she spoke.</p> + +<p>"You're a Socialist," said she. "What does it mean to be a Socialist?"</p> + +<p><a name="Page_134"></a>He shook his head.</p> + +<p>"You couldn't understand, if I told you," he answered.</p> + +<p>"Why not?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, because your ideas and environments and interests and everything +have been so different from mine—because you're what you are—because +you can never be anything else."</p> + +<p>"You mean Socialism is something beyond my understanding?" she demanded, +piqued. "Of course, that's nonsense. I'm a human being. I've got brains, +haven't I? I can understand a scheme of dividing up, or levelling down, +or whatever it is, even if I can't believe in it!"</p> + +<p>He smiled oddly.</p> + +<p>"You've just proved, by what you've said," he answered slowly, "that your +whole concepts are mistaken. Socialism isn't anything like what you think +it is, and if I should try to explain it, you'd raise ten thousand +futile objections, and beg the question, and defeat my object of +explanation by your very inability to get the point of view. So you +see—"</p> + +<p>"I see that I want to know more!" she exclaimed, with determination. "If +there's any branch of human knowledge that lies outside my reasoning +powers, it's time I found that fact out. I thought Socialists were wild, +crazy, erratic cranks; but if you're one, then I seem to have been +wrong. You look rational enough, and you talk in an eminently sane +manner."</p> + +<p>"Thank you," he replied, ironically.</p> + +<p>"Don't be sarcastic!" she retorted. "I only meant—"</p> + +<p>"It's all right, anyhow," said he. "You've simply got the old, stupid, +wornout ideas of your class. You can't grasp this new ideal, rising +through the ruck and waste <a name="Page_135"></a>and sin and misery of the present system. I +don't blame you. You're a product of your environment. You can't help +it. With that environment, how can you sense the newer and more vital +ideas of the day?"</p> + +<p>For a moment she fixed eager eyes on him, in silence. Then asked she:</p> + +<p>"Ideals? You mean that Socialism has ideals, and that it's not all a +matter of tearing down and dividing up, and destroying everything good +and noble and right—all the accumulated wisdom and resources of the +world?"</p> + +<p>He laughed heartily.</p> + +<p>"Who handed you that bunk?" he demanded.</p> + +<p>"Father told me Socialism was all that, and more,"</p> + +<p>"What's your father's business?"</p> + +<p>"Why, investments, stocks, bonds, industrial development and all that +sort of thing."</p> + +<p>"Hm!" he grunted. "I thought as much!"</p> + +<p>"You mean that father misinformed me?"</p> + +<p>"Rather!"</p> + +<p>"Well, if he did, what is Socialism?"</p> + +<p>"Socialism," answered the young man slowly, while he fixed his eyes on +the smouldering fire, "Socialism is a political movement, a concept of +life, a philosophy, an interpretation, a prophecy, an ideal. It embraces +history, economics, science, art, religion, literature and every phase +of human activity. It explains life, points the way to better things, +gives us hope, strengthens the weary and heavy-laden, bids us look +upward and onward, and constitutes the most sublime ideal ever conceived +by the soul of man!"</p> + +<p>"Can this be true?" the girl demanded, astonished.</p> + +<p>"<a name="Page_136"></a>Not only can, but is! Socialism would free the world from slavery and +slaves, from war, poverty, prostitution, vice and crime; would cleanse +the sores of our rotting capitalism, would loose the gyves from the +fettered hands of mankind, would bid the imprisoned soul of man awake to +nobler and to purer things! How? The answer to that would take me weeks. +You would have to read and study many books, to learn the entire truth. +But I am telling you the substance of the ideal—a realizable ideal, and +no chimera—when I say that Socialism sums up all that is good, and +banishes all that is evil! And do you wonder that I love and serve it, +all my life?"</p> + +<p>She peered at him in wonder.</p> + +<p>"You serve it? How?" she demanded.</p> + +<p>"By spreading it abroad; by speaking for it, working for it, fighting +for it! By the spoken and the printed word! By every act and through +every means whereby I can bring it nearer and nearer realization!"</p> + +<p>"You're a dreamer, a visionary, a fanatic!" she exclaimed.</p> + +<p>"You think so? No, I can't agree. Time will judge that matter. +Meanwhile, I travel up and down the earth, spreading Socialism."</p> + +<p>"And what do you get out of it, personally?"</p> + +<p>"I? What do you mean? I never thought of that question."</p> + +<p>"I mean, money. What do you make out of it?"</p> + +<p>He laughed heartily.</p> + +<p>"I get a few jail-sentences, once in a while; now and then a crack over +the head with a policeman's billy, or maybe a peek down the muzzle of a +rifle. I get—"</p> + +<p>"You mean that you're a martyr?"</p> + +<p>"<a name="Page_137"></a>By no means! I've never even thought of being called such. This is a +privilege, this propaganda of ours. It's the greatest privilege in the +world—bringing the word of life and hope and joy to a crushed, bleeding +and despairing world!"</p> + +<p>She thought a moment, in silence.</p> + +<p>"You're a poet, I believe!" said she.</p> + +<p>"No, not that. Only a worker in the ranks."</p> + +<p>"But do you write poetry?"</p> + +<p>"I write verses. You'd hardly call them poetry!"</p> + +<p>"Verses? About Socialism?"</p> + +<p>"Sometimes."</p> + +<p>"Will you give me some?"</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"Tell me some of them."</p> + +<p>"Of course not! I can't recite my verses! They aren't worth bothering +you with!"</p> + +<p>"That's for me to judge. Let me hear something of that kind. If you only +knew how terribly much you interest me!"</p> + +<p>"You mean that?"</p> + +<p>"Of course I do! Please let me hear something you've written!"</p> + +<p>He pondered a moment, then in his well-modulated, deep-toned voice +began:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span><i>HESPERIDES</i>.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span><i>I</i>.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span><i>My feet, used to pine-needles, moss and turf,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>And the gray boulders at the lip o' the sea,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Where the cold brine jets up its creamy surf,</i><br /></span> +<span><i><a name="Page_138"></a>Now tread once more these city ways, unloved by me,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Hateful and hot, gross with iniquity.</i><br /></span> +<span><i>And so I grieve,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Grieve when I wake, or at high blinding noon</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Or when the moon</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Mocks this sad Ninevah where the throngs weave</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Their jostling ways by day, their paths by night;</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Where darkness is not—where the streets burn bright</i><br /></span> +<span><i>With hectic fevers, eloquent of death!</i><br /></span> +<span><i>I gasp for breath....</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Visions have I, visions! So sweet they seem</i><br /></span> +<span><i>That from this welter of men and things I turn, to dream</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Of the dim Wood-world, calling out to me.</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Where forest-virgins I half glimpse, half see</i><br /></span> +<span><i>With cool mysterious fingers beckoning!</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Where vine-wreathed woodland altars sunlit burn,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Or Dryads dance their mystic rounds and sing,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Sing high, sing low, with magic cadences</i><br /></span> +<span><i>That once the wild oaks of Dodona heard;</i><br /></span> +<span><i>And every wood-note bids me burst asunder</i><br /></span> +<span><i>The bonds that hold me from the leaf-hid bird.</i><br /></span> +<span><i>I quaff thee, O Nepenthe! Ah, the wonder</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Grows, that there be who buy their wealth, their ease</i><br /></span> +<span><i>By damning serfs to cities, hot and blurred,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Far from thy golden quest, Hesperides!...</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span><i>II</i>.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span><i>I see this August sun again</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Sheer up high heaven wheel his angry way;</i><br /></span> +<span><i>And hordes of men</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Bleared with unrestful sleep rise up another day,</i><br /></span> +<span><i><a name="Page_139"></a>Their bodies racked with aftermaths of toil.</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Over the city, in each gasping street,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Shudders a haze of heat,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Reverberant from pillar, span and plinth.</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Once more, cribbed in this monstrous labyrinth</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Sacrificed to the Minotaur of Greed</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Men bear the turmoil, glare, sweat, brute inharmonies;</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Denial of each simplest human need,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Loss of life's meaning as day lags on day;</i><br /></span> +<span><i>And my rebellious spirit rises, flies</i><br /></span> +<span><i>In dreams to the green quiet wood away,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Away! Away!</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span><i>III</i>.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span><i>And now, and now...I feel the forest-moss...</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Come! On these moss-beds let me lie with Pan,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Twined with the ivy-vine in tendrill'd curls,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>And I will hold all gold, that hampers man,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Only the ashes of base, barren dross!</i><br /></span> +<span><i>On with the love-dance of the pagan girls!</i><br /></span> +<span><i>The pagan girls with lips all rosy-red,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>With breasts upgirt and foreheads garlanded,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>With fair white foreheads nobly garlanded!</i><br /></span> +<span><i>With sandalled feet that weave the magic ring!</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Now...let them sing,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>And I will pipe a tune that all may hear,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>To bid them mind the time of my wild rhyme;</i><br /></span> +<span><i>To warn profaning feet lest they draw near.</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Away! Away! Beware these mystic trees!</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Who dares to quest you now, Hesperides?</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span><a name="Page_140"></a><i>IV</i>.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span><i>Great men of song, what sing ye? Woodland meadows?</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Rocks, trees and rills where sunlight glints to gold?</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Sing ye the hills, adown whose sides blue shadows</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Creep when the westering day is growing old?</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Sing ye the brooks where in the purling shallows</i><br /></span> +<span><i>The small fish dart and gleam?</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Sing ye the pale green tresses of the willows</i><br /></span> +<span><i>That stoop to kiss the stream?</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Or sing ye burning streets, foul with the breath</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Of sweatshop, tenement, where endlessly</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Spawned swarms of folk serve tyrant masters twain—</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Profit, and his twin-brother, grinning Death?</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Where millions toil, hedged off from aught save pain?</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Far from thee ever, O mine Arcady?...</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>His voice ceased and silence fell between the man and woman in the old +sugar-house. Gabriel sat there by the dying fire, which cast its ruddy +light over his strongly virile face, and gazed into the coals. The girl, +lying on the rude bed, her face eager, her slim strong hands tightly +clasped, had almost forgotten to breathe.</p> + +<p>At last she spoke.</p> + +<p>"That—that is wonderful!" she cried, a tremor of enthusiasm in her +voice.</p> + +<p>He shook his head.</p> + +<p>"No compliments, please," said he.</p> + +<p>"I'm not complimenting you! I think it <i>is</i> wonderful. You're a true +poet!"</p> + +<p>"I wish I were—so I might use it all for Socialism!"</p> + +<p>"You could make a fortune, if you'd work for some <a name="Page_141"></a>paper or +magazine—some regular one, I mean, not Socialist."</p> + +<p>He shook his head.</p> + +<p>"Dead sea fruit," he answered. "Fairy gold, fading in the clutch, +worthless through and through. No, if my work has any merit, it's all +for Socialism, now and ever!"</p> + +<p>Silence again. Neither now found a word to say, but their eyes met and +read each other; and a kind of solemn hush seemed to lie over their +hearts.</p> + +<p>Then, as they sat there, looking each at each—for now the girl had +raised herself on the crude bed and was supporting herself with one +hand—a sudden sound of a motor, on the road, awakened them from their +musing.</p> + +<p>Came the raucous wail of a siren. Then the engine-exhaust ceased; and a +voice, raised in some annoyance, hailed loudly through the maple-grove:</p> + +<p>"Hello! Hello? What's wrong here?"</p> + +<p>Gabriel stepped to the sugar-house door:</p> + +<p>"Here! Come here!" he shouted in a ringing voice that echoed wildly from +between his hollowed palms.</p> + +<p>As the motorist still sat there, uncomprehending, Gabriel made his way +toward the road.</p> + +<p>"Accident here," said he. "Girl in here, injured. Can you take her to +the nearest town, at once? She needs a doctor."</p> + +<p>Instantly the man was out of his car, and hastening toward Gabriel.</p> + +<p>"Eh? What?" he asked. "Anything serious?"</p> + +<p>In a few words, Gabriel told him the outlines of the tale.</p> + +<p>"The quicker you get the girl to a town, and let her <a name="Page_142"></a>have a doctor and +communication with her family, the better," he concluded.</p> + +<p>"Right! I'll do all in my power," said the other, a rather stout, +well-to-do, vulgar-looking man.</p> + +<p>"Good! This way, then!"</p> + +<p>The man followed Gabriel to the sugar-house. They found the girl already +on her feet, standing there a bit unsteadily, but with determination to +be game, in every feature.</p> + +<p>Five minutes later she was in the new-comer's car, which had been turned +around and now was headed back toward Haverstraw. The shawl and robe +serving her as wraps, she was made comfortable in the tonneau.</p> + +<p>"Think you can stand it, all right?" asked Gabriel, as he took in his +the hand she extended. "In half an hour, you'll be under a doctor's +care, and your father will be on his way toward you."</p> + +<p>She nodded, and for a second tightened the grasp of her hand.</p> + +<p>"I—I'm not even going to know who you are?" she asked, a strange tone +in her voice.</p> + +<p>"No," he answered. "And now, good luck, and good-bye!"</p> + +<p>"Good-bye," she echoed, her voice almost inaudible. "I—I won't forget +you."</p> + +<p>He made no answer, but only smiled in a peculiar way.</p> + +<p>Then, as the car rolled slowly forward, their hands separated.</p> + +<p>Gabriel, bareheaded and with level gaze, stood there in the middle of +the great highway, looking after her. A minute, under the darkening +arches of the forest road, <a name="Page_143"></a>he saw her, still. Then the car swung round +a bend, and vanished.</p> + +<p>Had she waved her hand at him? He could not tell. Motionless he stood, a +while, then cleared away the barrier of branches that obstructed the +road, took up his knapsack, and with slow steps returned to the +sugar-house.</p> + +<p>Almost on the threshold, a white something caught his eye. He picked it +up. Her handkerchief! A moment he held the dainty, filmy thing in his +rough hand. A vague perfume reached his nostrils, disquieting and +seductive.</p> + +<p>"More than eighteen dollars an ounce, perhaps!" he exclaimed, with +sudden bitterness; but still he did not throw the handkerchief away. +Instead, he looked at it more keenly. In one corner, the fading light +just showed him some initials. He studied them, a moment.</p> + +<p>"C. J. F." he read. Then, yielding to a sudden impulse, he +folded the kerchief and put it in his pocket.</p> + +<p>He entered the sugar-house, to make sure, before departing, that he had +left no danger of fire behind him.</p> + +<p>Another impulse bade him sit down on a rough box, there, before the +dying embers. He gazed at the bed of leaves, a while, immersed in +thought, then filled his pipe and lighted it with a glowing brand, and +sat there—while the night came—smoking and musing, in a reverie.</p> + +<p>The overpowering lure of the woman who had lain in his arms, as he had +borne her thither; her breath upon his face; the perfume of her, even +her blood that he had washed away—all these were working on his senses, +still. But most of all he seemed to see her eyes, there in the +<a name="Page_144"></a>ember-lit gloom, and hear her voice, and feel her lithe young body and +her breast against his breast.</p> + +<p>For a long time he sat there, thinking, dreaming, smoking, till the last +shred of tobacco was burned out in the heel of his briar; till the last +ember had winked and died under the old sheet-iron stove.</p> + +<p>At last, with a peculiar laugh, he rose, slung the knapsack once more on +his shoulders, settled his cap upon his head, and made ready to depart.</p> + +<p>But still, one moment, he lingered in the doorway. Lingered and looked +back, as though in his mind's eye he would have borne the place away +with him forever.</p> + +<p>Suddenly he stooped, picked up a leaf from the bed where she had lain, +and put that, too, in his pocket where the kerchief was.</p> + +<p>Then, looking no more behind him, he strode off across the maple-grove, +through which, now, the first pale stars were glimmering. He reached the +road again, swung to the north, and, striking into his long marching +stride, pushed onward northward, away and away into the soft June +twilight.</p> + + + +<br /><hr style="width: 65%;" /><br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_XVI"></a><h3><a name="Page_145"></a>CHAPTER XVI.</h3> + +<h4>TIGER WALDRON "COMES BACK."</h4> +<br /> + +<p>Old Isaac Flint loved but two things in all this world—power, and his +daughter Catherine.</p> + +<p>I speak advisedly in putting "power" first. Much as he idolized the +girl, much as she reminded him of the long-dead wife of his youth, he +could have survived the loss of her. The loss of power would inevitably +have crushed and broken him, stunned him, killed him. Yet, so far as +human affection could still blossom in that withered heart, shrunk by +cold scheming and the cruel piracies of many decades, he loved the girl.</p> + +<p>And so it was that when the message came in, that evening, over the +telephone, the news that Kate had been injured in an auto-accident which +had entirely destroyed the machine and killed Herrick, he paled, +trembled, and clutched the receiver, hardly able to hold it to his ear +with his shaking hand.</p> + +<p>"Here! You!" he cried. "She—she's not badly hurt? She's living? She's +safe? No lies, now! The truth!"</p> + +<p>"Your daughter is very much alive, and perfectly safe," a voice +answered. "This is Doctor MacDougal, of Haverstraw, speaking. The +patient is now having a superficial scalp wound dressed by my assistant. +You can speak to her, in a few minutes, if you like."</p> + +<p>"Now! For God's sake, let me speak <i>now!</i>" entreated <a name="Page_146"></a>the Billionaire; +but the doctor refused. Not all Flint's urging or bribing would turn him +one hair's breadth.</p> + +<p>"No," he insisted. "In ten minutes she can talk to you. Not now. But +have no fear, sir. She is perfectly safe and—barring her wound, which +will probably heal almost without a scar—is as well as ever. A little +nervous and unstrung, of course, but that's to be expected."</p> + +<p>"What happened, and how?" demanded Flint, in terrible agitation.</p> + +<p>The doctor briefly gave him such facts as he knew, ending with the +statement that a passing automobilist had brought the girl to him, and +outlining the situation of the first-aid measures in the sugar-house. At +the thought that Herrick, the drunken cause of it all, was dead and +burned, Flint smiled with real satisfaction.</p> + +<p>"Damn him! It's too good for the scum!" he muttered. Then, aloud, he +asked over the wire:</p> + +<p>"And who was the rescuer?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know," MacDougal answered. "Your daughter didn't tell me. But +from what I've learned, he must have been a man of rare strength and +presence of mind. It may well be that you owe your daughter's life to +his prompt work."</p> + +<p>"I'll find him, yet. He'll be suitably rewarded," thought the +Billionaire. "No matter what my enemies have called me, I'm not +incapable of gratitude!"</p> + +<p>Some few minutes later, having paced the library floor meanwhile, in +great excitement, he called the doctor's house again by long-distance, +and this time succeeded in having speech with his daughter. Her voice, +though a little weak, vastly reassured him. Once more he asked <a name="Page_147"></a>for the +outline of the story. She told him all the essentials, and finished by:</p> + +<p>"Now, come and get me, won't you, father dear? I want to go home. And +the quicker you come for me, the happier I'll be."</p> + +<p>"Bless your heart, Kate!" he exclaimed, deeply moved. "Nothing like the +old man, after all, is there? Yes, I'll start at once. I've only been +waiting here, to talk with you and <i>know</i> you're safe. In five minutes +I'll be on my way, with the racing-car. And if I don't break a few +records between here and Haverstraw, my name's not Isaac Flint!"</p> + +<p>After an affectionate good-bye, the old man hung up, rang for Slawson, +his private valet, and ordered the swiftest car in his garage made ready +at once, for a quick run.</p> + +<p>Two hours later, Doctor MacDougal had pocketed the largest fee he ever +had received or ever would, again; and Kate was safe at home, in Idle +Hour.</p> + +<p>On the homeward journey, Flint learned every detail of the affair, from +start to finish; and again grimly consigned the soul of the dead +chauffeur to the nethermost pits of Hell. Yes, he realized, he must have +the body brought in and decently buried, after the coroner's verdict had +been rendered; but in his heart he knew that, save for the eye of public +opinion and the law, he would let those charred remnants lie and rot +there, by the river bank, under the twisted wreckage of the car—and +revel in the thought of that last, barbarous revenge.</p> + +<p>Arrived at home, Flint routed specialists out of their offices, and at a +large expense satisfied himself the girl had really taken no serious +harm. Next day, and the <a name="Page_148"></a>days following, all that money and science +could do to make the gash heal without a scar, was done. Waldron called, +greatly unnerved and not at all himself; and Kate received him with +amicable interest. She had not yet informed her father of the rupture +between Waldron and herself, nor did he suspect it. As for "Tiger," he +realized the time was inopportune for any statement of conditions, and +held his peace. But once she should be well, again, he had savagely +resolved this decision of hers should not stand.</p> + +<p>"Damn it, it can't! It mustn't!" he reflected, as on the third evening +he returned to his Fifth Avenue house. "Now that I'm really in danger of +losing her, I'm just beginning to realize what an extraordinary woman +she is! As a wife, the mistress of my establishment, a hostess, a social +leader, what a figure she would make! And too, the alliance between +Flint and myself simply must not be shattered. Kate is the only child. +The old man's billion, or more, will surely come to her, practically +every penny of it. Flint is more than sixty-three this very minute, he's +a dope-fiend, and his heart's damned weak. He's liable to drop off, any +moment. If I get Kate, and he dies, what a fortune! What a prize! Added +to my interests, it will make me master of the world!</p> + +<p>"Then, too, this new Air Trust scheme positively demands that Flint and +I should be bound together by something closer than mere financial +association. I've simply got to be one of the family. I've got to be his +son-in-law. That's a positive necessity! God, what a fool I was at +Longmeadow, to have taken those three drinks, and have been piqued at +her beating me—to have let my tongue and temper slip—in short, to have +acted like an ass!"</p> + +<p><a name="Page_149"></a>Ugly and grim, he puffed at his Londres. Vast schemes of finance and of +conquest wove through his busy, plotting brain. Visions of the girl +arose, too, tempting him still more, though his chill heart was +powerless to feel the urge of any real, self-sacrificing or devoted +love. Sensual passion he knew, and ambition, and the lust of power; +nothing else. But these all opened his eyes to the vast blunder he had +committed, and nerved him to reconquest of the ground that he had lost.</p> + +<p>"I can win her, yet," reflected he, as his car swung into the long and +brilliant night-vista of Fifth Avenue. "I know women, and I understand +the game. Flowers, letters, telephone calls, attention every day—every +hour, if need be—these are the artillery to batter down the strongest +fortresses of indifference, even of dislike. And she shall have them +all—all and more. Wally, old chap, you've never been beaten at any +game, whether in the Street or in the pursuit of woman. You'll win yet; +you're bound to win! And Kate shall yet open the door to you, toward +wealth and power and position such as never yet were seen on earth!"</p> + +<p>Thus fortified by his own determination, he slept more calmly that +night. And, on the morrow, his campaign began.</p> + +<p>It lasted but a week.</p> + +<p>At the end of that time, a friendly little note from Idle Hour told him, +frankly and in the kindest manner possible, that—much as she still +liked and respected him—Catherine could not, now or ever, think of him +in any other way than as a friend.</p> + +<p>Stunned by this body-blow, "Tiger" first swore with hideous blasphemies +that caused his valet to retreat pre<a name="Page_150"></a>cipitately from the famous, +nymph-frieze bedchamber; then ordered drink, then walked the floor a +while in a violent passion; and finally knit up his decision.</p> + +<p>"By God!" he swore, shaking his fist in the direction of Englewood. +"She's balky, eh? She won't, eh? But <i>I</i> say she <i>will!</i> And if I can't +make her, there's her father, who can. Together we can break this +stiff-necked spirit and bring her to time. Hm! Fancy anybody or anything +in this world setting up opposition to Flint and Waldron, combined! Just +fancy it, that's all!</p> + +<p>"So then, what's to do? This: See her father and have a heart-to-heart +talk with him. It's obvious she hasn't told him, yet, the real state of +affairs. I doubt if the old idiot has even noticed the absence of my +ring from her finger. And if he has, she's been able to fool him, easily +enough. But not much longer, so help me!</p> + +<p>"No, this very morning he shall hear from me, the whole infernal +story—he shall learn his daughter's unreasonable rebellion, the slight +she's put upon me and her opposition to his will. <i>Then</i> we shall +see—we shall see who's master in that family, he or the girl!"</p> + +<p>With this strong determination in his superheated mind, Waldron rang up +Flint, asked for a private talk, at eleven, in the Wall Street office, +and made ready the mustering of his arguments; his self-defense; his +appeals to Flint's every sense of interest and liking; his whole plea +for the resumption of the broken betrothal.</p> + +<p>And Catherine, all this time of convalescence—what were her thoughts, +and whither were they straying? Not thoughts of Waldron, that is sure, +despite his notes, his telephoning, his flowers, his visits. Not to him +did they wander, as she sat in her sunny bedroom bay-window, <a name="Page_151"></a>looking +out over the great, close cropped lawn, through the oaks and elms, to +the Palisades and the sparkling Hudson beneath.</p> + +<p>No, not to Waldron. Yet wander they did, despite her; and with +persistence they followed channels till then quite unknown to her.</p> + +<p>What might these channels be? And whither, I ask again, did the girl's +memories and fancies, her wondering thoughts, her vague, half-formulated +longings, lead?</p> + +<p>You, perhaps, can answer, as well as I, if you but remember +that—Billionaire's daughter though she was, and all unversed in the +hard realities of life—she was, at heart and soul, very much a woman +after all.</p> + + + +<br /><hr style="width: 65%;" /><br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_XVII"></a><h3><a name="Page_152"></a>CHAPTER XVII.</h3> + +<h4>THOUGHTS.</h4> +<br /> + +<p>During the long days, the June days, of her convalescence, Catherine +found herself involuntarily reverting, more often than she could +understand, to thoughts of the inscrutable and unknown man who had in +all probability saved her life.</p> + +<p>"Had it not been for him," she reflected, as she sat there gazing out +over the river, "I might not be here, this minute. Caught as I was, on +the very brink of the precipice, I should almost certainly have slipped +and fallen over, in my dazed condition, when I tried to get up. If I'd +been alone, if he hadn't found me just when he did—!"</p> + +<p>She shuddered at thought of what must almost inevitably have happened, +and covered her face with both hands. Her cheeks burned; she knew +emotion such as not once had Waldron's kiss ever been able to arouse in +her. The memory of how she, half-unconscious, had lain in that +stranger's arms, so powerful and tense; had been carried by him, as +though she had been a child; had felt his breath upon her face and the +quick, vigorous beating of his heart—all this, and more, dwelt in her +soul, nor could she banish it.</p> + +<p>Gratitude? Yes, and more. For the first time in her two-and-twenty +years, Catherine had sensed the power, the virility of a real man—not +of the make-be<a name="Page_153"></a>lieve, manicured and tailored parasites of her own +class—and something elemental in her, some urge of primitive womanhood, +grappled her to that memory and, all against her will, caused her to +live and re-live those moments, time and time again, as the most strange +and vital of her life.</p> + +<p>Yet, it was not this physical call alone, in her, that had awakened her +being. The man's eyes, and mouth and hair, true, all remained with her +as a subtly compelling lure; his strength and straight directness seemed +to conquer her and draw her to him; but beyond all this, something in +his speech, in his ideas and the strange reticence that had so puzzled +her, kept him even more constantly in her wondering thoughts.</p> + +<p>"A workingman," she murmured to herself, in uncomprehending revery, "he +said he was a workingman—and he knew that I was very, very rich. He +knew my father would have rewarded him magnificently, given him money, +work, anything he might have asked. And yet, and yet—he would not even +tell his name. And he refused to know mine! He didn't want to know! His +pride—why, in all my life, among all the proud, rich people that I've +known, I've never found such pride as that!"</p> + +<p>She reflected what would have happened had any man of the usual type +rescued her, even a man of wealth and position. Of course, thought she, +that man would have made himself known and would have called on her, +ostensibly to inquire after her condition, yet really to ingratiate +himself. At this reflection she shuddered again.</p> + +<p>"Ugh!" she whispered. "He'd have tried to take liberties, any other man +would. He'd have presumed on the <a name="Page_154"></a>accident—he'd have been—oh, +everything that <i>that</i> man was not, and could never be!"</p> + +<p>Now her thoughts wandered to the brief talk they two had had there in +the old sugar-house. Every word of it seemed graven on her memory. +Disconnected bits of what he had told her, seemed to float before her +mental vision—: "I? Oh, I'm just an out-of-work—don't ask me who I am; +and I won't ask who <i>you</i> are. We're of different worlds, I guess—don't +question me; I'd rather you wouldn't. Am I happy? Yes, in a way, or +shall be, when I've done what I mean to do!"</p> + +<p>Such were some of his phrases that kept coming back to her, as she sat +there in that luxurious and beautiful room, her book lying unread in her +lap, the scent of flowers everywhere, and, merely for her taking, all +the world's treasures hers to command. Strange man, indeed, and stranger +speech, to her! Never had she been thus spoken to. His every word and +thought and point of view, commonplace enough, perhaps, seemed +peculiarly stimulating to her, and wakened eager curiosity, and would +not let her live in peace, as heretofore.</p> + +<p>"He said he was a Socialist, too," she murmured, "whatever that may be. +But he—he didn't <i>look</i> it! On the contrary, he looked remarkably clean +and intelligent. And the words he used were the words of an educated +man. Far better vocabulary than Waldron's, for example; and as for poor +little Van Slyke, and that set, why this man's mind seems to have +towered above them as the Palisades tower above the river!</p> + +<p>"Happy? Rich? He said he was both—and all he had was eighteen dollars +and his two big hands! Just fancy that, will you? He might as well have +said eigh<a name="Page_155"></a>teen cents; it would have been about as much! And I—what did +I tell him? I told him I, with all my money and everything, was vacant, +empty, futile! Just those words. And—God help me, I—I am!"</p> + +<p>Suddenly, she felt her eyes were wet. What was the reason? Herself she +knew not. All she knew was that with her beautiful and queenly head +bowed on the arm of her Japanese silk morning gown, as its loose sleeves +lay along the edge of the Chippendale table, she was crying like a +child.</p> + +<p>Crying bitterly; and yet in a kind of new, strange joy. Crying with +tears so bitter-sweet that she, herself, could not half understand them; +could not fathom the deeper meaning that lay hidden there.</p> + +<p>"If!" she whispered to her heart. "If only I were of his class, or he of +mine!"</p> + +<p>And Gabriel, what of him?</p> + +<p>As he swung north and westward, day by day, on the long hike toward +Niagara, the memory of the girl went with him, and hour by hour bore him +company.</p> + +<p>He was not forgetting. Could he forget? Strive as he might, to thrust +her out of his heart and soul, she still indwelt there.</p> + +<p>Not all his philosophy, nor all his realization that this woman he had +saved, this woman who had lain in his two arms and mingled her breath +with his, belonged to another and an alien class, could banish her.</p> + +<p>And as he strode along, swinging his knotted stick at the daisies and +pondering on all that might have been and now could never be, a sudden, +passionate longing burst over him, as a long sea-roller, hurled against +a cliff, flings upward in vast tourbillions of spume.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_156"></a>Raising his face to the summer sky, his bare head high with emotion and +his eyes wide with the thought of strange possibilities that shook and +intoxicated him, he cried:</p> + +<p>"Oh—would God she were an orphan and an outcast! Would God she had no +penny in this world to call her own!"</p> + + + +<br /><hr style="width: 65%;" /><br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_XVIII"></a><h3><a name="Page_157"></a>CHAPTER XVIII.</h3> + +<h4>FLINT AND WALDRON PLAN.</h4> +<br /> + +<p>"Tiger" Waldron's interview with old man Flint, regarding Catherine's +breaking of the engagement, was particularly electric. Promptly at the +appointed hour, Waldron appeared, shook hands with the older man, sat +down and lighted a cigar, then proceeded to business.</p> + +<p>"Flint," said he, without any ado, "I've come here to tell you some very +unpleasant news and to ask your help. Can you stand the one, and give me +the other?"</p> + +<p>The Billionaire looked at him through his pince-nez, poised on that +vulture-beak, with some astonishment. Then he smiled nervously, showing +his gleaming tooth of gold, and answered:</p> + +<p>"Yes, I guess so. What's wrong?"</p> + +<p>"What's wrong? Everything! Catherine has broken our engagement!"</p> + +<p>For a moment old Flint sat there motionless and staring. Then, moving +his head forward with a peculiar, pecking twitch that still further +enhanced his likeness to a buzzard, he stammered:</p> + +<p>"You—you mean—?"</p> + +<p>"I mean just what I say. Your daughter has severed the betrothal. +Haven't you noticed my ring was gone from her finger?"</p> + +<p>"Gone? Bless my soul, no—that is, yes—maybe. I <a name="Page_158"></a>don't know. But—but +at any rate, I thought nothing of it. So then, you say—she's broken it +off? But, why? And when? And—and tell me, Wally, what's it all about?"</p> + +<p>"Listen, and I <i>will</i> tell you," Tiger answered. "And I'll give it to +you straight. I'm partly at fault. Mostly so, it may be. Let me assume +all the blame, at any rate. I'm not sparing myself and have no intention +of doing so. My conduct, I admit, was beastly. No excuses offered. All I +want to do, now, is to make the <i>amende honorable</i>, be forgiven, and +have the former status resumed."</p> + +<p>Thus spoke Waldron. But all the time his soul lay hot within him, at +having so to humble himself before Flint; at being thus obliged to eat +crow, and fawn and feign and creep.</p> + +<p>"If I didn't need your billion, old man," his secret thought was, as he +eyed Flint with pretended humility, "you might go to Hell, for all of +me—you and your daughter with you, damn you both!"</p> + +<p>The Billionaire sat blinking, for a moment. Then, picking up a pencil +and idly scrawling pothooks on the big clean sheet of blotting-paper +that covered his reference-book table, beside which the men were +sitting, he asked:</p> + +<p>"Well, what's the trouble all about? What are the facts? I must have +those, in full, before I can guarantee to do anything toward changing my +daughter's opinion. Much as I deplore her action, Wally, I don't know +whether she's right or wrong, till you tell me. Now, let's have it."</p> + +<p>"I will," the other answered; and he was as good as his word. Realizing +the prime futility of any subterfuge, <a name="Page_159"></a>or any misstatement of +fact—which Catherine would surely discover and tell her father, and +which would react against him—Waldron began at the beginning and +narrated the entire affair, with every detail precisely accurate. Nay, +he even exaggerated the offensiveness of his conduct, at the Longmeadow +Club, and in various ways gave the Billionaire to understand that he was +a more serious offender than in truth he really was. For, after all, the +only real offense was the lack of any compatibility between the girl and +himself—the total absence of love.</p> + +<p>Flint listened carefully and with a judicial expression. If he blamed +Waldron, he made no statement of that fact. A man himself, and one who +viewed man's weaknesses and woman's foibles with a cynic eye, he could +judge motives and weigh actions with considerable skill.</p> + +<p>"I see, I see," he commented, when Waldron had quite done, and had +poured forth a highly false declaration of his great love for the girl +and his determination that this rupture should not be permanent. "I +understand the case, I think. It all seems an unfortunate accident—just +one of those unavoidable incidents which strike into and upset human +calculations, against all expectation.</p> + +<p>"You're not terribly guilty, Waldron. You acted inconsiderably. +Irritatingly, perhaps, and not wholly like a gentleman—for which, blame +the rotten Scotch they <i>will</i> persist in selling, out there at +Longmeadow. But even that's not fatal. Many men have done worse and been +forgiven. I'll have a talk with Catherine, inside a day or two, when the +psychological moment offers. And you may be sure, if a father's advice +and good offices are of any avail, this little quarrel will be all +patched up <a name="Page_160"></a>between you two. Surely will be! I can almost positively +promise you that!"</p> + +<p>"Promise it?" asked Waldron, leaning eagerly forward, a strange light in +those close-set, greenish eyes.</p> + +<p>Flint nodded. "Yes," he answered. "I've never yet failed to bring Kate +to reason and good common-sense, when I've set out to. This will be no +exception. My word and my counsel possess the greatest weight with her. +She'll listen and be advised, I'm sure. So have no uneasiness," he +concluded, holding out his hand to his partner. "Leave everything to me. +You'll see, it will all come right, in the end."</p> + +<p>"Tiger" shook his hand, cordially.</p> + +<p>"I haven't words to thank you!" he exclaimed, with as much emotion as he +could simulate from a perfectly cold heart and calculating soul.</p> + +<p>"Don't try to," the Billionaire replied, with seeming benevolence. "All +the thanks I want, Wally, is to patch up this little difficulty and +reunite two—that is—two loving, sympathetic hearts!"</p> + +<p>"You old hypocrite!" Waldron thought, eyeing him. "All <i>you</i> want of me, +if anything, is to keep me as your partner, because you know you're +growing old and losing your grip, and I'm still in the game with all +four claws! Paternal philanthropist <i>you</i> are—I don't think!"</p> + +<p>Wally was dead right.</p> + +<p>"I can't lose this man," the Billionaire was thinking. "Whether or no, +Kate has got to marry him. This Air Trust business demands a strong, a +quick, a perfectly unscrupulous hand. And no outsider will do. My +partner has got to be my son-in-law. Love be damned! Roman<a name="Page_161"></a>tic slush can +go to Hell! Kate will marry him—she's <i>got</i> to—or I'll know the reason +why!</p> + +<p>"Though, after all," he soothed his conscience, as Waldron stood up, +walked to the window and stood gazing out as he smoked, "after all, +Wally will make her as happy, I fancy, as any man. He's a fine figure in +the world, commanding, heavily propertied, energetic and successful, +also of the finest family connections. Yes, a husband any woman might +admire and be proud of. Certainly, the only son-in-law for <i>me</i>. Even if +she can't idolize and worship him, as some fool women think they must, a +man, she can respect and be respected with him. And with him she can +take the highest position in the land, without a qualm as to his +competence and manner. Beside all that, what's love? Love? Bah!"</p> + +<p>With which philosophy, he too arose, went back into his own office, and +returned to the dictating of some very private letters to Slade, the +Cosmos Detective Agency manager, <i>in re</i> the ferreting-out and jailing +or deporting of all Socialists and labor leaders at Niagara. This +preparatory work on the ground of the huge new Air Trust plant, he +deemed most essential. The Cosmos people, scenting a big contract, had +fostered his belief, and now, already, the work was well under way. +Subterranean methods were still sufficing; but, should these fail, +others lay in the background.</p> + +<p>Flint smiled a grim, vulturine smile as he read over the finished +letters of instruction, a few minutes later.</p> + +<p>"And to think," he mused, as he finished them, "that these fanatics +believe—really believe—they can make headway anywhere in this country, +now! Ten years ago, yes, they might have. But that's not today. Then, +pub<a name="Page_162"></a>lie opinion—stupid and futile as it was—could still be aroused. +Then, there was a really effective labor and Socialist press. And the +Limited Franchise Bill hadn't gone through. Neither had the enlarged +Military Bill, the National Censorship nor even the Grays—the National +Mounted Police. While <i>now</i>—ah, thank Heaven, it's all so different and +so easy that I call myself a fool, at times, for even giving these +matters a single thought!</p> + +<p>"Well," he concluded, handing the letters back to his confidential +secretary, for mailing, "well, now <i>that's</i> done, at any rate. So then, +to the S. & S. committee meeting. And tonight my little +talk with Kate. I'll soon bring her to reason, I'm sure. There's nothing +can't be accomplished by a little patience and persuasion."</p> + +<p>The old Billionaire chose his time well, that night, for the vital +interview with his daughter, who had so far rebelled against his +authority as to break with the man most eminently acceptable to him. +After a simple but exquisite dinner in the Venetian room, he asked the +girl to play for him, which (he knew) always pleased her and put her in +a receptive mood.</p> + +<p>"Play for you, father?" she answered. "Of course I will, anything and as +much as you like! What shall it be, tonight? Chopin, or Grieg, or—?"</p> + +<p>"Anything that pleases you, suits me, my dear," he answered, smiling +with satisfaction at his ruse. Never had he felt more masterful. He had +allowed himself a trifle more morphia than usual that day, by reason of +the approaching interview; and now the subtle drug filled him with +well-being and seemed to enhance his self-control and power. Lighting a +cigar—rare treat for him—he offered Kate his arm; and together, +unattended <a name="Page_163"></a>by any valet or domestic, they walked along the high, +paneled hallway, hung with Gobelin tapestries, and so reached the +magnificent music-room which Kate claimed, in a way, as her own special +place at Idle Hour.</p> + +<p>Here everything suggested harmony. The mahogany wainscotted walls were +decked with fine portraits of the world's great masters of melody. +Handsome cabinets contained costly and elaborate collections and folios +of music, a complete library of the entire world's best productions. The +girl's harp—a masterpiece by Pestalozzi of Venice—stood at one side; +on the other, a five hundred dollar Victrola, with a wonderful +repertoire of records. But the grand piano itself dominated all, +especially made for Catherine by Durand Frères, in Paris, and imported +on the Billionaire's own yacht, the "Bandit." A wondrous instrument, +this, finer even than the pipe-organ in an alcove at the far end of the +room. It summed up all that the world's masters knew of +instrument-production; and its cost, from factory to its present place +at Idle Hour, represented twenty years' wages, and more, of any of +Flint's slaves in the West Virginia mines or the Glenn Pool oil-fields +of Oklahoma.</p> + +<p>At this magnificent piano the girl now seated herself, on a bench of +polished teak, from Mindanao. And, turning to her father, who had sunk +down in his favorite easy-chair of Russia leather, she asked with a +smile:</p> + +<p>"Well, daddy, what shall I play for you, to-night?"</p> + +<p>He looked at her a minute, before replying. Never had she seemed to +dear, so beautiful to him. The rose-tinted light that fell softly from a +Bohemian chandelier over her head, flooded her coiled hair, her face, +her hands, with soft warm color. The slight dressing that <a name="Page_164"></a>her wound now +required was covered by a deft arrangement of her hair. She had regained +her usual tint. Nothing now told of the accident, the close call she had +had, from death, so short a time before. And old Flint smiled, as he +answered her:</p> + +<p>"What shall you play? Anything you like, my dear. You know best—only, +don't make it too classical. Your old father isn't up to that ultra +music, you know, and never will be!"</p> + +<p>She smiled again with understanding, and turned to the keyboard. Then, +without notes, and with a delicate touch of perfectly modulated +interpretation, she began to render "Traümerei," as though she, too, had +been dreaming of something that might have been.</p> + +<p>Flint listened, with perfect content. The music soothed and quieted him. +Even the foreknowledge of the difficult task that lay before him, the +interview that he must have with his daughter, faded from his mind, a +little, and left him wholly calm. Eyes closed, every sense intent on the +delicious harmony, he followed the masterpiece to the end; and sighed +when the last notes had died away, and kept silence.</p> + +<p>Then Kate, still needing no music on the rack before her, played the +"Miserere" from "Il Trovatore," a Hungarian "Czardas," Mendelssohn's +"Frühlingslied" and the overture from "William Tell." She followed these +with the "Intermezzo" and the "Pizzicato" from "Sylvia," and then with +"Narcissus" and "Sans Souci." And at the end of this, she paused again; +for now her father had arisen and come close to her. With a hand on her +shoulder, looking down at her with stern yet kindly eyes, he said:</p> + +<p>"<a name="Page_165"></a>'Sans Souci'? That means 'Without Care,' doesn't it, Kate?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Daddy. Why?" she answered.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I was just thinking, that's all," said he. "It made me wish <i>I</i> had +no cares, no troubles, no sorrows."</p> + +<p>"Sorrows, father? Why should you have sorrows?" she queried, turning to +him and taking both his shriveled hands in her warm, strong ones.</p> + +<p>"Sorrows? Why shouldn't I?" said he. "Every man of large affairs has +them. Every father has them, too." And he bent over her and kissed her, +with unusual emotion.</p> + +<p>"Every father?" asked she. "What do you mean? Am <i>I</i> a sorrow to you?"</p> + +<p>"A joy in many ways," he answered. "In some, a sorrow."</p> + +<p>"In what ways?" she asked quickly, her eyes widening.</p> + +<p>"In this way, most of all," he told her, as he took her left hand up, +and pointed at the finger where Waldron's ring had been and now no +longer was.</p> + +<p>She looked at him a moment, hardly understanding; then bowed her head.</p> + +<p>"Father," she whispered. "Forgive me—but I couldn't! I—I couldn't! No, +not for the world!"</p> + +<p>Flint's drug-contracted eyes hardened as he stood there gazing down at +her. Once, twice he essayed to speak, but found no words. At last, +however, blinking nervously, he said:</p> + +<p>"This, Kate, is what I want to talk with you about, to-night. Will you +hear me?"</p> + + + +<br /><hr style="width: 65%;" /><br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_XIX"></a><h3><a name="Page_166"></a>CHAPTER XIX.</h3> + +<h4>CATHERINE'S DEFIANCE.</h4> +<br /> + +<p>"Hear you, best and dearest father in the world?" she cried, looking +quickly up at him again. "Of course I will! Only, I beg you, +don't—don't ask me to—"</p> + +<p>"I will ask you nothing, Kate, my girl, save this—to consider +everything well, and to act like a reasoning, thinking creature, not +like an impetuous and romantic school-girl!"</p> + +<p>Releasing her hands, he once more sat down in the easy-chair, crossed +his legs and peered keenly at her, to fathom if he could the inner +workings of that other brain and heart.</p> + +<p>"Well, father," she said, "I'll admit, right away, that I've done wrong +to keep this from you, or to try to. We—I—broke the engagement, that +day of the accident, out at Longmeadow. I <i>meant</i> to tell you, tell you +everything and explain it all, but somehow—"</p> + +<p>"You needn't explain, my dear," said Flint, judicially. "Wally has +already done so."</p> + +<p>"And does he blame me, father?" cried the girl, eagerly, clasping her +hands on her knees.</p> + +<p>"No, not at all. On the contrary, he claims the fault is all his own. +And he's most contrite and repentant, Kate. Absolutely so. All he asks +in the world is to make amends and—well, resume the old relation, +whenever you are willing."</p> + +<p>Kate shook her head.</p> + +<p>"<a name="Page_167"></a>That's noble and big of him, father," said she, "to assume all the +blame. Really, half of it is mine. But he's acted like a true man, in +taking it. However, that can't change my decision. I want him for a +friend, in every way. But for a husband, no, no, never in this world!"</p> + +<p>The Billionaire frowned darkly. Already a stronger opposition was +developing than he had expected; and opposition was the one thing in all +the world that he could neither tolerate nor endure.</p> + +<p>"Listen, Kate," said he. "You don't grasp the situation at all. Waldron +is an extraordinary man in many ways. In refusing him, you seriously +injure yourself. Of course, he has never done any spectacular, heroic +thing for you, like—for instance—that young man who rescued you, and +whom I shall suitably reward as soon as I find him—"</p> + +<p>"What!" she exclaimed, peering eagerly at her father. "What do you mean? +Find him? Reward him?"</p> + +<p>"Eh? Why, naturally," the Billionaire replied, scowling at the +interruption. "His game of refusing his identity was, of course, just a +clever dodge on his part. He certainly must expect something out of it. +I have—er—set certain forces at work to discover him; and, as I say, +when I've done so, I will reward him liberally, and—"</p> + +<p>"You'd better <i>not!</i>" ejaculated Kate, with animation. "He isn't the +sort of man you can take liberties with!"</p> + +<p>"Hm? What now?" said Flint, with vexation. "What do <i>you</i> know about +him?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, nothing, nothing, father," the girl answered quickly. "Only, I +think you're making a mistake to try and <a name="Page_168"></a>force a reward on a man who +doesn't want it. But no matter," she added, her face tinged by a warmer +glow—which Flint was quick to see. "Forgive my interruption. Now, about +Wally?"</p> + +<p>The old man peered intently at his daughter, a full minute, then with a +peculiar sinking at his heart, made shift to say:</p> + +<p>"About Wally, yes; you simply don't understand. That's all. Listen now, +Kate, and be reasonable."</p> + +<p>"I will, daddy. Only don't ask me to marry a man I don't and can't love, +ever, ever, so long as I live!"</p> + +<p>"That isn't anything, my girl. Love isn't all."</p> + +<p>"It is, to <i>me!</i> Without it, marriage is only—" She shuddered. "No, +daddy; a thousand times better for me to be an old maid, and—and all +that, than give myself to <i>him!</i>"</p> + +<p>Flint set his teeth hard together.</p> + +<p>"Kate," said he, his voice like wire, "now hear what I have to say! I +want you fully to understand the character and desirability of Maxim +Waldron!"</p> + +<p>Then in a cold, analytic voice, carefully, point by point, he analyzed +the suitor, told of his wealth and power, his connections and his +prospects, his culture, travel, political influence and world-wide +reputation.</p> + +<p>"Furthermore," he added, while Kate listened with an expression as cold +as her father's tone itself, "he is my partner. We are allied, in +business. I hope we may be, too, in family. This man is one that any +woman in the world might be proud to call her husband—proud, and glad! +Love flies away, in a few brief months or years. Wealth and power and +respect remain. And, with these, love too may come. Be strong, Kate! Be +sensible! You <a name="Page_169"></a>are no child, but a grown woman. I shall not try to force +you. All I want to do is show you your own best interest. Think this all +over. Sleep on it. Tomorrow, let us talk of it again. For your own sake, +and mine, do as you should, and let folly be averted. Renew the +engagement. Hush the breath of gossip and scandal. Conform. Play the +game! Do right—be strong!"</p> + +<p>She only shook her head; and now he saw the glister of tear-drops in +those beautiful gray eyes.</p> + +<p>"Father," cried she, standing up and holding out both hands to him. +"Have mercy on me! I can't—I can't! My heart refuses and I cannot force +it. All this—what is it to me?" She swept her hand at the glowing +luxury around her. "Without love, what would such another home be to me? +Worse than a prison-cell, I swear! A living death, to one like me! +Barter and sale—cold calculation—oh, horrible prostitution, horrible, +unspeakable!</p> + +<p>"Poverty, with love—yes, I would choose it. Without love, I never, +never can give myself! Never, as long as I live!"</p> + +<p>The Billionaire, too, stood up. He was shaking, now, as in a palsy, +striving to control his rage. His fingers twitched spasmodically, and +his eyes burned like firecoals behind those gleaming lenses.</p> + +<p>Then, as he peered at her, he suddenly went even paler than before. +Through his heart a stab of understanding had all at once gone home. The +veils were lifted, and he knew the truth.</p> + +<p>Her manner in speaking of that unknown, wandering rescuer; the blush +that had burned from breast to brow, when he had mentioned the fellow; +her aversion for Wal<a name="Page_170"></a>dron and her reticence in talking of the +accident—all this, and more, now surged on Flint's comprehension, +flooding his mind with light—with light and with terrible anger.</p> + +<p>And, losing all control, he took a step or two, and raised his shaking +hand. His big-knuckled finger, shaken in denunciation, was raised almost +in her face. Choking, stammering, he cried:</p> + +<p>"Ah! Now I know! Now, now I understand you!"</p> + +<p>Terrified, she retreated toward the door of the music-room.</p> + +<p>"Father, father! What makes you look so?" she gasped. "Oh, you have +never looked or spoken to me this way! What—what can it be?"</p> + +<p>"What can it be?" he mouthed at her. "You ask me, you hypocrite, when +you well know?"</p> + +<p>Suddenly she faced him, stiffening into pride and hard rebellion.</p> + +<p>"No more of that, father!" she exclaimed, her eyes blazing. "I am your +daughter, but you can't talk to me thus. You must not!"</p> + +<p>"Who—who are <i>you</i> to say 'must not?'" he gibed, now wholly beside +himself. "You—you, who love a vagabond, a tramp, scum and off-scouring +of the gutter?"</p> + +<p>A strange, half-choking sound was his only answer. Then, with no word, +she turned away from him, biting her lip lest she answer and betray +herself.</p> + +<p>"Go!" he commanded, bloodless and quivering. "Go to your room. No more +of this! We shall see, soon, who's master of this house!"</p> + +<p>She was already gone.</p> + +<p>Old Flint stood there a moment, listening to her retreating footfalls on +the parquetry of the vast hall. Then, <a name="Page_171"></a>as these died he turned and +groped his way, as though blind, back to his chair, and fell in it, and +covered his eyes with both his shaking hands.</p> + +<p>For a long time he sat there, anguished and crucified amid all that +unmeaning luxury and splendor.</p> + +<p>At last he rose and with uncertain steps sought his own suite, +above-stairs.</p> + +<p>Billionaire and world-master though he was, that night he knew his heart +lay dead within him. He realized that all the fruits of life were Dead +Sea fruits, withered to dust and ashes on his pale and quivering lips.</p> + + + +<br /><hr style="width: 65%;" /><br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_XX"></a><h3><a name="Page_172"></a>CHAPTER XX.</h3> + +<h4>THE BILLIONAIRE'S PLOT.</h4> +<br /> + +<p>He was aroused from this bitter revery by a rapping at the door. +Opening, he admitted Slawson, his valet. The servile one handed him a +letter with a special-delivery stamp on it.</p> + +<p>"Excuse me for intruding, sir," said Slawson, meekly smiling, "but I +knew this was urgent."</p> + +<p>"All right. Get out!" growled Flint. When the man was gone, he fortified +himself with a couple of morphine tablets, and ripped the long envelope. +It was from Slade, he knew, of the Cosmos Agency.</p> + +<p>With a rapid eye he glanced it over. Then uttering a sudden oath, he +studied it carefully, under the electric bulb beside his dressing-table.</p> + +<p>"Gods and devils!" he ejaculated. "What next?"</p> + +<p>The letter read:</p> + +<div class="blkquot"><p><i>142A Park Row, New York City, June 28, 1921.</i> + +<p> <i>Isaac L. Flint, Esq.,</i></p> + +<p> <i>Idle Hour, Englewood, N. J.</i></p> + +<p> <i>Dear Sir:</i></p> + +<p> <i> Reporting in the matter of the young man who rescued your + daughter, in the recent accident, let me say I have discovered his + identity and some important facts concerning him. I take the + liberty of thinking that your intention of rewarding him, when + found, will be somewhat modified by this information.</i></p> + +<p> <i>This man's name is Gabriel Armstrong, age 24. Occupation, expert + electrical and chemical worker. A Socialist and labor agitator, of + the most dangerous type, because intellectual and well-read. A man + of considerable power and <a name="Page_173"></a>influence in Socialist and labor + circles. Has been something of a wanderer. Is well known to union + men and Socialists, all over the country. A powerful speaker, and + resourceful.</i></p> + +<p> <i>He was last employed at your testing-works on Staten Island. + Discharged by your Mr. Herzog, about two weeks ago for having, I + understand, been in possession of a certain red-covered note-book, + which Mr. Herzog found in his pocket. This book is the same which + you commissioned me to find, but which Mr. Herzog returned to you + before I undertook the search for it. The inference is that this + Armstrong is in possession of some private information about your + work, which may make him even more dangerous. Herzog informs me + that you and Mr. Waldron have had Armstrong blacklisted. But this + seems of no importance to the man, as he is clever and can live + anywhere, by casual labor and by working with the Socialists.</i></p> + +<p> <i>Armstrong is now at Syracuse. He has been tramping the roads. Have + had two of my operators enter his room at the Excelsior Lodging + House and search, his effects, while he was taking a bath. Can find + nothing to give me any legal means of proceeding against him. He + has some ready money, so a vagrancy-charge will not hold. If you + wish me to resort to extreme measures to "get" him, kindly give me + carte blanche, and guarantee me protection in case of trouble. The + job can be done, but it may be risky, in view of his influence and + backing among the Socialists and labor people. Before proceeding + further I want to know how far you will support me.</i></p> + +<p> <i>Am having him shadowed. He cannot get away. As yet he suspects + nothing. On receipt of your next, will take measures to put him + away for a few months. I know that, once he lands behind bars, his + finish can be easily arranged.</i></p> + +<p> <i>Trusting this information will prove satisfactory to you, and + awaiting your further instructions, I am,</i></p> + +<p> <i>Very truly yours</i>,</p> + +<p> THE COSMOS AGENCY,</p> + +<p> <i>Dillon F. Slade, Mgr.</i></p></div> + +<p>Old Flint read this extraordinary communication twice through, then, +raising his head, growled in his shrunken throat, for all the world like +a wild beast. His gold tooth, gleaming in the light, made his rictus of +passion more venomous, more malevolent still.</p> + +<p>"The—the Hell-hound!" he stammered, his eyes narrowed with hate and +rage. "Oh, wait! Wait till we <a name="Page_174"></a>land him! And this—<i>this</i> is the devil, +the scum, that Kate, my daughter—"</p> + +<p>He could not finish; but, clutching at his sparse gray hair, fell to +pacing the floor and mouthing execrations. Had he been of the sanguine +manner of body, he must inevitably have suffered an apoplexy. Only his +spare frame and bloodless type, due to the drug, saved his life, at that +first shock of rage and hate.</p> + +<p>Grown calmer, presently, he took quick action. Seating himself at a desk +in the corner of his bed-chamber—a desk where some of his most +important private matters had been put through—he chose a sheet of +blank paper, with no monogram, and wrote:</p> + +<div class="blkquot"><p><i>Take immediate action. Will back you to the limit, and beyond. Ten + thousand bonus if you land him behind bars inside a week. Stop at + nothing, but get results. F.</i></p></div> + +<p>This he folded and put in an envelope which he addressed to Slade, and +was about to seal, when another idea struck him.</p> + +<p>"By God!" he exclaimed, smiting the desk. "It won't do to have this just +some ordinary charge. The thing has got to be disgraceful, unpardonable, +hideous!</p> + +<p>"There are two things to be considered now. One is to 'get' him, in +connection with that red book of my plans—to head him off from making +any possible trouble in the development of the Air Trust.</p> + +<p>"The other is—Kate! Nothing catches a woman, like martyrdom. If +anything happens to this cur, and she suspects that I've done it, out of +spite, all Hell can't <a name="Page_175"></a>hold her. I know her well enough for <i>that</i>. No, +this fellow has got to be put away on some charge that will absolutely +and utterly ruin him, in her eyes, for good and all—that will blast and +wreck him, forever, with her. Something that, when I tell her, will fill +her with loathing and horror. Something that will cause a terrible and +complete revulsion of feeling in her, and bring her back to Waldron, as +to a strong refuge in time of trouble. Something that will crush and +quell her, utterly cure her of those idiotic, school-girl notions of +hers, and make her—as she should be—submissive to my will and my +demands!"</p> + +<p>He pondered a moment, an ugly, crafty smile on those old lips of his; +then, struck by sudden inspiration, laughed a dry, harsh laugh.</p> + +<p>"The very thing!" he exulted, with the mirth of a vulture that has just +found a peculiarly revolting mass of carrion. "Fool that I was, not to +have thought of it before!"</p> + +<p>Hastily he withdrew the letter from the envelope, opened it, and with +eager hand wrote three short sentences. He read these over, nodded +approval, and this time sealed and addressed the letter. Then he pushed +an electric button over the desk.</p> + +<p>"Have this letter carried to this address at once," he commanded +Slawson. "Mr. Dillon Slade, 432 Highland Avenue, Rutherford, N. J. +See? Special delivery won't do. Have Sanders take it at once, in the +racer. No answer required. And after you've seen it start on its way, +come back here. I want to go to bed."</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir. All right, sir," the valet bowed as he took the letter and +departed.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_176"></a>Ten minutes later, he was back again, helping old Flint undress.</p> + +<p>Long after the Billionaire was in bed, in the big, luxurious room, with +its windows open toward the river—the room guarded all night by armed +men in the house and on the lawn outside—he lay there thinking of his +plot, chuckling to himself over its infernal cunning, and filled with +joy at the prospects now opening out ahead of him.</p> + +<p>"Two birds with one stone, this time, for sure," he pondered. "Ha! +They'll try to beat old Isaac Flint at this or any other game, will +they? Man or woman, I don't care which, they'll never get away with +it—never, so long as life and breath remain in me!"</p> + +<p>Then, soothed by these happy thoughts, and by a somewhat increased +dosage of his drug, the Billionaire gradually and contentedly fell +asleep, to dream of victory, and vengeance, and power.</p> + +<p>Not in weeks had he slumbered so peacefully.</p> + +<p>But for many hours after her father was asleep, Catherine sat at her +window, in a silk kimono, and with fevered pulses and dry eyes, with +throbbing heart and leaping pulses, thought long thoughts.</p> + +<p>Sleepless she sat there, counting the hours tolled from the church-spire +in the town, below.</p> + +<p>Morning still found her at the window, her brain afire, her heart laid +desolate and waste by the consuming struggle which, that night, had +swept and ravaged it.</p> + + + +<br /><hr style="width: 65%;" /><br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_XXI"></a><h3><a name="Page_177"></a>CHAPTER XXI.</h3> + +<h4>GABRIEL, GOOD SAMARITAN.</h4> +<br /> + +<p>On the evening of July third, a week later, Gabriel Armstrong found +himself at Rochester, having tramped the hundred miles from Syracuse, by +easy stages. During this week, old Flint took good care not to reopen +the subject of the break with Waldron; and his daughter, too, avoided +it. They two were apparently at an impasse regarding it. But Flint +inwardly rejoiced, knowing full well the plot now under way. And though +Waldron urged him to take some further action and force the issue, Flint +bade him hold his peace, and wait, telling him all would yet be well.</p> + +<p>Outwardly calmer, the old man was raging, within, more and ever more +bitterly, against Armstrong. On July first, Slade had reported in person +that his operators who were trailing the quarry had—in the +night—discovered in one of his pockets a maple leaf wrapped in a fine +linen handkerchief marked "C. J. F." Flint, recognizing his +daughter's initials, well-nigh burst a blood-vessel for wrath. But he +instructed Slade not to have the handkerchief abstracted from +Armstrong's possession. By no sign or hint must the victim be made aware +that he was being spied upon. When the final blow should fall, then +(reflected the Billionaire, with devilish satisfaction) all scores would +be paid in full, and more than paid.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_178"></a>July third, then, found Gabriel at Rochester, now seventy-five or +eighty miles from Niagara Falls, his goal, where—he had already +heard—ground was being actually broken for the huge new power plant of +which he alone, of all outsiders, understood the meaning. Gabriel +counted on spending the Fourth at Rochester where a Socialist picnic and +celebration had been arranged. Ordinarily, he would have taken part in +the work and volunteered as a speaker, but now, anxious to keep out of +sight, he counted merely on forming one of the crowd. There could be +little danger, thought he, in such a mass. Despite the recent stringent +censorship and military rule of the district by the new Mounted Police, +a huge gathering was expected. The big railway and lake-traffic strikes, +both recently lost, had produced keen resentment, and, as political and +economic power had been narrowed here, as all over the country, in these +last few months of on-sweeping capitalist domination, the Socialist +movement had been growing ever more and more swiftly.</p> + +<p>"It will be worth seeing," thought Gabriel, as he stood outside the +lodging-house where he had taken a room for the night. The workers are +surely awakening, at last. The spirit I've been meeting, lately, is +uglier and more determined than anything I ever used to find, a year or +two ago. It seems to me, if conditions are like this all over the +country, the safety-valve is about ready to pop, and the masters had +better look out, or some of them are going to land in Hell!</p> + +<p>"Yes, I'll stop over here, one day, and look and listen. Sorry I can't +take part, but I mustn't. My game, now, <a name="Page_179"></a>is to travel underground as it +were. I've got a bigger job in view than soap-boxing, just <i>now!</i>"</p> + +<p>He ate a simple supper at an "Owl" lunch-cart, totally unaware that, +across the street, a couple of Cosmos men were waiting for him to come +out. And, after this, buying a Socialist paper, he strolled into Evans +Park to sit and read, a while, by the red light of the descending sun.</p> + +<p>Here he remained till dark, smoking his briar, watching the dirty, +ragged children of the wretched wage-slaves at play; observing the +exploited men and women on the park-benches, as they sought a little +fresh air and respite from toil; and pondering the problems that still +lay before him. At times—often indeed—his thoughts wandered to the +maple-grove and the old sugar-house, far away on the Hudson. Memories of +the girl would not be banished, nor longings for her. Who she might be, +he still knew not. Unwilling to learn, he had refrained from looking up +the number he had copied from the plate of the wrecked machine. He had +even abstained from reading the papers, a few days, lest he might see +some account of the accident. A strange kind of unwillingness to know +the woman's name possessed him—a feeling that, if he positively +identified her as one of some famous clan of robbers and exploiters, he +could no longer cherish her memory or love the thought of how they two +had, for an hour, sat together and talked and been good, honest friends.</p> + +<p>"No," he murmured to himself, "it's better this way—just to recall her +as a girl in need, a girl who let me help her, a girl I can always +remember with kind thoughts, as long as I live!"</p> + +<p><a name="Page_180"></a>From his pocket he took the little handkerchief, which wrapped the +leaf, once part of her bed. A faint, elusive scent still hung about +it—something of her, still it seemed. He closed his eyes, there on the +hard park bench, and let his fancies rove whither they would; and for a +time it seemed to him a wondrous peace possessed him.</p> + +<p>"If it could only have been," he murmured, at last. "If only it could +be!"</p> + +<p>Then suddenly urged by a realization of the hopelessness of it all, he +stood up, pocketed the souvenirs of her again, and walked away in the +dusk; away, through the park; away, at random, through squalid, ugly +streets, where the first electric-lights were just beginning to flare; +where children swarmed in the close heat, wallowing along the gutters, +dodging teams and cars, as they essayed to play, setting off a few +premature firecrackers and mocking the police—all in all, leading the +ugly, unnatural, destructive life of all children of the city +proletariat.</p> + +<p>"Poor little devils!" thought Gabriel, stopping to observe a dirty group +clustered about an ice-cream cart, where cheap, adulterated, +high-colored stuff was being sold for a penny a square—aniline poison, +no doubt, and God knows what else. "Poor little kids! Not much like the +children of the masters, eh? with their lawns and playgrounds, their +beaches and flowery fields, their gardens and fine schools, their dogs, +ponies, autos and all the rest! Some difference, all right—and it takes +a thousand of <i>these</i>, yes, ten thousand, to keep one of <i>those</i>. +And—and <i>she</i> was one of the rich and dainty children! Her beauty, +health and grace were bought at the <a name="Page_181"></a>price of ten thousand other +children's health, and joy and lives! Ah, God, what a price! What a +cruel, awful, barbarous price to pay!"</p> + +<p>Saddened and pensive, he passed on, still thinking of the woman he could +not banish from his mind, despite his bitterness against her class.</p> + +<p>So he walked on and on, now through better streets and now through +worse, up and down the city.</p> + +<p>Here and there, detonations and red fire marked the impatience of some +demonstrator who could not wait till midnight to show his ardent +patriotism and his public spirit by risking life and property. The +saloons were all doing a land-office business, with the holiday +impending and the thermometer at 97. Now and then, slattern women, in +foul clothes and with huge, gelatinous breasts, could be seen rushing +the growler, at the "family entrance" of some low dive. Even little +girls bore tin pails, for the evening's "scuttle o' suds" to be consumed +on roof, or in back yard of stinking tenement, or on some fire-escape. +The city, in fine, was relaxing from its toil; and, as the workers for +the most part knew no other way, nor could afford any, they were trying +to snatch some brief moment of respite from the Hell of their slavery, +by recourse to rough ribaldry and alcohol.</p> + +<p>Nine o'clock had just struck from the church-spires which mocked the +slums with their appeal to an impassive Heaven, when, passing a foul and +narrow alley that led down to the Genesee River, Gabriel saw a woman +sitting on a doorstep, weeping bitterly.</p> + +<p>This woman—hardly more than a girl—was holding a little bundle in one +hand. The other covered her face. Her sobs were audible. Grief of the +most intense, he saw <a name="Page_182"></a>at once, convulsed her. Two or three by-standers, +watching with a kind of pleased curiosity, completed the scene, most +sordid in its setting, there under the flicker of a gas-light on the +corner.</p> + +<p>"Hm! What now?" thought Gabriel, stopping to watch the little tragedy. +"More trouble, eh? It's trouble all up and down the line, for these poor +devils! Nothing but trouble for the slave-class. Well, well, let's see +what's wrong <i>now!</i>"</p> + +<p>Gabriel turned down the alley, drew near the little group, and halted.</p> + +<p>"What's wrong?" he asked, in the tone of authority he knew how to use; +the tone which always overbore his outward aspect, even though he might +have been clad in rags; the tone which made men yield to him, and women +look at him with trustful eyes, even as the Billionaire's daughter had +looked.</p> + +<p>"Search <i>me!</i>" murmured one of the men, shrugging his shoulders. "<i>I</i> +can't git nothin' out o' her. She's been sittin' here, cryin', a few +minutes, that's all I know; an' she won't say nothin' to nobody.</p> + +<p>"Any of you men know anything about it?" demanded Gabriel, looking at +the rest.</p> + +<p>A murmur of negation was his only answer. One or two others, scenting +some excitement, even though only that of a distressed woman—common +sight, indeed!—lingered near. The little group was growing.</p> + +<p>Gabriel bent and touched the woman's shoulder.</p> + +<p>"What's the matter?" asked he, in a gentle voice. "If you're in trouble, +let me help you."</p> + +<p>Renewed sobs were her only answer.</p> + +<p>"<a name="Page_183"></a>If you'll only tell me what's the matter," Gabriel went on, "I'm sure +I can do something for you."</p> + +<p>"You—you can't!" choked the woman, without raising her head from the +corner of the ragged shawl that she was holding over her eyes. "Nobody +can't! Bill, he's gone, and Eddy's gone, and Mr. Micolo says he won't +let me in. So there ain't nothin' to do. Let me alone—oh dear, oh dear, +dear!"</p> + +<p>Fresh tears and grief. The little knot of spectators, still growing, +nodded with approval, and figuratively licked its lips, in satisfaction. +Somewhere a boy snickered.</p> + +<p>"Come, come," said Gabriel, bending close over the grief-stricken woman, +"pull together, and let's hear what the trouble is! Who's Bill, and +who's Eddy—and what about Mr. Micolo? Come, tell me. I'm sure I can do +something to straighten things out."</p> + +<p>No answer. Gabriel turned to the increasing crowd, again.</p> + +<p>"Any of you people know what about it?" he asked.</p> + +<p>Again no answer, save that one elderly man, standing on the steps beside +the woman, remarked casually:</p> + +<p>"I guess she's got fired out of her room. That's all I know."</p> + +<p>Gabriel took her by the arm, and drew her up.</p> + +<p>"Come, now!" said he, a sterner note in his voice. "This won't do! You +mustn't sit here, and draw a crowd. First thing you know an officer will +be along, and you may get into trouble. Tell me what's wrong, and I +promise to see you through it, as far as I can."</p> + +<p>She raised her face, now, and looked at him, a moment. Tear-stained and +dishevelled though she was, and <a name="Page_184"></a>soiled by marks of drink and +debauchery, Gabriel saw she must once have been very beautiful and still +was comely.</p> + +<p>"Well," he asked. "Aren't you going to tell me?"</p> + +<p>"Tell you?" she repeated. "I—oh, I can't! Not in front of all them +men!"</p> + +<p>"Very well!" said he, "walk with me, and give me your story. Will you do +that? At all events, you mustn't stay here, making a disturbance on the +highway. If you knew the police as well as I do, you'd understand that!"</p> + +<p>"You're right, friend," said she, hoarsely. "I'm on, now. Come along +then—I'll tell you. It ain't much to tell; but it's a lot to me!"</p> + +<p>She glanced at the curious faces of the watchers, then turned and +followed Gabriel, who was already walking up the alley, toward the +brighter lights of Stuart Street. For a moment, one or two of the men +hesitated as though undecided whether or not to follow after; but one +backward look by Gabriel instantly dispelled any desire to intrude. And +as Gabriel and the woman turned into the street, the little knot of +curiosity-seekers dissolved into its component atoms, and vanished.</p> + + + +<br /><hr style="width: 65%;" /><br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_XXII"></a><h3><a name="Page_185"></a>CHAPTER XXII.</h3> + +<h4>THE TRAP IS SPRUNG.</h4> +<br /> + +<p>"It—it's all along o' that there Mr. Micolo!" the woman suddenly +exclaimed, "Him an' his rent-bill! If he'd ha' let me in, there, +tonight, I could ha' got Ed's things an' then started to my sister's, +out to Scottsville. But he wouldn't. He claimed they was +two-seventy-five still owin', and I didn't have but about fifty cents, +so I couldn't pay it. So he wouldn't let me in. Natchally, anybody'd +feel bad, like that, 'specially when a man told 'em he'd hold their +kid's clothes an' things till they paid—which they couldn't!"</p> + +<p>"Naturally, of course," answered Gabriel, rather dazed by this sudden +burst of details, with which she seemed to think he should already be +quite familiar—details all sordid and commonplace, through which he +seemed to perceive, dimly as in a dark glass, some mean and ugly tragedy +of poverty and ignorance and sin.</p> + +<p>"Are you hungry?" he asked, all at once. "If so, come in here, where we +can talk quietly and get things straight." He pointed at a cheap +restaurant, across the street.</p> + +<p>"Hungry? Gord, yes!" she exclaimed. Only I—I wouldn't ask, if I fell on +the sidewalk! Fifty cents—yes, I got that much, but I been tryin' to +get enough to pay Mr. Micolo, an' get hold of Ed's things, an'—"</p> + +<p>"All right, forget that, now," commanded Gabriel. He <a name="Page_186"></a>took her by the +arm and piloted her across the thoroughfare, then into the dingy +hash-house and to a table in a far corner. A few minutes later, pretty +much everything on the bill of fare was before them on the greasy table.</p> + +<p>"Not a word till you're satisfied," directed Armstrong. "I'll just take +a little bread and coffee, to keep you company."</p> + +<p>The woman adequately proved her statement that she was hungry. Rarely +had Gabriel seen anybody eat with such ravenous appetite. He watched her +with satisfaction, and when she could consume no more, smiled as he +asked:</p> + +<p>"Now, then, feel better? If so, let's tackle the next problem. What's +your grief?"</p> + +<p>The woman stared at him a long moment before she made reply. Then she +exclaimed suddenly:</p> + +<p>"You ain't no kind of 'bull,' are you? Nor plain-clothes man?"</p> + +<p>Gabriel shook his head.</p> + +<p>"No," said he, "nothing of that kind. You can trust me. Let's have the +story."</p> + +<p>"Hm! It ain't much, I s'pose," she answered still half-suspiciously. +"Bill and me was livin' together, that's all. No, not married, nor +nothin'—but—"</p> + +<p>"All right. Go on."</p> + +<p>"That was last winter. When the kid happened—Ed, you know—Bill, he got +sore, an' beat it. Then I—I went on the street, to keep Ed. Nothin' +else to do, Mister, so help me, an'—"</p> + +<p>"Never mind, I understand," said Gabriel. "What next?"</p> + +<p>"<a name="Page_187"></a>And after that, I gets sick. <i>You</i> know. Almost right away. So I has +to go to St. Luke's hospital. I leaves Ed with Mrs. McCane, at the same +house. That place in the alley, you know. Well, when I gets out, the +boy's dead. <i>An</i>' they never even tells me, till I goes back! An' I +can't even get his things. Because why? Mrs. McCane's gone, Gord knows +where, an' Mr. Micolo says I still owe two-seventy-five. I want to get +down there to Scottsville, to my sister's; but curse <i>me</i> if I'll go +till I pay that devil an' get them clothes!"</p> + +<p>A sudden savage light in her blurred eyes betrayed the passion of the +mother-love, through all the filth and soilure of her degradation. +Gabriel felt his heart deeply moved. He bent toward her, across the +table, touched her hand and asked:</p> + +<p>"Will you accept five dollars, to pay this man and get you down to +Scottsville?"</p> + +<p>"Huh?" she queried, gazing at him with vacant, uncomprehending eyes.</p> + +<p>He repeated his query. Then, as he saw the slow tears start and roll +down her wan cheeks, he felt a greater joy within his breast than if the +world and all its treasures had been his.</p> + +<p>"Will I take it?" she whispered. "Gord, <i>will</i> I? You bet I will! That +is, if I can have your name, an' pay it back some time?"</p> + +<p>He promised, and wrote it down for her, giving as his address Socialist +Headquarters in Chicago. Then, without publicity, he slipped a V into +her trembling hand.</p> + +<p>"Come on," said he. "<i>That's</i> all settled!"</p> + +<p>He paid the check, and they went out, together. For a moment they stood +together, undecided, on the sidewalk.</p> + +<p>"<a name="Page_188"></a>Couldn't I get them things to-night, an' start?" asked she, eagerly. +"There's a train at 11:08, on the B. R. & P."</p> + +<p>"All right," he assented. "Can you see this Micolo, now? It's after +ten."</p> + +<p>"Oh, <i>that</i> don't make no difference," she answered. "He runs a pawnshop +over here on Dexter Street, two blocks east. He'll be open till +midnight, easy, tomorrow bein' the Fourth."</p> + +<p>"Come on, then," said Gabriel. "I'll see you through the whole business, +and onto the train. Maybe I can help you, all along."</p> + +<p>Without another word she started, with Gabriel at her side. They +traversed the main street, two blocks, then turned to the left down a +narrower, darker one.</p> + +<p>"Here's Micolo's," said she, pausing at a doorway. Gabriel nodded. "All +right," he answered. He had not noted, nor did he dream, that, at the +corner behind them, two slinking, sneaking figures were now watching his +every move.</p> + +<p>The woman turned the knob, and entered. Gabriel followed.</p> + +<p>"It's on the second floor," said she. Gabriel saw a sign, on the +landing: "S. L. Micolo, Pawn Broker," and motioned her to precede +him.</p> + +<p>In a minute they had reached the upper hallway. The woman opened another +door. The room, inside, was dark.</p> + +<p>"This way," said she. "He's in the inside office, I guess. The light +must ha' gone out here, some way or other."</p> + +<p>Gabriel hesitated. Some inkling, some vague intui<a name="Page_189"></a>tion all at once had +come upon him, that all was not well. At his elbow some invisible force +seemed plucking. "Come away! Come back, before it is too late!" some +ghostly voice seemed calling in his ear.</p> + +<p>But still, he did not fully understand. Still he remained there, his +mind obsessed by the plausibility of the woman's story and by the pity +he so keenly felt.</p> + +<p>And now he heard her voice again:</p> + +<p>"Mr. Micolo! Oh, Mr. Micolo! Where are you?"</p> + +<p>Striking a match, he advanced into the room.</p> + +<p>"Any gas here?" he asked, peering about for a burner.</p> + +<p>Suddenly he started with violent emotion. Behind him, in some +unaccountable way, the door had been closed. He heard a key turn, +softly.</p> + +<p>"What—what's this?" he exclaimed. He heard the woman moving about, +somewhere in the gloom. "See here!" he cried. "What kind of a—?"</p> + +<p>The match burned brightly, all at once. He peered about him, wide-eyed.</p> + +<p>"This is no office!" shouted he. "Here, you! What's the meaning of this? +This is a bed-room!"</p> + +<p>Sudden realization of the trap stunned and sickened him.</p> + +<p>"God! They've got me! Flint and Waldron—they've landed me, at last!" he +choked. "But—but not till I've broken a few heads, by God!"</p> + +<p>The match fell from his burnt fingers. Whirling toward the door, he +rained powerful kicks upon it. He would get out, he must get out, at all +hazards!</p> + +<p>Suddenly the woman began to scream, with harsh and piercing cries that +seemed to rip the very atmosphere.</p> + +<br /> + +<a name="Page_190"></a><a name="Image_4"></a><center> +<img src="images/image-4.jpg" height="75%" alt="Aiming at the base of the skull she struck." title=""> +</center> +<div class="caption"><center><b>Aiming at the base of the skull she struck.</b></center></div> + +<br /> + +<p><a name="Page_191"></a>At the third scream, or the fourth, the key was turned and the door +jerked open.</p> + +<p>In its aperture, three men stood—the two who had been so long trailing +Gabriel, and a policeman, burly, red-jowled, big-paunched.</p> + +<p>Gabriel stared at them. His mouth opened, then closed again without a +word. As well for a trapped animal to make explanations to the Indian +hunter, as for him to tell these men the truth. The truth? <i>They</i> knew +the truth; and they were there to crucify him. He read it in their +cruel, eager eyes.</p> + +<p>The woman had stopped screaming now, and was weeping with abandon, +pouring forth a tale of insults and abuse and robbery, with hysterical +sobs.</p> + +<p>Full in the faces of the three men Gabriel sneered.</p> + +<p>"You've done a good job of it, this time, you skunks!" he gibed. "I'm +on. You'll get me, in the end; but not just yet. The first man through +this door gets his head broken—and that goes, too!"</p> + +<p>With a snarl of "You damned white slaver!" the officer raised his +night-stick and hurled himself at Gabriel.</p> + +<p>Gabriel ducked and planted a terrific left-hander on the "bull's" ear. +Roaring, the majesty of the law careened against the bed, crashed the +flimsy thing to wreckage and went down.</p> + +<p>Then, fighting back into the gloom of the trap, Gabriel engaged the two +detectives. For a moment he held them. One went to the floor with an +uppercut under the chin; but came back. The other landed hard on +Gabriel's jaw.</p> + +<p>He turned to strike down, again, the first of the two. He heard the bed +creaking, and saw the policeman struggling to arise. In a whirlwind of +blows, the second detec<a name="Page_192"></a>tive flailed at him, striving to beat down his +guard and floor him with a vicious rib-jolt.</p> + +<p>"All's fair, here!" thought Gabriel, snatching up a chair. For a moment +he brandished it on high. With this weapon, he knew—though final defeat +was inevitable, when reinforcements should arrive—he could sweep a +clear space.</p> + +<p>Perhaps he might even yet escape! He heard feet trampling on the stairs, +and his heart died within him. Well, even though escape were impossible, +he would fight to a finish and die game, if die he must!</p> + +<p>Down swung the chair, and round, crashing to ruin as it struck the +policeman who was just getting to his feet again. Oaths, cries, screams +made the place hideous. Dust rose, and blood began to flow.</p> + +<p>Armed now with one leg of the chair, Gabriel retreated; and as he went, +he hurled the bitterness of all his scorn and hate upon these vile +conspirators.</p> + +<p>And as he flayed them with his tongue, he struck; and like Samson +against the Philistines, he did great execution.</p> + +<p>Like Samson, too, he lost his power through a woman's treachery. For, +even as the attackers seemed to fall back, shattered and at a loss +before such fury and tremendous strength, behind Gabriel the woman rose, +a laugh of malice on her lips, the policeman's long and heavy +night-stick in her hand.</p> + +<p>A moment she poised it, crouching as he—seeing her not—swung his +weapon and hurled his defiance at the baffled men in front.</p> + +<p>Then, aiming at the base of the skull, she struck.</p> + +<p>Sudden bright lights spangled the darkness, for Gab<a name="Page_193"></a>riel. Everything +whirled about, in dizzying confusion. A strange, far roaring sounded in +his ears.</p> + +<p>Then he fell; and oblivion took him to its blessed peace and rest; and +all grew still and black.</p> + + + +<br /><hr style="width: 65%;" /><br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_XXIII"></a><h3><a name="Page_194"></a>CHAPTER XXIII.</h3> + +<h4>THE BEAST GLOATS.</h4> +<br /> + +<p>"Fer Gawd's sake, let's have a light here, somebody!" panted the +dishevelled policeman. Outside, the ringing of a gong became audible. +Then came a clattering of hoofs, as the police-patrol, nicely-timed by +the conspirators, and summoned by a confederate, drew up at the box on +the corner.</p> + +<p>Somebody struck another match, and a raw gas-light flared. From the +hallway, two or three others crowded into the wrecked room. Disjointed +exclamations, oaths and curses intermingled with harsh laughter.</p> + +<p>The woman—Lillian Rafter, probably the finest actress and stool-pigeon +in the whole detective world of graft and crookedness—lighted a +cigarette at the gas-burner, and laughed with triumph.</p> + +<p>"Some make-up, eh kid?" she demanded of the taller detective, who was +now nursing a bad "shiner," as a black eye is known in the under-world, +and whose face was battered to a bleeding pulp. "Believe me, as a job, +this is some job! From start to finish, a pippin. He was bound to fall +for it though. No help for him. Even if he hadn't butted into the +'plant' we fixed for him in the alley, there, I could have braced him in +the street with my tale of woe. He was just bound to be 'it,' this time. +We had him going, all ways for Sunday!"</p> + +<p>Scornfully the woman Gabriel had befriended in her <a name="Page_195"></a>seeming misery, spat +at him as he lay there stunned and scarcely breathing on the dirty +floor.</p> + +<p>"And just pipe this, will you, too?" she exulted, holding up the +five-dollar bill he had given her. "And this?" She exhibited his name +and address, written on a card. "In his own writing, boys. As evidence +to hold him on a white slave charge, is this some evidence or isn't it?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, we'll hold him, all right!" growled the other detective, whose +right arm dangled limp, where the chair had struck him. "The —— —— +of a ——! He'll go up for a finif, a five-spot, or I'm a liar! And once +we get him behind bars, good-night!"</p> + +<p>He deliberately drew back his heavy boot and kicked Gabriel full in the +face.</p> + +<p>"You —— ——!" he cursed. "Try to bean <i>me</i>, will you? Damn you! +You've made <i>your</i> last soap-box spiel!"</p> + +<p>"Come on, now, boys, out with him, an' no more rag-chewin'!" the +policeman exclaimed. "Git him in the wagon, an' away, before a gang +piles in here! You, Caffery, take his feet. I'll manage his head. Jesus, +but he's some big guy, though, the —— —— of a ——!"</p> + +<p>Together, the battered policeman and the detective who still had some +strength left in him, raised Gabriel's limp body and carried it from the +room. The woman, meanwhile, stood there inhaling cigarette-smoke and +laughing viciously to herself.</p> + +<p>"You easy mutt!" she exclaimed. "Dead baby, room-rent due, wanted to get +home to sister—and you fell for that old gag with whiskers on it! +You're some wise guy all right, all right, I don't think. Well, as a +stall it was a beaut. And I must say I never screamed better in all <a name="Page_196"></a>my +life. And that wallop I handed out, was a peach. If I don't pull down +five hundred for this night's work—"</p> + +<p>"Shut up, you ——!" snarled Caffery, as he turned into the stairway. +"Keep that lip o' yours quiet, will you, or—"</p> + +<p>The woman stared at him a moment, then laughed insolently and snapped +her smoke-yellowed fingers at him in defiance.</p> + +<p>"Mind you show up in court, in the mornin'!" panted the officer, +staggering downstairs under the weight of Gabriel's huge shoulders.</p> + +<p>"Better arrest her now," suggested Caffery, "an' hold her."</p> + +<p>"You will, like Hell!" retorted the woman.</p> + +<p>"Shhh! In one door an' out the other," the second detective whispered in +her ear, as she stood there in the doorway. "I'll see to it you get +fifty extra for <i>that!</i>"</p> + +<p>"Oh, if that's the game, fine business!" she smiled. "Go to it—I'm your +huckleberry!"</p> + +<p>Thus it befell that, while a large and growing crowd observed, under the +arc-light on the corner—a crowd where no fewer than six reporters, all +duly tipped off in advance, were taking notes—Gabriel Armstrong, the +Socialist speaker and leader, was bundled, unconscious, into a patrol +wagon of the City of Rochester; and with him, a drunken-acting harlot, +babbling charges of white-slave extortion and violence against him; and +with them both, several witnesses, who would have sworn that Heaven was +Hell, for five dollars cash in hand.</p> + +<p>Thus was the stage set, for the next session of the honorable court. +Thus were the wires pulled. Thus, the prison doors were swung wide open, +and, above all, the <a name="Page_197"></a>honor and the reputation of a man swept to the +garbage-heaps of life.</p> + +<p>True, at the morrow's great mass-meeting, there were destined to be +protests and calls for investigation. The Socialist press was destined +to take it up, defend him and demand the truth. But, swamped by a +perfectly overwhelming capitalist press, not only naturally hostile but +in this case already heavily subsidized; shattered by the close-knit, +circumstantial evidence; hamstrung and hampered in every way by the +power of unlimited money and Tammany pull, the Socialists might as well +have tried to sweep back the sea with a broom as save this man from +legal crucifixion. Worse still, they themselves, and the beaten strikers +with whom they had been fraternizing, got a black eye in the affair; and +many an editorial column, many a pulpit, unctuously discoursed thereon. +Many an anti-Socialist thug and grafter, loud-mouthed and blatant, +bellowed revamped platitudes of "immorality" and "breaking up the home," +and the "nation of fatherless children," pointing at Gabriel Armstrong +as a shining example of Socialist hypocrisy and filth.</p> + +<p>Press, law, church, capitalism itself nailed this man and the movement +he stood for, to the cross. And the pimps and parasites of the private +detective agency chuckled in their well-paid glee. The woman, Gabriel's +betrayer, counted her "thirty pieces of silver" and laughed in the foul +dark. The police cut a fine melon secretly handed them by Flint; and so, +too, did the local papers and more than one local pulpit.</p> + +<p>So, in Gabriel's grief and woe and desolation, as he sat in his grim +cell with aching head, bruised face and bleeding heart, with all his +plans now broken, with the very <a name="Page_198"></a>soul within him dead—in this grief and +anguish, I say, the foul harpy-brood of Capitalism revelled and rioted +like maggots in carrion.</p> + +<p>None more viciously than old Flint, himself. None with more brutal joy, +more savage satisfaction. One of the culminant moments of his life, he +felt, was on the evening after the dastardly plot had been carried to +its putrid conclusion.</p> + +<p>Opening the Rochester "News-Intelligencer" which Slade had sent him, his +glittering eyes seemed to sparkle joy as a blue-penciled column met his +gaze.</p> + +<p>Eagerly he read it all, every word, and weighed it, and re-read it, as +men do when news is dear to their souls. Already, through the New York +papers he had got the essentials of the affair. Already, by long +distance 'phone he had received the outlines of the news from Slade, as +well as a code telegram of more than 500 words, giving him additional +details. But this paper especially pleased him. The other Rochester +sheets, which Slade would send as fast as they appeared, he already was +looking forward to, with keenest pleasure.</p> + +<p>"Ah! <i>This</i> is what I call efficiency!" he exclaimed, settling himself +in his big chair, adjusting the pince-nez on his hawk-bill and preparing +to read the column for the third time. "The way this thing was planned +and carried out, and the manner in which Slade has managed to get it +played up in the papers, proves to me he's a general in his line, a true +Napoleon. I may safely intrust any affair of this sort to him and his +agency. No fee of his shall ever be questioned; and as for +bonuses—well, he shall have no reason to complain. An admirable man, in +every way—a wonderful organization! With men and agencies like <a name="Page_199"></a><i>these</i> +at work in our interests, what have we, really, to be uneasy about?"</p> + +<p>Smacking his mental lips, if I may be pardoned the phrase, he once more +slowly read the delightful, gratifying news:</p> + +<div class="blkquot"><p><i>SOCIALIST WHITE-SLAVER!</i> + +<p> <i>Rotten Affair Unearthed by Police!</i></p> + +<p> <i>Gabriel Armstrong, Socialist Leader, Caught With the Goods!!!</i></p> + +<p> Rochester, July 4.</p> + +<p> "In one of the most sensational raids ever made in this city, by + the vice squad, under the auspices of the Purity League, what is + believed to be a well-organized white-slave business was unearthed + last night. The leader and brains of the association, Gabriel + Armstrong, a Socialist speaker and worker of national prominence, + was arrested, and is now lodged in Police Headquarters, with + serious charges pending.</p> + +<p> "The arrest was made as a result of the keen work of Officer + Michael P. Duffey, sergeant of the vice squad. Hearing screams in + the assignation house at 42A Belding street, he made his way up + stairs, accompanied by two or three citizens. The screams were + coming from a room on the second floor. Duffey promptly battered + the door down only to be met by a furious assault from Armstrong, + who was intoxicated and extremely violent.</p> + +<p> "A savage hand-to-hand struggle took place, in which furniture was + broken, the policeman badly injured and two of the volunteers + knocked out. Armstrong was finally subdued, however, by the + jiu-jitsu method, in which Duffey is an expert, and was lodged in + the Central Station, together with the woman.</p> + +<p> "According to her statement, the man, Armstrong, had not only been + guilty of grossly immoral practices with her, but had also been + trying to force her to share with him the proceeds of her life of + shame, thus making out against him a clear case under the Mann + White-Slave Traffic law. She has material evidence of this + fact—money which he had given her, to finance her till she could + begin bringing in revenue to him, and also his name and address, + written by his own hand. A significant fact is that the address + given by this white slaver is Socialist headquarters, in Chicago. + The police are now working on the theory that the entire Socialist + organization is honeycombed with this traffic, and that the + Socialist movement is only a blind to cover a wholesale + distribution of women for immoral purposes.<a name="Page_200"></a> Drastic Federal action + against the Socialist Party is now being considered.</p> + +<p> "Still further and more sensational facts are expected to develop + at the preliminary hearing, which will take place tomorrow morning. + In case Armstrong is bound over to the Grand Jury, and convicted, + he may get a heavy fine and as much as five years in a Federal + penitentiary. He is described as being a surly, low type, reticent + and vindictive, of vicious characteristics and mentally defective. + The local Socialists have already taken up arms in his defense, as + was to be expected.</p> + +<p> "Interest is added to the case by the fact that Armstrong is known + to be the man who, at the time of the recent automobile accident to + Miss Catherine Flint—daughter of Isaac Flint, of Englewood, + N. J.—gave the alarm. A theory is now being formed that he + was, in some way, involved in a plot with Miss Flint's chauffeur to + wreck the machine and share a big reward for rescuing the girl. The + plot, however, evidently miscarried, for the chauffeur was killed, + and Armstrong, after giving the alarm, feared to divulge his + identity but fled in disguise.</p> + +<p> "Public interest is greatly aroused in this matter. And if, as now + seems positively certain, this arrest and forthcoming conviction + break up the vicious white-slave gang for some time operating in + Rochester and Ontario Beach, the public will have a still greater + debt of gratitude toward the Purity League, the Vice Squad and the + untiring efforts and bravery of Sergeant Duffey."</p></div> + +<p>"That, ah that," remarked old Flint, as he finished his last reading, +"is what I call literature! It may not be Scott or Shelley or Dickens, +but it's got far more than <i>they</i> ever had—tremendous value to—er—to +the rightful masters of society. I dare say that this article and also +others like it that are bound to be printed during the trial and after, +will do more to secure our position in society than a whole army with +machine guns. Socialism, eh? After this campaign gets through, by God, +we'll sweep up the leavings in a dustpan and throw them out the window!"</p> + +<p>Again he surveyed the article, smiling thinly.</p> + +<p>"Literature, yes," he repeated. "The writer of those <a name="Page_201"></a>lines, and the +master-minds who engineered the whole affair, must and shall be +liberally rewarded. Editors, preachers, writers, they're all on our +side. All safe and sane—that is, nearly all—enough, at any event, to +assure our safety. I rejoice that I have lived to see this day!"</p> + +<p>He turned the sheets of the paper, to see if any other notice of the +affair was printed; and as he looked, he pondered.</p> + +<p>"Imagine the effect of this, on Kate!" thought he. "It will be just as I +planned it. Nothing will be left in her mind now, but loathing, hate and +rage against this man. In two days, she and Waldron will have patched up +their little difference, and all will be well. A master-stroke on my +part, eh? Yes, yes indeed, a master-stroke!"</p> + +<p>His eye caught another blue-pencilling.</p> + +<p>"Editorial, eh?" said he, adjusting his glasses. "Better and better! +This affair will sweep those troublemakers off the map, or I'm a +beggar!"</p> + +<p>Then, with the keenest of satisfaction, he focussed his attention on the +sapient editorial:</p> + +<div class="blkquot"><p><i>SOCIALISM UNVEILED</i>. + +<p> The arrest and impending conviction of Gabriel Armstrong, the noted + Socialist leader, on a white-slave traffic charge, will do much to + set all sane thinkers right in regard to this whole matter of + Socialist ethics. Socialists, as we have all heard, contend that + their system of thought teaches a high and pure form of morality. + How will they square this assertion with the hard, cold facts, as + brought to light in this most revolting case?</p> + +<p> Much more seems to lie beneath the surface than at first sight + appears. Though we desire to suspend judgment until all the data + are known, it appears conclusively proved that Armstrong is but one + of a band of white-slavers<a name="Page_202"></a> operating through the organization of, + and with the consent of the Socialist party, or at least of its + responsible officials.</p> + +<p> If this prove to be the case, it will substantiate the suspicion + long felt in many quarters that this whole movement, ostensibly + political, is really a menace to the moral and social welfare of + the nation. A foreign importation, openly standing against the + home, the family and religion, may well be expected to foster such + crimes and to be a "culture-medium" for the growth of such vile + microbes as this man Armstrong, and others of his kind.</p> + +<p> Turn on the light! Bring the social antiseptics! Let all the facts + be established; and when known, if—as we anticipate—they prove + this nasty conspiracy, let us make an end, now and forever, to this + un-American, immoral and filthy thing, Socialism! To this object + this paper now and henceforth pledges its policy; and all decent + publications, all citizens who love their country, their God, their + homes, their flag, will join with it in a nation-wide crusade to + choke this slimy monster of Anarchy and Free-love, and fling it + back into the Pit where it belongs.</p> + +<p> Long live religion, purity and the flag! Down with Socialism!</p></div> + +<p>Flint regarded this masterpiece with an approving eye. Then, chuckling +to himself, he arose and with slow steps advanced toward the dining-room +where already Catherine was awaiting him.</p> + +<p>"Now," he murmured to himself, and smiled thinly, "now for a little +scene with Kate!"</p> + + + +<br /><hr style="width: 65%;" /><br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_XXIV"></a><h3><a name="Page_203"></a>CHAPTER XXIV.</h3> + +<h4>CATHERINE'S SUPREME DECISION.</h4> +<br /> + +<p>The meal was almost at an end—silently, like all their hours spent +together, now—before the old man sprang his <i>coup</i>. It was +characteristic of him to wait thus, to hold his fire till what he +conceived to be the opportune moment; never to act prematurely, under +any circumstances whatever.</p> + +<p>"By the way, Kate," he remarked, casually, when coffee had been served +and he had motioned the butlers out of the room, "by the way, I've been +rather badly disappointed, today. Did you know that?"</p> + +<p>"No, father," she answered. She never called him "daddy," now. "No, I'm +sorry to hear it. What's gone wrong?"</p> + +<p>He looked at her a moment before replying, as though to gauge her mind +and the effect his announcement might have. Very charming she looked, +that evening, in a crêpe de Chine gown with three-quarter lace sleeves +and an Oriental girdle—a wonderful Nile-green creation, very simple +(she had told herself) yet of staggering cost. A single white rose +graced her hair. The low-cut neck of the gown revealed a full, strong +bosom. Around her throat she wore a fine gold chain, with a French +20-franc piece and her Vassar Phi Beta Kappa key attached—the only +pendants she cared for. The gold coin spoke to her of the land of her +far ancestry, a land oft visited by <a name="Page_204"></a>her and greatly loved; the gold key +reminded her of college, and high rank taken in studies there.</p> + +<p>Old Flint noted some of these details as he sat looking at her across +the white and gleaming table, where silver and gold plate, cut glass and +flowers and fine Sèvres china all combined to make a picture of splendor +such as the average workingman or his wife has never even dreamed of or +imagined; a picture the merest commonplace, however, to Flint and +Catherine.</p> + +<p>"A devilish fine-looking girl!" thought he, eyeing his daughter with +approval. "She'd grace any board in the world, whether billionaire's or +prince's! Waldron, old man, you'll never be able to thank me +sufficiently for what I'm going to do for you tonight—never, that is, +unless you help me make the Air Trust the staggering success I think you +can, and give me the boost I need to land the whole damned world as my +own private property!"</p> + +<p>He chuckled dryly to himself, then drew the paper from his pocket.</p> + +<p>"Well, father, what's gone wrong?" asked Kale, again. "Your +disappointment—what was it?"</p> + +<p>She spoke without animation, tonelessly, in a flat, even voice. Since +that night when her father had tried to force Waldron upon her, and had +taunted her with loving the vagabond (as he said) who had rescued her, +something seemed to have been broken, in her manner; some spring of +action had snapped; some force was lacking now.</p> + +<p>"What's wrong with me?" asked Flint, trying to veil the secret malice +and keen satisfaction that underlay his speech. "Oh, just this. You +remember about a week <a name="Page_205"></a>ago, when we—ah—had that little talk in the +music room—?"</p> + +<p>"Don't, father, please!" she begged, raising one strong, brown hand. +"Don't bring that up again. It's all over and done with, that matter is. +I beg you, don't re-open it!"</p> + +<p>"I—you misunderstand me, my dear child," said Flint, trying to smile, +but only flashing his gold tooth. "At that time I told you I was looking +for, and would reward, if found, the—er—man who had been so brave and +quick-witted as to rescue you. You remember?"</p> + +<p>"Really, father, I beg you not to—"</p> + +<p>"Why not, pray?" requested Flint, gazing at her through his pince-nez. +"My intentions, I assure you, were most honest and philanthropic. If I +had found him—<i>then</i>—I'd have given him—"</p> + +<p>"Oh, but he wouldn't have taken anything, you see!" the girl +interrupted, with some spirit. "I told you that, at the time. It's just +as true, now. So please, father, let's drop the question altogether."</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry not to be able to grant your request, my dear," said the old +man, with hidden malice. "But really, this time, you must hear me. My +disappointment arises from the fact that I've just discovered the young +man's identity, and—"</p> + +<p>"You—you have?" Kate exclaimed, grasping the edge of the table with a +nervous hand. Her father smiled again, bitterly.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I have," said he, with slow emphasis, "and I regret to say, my +dear child, that my diagnosis of his character is precisely what I first +thought. Any interest you may feel in that quarter is being applied to a +very <a name="Page_206"></a>unworthy object. The man is one of my discharged employees, a +thorough rascal and hard ticket in every way—one of the lowest-bred and +most villainous persons yet unhung, I grieve to state. The fact that he +carried you in his arms, and that I owe your preservation to him, is one +of the bitterest facts in my life. Had it been any other man, no matter +of what humble birth—"</p> + +<p>"Father!" she cried, bending forward and gazing at him with strange +eyes. "Father! By what right and on what authority do you make these +accusations? That man, I know, was all that innate gentleness and +upright manhood could make any man. His nobility was not of wealth or +title, but of—"</p> + +<p>"Nonsense!" Flint interrupted. "Nobility, eh? Read <i>that</i>, will you?"</p> + +<p>Leering, despite himself, he handed the paper across the table to his +daughter.</p> + +<p>"Those marked passages," said he. "And remember, this is only the +beginning. Wait till all the facts are known, the whole conspiracy laid +bare and everything exposed to public view! <i>Then</i> tell me, if you can, +that he is poor but noble! Bah! Sunday-school dope, that! Noble, yes!"</p> + +<p>Catherine sat there staring at the paper, a minute, as though quite +unable to decipher a word. Through a kind of wavering mist that seemed +to swim before her eyes, she vaguely saw the words: "Socialist White +Slaver!" but that these bore any relation to the man she remembered, +back there at the sugar-house, had not yet occurred to her mind. She +simply could not grasp the significance of the glaring headlines. And, +turning a blank gaze on her father's face, she stammered:</p> + +<p>"<a name="Page_207"></a>Why—why do you give me this? What has this got to do with—<i>me?</i> With +<i>him?</i>"</p> + +<p>"Everything!" snarled the Billionaire, violently irritated by his +daughter's seeming obtuseness. "Everything, I tell you! That man, that +strong and noble hero of yours, is this man! This white slaver! This +wild beast—this Socialist—this Anarchist! Do you understand now, or +don't you? Do you grasp the truth at last, or is your mind incapable of +apprehending it?"</p> + +<p>He had risen, and now was standing there at his side of the table, +shaking with violent emotion, his glasses awry, face wrinkled and drawn, +hands twitching. His daughter, making no answer to his taunts, sat with +the paper spread before her on the table. A wine glass, overset, had +spilled a red stain—for all the world like the workers' blood, spilled +in war and industry for the greater wealth and glory of the masters—out +across the costly damask, but neither she nor Flint paid any heed.</p> + +<p>For he was staring only at her; and she, now having mastered herself a +little, though her full breast still rose and fell too quickly, was +struggling to read the slanderous lies and foul libels of the +blue-penciled article.</p> + +<p>Silently she read, paling a little but otherwise giving no sign to show +her father how the tide of her thought was setting. Twice over she read +the article; then, pushing the paper back, looked at old Flint with eyes +that seemed to question his very soul—eyes that saw the living truth, +below.</p> + +<p>"It is a lie!" said she, at last, in a grave, quiet voice.</p> + +<p>"What?" blurted the old man. "A—a lie?"</p> + +<p>She nodded.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said she. "A lie."</p> + +<p><a name="Page_208"></a>Furious, he ripped open the paper, and once more shoved it at her.</p> + +<p>"Fool!" cried he. "Read <i>that!</i>" And his shaking, big-knuckled finger +tapped the editorial on "Socialism Unveiled."</p> + +<p>"No," she answered, "I need read no more. I know; I understand!"</p> + +<p>"You—you know <i>what?</i>" choked Flint. "This is an editorial, I tell you! +It represents the best thought and the most careful opinion of the +paper. And it condemns this man, absolutely, as a criminal and a menace +to society. It denounces him and his whole gang of Socialists or +Anarchists or White-slavers—they're all the same thing—as a plague to +the world. That's the editor's opinion; and remember, he's on the +ground, there. He has all the facts. You—<i>you</i> are at a distance, and +have none! Yet you set up your futile, childish opinion—"</p> + +<p>"No more, father! No more!" cried Catherine, also standing up. She faced +him calmly, coldly, magnificently. "You can't talk to me this way, any +more. Cannot, and must not! As I see this thing—and my woman's +intuition tells me more in a minute than you can explain away in an +hour—this fabrication here has all, or nearly all, been invented and +carried out by you. For what reason? This—to discredit this man! To +make me hate and loathe him! To force me back to Waldron. To—"</p> + +<p>"Stop!" shouted the old man, in a well-assumed passion. "No daughter of +mine shall talk to me this way! Silence! It is monstrous and +unthinkable. It—it is horrible beyond belief! Silence, I tell +you—and—"</p> + +<p>"No, father, not silence," she replied, with perfect <a name="Page_209"></a>poise. "Not +silence now, but speech. Either this thing is true or it is false. In +either case, I must know the facts. The papers? No truth in <i>those!</i> The +finding of the courts? today, they are a by-word and a mockery! All I +can trust is the evidence of my own senses; what I hear, and feel, and +see. So then—"</p> + +<p>"Then?" gulped the Billionaire, holding the back of his chair in a +trembling grasp.</p> + +<p>"Just this, father. I'm going to Rochester, myself, to investigate this +thing, to see this man, to hear his side of the story, to know—"</p> + +<p>"Do that," cried Flint in a terrible voice, "and you never enter these +doors again! From the minute you leave Idle Hour on that fool's errand, +my daughter is dead to me, forever!"</p> + +<p>Swept clean off his feet by rage, as well as by the deadly fear of what +might happen if his daughter really were to learn the truth, he had lost +his head completely.</p> + +<p>With quiet attention, the girl regarded him, then smiled inscrutably.</p> + +<p>"So it be," she replied. "Even though you disinherit me or turn me off +with a penny, my mind is made up, and my duty's clear.</p> + +<p>"While things like these are going on in the world, outside, I have no +right to linger and to idle here. I am no child, now; I have been +thinking of late, reading, learning. Though I can't see it all clearly, +yet, I know that every bite we eat, means deprivation to some other +people, somewhere. This light and luxury mean poverty and darkness +elsewhere. This fruit, this wine, this very bread is ours because some +obscure and unknown men have toiled and sweat and given them to us. Even +<a name="Page_210"></a>this cut glass on our table—see! What tragedies it could reveal, could +it but speak! What tales of coughing, consumptive glass-cutters, bending +over wheels, their lungs cut to pieces by the myriad spicules of sharp +glass, so that we, we of our class, may enjoy beauty of design and +coloring! And the silken gown I wear—that too has cost—"</p> + +<p>"No more! No more of this!" gurgled old Flint, now nearly in apoplexy. +"I deny you! I repudiate you, Anarchist that you are! Go! Never come +back—never, never—!"</p> + +<p>Stumbling blindly, he turned and staggered out of the room. She watched +him go, nor tried to steady his uncertain steps. In the hallway, +outside, she heard him ring for Slawson, heard the valet come, and both +of them ascend the stairs.</p> + +<p>"Father," she whispered to herself, a look of great and pure spiritual +beauty on her noble face, "father, this had to come. Sooner or later, it +was inevitable. Whatever you have done, I forgive you, for you <i>are</i> my +father, and have surely acted for what you think my interest.</p> + +<p>"But none the less, the end is here and now. Between you and me, a great +gulf is fixed. And from tonight I face the world, to battle with it, +learn from it, and know the truth in every way. Enough of this false, +easy, unnatural life. I cannot live it any longer; it would crush and +stifle me! Enough! I must be free, I shall be free, to know, and dare, +and do!"</p> + +<p>That night, having had no further speech with old Flint, Kate left Idle +Hour, taking just a few necessities in a suit-case, and a few dollars +for her immediate needs.</p> + +<p>Giving no explanation to maid, valet or anyone, she let <a name="Page_211"></a>herself out, +walked through the great estate and down Englewood Avenue, to the +station, where she caught a train for Jersey City.</p> + +<p>The midnight special for Chicago bore her swiftly westward. No sleeping +car she took, but passed the night in a seat of an ordinary coach. Her +ticket read "Rochester."</p> + +<p>The old page of her Book of Life was closed forever. A new and better +page was open wide.</p> + + + +<br /><hr style="width: 65%;" /><br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_XXV"></a><h3><a name="Page_212"></a>CHAPTER XXV.</h3> + +<h4>THROUGH STEEL BARS.</h4> +<br /> + +<p>True to her plan, Catherine ended her journey at Rochester. She engaged +a room at a second-rate hotel—marvelling greatly at the meanness of the +accommodations, the like of which she had never seen—and, at ten +o'clock of the morning, appeared at the Central Police Station. The +bundle of papers in her hand indicated that she had read the latest lies +and venom poured out on Gabriel's defenseless head.</p> + +<p>The haughty, full-fed sergeant in charge of the station made some +objections, at first, to letting her see Gabriel; but the tone of her +voice and the level look of her gray eye presently convinced him he was +playing with fire, and he gave in. Summoning an officer, he bade the man +conduct her. Iron doors opened and closed for her. She was conscious of +long, ill-smelling, concrete-floored corridors, with little steel cages +at either side—cages where hopeless, sodden wrecks of men were +standing, or sitting in attitudes of brutal despair, or lying on foul +bunks, motionless and inert as logs.</p> + +<p>For a moment her heart failed her.</p> + +<p>"Good Lord! Can such things be?" she whispered to herself. "So +this—this is a police station? And real jails and penitentiaries are +worse? Oh, horrible! I never dreamed of anything like this, or any men +like these!"</p> + +<p><a name="Page_213"></a>The officer, stopping at a cell-door and banging thereon with some +keys, startled her.</p> + +<p>"Here, youse," he addressed the man within, "lady to see youse!"</p> + +<p>Catherine was conscious that her heart was pounding hard and her breath +coming fast, as she peered in through those cold, harsh metal bars. For +a minute she could find no thought, no word. Within, her eyes—still +unaccustomed to the gloom—vaguely perceived a man's figure, big and +powerful, and different in its bearing from those other cringing +wretches she had glimpsed.</p> + +<p>Then the man came toward her, stopped, peered and for a second drew +back. And then—then she heard his voice, in a kind of startled joy:</p> + +<p>"Oh—is it—is it <i>you?</i>"</p> + +<p>"Yes," she answered. "I must see you! I must talk with you, again, and +know the truth!"</p> + +<p>The officer edged nearer.</p> + +<p>"Youse can talk all y' want to," he dictated, hoarsely, "but don't you +pass nothin' in. No dope, nor nothin', see? I'll stick around an' watch, +anyhow; but don't try to slip him no dream powders or no 'snow.' 'Cause +if you do—"</p> + +<p>"What—what <i>on</i> earth are you talking about?" the girl demanded, +turning on the officer with absolute astonishment. But he, only winking +wisely, repeated:</p> + +<p>"You heard me, didn't you? No dope. I'm wise to this whole game."</p> + +<p>At a loss for his meaning, yet without any real desire to fathom it, +Kate turned back toward Gabriel.</p> + +<p>A moment they two looked at each other, each noting any change that +might have taken place since that won<a name="Page_214"></a>derful hour in the sugar-house, +each hungering and thirsting for a sight of the other's face. In her +heart, already Kate knew as well as she knew she was alive, that this +man was totally innocent of the foul charges heaped upon him. And so she +looked at him with eyes wherein lay no reproach, no doubt and no +suspicion. And, as she looked, tears started, and her heart swelled +hotly in her breast; for he was bruised and battered and a helpless +captive.</p> + +<p>"He, caged like a trapped animal!" her thought was. "He, so strong, and +free, and brave! Oh, horrible, horrible!"</p> + +<p>He must have read something of this feeling, in her face; for now, +coming close to the bars, he said in a low tone:</p> + +<p>"Girl—your name I don't know, even yet—girl, you mustn't pity me! +That's <i>one</i> thing I can't have. I'm here because the master class is +stronger than my class, the working class. Here, because I'm dangerous +to that master class. This isn't said to make myself out a martyr. It's +only to make you see things right. I'm not complaining at this plight. +I've richly earned it—under Capitalism. So, then, <i>that's</i> settled.</p> + +<p>"And now, what's more important, tell me how <i>you</i> are! And did your +wound cause you much trouble? I confess I've passed many an anxious +hour, thinking of your narrow escape and of your injury. It wasn't too +bad, was it? Tell me!"</p> + +<p>"No," she answered, still holding to the bars, for she somehow felt +quite unaccountably weak. "It wasn't very bad. There's hardly any scar +at all—or won't be, when it's fully healed. But all this is trifling, +compared to what <a name="Page_215"></a><i>you've</i> suffered and are suffering. Oh, what a +horrible affair! What frightful accusations! Tell me the truth, +Boy—how, why could—?"</p> + +<p>He looked at her a moment, in silence, noting her splendid hair and eyes +and mouth, the firm, well-moulded chin, the confident and self-reliant +poise of the shapely head; and as he looked, he knew he loved this +woman. He understood, at last, how dear she was to him—dearer than +anything else in all the world save just his principles and stern life +work. He comprehended the meaning of all, his dreams and visions and +long thoughts. And, caring nothing for consequences, unskilled in the +finesse of dealing with women, acting wholly on the irresistible +impulses of a heart that overflowed, he looked deep into those gray eyes +and said in a tone that set her heart-strings vibrating:</p> + +<p>"Listen! The truth? How could I tell you anything else? I know not who +you are, and care not. That you are rich and powerful and free, while I +am poor and in captivity, means nothing. Love cares not for such +trifles. It dares all, hopes all, trusts all, believes all—and is +patient in adversity."</p> + +<p>"Love?" she whispered, her face paling. "How do you dare to—?"</p> + +<p>"Dare? Because my heart bids me. And where it bids, I care not for +conventions or consequences!" He flung his hand out with a splendid +gesture, his head high, his eyes lustrous in the half-light of the cell. +"Where it leads, I have to follow. That is why I am a Socialist! That is +why I am here, today, outcast and execrated, a prisoner, in danger of +long years of living death in the pestilential tomb of some foul +penitentiary!"</p> + +<p>"<a name="Page_216"></a>You're here because—because you are a Socialist?" she asked.</p> + +<p>He nodded.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said he. "I tried to help a suffering, outcast woman—or one who +posed as such. And she betrayed me to my enemies. And so—"</p> + +<p>"There <i>was</i> a woman in this affair, then?" Catherine queried with +sudden pain. "The newspapers haven't made the story <i>all</i> up out of +whole cloth?"</p> + +<p>"No. There <i>was</i> a woman. A Delilah, who delivered me into the hands of +the Philistines, when I tried to help her in what she lied in telling me +was her need. Will you hear the story?"</p> + +<p>Still very pale, she formed a half-inarticulate "Yes!" with her full +lips. Then, seeming to brace herself by a tighter clasp on the hard +steel grating, she listened while he spoke.</p> + +<p>Earnestly, honestly and with perfect straightforwardness, omitting +nothing, adding nothing, he gave her the narrative of that fatal night's +events, from the first moment he had laid eyes on the +wonderfully-disguised woman, till her cudgel-blow had laid him senseless +on the floor.</p> + +<p>He told her the part that every actor therein had played; how the whole +drama had been staged, to dishonor and convict him, to railroad him to +the Pen for a long term, perhaps to kill him. He spoke in a low voice, +to prevent the watching officer from overhearing; and as he talked, he +thanked his stars that in all this network of conspiracy and crime +against the Party and against himself, his captors had not yet placed +him incommunicado. For some reason—perhaps because they thought <a name="Page_217"></a>their +case against him absolutely secure and wanted to avoid any appearance of +unfairness or of martyrizing him—this restriction had not yet been laid +upon him. So now his message of the truth could reach the ears of her +who, more than all the world beside, had grown dear to him and precious +beyond words.</p> + +<p>He told her, then, not only the story of that night, but also all that +had since happened—the newspaper attacks on him and on the Party; the +deliberate attempt to poison the community and the nation against him; +the struggle to fix a foul and lasting blot upon his name, and ruin him +beyond redemption.</p> + +<p>"And why, all this?" he added, while she—listening so intently that she +hardly breathed—knew that he spoke the living, vital truth. "Why this +persecution, this plotting, this labor and expense to 'get' me. Do you +want to know?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, tell me!" she whispered. "I don't understand. I can't! It—it all +seems so horrible, so unreal, so—so different from what I've always +believed about the majesty and purity of the law! Can these things be, +indeed?"</p> + +<p>He laughed bitterly.</p> + +<p>"Can they?" he repeated. "When you see that they <i>are</i>, isn't that +answer enough? And the reason of it all is that I'm a Socialist and know +certain secrets of certain men, which—if I should tell the +world—might, nay, surely would precipitate a revolution. So, these men, +and the System behind them, have tried to discredit me by this foul +charge. After this, if the charge sticks, I may shout my head off, +exposing what I know; and who will listen? You know the answer as well +as I! Do I complain? No, not once! What I must suffer, for this +<a name="Page_218"></a>wondrous Cause, is not a tenth what thousands suffer every day, in +silence and high courage. What has happened to me, personally, is but +the merest trifle beside what has already happened to thousands, +fighting for life and liberty, for wife and home and children; for the +right to work and live like men, not beasts!"</p> + +<p>"You mean the—the working class?" she ventured, wonderingly. "Is this +outrage really a minor one, compared with what they, who feed and warm +and carry the whole world, have to suffer? Tell me, for I—God help me, +I am ignorant! I am beginning to see, to half-see, awful, dim, ghostly +shapes of huge, unspeakable wrongs. Tell me the truth about all this, as +you have told it about yourself—and let me know!"</p> + +<p>Then Gabriel talked as never he had talked before. To this, his audience +of one, there in the dirty and ill-smelling police station, he unfolded +the sad tale of the disinherited, the enslaved, the wretched, as never +to a huge, and spell-bound audience in hall or park or city street. His +eloquence, always convincing, now became sublime.</p> + +<p>With master strokes he painted vast outlines of the whole sad +picture—the System based on robbery and fraud and exploitation; its +natural results in millionaire and tramp and harlot and degenerate; the +crime of armies of unemployed and starving men, of millions of women +forced into the factories and shops, there to compete with men and lower +wages and lose their finest feminine attributes in the sordid and +heartless drudging for a pittance.</p> + +<p>He told her of child slavery, and brought before her eyes the pictures +he himself had seen, of the pale, stunted little victims of Mammon's +greed, toiling by day and night in stifling, dangerous mines; in the +Hell-glare of <a name="Page_219"></a>the glass-factories; in the hand-bruising, +soul-obliterating Inferno of the coal-breakers; in the hot, linty, +sickening atmosphere of the southern cotton-mills. And as he talked, she +saw for the first time the figures of these bowed and bloodless little +boys and girls, giving their lives drop by drop, and cough by cough, +that <i>she</i> might have purple and fine linen and the rich, soft, easy +paths of life.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Then, pausing not, he spoke to her of white slavery, of girls and women +by the uncounted thousand forced to barter their own bodies for a +mockery of life; and, stinging as a nagaika, he laid the lash of blame +on Capitalism, evil cause of an evil and rotten fruit, of disease and +crime, and misery, and death. He told her of political corruption beyond +belief; of cheating, lying, trickery and greed, for power. Of war, he +told her, and made all its inner, hideous motives clear. She seemed +verily to see the trenches, the "red rampart's slippery edge," the +spattered blood and brains and all the horror of Hell's nethermost +infamy—and then the blasted, wrecked and wasted homes, the long trail +of mourning and of hopeless ruin—the horror of this crime of crimes, +all for profit, all for gold and markets, all for Capitalism!</p> + +<p>And then, while the girl stood there listening, spell-bound by her first +insight, her first understanding of the true character of this, our +striving, slaving world, held by a few for their own inordinate pride +and power, the man's voice changed.</p> + +<p>With new intonations and a deeper tone, he launched into some outlines +of the great hope, the splendid vision, the Wondrous Ideal—Socialism, +the world-salvation.</p> + +<p>Sentence by sentence, imagery of this vast, noble <a name="Page_220"></a>thought flowed from +his inspired lips. Clearly he showed this woman all the causes of the +world's travail and pain; and clearly made her see that only in one way, +only through the ownership of the world by the world's children as a +whole, could peace and justice, life and joy and plenty and the New Time +come to pass, dreamed of and yearned for by many sages and prophets, and +now close at hand on the very threshold of reality!</p> + +<p>Socialism! It leaped from his spirit like a living flame, consuming +dross and waste and evil, lighting up the future with its shining +beacon, its message of hope to the hopeless, of rest and cheer and peace +to all who labored and were heavy laden.</p> + +<p>Socialism! The glory of the vision seemed to blind and dazzle Catherine. +In its supernal light, things grievous to be understood and borne were +now made clear. For the first time in all her life, the woman saw, and +knew, and grasped the truths of this strange nexus of conflict, pain and +sorrow, that we know as our existence.</p> + +<p>"Socialism! The Hope of the World!" Gabriel finished. "And for this, and +for what I know about its enemies, I stand here in this cell and may yet +go to a living death. This is my crime, and nothing else—this battle +for the freedom and the joy of the world—this struggle against the +powers of ignorance and darkness, priestcraft and greed, lust, treachery +and foulness, cruelty and hate and war! This, and this only. You have +heard me. I have spoken!"</p> + +<p>He fell silent, crossed his arms upon the bars of the <a name="Page_221"></a>cage that pent +him, and laid his head upon them with a motion of weariness.</p> + +<p>Something strangely stirred the heart of the woman. Her hand went out +and touched his thick, black hair.</p> + +<p>"Be of good cheer," she whispered. "Though I am ignorant and do not +fully understand, as yet, some glimmer of the light has reached my eyes. +I can learn, and I <i>will</i> learn, and dare, and do! All my life I have +eaten the bread of this bitter slavery, taken the thing I had no right +to take, unknowingly wielded the lash on bleeding backs of men and women +and children.</p> + +<p>"All my life have I, in ignorance and idleness, done these things. But +never shall I do them again. That is all past and gone, an evil dream +that is no more. From now, if you will be patient and forgive and teach +me, I will stand with you and yours, and glory in the new-found strength +and majesty of this supreme ideal!"</p> + +<p>He made no answer, save to reach one hand to her, through the bars. +Their hands met in a long, clinging tension. The policeman, somewhat +down the corridor, moved officiously in their direction.</p> + +<p>"Here, now, none o' that!" he blurted. "Break away! An' say, time's up. +Yuh stayed too long, miss, as it is!"</p> + +<p>Their hands parted. Still Gabriel did not look up.</p> + +<p>"Are—are you coming back again?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes, Gabriel. Tomorrow."</p> + +<p>"And will you tell me then who you are?"</p> + +<p>"I'll tell you now, if you want to know."</p> + +<p>"I do," he answered, and raised his head. Their eyes met, steadily. "I +do, now that you too have seen the light, and that you understand. Tell +me, who are you?"</p> + +<p><a name="Page_222"></a>A moment's pause.</p> + +<p>Then, facing him, she answered:</p> + +<p>"I am Catherine Flint, only daughter of Isaac Flint, the Billionaire!"</p> + + + +<br /><hr style="width: 65%;" /><br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_XXVI"></a><h3><a name="Page_223"></a>CHAPTER XXVI.</h3> + +<h4>"GUILTY."</h4> +<br /> + +<p>Speechless and dazed, Gabriel stared at her as though at some strange +apparition.</p> + +<p>"Daughter of—of Isaac Flint?" he stammered, clinging to the bars.</p> + +<p>"Come, come, lady, yuh can't stay no longer!" the officer again +insisted, tapping her on the shoulder. "Yuh'd oughta been out o' here +ten minutes ago! No, nuthin' doin'!" he concluded, as she turned to him +appealingly. "Not today! Time's up an' more than up!"</p> + +<p>Catherine stretched out her hand to Gabriel, in farewell. He took it, +silently.</p> + +<p>"Good-bye!" said she. "Until I come again, good-bye. Keep up a stout +heart, for I am with you. We—we <i>can't</i> lose. We shall win—we <i>must</i> +win! Don't condemn me for being what I am and who I am, Gabriel. Only +think what—with your help—I may yet be! And now again, good-bye!"</p> + +<p>Their hands parted. Gabriel, still silent, stood there in his cell, +watching her till she vanished from his sight down the long corridor of +grief and tears. The officer, winking wisely to himself, thrust his +tongue into his cheek.</p> + +<p>"Daughter of Isaac Flint, th' Billionaire!" he was thinking, with +derision. "Oh, yes, billionaires' daughters would be visitin' Socialists +an' bums an' red-light con-<a name="Page_224"></a>workers like this geezer. Oh yes, sure, sure +they would—I should worry!"</p> + +<p>Which mental attitude was fortunate, indeed; for it, and it alone, +preserved the girl from a wild blare of newspaper notoriety. Had the +truth been known, who could have imagined the results?</p> + +<p>For a long time after the girl had departed, Gabriel sat there in his +cell, motionless and sunk in deepest thought. His emotions passed +recording. That this woman, his ideal, his best-beloved, the cherished, +inmost treasure of his heart and soul—she whom he had rescued, she who +had lain in his arms and shared with him that unforgettable hour in the +old sugar-house—should now prove to be the daughter of his bitterest +enemy, surpassed belief and stunned all clear understanding.</p> + +<p>Flint! The very name connoted, for Gabriel, all that was cruel and +rapacious, hateful, vicious and greedy; all that meant pain and woe and +death to him and his class. Visions of West Virginia and Colorado rose +before his mind. He heard again the whistle of the "Bull Moose Death +Special" as it sped on its swift errand of barbarism up Cabin Creek, +hurling its sprays of leaden death among the slaves of this man and his +vulturine associates.</p> + +<p>Flint! He whispered the name; and now he seemed to see the burning tents +at Ludlow; the fleeing women and children, shot down by barbarous thugs +and gunmen, ghouls in human form! He saw the pits of death, where the +charred bodies of innocent victims of greed and heartless rapacity lay +in mute protest under the far Colorado sky. And more he saw, east and +west, north and south, of this man's inhuman work; and his thoughts, +projected <a name="Page_225"></a>into the future, dwelt bitterly on the Air Trust now already +under way—the terrible, coming slavery which he, Gabriel, had struggled +to checkmate, only to find himself locked like a rat in a steel trap!</p> + +<p>"And this woman," he groaned in agony of soul, "this woman, all in all +to me, is—is <i>his</i> daughter!"</p> + +<p>Flinging himself upon his hard and narrow bunk, he buried his head in +his powerful arms, and tried to blot out thought from his fevered brain; +but still the current ran on and on and on, endlessly, maddeningly. And +to the problem, no answer seemed to come.</p> + +<p>"She must know who I am," he pondered. "Even if her father has not told +her, the papers have. True, she doesn't believe the infamous charge +against me; but what then? Can she, on the other hand, believe the +truth, that her father has conspired with Slade and those Cosmos thugs, +and with the press and courts and the whole damnable prostituted system, +to suppress and kill me?</p> + +<p>"Can she believe her father guilty of all that? And of all the horrors +of this capitalist Hell, that I have told her about? No! Human nature is +incapable of such vast turnings from all the habits and environments of +a lifetime. In her veins flows the blood of that arch-criminal, Flint. +Her thoughts must be, to some extent, his thoughts. She must share his +viewpoint, and be loyal to him. After this first flush of reaction +against her father, she will go back to him. It is inevitable. Betwixt +her and me is fixed a boundless space, wider than Heaven and earth. She +is one pole, and I the other. If I have any strength or resolution or +philosophy, now is the hour for its trial.</p> + +<p>"This woman must be, shall be put away from every <a name="Page_226"></a>thought and wish and +hope. And the word FINIS must be written at the end of the one brief +chapter where our life-stories seem to have run along together in a +false harmony and a fictitious peace!"</p> + +<p>Thus pondered Gabriel, in the gloom of his harsh cell, branded with +crime and writhing in the agony of soul that only those who love +hopelessly can ever know.</p> + +<p>And Catherine, what of her? What were her thoughts, emotions, +inspirations as—seeming to live in a dream, with Gabriel's eloquence +and the new vision of a better, saner, kindlier world shining through +her soul—she made her way back to the dingy hotel where now, shabby as +it was, she felt she had no right to stay, while others, homeless, +walked the brutal streets?</p> + +<p>Who shall know them? Who shall tell? A blind man, suddenly made to see, +can find no words to express the wonder and bright glory of that sudden +sight. A deaf man, regaining his lost sense, cannot describe the sudden +burst of sound that fills the new, strange world wherein he finds +himself. So, now, this cultured, gently bred woman, for the first time +in her life understanding the facts, glimpsing the tragedy and grasping +the answer to it all, felt that no words could compass her strange +exultation and enlargement.</p> + +<p>"It—it's like a chrysalis emerging into the form of a light, swift +butterfly!" she pondered, as, back in her room once more, she prepared +to write two letters. "Just for the present, I can't understand it all. +I don't know, yet, whether I'm worthy to be a Socialist, to be one of +that company of earnest, noble men and women striving for life and +liberty and joy for all the world. But with the help of the man I trust +and honor and believe in, <a name="Page_227"></a>and—and love—perhaps I may yet be. God +grant it may be so!"</p> + +<p>She thought, a few minutes more, her face lighted by an inner radiance +that made its beauty spiritual and pure and calm. Then, having somewhat +composed her thoughts, she wrote this letter to Maxim Waldron:</p> + +<div class="blkquot"><p><i>My Dear Wally</i>: + +<p> <i>I am writing you without date or place, just as I shall write my + father, because whatever happens, I insist that you two let me go + my way in peace, without trying to find, or hamper, or importune + me. My mind is fully made up. Nothing can change it. We have come + to the parting of the ways, forever.</i></p> + +<p> <i>Though I may feel bitterly toward you for what I now understand as + your harsh and cruel attitude toward the world, and the rôle you + play as an exploiter of human labor, I shall not reproach you. You + simply cannot see these things as I have come to see them since my + feet have been set upon the road toward Socialism. Don't start, + Wally—that's the truth. Perhaps I'm not much of a Socialist yet, + because I don't know much about it. But I am learning, and shall + learn. My teacher is the best one in the world, I'm sure; and added + to this, all my natural energy and innate radicalism have flamed + into activity with this new thought. So, you see, the past is even + more effectively buried than ever. How could anything ever be + possible, now, between you and me?</i></p> + +<p> <i>Cease to think of me, Wally. I am gone out of your life, for all + time, as out of that whole circle of false, <a name="Page_228"></a>insincere, wicked and + parasitic existence that we call "society." That other world, where + you still are, shall see me no more. I have found a better and a + nobler kind of life; and to this, and to all it implies, I mean to + be forever faithful. I beg you, never try to find me or to answer + this.</i></p> + +<p> <i>Good-bye, then, forever.</i></p> + +<p> <i>Catherine</i>.</p></div> + +<p>After having read this over and sealed it, she wrote still another:</p> + +<div class="blkquot"><p><i>Dear Father</i>: + +<p> <i>It is hard to write these words to you. I owe you a debt of + gratitude and love, in many ways; yet, after all, your will and + mine conflict. You have tried to force me to a union abhorrent and + impossible to me. My only course is this—independence to think, + and act, and live as I, no longer a child but a grown woman, now + see fit.</i></p> + +<p> <i>I shall never return to you, father. Life means one thing to you, + another to me. You cannot change; I would not, now, for all the + world. I must go my way, thinking my own thoughts, doing my own + work, living up to my own ideals, whatever these may be. Your money + cannot lure me back to you, back to that old, false, sheltered, + horrible life of ease and idleness and veiled robbery! The skill + you have given me as a musician will open out a way for me to earn + my own living and be free. For this I thank you, and for much else, + even as I say good-bye to you for all time.</i></p> + +<p> <a name="Page_229"></a><i>I have written Wally. He will tell you more about me, and about + the change in my views and ambitions, which has taken place. Do not + think harshly of me, father, and I will try to forgive you for the + burden I now know you have laid upon the aching shoulders of this + sad, old world.</i></p> + +<p> <i>And now, good-bye. Though you have lost a daughter, you may still + rejoice to know that that daughter has found peace and joy and vast + outlets for the energies of her whole heart and soul and being, in + working for Socialism, the noblest ideal ever conceived by the mind + of man.</i></p> + +<p> <i>Farewell, father; and think sometimes, not too unkindly, of</i></p> + +<p> <i>Your</i></p> + +<p> <i>Kate</i>.</p></div> + +<p>One week after these letters were mailed, "Tiger" Waldron, fanning the +fires of the old man's terrible rage, had decided Flint to disinherit +Catherine and to name him, Waldron, as his executor. Gabriel's fervent +wish that she might be penniless, was granted.</p> + +<p>On the very day this business was put through, practically delivering +the Flint interests into Waldron's hands in the case of the old man's +death, a verdict was reached in Gabriel's case, at Rochester.</p> + +<p>This case, crammed through the calendar, ahead of a large jam of other +business, proved how well unlimited funds can grease the wheels of Law. +It proved, also, that in the face of infinitely-subsidized witnesses, +lawyers, judge and jurymen, black becomes white, and a good deed is +written down a crime.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_230"></a>Catherine, working incognito, co-operated with the Socialist defense, +and did all that could be humanely done to have the truth made known, to +overset the mass of perjury and fraud enmeshing Gabriel, and to force +his acquittal.</p> + +<p>As easily might she have bidden the sea rise from its bed and flood the +dry and arid wastes of old Sahara. Her voice and that of the Socialists, +their lawyers and their press, sounded in vain. A solid battery of +capitalist papers, legal lights, private detectives and other +means—particularly including the majority of the priests and +clergy—swamped the man and damned him and doomed him from the first +word of the trial.</p> + +<p>Money flowed in floods. Perjury overran the banks of the River of +Corruption. Herzog branded the man a thief and fire-eater. Dope-fiends +and harlots from the Red-Light district, "madames" and pimps and +hangers-on, swore to the white-slave activities of this man, who never +yet in all his four and twenty years had so much as entered a brothel.</p> + +<p>Forged papers fixed past crimes and sentences on him. By innuendo and +direct statement, dynamitings, arsons, violence and rioting in many +strikes were laid at his door. His Socialist activities were dragged in +the slime of every gutter; and his Party made to suffer for evil deeds +existing only in the foul imagination of the prosecuting attorneys. The +finest "kept" brains in the legal profession conducted the case from +start to finish; and not a juryman was drawn on the panel who was not, +from the first, sworn to convict, and bought and paid for in hard cash.</p> + +<p>After three days—days in which Gabriel plumbed the <a name="Page_231"></a>bitterest depths of +Hell and drank full draughts of gall and wormwood—the verdict came. +Came, and was flashed from sea to sea by an exulting press; and preached +on, and editorialized on, and gloated over by Flint and Waldron and +many, many others of that ilk—while Catherine wept tears that seemed to +drain her very heart of its last drops of blood.</p> + +<p>At last she knew the meaning of the Class Struggle and her terrible +father's part in it all. At last she understood what Gabriel had so long +understood and now was paying for—the fact that Hell hath no fury like +Capitalism when endangered or opposed.</p> + +<p>The Price! Gabriel now must pay it, to the full. For that foul verdict, +bought with gold wrung from the very blood and marrow of countless +toilers, opened the way to the sentence which Judge Harpies regretted +only that he could not make more severe—the sentence which the +detectives and the prison authorities, well "fixed," counted on making a +death-sentence, too.</p> + +<p>"Gabriel Armstrong, stand up!"</p> + +<p>He arose and faced the court. A deathlike stillness hushed the room, +crowded with Socialists, reporters, emissaries of Flint, private +detectives and hangers-on of the System. Heavily veiled, lest some of +her father's people recognize her, Catherine herself sat in a back seat, +very pale yet calm.</p> + +<p>"Prisoner at the bar, have you anything to say, why sentence should not +be pronounced upon you?"</p> + +<p>Gabriel, also a little pale, but with a steadfast and fearless gaze, +looked at the legal prostitute upon the bench, and shook his head in +negation. He deigned not, even, to answer this kept puppet of the ruling +class.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_232"></a>Judge Harpies frowned a trifle, cleared his throat, glanced about him +with pompous dignity; and then, in a sonorous and impressive tone—his +best asset on the bench, for legal knowledge and probity were not +his—announced:</p> + +<p>"<i>It is the judgment of this court that you do stand committed to pay a +fine of three thousand dollars into the treasury of the United States, +and to serve five years at hard labor in the Federal Penitentiary at +Atlanta!</i>"</p> + + + +<br /><hr style="width: 65%;" /><br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_XXVII"></a><h3><a name="Page_233"></a>CHAPTER XXVII.</h3> + +<h4>BACK IN THE SUNLIGHT.</h4> +<br /> + +<p>Four years and two months from the day when this iniquitous verdict fell +from the lips of the "bought and paid for" judge, a sturdily built and +square jawed man stood on the steps of the Atlanta Penitentiary and, for +the first time in all these weary months and years, faced the sun.</p> + +<p>Pale with the prison-pallor that never fails to set its seal on the +victims of a diseased society, which that society retaliates upon by +shutting away from God's own light and air, this man stood there on the +steps, a moment, then advanced to meet a woman who was coming toward him +in the August glare. As he removed his cheap, convict-made cap, one saw +his finely shaped head, close cropped with the infamous prison badge of +servitude. Despite the shoddy miserable prison-suit that the prostituted +government had given him—a suit that would have made Apollo grotesque +and would have marked any man as an ex-convict, thus heavily +handicapping him from the start—Gabriel Armstrong's poise and strength +still made themselves manifest.</p> + +<p>And the smile as they two, the woman and he, came together and their +hands clasped, lighted his pale features with a ray brighter than that +of the blistering Southern sunshine flooding down upon them both.</p> + +<p>"I knew you'd come, Catherine," said he, simply, his <a name="Page_234"></a>voice still the +same deep, vibrant, earnest voice which, all that time ago, had thrilled +and inspired her at the hour of her great conversion. Still were his +eyes clear, level and commanding; and through his splendid body, despite +all his jailers had been able to do, coursed an abundant life and strong +vitality.</p> + +<p>Gabriel had served his time with consummate skill, courage and +intelligence. Like all wise men, he had recognized <i>force majeure</i>, and +had submitted. He had made practically no infractions of the prison +rules, during his whole "bit." He had been quiet, obedient and +industrious. His work, in the brush factory, had always been well done; +and though he had consistently refused to bear tales, to spy, to inform +or be a stool-pigeon—the quickest means of winning favor in any +prison—yet he had given no opportunity for savagery and violence to be +applied to him. Not even Flint's eager wish to have his jailers force +him into rebellion had succeeded. Realizing to the full the sort of +tactics that would be used to break, and if possible to kill him, +Gabriel had met them all with calm self-reliance and with a generalship +that showed his brain and nerves were still unshaken. On their own +ground he had met these brutes, and he had beaten them at their own +game.</p> + +<p>Their attempt to make a "dope" out of him had ignominiously failed. He +had detected the morphine they had cleverly mixed with his water; and, +after his drowsiness and weird dreams had convinced him of the plot, had +turned the trick on it by secretly emptying this water out and by +drinking only while in the shop, where he could draw water from the +faucet. The cell guards' intelligence had been too limited to make them +inquire of <a name="Page_235"></a>the brush shop guards about his habits. Also, Gabriel, had +feigned stupefaction while in the cell. Thus he had simulated the +effects of the drug, and had really thrown his tormentors off the track. +For months and months they were convinced that they were weakening his +will and destroying his mentality, while as a matter of fact his +reasoning powers and determination never had been more keen.</p> + +<p>By bathing as often as possible, by taking regular and carefully planned +calisthenics, by reading the best books in the prison library, by +attention to every rule of health within his means, and by allowing +himself no vices, not even his pipe, Gabriel now was emerging from the +Bastile of Capitalism in a condition of mind and body so little impaired +that he knew a few weeks would entirely restore him. The good conduct +allowance, or "copper," which they had been forced to allow him for +exemplary conduct, had cut ten months off his sentence. And now in +mid-August of 1925, there he stood, a free man again, with purpose still +unshaken and with a woman by his side who shared his high ambition and +asked no better lot than to work with him toward the one great +aim—Socialism!</p> + +<p>Now, as these two walked side by side along the sunbaked street of the +sweltering Southern town, Gabriel was saying:</p> + +<p>"So I haven't changed as much as you expected? I'm glad of that, Kate. +Only superficial changes, at most. Just give me a little time to pull +together and get my legs under me again, and—forward march! Charge the +forts! Eh, Catherine?"</p> + +<p>She nodded, smiling. Smiles were rare with her, now. <a name="Page_236"></a>She had grown +sober and serious, in these years of work and battle and stern endeavor. +The Catherine Flint of the old times had vanished—the Catherine of +country club days, and golf and tennis, and the opera—the Catherine of +Newport, of the horse show, of Paris, of "society." In her place now +lived another and a nobler woman, a woman known and loved the length and +breadth of the land, a woman exalted and strengthened by new, high and +splendid race-aspirations; by a vision of supernal beauty—the vision of +the world for the workers, each for all and all for each!</p> + +<p>She had grown more mature and beautiful, with the passing years. No mark +of time had yet laid its hand upon her face or figure. Young, still—she +was now but five-and-twenty, and Gabriel only twenty-eight—she walked +like a goddess, lithe, strong and filled with overflowing vigor. Her +eyes glowed with noble enthusiasms; and every thought, every impulse and +endeavor now was upward, onward, filled with stimulus and hope and +courage.</p> + +<p>Thus, a braver, broader and more splendid woman than Gabriel had known +in the other days of his first love for her—the days when he had wished +her penniless, the days when her prospective millions stood between +them—she walked beside him now. And they two, comrades, understood each +other; spoke the same language, shared the same aspirations, dreamed the +same wondrous dreams. Their smile, as their eyes met, was in itself a +benediction and a warm caress.</p> + +<p>"Charge the forts!" Gabriel repeated. "Yes, Kate, the battle still goes +on, no matter what happens. Here and there, soldiers fall and die. Even +battalions perish; but <a name="Page_237"></a>the war continues. When I think of all the +fights you've been in, since I was put away, I'm unspeakably envious. +You've been through the Tawana Valley strike, the big Consolidated +Western lockout and the Imperial Mills massacre. You were a delegate to +the 1923 Revolution Congress, in Berlin, and saw the slaughter in Unter +den Linden—helped nurse the wounded comrades, inside the Treptow Park +barricades. Then, out in California—"</p> + +<p>She checked him, with a hand on his arm.</p> + +<p>"Please don't, Gabriel," she entreated. "What I have done has been so +little, so terribly, pitiably little, compared to what <i>needs</i> to be +done! And then remember, too, that in and through all, this thought has +run, like the red thread through every cable of the British navy—the +thought that in my every activity, I am working against my own father, +combatting him, being as it were a traitor and—"</p> + +<p>"Traitor?" exclaimed the man. "Never! The bond between you two is +forever broken. You recognize in him, now, an enemy of all mankind. +Waldron is another. So is every one of the Air Trust group—that is to +say, the small handful of men who today own the whole world and +everything in it.</p> + +<p>"Your father, as President of that world-corporation which potentially +controls two thousand millions of human beings—and which will, +tomorrow, absolutely control them, is no longer any father of yours.</p> + +<p>"He is a world-emperor, and his few associates are princes of the royal +house. Your life and thought have forever broken with him. No more can +bonds and ties of blood hold you. Your larger duty calls to battle +<a name="Page_238"></a>against this man. Treachery? A thousand times, no! Treason to tyrants +is obedience to God! Or, if not God, then to mankind!"</p> + +<p>He paused and looked at her. They had now reached a little park, some +half mile from the grim and dour old walls of the Federal Pen. Trees and +grass and playing children seemed to invite them to stop and rest. +Though strong, moreover, Gabriel had for so long been unused to walking, +that even this short distance had tired him a little. And the oppressive +heat had them both by the throat.</p> + +<p>"Shall we sit down here and wait a little?" asked he. "Plan a little, +see where we are and what's to be done next?"</p> + +<p>She nodded assent.</p> + +<p>"Of course," she said, "even if I could have got word in to you, I +wouldn't have given you our real plans."</p> + +<p>"Hardly!" he exclaimed. Then, coming to a fountain, they sat down on a +bench close by. Nobody, they made sure, was within ear-shot.</p> + +<p>"Thank God," he breathed, "that you, Kate, and only you, met me as I +came out! It was a grand good idea, wasn't it, to keep my time of +liberation a secret from the comrades? Otherwise there might have been a +crowd on hand, and various kinds of foolishness; and time and energy +would have been used that might have been better spent in working for +the Revolution!"</p> + +<p>She looked at him a trifle curiously.</p> + +<p>"You forget," said she, "that all public meetings have been prohibited, +ever since last April. Federal statute—the new Penfield Bill—'The +Muzzler' as we call it."</p> + +<p>"That's so!" he murmured. "I forgot. Fact is, Kate, <a name="Page_239"></a>I <i>am</i> out of touch +with things. While you've been fighting, I've been buried alive. Now, I +must learn much, before I can jump back into the war again. And above +all, I must lose my identity. That's the first and most essential thing +of all!"</p> + +<p>"Of course," she assented. "They—the Air Trust World-corporation—will +trail you, everywhere you go. All this, as you know, has been provided +for. You must vanish a while."</p> + +<p>"Indeed I must. If they 'jobbed' me like that, in 1921, what won't they +do now in 1925?"</p> + +<p>"They won't ever get you, again, Gabriel," she answered, "if your wits +and ours combined, can beat them. True, the Movement has been badly shot +to pieces. That is, its visible organization has suffered, and it's +outlawed. But under the surface, Gabriel, you haven't an idea of its +spread and power. It's tremendous—it's a volcano waiting to burst! Let +the moment come, the leader rise, the fire burst forth, and God knows +what may not happen!"</p> + +<p>"Splendid!" exclaimed Gabriel. "The battle calls me, like a +clarion-call! But we must act with circumspection. The Plutes, powerful +as they now are, won't need even the shadow of an excuse to plant me for +life, or slug or shoot me. Things were rotten enough, then; but today +they're worse. The hand of this Air Trust monopoly, grasping every line +of work and product in the world, has got the lid nailed fast. We're all +slaves, every man and woman of us. Even our Socialists in Congress can +do nothing, with all these muzzling and sedition and treason bills, and +with this conscription law just through. Now that the government—the +Air Trust, that is to say—<a name="Page_240"></a>is running the railways and telegraphs and +telephones, a strike is treason—and treason is death! Kate, this year +of grace, 1925, is worse than ever I dreamed it would be. Oh, infinitely +worse! No wonder our movement has been driven largely underground. No +wonder that the war of mass and class is drawing near—the actual, +physical war between the Air Trust few and the vast, toiling, suffering, +stifling world!"</p> + +<p>She nodded.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said she, "it's coming, and soon. Things are as you say, and even +worse than you say, Gabriel. I know more of them, now, than you can +know. Remember London's 'Iron Heel?' When I first read it I thought it +fanciful and wild. God knows I was mistaken! London didn't put it half +strongly enough. The beginning was made when the National Mounted Police +came in. All the rest has swiftly followed. If you and I live five years +longer, Gabriel, we'll see a harsher, sterner and more murderous +trampling of that Heel than ever Comrade Jack imagined!"</p> + +<p>"Right!" said he. "And for that very reason, Kate, I've got to go into +hiding till my beard and hair grow and I can reappear as a different +man. Don't look, just now, but in a minute take a peek. Over on that +third bench, on the other side of the park, see that man? Well, he's a +'shadow.' There were three waiting for me, at the prison gates. You +couldn't spot them, but I could. One was that Italian banana-seller that +stood at the curb, on the first corner. Another was a taxi driver. And +this one, over there, is the third. From now till they 'get' me again, +they'll follow me like bloodhounds. I can't go free, to do my work and +take part in the impend<a name="Page_241"></a>ing war, till I shake them. Look, now, do you +see the one I mean?"</p> + +<p>Cautiously the girl looked round, with casual glance as though to see a +little boy playing by the fountain.</p> + +<p>"Yes," she murmured. "Who is he? Do you know his name?"</p> + +<p>"No," answered Gabriel. "His name, no. But I remember him, well enough. +He's the larger of the two detectives I knocked out, in that room in +Rochester. Beside his pay, he's got a personal motive in landing me back +in 'stir,' or sending me 'up the escape,' as prison slang names a +penitentiary and a death. So then," he added, "what's the first thing? +Where shall I go, and how, to hide and metamorphose? I'm in your hands, +now, Kate. More than four years out of the world, remember, makes a +fellow want a little lift when he comes back!"</p> + +<p>She smiled and nodded comprehension.</p> + +<p>"Don't explain, Gabriel," said she. "I understand. And I've got just the +place in mind for you. Also, the way to get there. You see, comrade, +we've been planning on this release. When can you go?"</p> + +<p>"When? Right now!" exclaimed Gabriel, standing up. "The quicker, the +better. Every minute I lose in getting myself ready to jump back into +the fight, is a precious treasure that can never be regained!"</p> + +<p>"Go, then," said she, with pride in her eyes. "I will wait here. Don't +think of me; leave me here; I am self-reliant in every way. Go to the +Cuthbert House, on Desplaines Street. Everything has been arranged for +your escape. Every link in the chain is complete. Remember, we are +working more underground, now, than when you <a name="Page_242"></a>were sentenced. And our +machinery is almost perfect. Register at the hotel and take a room for a +week. Then—"</p> + +<p>"Register, under my own name?" asked he.</p> + +<p>"Under your own name. Stay there two days. You won't be molested so +soon, and things won't be ready for you till the third day. On that +day—"</p> + +<p>"Well, what then?"</p> + +<p>"A message will come for you, that's all. Obey it. You have nothing more +to do."</p> + +<p>He nodded.</p> + +<p>"I understand," said he. "But, Kate—who's paying for all this? Not +<i>you?</i> I—I can't have <i>you</i> paying, now that every dollar you have must +be earned by your own labor!"</p> + +<p>She smiled a smile of wonderful beauty.</p> + +<p>"Foolish, rebellious boy!" said she. "Have no fear! All expense will be +borne by the Party, just as the Party paid your fine. It needs you and +must have you; and were the cost ten times as great, would bear it to +get you back! Remember, Gabriel, the Party is far larger than when you +were buried alive in a cell. Even though in some ways outlawed and +suppressed, its potential power is tremendous. All it needs is the +electric spark to cause the world-shaking explosion. All that keeps us +from power now is the Iron Heel—that, and the clutch of the Air Trust +already crushing and mangling us!</p> + +<p>"Go, now," she concluded. "Go, and rest a while, and wait. All shall be +well. But first, you must get back your strength completely, and find +yourself, and take your place again in the ranks of the great, +subterranean army!"</p> + +<p>"<a name="Page_243"></a>And shall I see you soon, again?" he asked, his voice trembling just a +little as their hands clasped once more, and once more parted.</p> + +<p>"You will see me soon," she answered.</p> + +<p>"Where?"</p> + +<p>"In a safe place, where we can plan, and work, and organize for the +final blow! Now, you shall know no more. Good-bye!"</p> + +<p>One last look each gave the other. Their eyes met, more caressingly than +many a kiss; and, turning, Gabriel took his way, alone, toward +Desplaines Street.</p> + +<p>At the exit of the park, he looked around.</p> + +<p>There Catherine sat, on the bench. But, seemingly quite oblivious to +everything, she was now reading a little book. Though he lingered a +moment, hoping to get some signal from her, she never stirred or looked +up from the page.</p> + +<p>Sighing, with a strange feeling of sudden loneliness and a vast, empty +yearning in his heart, Gabriel continued on his way, toward what? He +knew not.</p> + +<p>The detective on the other side of the park, no longer sat there. +Somehow, somewhere, he had disappeared.</p> + +<br /> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<br /> + +<a name="CHAPTER_XXVIII"></a><h3><a name="Page_244"></a>CHAPTER XXVIII.</h3> + +<h4>IN THE REFUGE.</h4> +<br /> + +<p>Far on the western slopes of Clingman Dome in the great Smoky Mountains +of North Carolina, a broad, low-built bungalow stood facing the setting +sun. Vast stretches of pine forest shut it off from civilization and the +prying activities of Plutocracy. The nearest settlement was Ravens, +twenty miles away to eastward, across inaccessible ridges and ravines. +Running far to southward, the railway left this wilderness untouched. +High overhead, an eagle soared among the "thunder-heads" that presaged a +storm up Sevier Pass. And, red through the haze to westward, the great +huge sunball slid down the heavens toward the tumbled, jagged mass of +peaks that rimmed the far horizon.</p> + +<p>Within the bungalow, a murmur of voices sounded; and from the huge stone +chimney a curl of smoke, arising, told of the evening meal, within, now +being made ready. On the wide piazza sat a man, writing at a table of +plain boards roughly pegged together. Still a trifle pale, yet with a +look of health and vigor, he sat there hard at work, writing as fast as +pen could travel. Hardly a word he changed. Sheet by sheet he wrote, and +pushed them aside and still worked on. Some of the pages slid to the +porch-floor, but he gave no heed. His brow was wrinkled with the +intensity of his thought; and over his face, where now a disguising +beard was beginning to be <a name="Page_245"></a>visible, the light of the sinking sun cast as +it were a kind of glowing radiance.</p> + +<p>At last the man looked up, and smiled, and eyed the golden mountain-tops +far off across the valley.</p> + +<p>"Wonderful aerie in the hills!" he murmured. "Wonderful retreat and +hiding-place—wonderful care and forethought to have made this possible +for me! How shall I ever repay all this? How, save by giving my last +drop of blood, if need be, for the final victory?"</p> + +<p>He pondered a moment, still half-thinking of the poem he had just +finished, half-reflecting on the strange events of the past week—the +secret ways, by swift auto, by boat, by monoplane which had brought him +hither to this still undiscovered refuge. How had it all been arranged, +he wondered; and who had made it possible? He could not tell, as yet. No +information was forthcoming. But in his heart he understood, and his +lips, murmuring the name of Catherine, blessed that name and tenderly +revered it.</p> + +<p>At last Gabriel bent, picked up the pages that had fallen, and arranged +them all in order.</p> + +<p>"Tomorrow this shall go out to the world," said he, "and to our +press—such of it as still remains. It may inspire some fainting heart +and thrill some lagging mind. Now, that the final struggle is at hand, +more than guns we need inspiration. More than force, to meet the force +that has ravished our every right and crushed Constitution and Law, +alike, we need spiritual insight and integrity. Only through these, and +by these, come what may, can a true, lasting victory be attained!"</p> + +<p>In the doorway of the bungalow a woman appeared, her smile illumined by +the sunset warmth.</p> + +<p>"<a name="Page_246"></a>Come, Gabriel," said she. "We're waiting—the Granthams, Craig, and +Brevard. Supper's ready. Not one of them will sit down, till you come."</p> + +<p>"Have I been delaying you?" asked Gabriel, turning toward the woman, +with a smile that matched her own.</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid so, just a little," she answered. "But no matter; I'm glad. +When you get to writing, you know, nothing else matters. One line of +your verse is worth all the suppers in the world."</p> + +<p>"Nonsense!" he retorted. "I'm a mere scribbler!"</p> + +<p>"We won't argue that point," she answered. "But at any rate, you're +done, now. So come along, boy—or the comrades will begin 'dividing up' +without us; for this mountain air won't brook delay."</p> + +<p>Gabriel took a long breath, stretched his powerful arms out toward the +mountains, and raised his face to the last light of day.</p> + +<p>"Nature!" he whispered. "Ever beautiful and ever young! Ah, could man +but learn thy lessons and live close to thy great heart!"</p> + +<p>Then, turning, he followed Catherine into the bungalow.</p> + +<p>Beautiful and restful though the outside was, the interior was more +restful and more charming still.</p> + +<p>In the vast fireplace, to left, a fire of pine roots was crackling. The +room was filled with their pitchy, wholesome perfume, with the dancing +light of their blaze and with the warmth made grateful by that mountain +height.</p> + +<p>Simple and comfortable all the furnishings were, hand-wrought for use +and pleasure. Big chairs invited. Broad couches offered rest. No +hunting-trophies, no heads of slaughtered wild things disfigured the +walls, as in most <a name="Page_247"></a>bungalows; but the flickering firelight showed +pictures that inspired thought and carried lessons home—pictures of +toil and of repose, pictures of life, and love, and simple joy—pictures +of tragedy, of reality and deep significance. Here one saw Millet's +"Sower," and "Gleaners" and "The Man with the Hoe." There, Fritel's "The +Conquerors," and Stuck's "War." A large copy of Bernard's "Labor,"—the +sensation of the 1922 Paris Salon—hung above the mantelpiece, on which +stood Rodin's "Miner" in bronze. Portraits of Marx, Engels, LaSalle and +Debs, with others loved and honored in the Movement, showed between +original sketches by Walter Crane, Balfour Kerr, Art Young and Ryan +Walker. And in the well-filled bookshelves at the right, Socialist books +in abundance all told the same tale to the observer—that this was a +Socialist nest high up there among the mountains, and that every thought +and word and deed was inspired by one great ideal and one alone—the +Revolution!</p> + +<p>At a plain but well-covered table near the western windows, where fading +sunlight helped firelight to illumine the little company, sat three +men—two of them armed with heavy automatics—and a woman. Another +woman, Catherine, was standing by her chair and beckoning Gabriel to +his.</p> + +<p>"Come, Comrade!" she exclaimed. "If you delay much longer, everything +will be stone cold, and <i>then</i> beg forgiveness if you dare!"</p> + +<p>Gabriel laughed.</p> + +<p>"Your own fault, if you wait for me," he answered, seating himself. "You +know how it is when you get to scribbling—you never know when to stop. +And the scenery, up here, won't let you go. Positively fascinating, +<a name="Page_248"></a>that view is! If the Plutes knew of it, they'd put a summer resort +here, and coin millions!"</p> + +<p>"Yes," answered Craig, once Congressman Craig, but now hiding from the +Air Trust spies. "And what's more, they'd mighty soon confiscate this +resting-up place of the Comrades, and have us back behind bars, or +worse. But they <i>don't</i> know about it, and aren't likely to. Thank +Heaven for at least one place the Party can maintain as an asylum for +our people when too hard-pressed! Not a road within ten miles of here. +No way to reach this place, masked here in the cliffs and mountains, +except by aeroplane. Not one chance in a thousand, fellows, that they'll +ever find it. Confusion take them all!"</p> + +<p>The meal progressed, with plenty of serious and earnest discussion of +the pressing problems now close at hand. Brevard, a short, spare man, +editor of the recently-suppressed "San Francisco Revolutionist" and now +in hiding, made a few trenchant remarks, from time to time. Grantham and +his wife, both active speakers on the "Underground Circuit" and both +under sentence of long imprisonment, said little. Most of the +conversation was between Catherine, Craig and Gabriel. Long before the +supper was done, lamps had to be brought and curtains lowered. At last +the meal was over.</p> + +<p>"Dessert, now, Gabriel!" exclaimed Grantham. "Your turn!"</p> + +<p>"Eh? What?" asked Armstrong. "My turn for what?"</p> + +<p>"Your turn to do your part! Don't think that you're going to write a +poem and then put it in your pocket, that way. Come, out with it!"</p> + +<p>Gabriel's protests availed nothing. The others over<a name="Page_249"></a>bore him. And at +last, unwillingly, he drew out the manuscript and spread it open on his +knee.</p> + +<p>"You really want to hear this?" he demanded. "If you can possibly spare +me, I wish you would!"</p> + +<p>For all answer, Craig pushed a lamp over toward him. The warm light on +Gabriel's face, now slightly bearded, and on his strong, corded throat, +made a striking picture as he cast his eyes on the manuscript and in +vibrant and harmonious voice, read:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span><i>I SAW THE SOCIALIST</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span><i>I saw the Socialist sitting at a great Banquet of Men,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Sitting with honored leaders of the blind, unwitting Multitude;</i><br /></span> +<span><i>I saw him there with the writers, editors, painters, men of letters,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Legislators and judges, the Leaders of the People,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Leaders flushed with the wines of price, eating costly and rare foods,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Making loud talk, and boastful, of that marvel, American Liberty!</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Thinking were they no thought of hunger and pinching cold;</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Of the blue-lipped, skinny children, the thin-chested, coughing men,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>The dry-breasted mothers, the dirt, disease and ignorance,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>The mangled workmen, the tramps, drunkards, pickpockets, prostitutes, thieves,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>The mad-houses, jails, asylums and hospitals, the sores, the blood of war,</i><br /></span> +<span><a name="Page_250"></a><i>And all the other wondrous blessings that attend our civilization—</i><br /></span> +<span><i>That civilization through which the wines and foods were given them.</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span><i>I saw the Socialist there, calm, unmoved, unsmiling, thoughtful,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Sober, serious, full of dispassionate and prophetic vision,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Not like the other men, the all-wise Leaders of the People.</i><br /></span> +<span><i>The political economists, the professors, the militarists, heroes and statisticians;</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Not like the kings and presidents and emperors, the nobles and gold-crammed bankers,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>But mindful, more than they, of the cellars under the House of Life</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Where blind things crawl in the dark, things men and yet not human,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Things whose toil makes possible the Banquets of the Leaders of Men,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Things that live and yet are not alive; things that never taste of Life;</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Things that make the rich foods, themselves snatching filthy crumbs;</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Things that produce the wines of price, and must be content with lees;</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Things that shiver and cringe and whine, that snarl sometimes,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>That are men and women and children, and yet that know not Life!</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span><i>I saw the Socialist there; I sat at the banquet; beside him,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Listened to the surging music, saw all the lights and flowers,</i><br /></span><a name="Page_251"></a> +<span><i>Flowers and lights and crystal cups, whereof the price for each</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Might have brought back from Potter's Field some bloodless, starving baby.</i><br /></span> +<span><i>I heard the Leaders' speeches, the turgid oratory,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>The well-turned phrases of the Captains, the rotund babble of prosperity,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>(Prosperity for whom? Nay, ask not troublesome questions!)</i><br /></span> +<span><i>The Captains' vaunting I heard, their boasts of glory and victory,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>While red, red, red their hands dripped red with the blood of the butchered workers.</i><br /></span> +<span><i>I heard the Judges' self-glorification, Quixotic fighting of windmills,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Heard also the unclean jests that those respected Leaders told.</i><br /></span> +<span><i>And as I looked and listened, I still observed the Socialist,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Unmoved and patient and serious, calm, full of sober reflections.</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span><i>Then there spake (among many others) an honored and full-paunched Bishop.</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Rubicund he was, and of portly habit of body,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Shepherd of a well-pastured flock, mightily content with God,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Out of whose omnipotent Hand (no doubt) the blessings of his life descended.</i><br /></span> +<span><i>I heard this exponent of Christ the Crucified, Christ the Carpenter,</i><br /></span> +<span><a name="Page_252"></a><i>Christ the Leader of Workingmen, the Agitator, the Disturber,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Christ the Labor-organizer, Christ the Archetypal Socialist,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Friend of the dwellers in the pits of Life, Consoler of earth's exploited,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Who once with the lash scourged from the Temple the unclean graft-brood of usurers.</i><br /></span> +<span><i>And the rotund Bishop's words were as the crackling of dry thorns</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Under a pot, bubbling without use in the desert of dreary platitudes.</i><br /></span> +<span><i>The story he told was spiced and garnished with profane words,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Whereat the Leaders laughed in their cups, making great show of merriment,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>So that the banquet-hall rang, and wine was spilt on the linen.</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Wine as red as blood—the blood of the shattered miner,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Blood of the boy in the rifle-pits, blood of the coughing child-slave,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Blood of the mangled trainman, blood that the Carpenter shed.</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span><i>And still I watched the Socialist. Sober, judicial, observant</i><br /></span> +<span><i>And full of greater wisdom he was than to laugh with the tipsy Leaders.</i><br /></span> +<span><i>His eyes were fixed on the Bishop, vice-regent of God upon earth.</i><br /></span> +<span><i>And as I watched the Socialist, the unmoved, the contemplative one,</i><br /></span><a name="Page_253"></a> +<span><i>He thoughtfully took his pencil, he took the fine and large card</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Whereon the names of the rich foods and all the costly wines were printed,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>And made a few notes of the feast, notes of the Bishop's speech,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Notes to remind him to search the slums for the great, God-given prosperity,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Which all the Judges, Lawmakers, Captains and Leaders knew to be "our" portion;</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Notes of the flowers, the wine, the lights, the music, the splendor,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Notes of the Leaders' oratory, notes of the Bishop's deep-voiced unctiousness,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Notes he made; and as I looked at the notes he was carefully writing,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>The words ran red like wine and blood, they blazed like the blazing lights!</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Words they were of blood and fire, that spread, that filled the banquet-hall.</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Words of old, I read them—"MENE, MENE, TEKEL, UPHARSHIN!—</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Weighed in the Balance you are, ye Leaders respected of men,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>You Statesmen, Lawmakers, Judges, Captains, Bishops, vice-regents of God!</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Weighed and tried and found wanting. Give way, now, to what shall come after!</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Make ye way for the Men who shall do what ye have but neglected and shirked!</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Make ye way for a Time which hath more than Power and Greed for its watchwords!</i><br /></span><a name="Page_254"></a> +<span><i>Soon your day shall decline forever, your sun shall sink and shall vanish.</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Then from the Cellars of Life the darkness-dwellers shall issue,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Greeting another daunt which shall have more than pain for its portion.</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Then no more shall the humble, the lowly, the friends of the Nazarene Carpenter</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Be starved, be mangled for gold, be crucified, slaughtered, bled.</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Make ye way!...Make ye way!..."</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span><i>Such was the message I read, the words of that fire-writ warning.</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Then peace came back to my spirit, calm peace, and hope and patience:</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Then, through my anger and heat, I thought of the Retribution.</i><br /></span> +<span><i>But even more clearly I saw the New Birth of this weary world,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>This world now groaning in chains, with the bloody sweat of oppression.</i><br /></span> +<span><i>These things and many more, such as were hard to write of,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>I read in the words of the Socialist, patient, peaceful and sober,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Full of prophetic vision, above all things hopeful and patient,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Written in living flame at the Feast of the Leaders of Men....</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<br /><hr style="width: 65%;" /><br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_XXIX"></a><h3><a name="Page_255"></a>CHAPTER XXIX.</h3> + +<h4>"APRÈS NOUS LE DÉLUGE!"</h4> +<br /> + +<p>As Gabriel's voice fell to silence, after the last words, a stillness +came upon the lamp-lit room, a hush broken only by the snapping of the +pine-root fire on the hearth and by the busy ticking of the clock upon +the chimneypiece. Then, after a minute's pause, Craig reached over and +took Gabriel by the hand.</p> + +<p>"I salute you, O poet of the Revolution now impending!" he cried, while +Catherine's eyes gleamed bright with tears. "Would God that <i>I</i> could +write like that, old man!"</p> + +<p>"And would God that my paper was still being issued!" Brevard added, +making a gesture with the pipe that, in his eagerness to hear, he had +allowed to die. "If it were I'd give that poem my front page, and fling +its message full in the faces of Plutocracy!"</p> + +<p>Gabriel smiled a bit nervously.</p> + +<p>"Don't, please don't," he begged. "If you really do like it help me +spread it. Don't waste words on praise, but plan with me, tonight, how +we can get this to the people—how we can perfect our final +arrangements—what we must do, now, at once, to meet the Air Trust and +defeat it before its terrible and unrelenting grip closes on the throat +of the world!"</p> + +<p>"Right!" said Craig. "We must act at once, while there's yet time. +today, all seems safe. The Air Trust spies haven't ferreted this place +out. A week from now, <a name="Page_256"></a>they may have, and one of the most secure and +useful Socialist refuges in the country may be only a heap of +ashes—like the ones at Kenwyck, Hampden, Mount Desert and Loftiss. +Every day is precious. Every one helps to perfect Gabriel's disguise and +adds materially to his strength."</p> + +<p>"True," assented Gabriel. "We mustn't wait too long, now. That last +report we got yesterday, by our wireless, ought to stimulate us. +Brainard says, in it, that the Air Trust people are now putting the +finishing touches on the Niagara plant. That will give them condensing +machinery for over 90,000,000 horsepower, all told. As I see the thing, +it looks absolutely as though, when <i>that</i> is done, the whole Capitalist +system of the world will center right there—focus there, as at a point. +Let kings and emperors continue to strut and mouth vain phrases; let our +own President and Congress make the motions of governing; even let Wall +Street play at finance and power. All, all are empty and meaningless!</p> + +<p>"Power has been sucked dry, out of them all, comrades. You know as well +as I know—better, perhaps—that all real power in the world, today, +whether economic or political—nay, even the power of life and death, +the power of breath or strangulation, has clotted at Niagara, in the +central offices of the Air Trust; nay, right in Flint and Waldron's own +inner office!"</p> + +<p>Gabriel had stood up, while speaking; and now, pacing the floor of the +big living-room, glanced first at one eager and familiar face, then at +another.</p> + +<p>"Comrades," said he, "we should not sleep, tonight. We should get out +all our plans and data, all the dispatches that have come to us here, +all the information at <a name="Page_257"></a>hand about our organization, whether open or +subterranean. We should make this room and this time, in fact, the place +and the hour for the planning of the last great blow on which hangs the +fate of the world. If it succeed, the human race goes free again. If it +fail—and God forbid!—then the whole world will lie in the grip of +Flint and Waldron! With our other centers broken up and under espionage, +our press forced into impotence—save our underground press—and +political action now rendered farcical as ever it was in Mexico, when +Diaz ruled, we have but one recourse!"</p> + +<p>"And that is?" asked Catherine. "The general strike?"</p> + +<p>"A final, general, paralyzing strike; and with it, the actual, physical +destruction of the colossal crime of crimes, the Air Trust works at +Niagara!"</p> + +<p>A little silence followed. They all drew round the reading-table, now, +near the fireplace. Mrs. Grantham brought a lamp; and Brevard, opening a +chest near the book-case, fetched a portfolio of papers, dispatches, +plans, reports and data of all kinds.</p> + +<p>"Gabriel's right," said he. "The time is ripe, now, or will be in a week +or so. Nothing can be gained by delaying any longer. Every day adds to +their power and may weaken ours. Our organization, for the strike and +the attack on the works, is as complete as we can make it. We must come +to extreme measures, at once, or world-strangulation will set in, and we +shall be eternally too late!"</p> + +<p>"Extreme measures, yes," said Gabriel, while Brevard spread the papers +out and sorted them, and Craig drew contemplatively at his pipe. "The +masters would have it so. Our one-time academic discussion about ways +and <a name="Page_258"></a>means has become absurd, in the face of plutocratic savagery. We're +up against facts, now, not theories. God knows it's against the dictates +of my heart to do what must be done; but it's that or stand back and see +the world be murdered, together with our own selves! And in a case of +self-defense, no measures are unjustifiable.</p> + +<p>"Whatever happens our hands are clean. The plutocrats are the attacking +force. They have chosen, and must take the consequences; they have sown, +and must reap. One by one, they have limited and withdrawn every +political right. They have taken away free speech and free assemblage, +free press and universal suffrage. They have limited the right to vote, +by property qualifications that have deprived the proletariat of every +chance to make their will felt. They have put through this National +Censorship outrage and—still worse—the National Mounted Police Bill, +making Cossack rule supreme in the United States of America, as they +have made it in the United States of Europe.</p> + +<p>"Before they elected that tool of tools, President Supple, in 1920, on +the Anti-Socialist ticket, we still had some constitutional rights +left—a few. But now, all are gone. With the absorption and annexation +of Canada, Mexico and Central America, slavery full and absolute settled +down upon us. The unions simply crumbled to dust as you know, in face of +all those millions of Mexican peons swamping the labor-market with +starvation-wage labor. Then, as we all remember, came the terrible +series of strikes in 1921 and 1922, and the massacres at Hopedale and +Boulder, at Los Angeles and Pittsburg, and, worst of all, Gary. That +finished what few rights were left, that killing did. And then came the +army of <a name="Page_259"></a>spies, and the proscriptions, and the electrocution of those +hundred and eleven editors, speakers and organizers—why bring up all +these things that we all know so well? <i>We</i> were willing to play the +game fair and square, and <i>they</i> refused. Say that, and you say all.</p> + +<p>"No need to dwell on details, comrades. The Air Trust has had its will +with the world, so far. It has crushed all opposition as relentlessly as +the car of Juggernaut used to crush its blind, fanatical devotees. True, +our Party still exists and has some standing and some representatives; +but we all know what <i>power</i> it has—in the open! Not <i>that</i> much!" And +he snapped his fingers in the air.</p> + +<p>"In the open, none!" said Craig, blowing a cloud of smoke. "I admit +that, Gabriel. But, underground—ah!"</p> + +<p>"Underground," Gabriel took up the word, "forces are now at work that +can shatter the whole infernal slavery to dust! This way of working is +not our choice; it is theirs. They would have it so—now let them take +their medicine!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes," eagerly exclaimed Catherine, her face flushed and intense. +"I'm with you, Gabriel. To work!"</p> + +<p>"To work, yes," put in Craig, "but with system, order and method. My +experience in Congress has taught me some valuable lessons. The +universal, all-embracing Trust made marionettes of us, every one. Our +strength was, to them, no more than that of a mouse to a lion. Their +system is perfect, their lines of supply and communication are without a +flaw. The Prussian army machine of other days was but a bungling +experiment by comparison with the efficiency of this new mechanism. I +tell you, Gabriel, we've got to give these tyrants credit for being +infernally efficient tyrants! All that science has <a name="Page_260"></a>been able to devise, +or press and church and university teach, or political subservience make +possible, is theirs. And back of that, military power, and the courts +and the prisons and the electric chair! And back of all <i>those</i>, the +power to choke the whole world to submission, in a week!"</p> + +<p>Gabriel thought, a moment, before replying. Then said he:</p> + +<p>"I know it, Craig. All the more reason why we must hit them at once, and +hit hard! These reports here," and he gestured at the papers that +Brevard had spread out under the lamp-light, "prove that, at the proper +signal, every chance indicates that we can paralyze transportation—the +keynote of the whole situation.</p> + +<p>"True, the government—that is to say, the Air Trust, and <i>that</i> is to +say, Flint and Waldron—can keep men in every engine-cab in the country. +They can keep them at every switch and junction. But this isn't France, +remember, nor is it any small, compact European country. Conditions are +wholly different here. Everywhere, vast stretches of track exist. No +power on earth—not even Flint and Waldron's—can guard all those +hundreds of thousands of miles. And so I tell you, taking our data +simply from these reports and not counting on any more organized +strength than they show, we have today got the means of cutting and +crippling, for a week at least, the movements of troops to Niagara. And +that, just that, is all we need!"</p> + +<p>A little silence. Then said Catherine:</p> + +<p>"You mean, Gabriel, that if we can keep the troops back for a little +while, and annihilate the Air Trust plant itself, the great revolution +will follow?"</p> + +<p><a name="Page_261"></a>He nodded, with a smouldering fire in his eyes.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said he. "If we can loosen the grip of this monster for only +forty-eight hours, and flash the news to this bleeding, sweating, +choking land that the grip <i>is</i> loosened—after that we need do no more. +<i>Après nous, le déluge;</i> only not now in the sense of wreck and ruin, +but meaning that this deluge shall forever wash away the tyranny and +crime of Capitalism! Forever and a day, to leave us free once more, free +men and women, standing erect and facing God's own sunlight, our +heritage and birthplace in this world!"</p> + +<p>Catherine made no answer, but her hand clasped his. The light on her +magnificent masses of copper-golden hair, braided about her head, +enhanced her beauty. And so for a moment, the little group sat there +about the table—the group on which now so infinitely much depended; and +the lamp-glow shone upon their precious plans, reports and diagrams.</p> + +<p>Into each others' eyes they looked, and knew the moment of final +conflict was drawn very near, at last. The moment which, in failure or +success, should for long years, for decades, for centuries perhaps, +determine whether the world and all its teeming millions were to be +slave or free.</p> + +<p>They spoke no word and took no oath of life-and-death fidelity, those +men and women who now had been entrusted with the fate of the world. But +in their eyes one read unshakable devotion to the Cause of Man, +unswerving loyalty to the Great Ideal, and a calm, holy faith that would +make light of death itself, could death but pave the way to victory!</p> + + + +<br /><hr style="width: 65%;" /><br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_XXX"></a><h3><a name="Page_262"></a>CHAPTER XXX.</h3> + +<h4>TRAPPED!</h4> +<br /> + +<p>Brevard was the first to speak. "Gabriel," said he, "we have agreed that +you must be the leader in this whole affair. The actual, personal +leader. To begin with, you're younger and physically stronger than any +of us men. Your executive ability is, without any question whatever, far +and away ahead of ours—for we are more in the analytical, compiling, +organizing, preparing line. To cap all, your personality carries more, +far more, with the mass of the comrades than any of ours. Your career, +in the past, your conflict with Flint and Waldron, and your long +imprisonment, have given you the necessary following. You, and you +alone, must issue the final call, lead the last, supreme attack, and +carry the old flag, the Crimson Banner of Brotherhood, to the topmost +battlement of an annihilated Capitalism!"</p> + +<p>Gabriel demurred, but they overruled him. So, presently, he consented; +and pledged his life to it; and thrilled with pride and joy at thought +of what now lay written in the Book of Fate, for him to read.</p> + +<p>Catherine's eyes shone with a strange light, as she looked upon him +there, so modest yet so strong. And he, smiling a little as his gaze met +hers, foresaw other things than war, and was glad. His heart sang within +him, that memorable and wondrous night, up there in the hiding-place +among the Great Smokies—there with Cath<a name="Page_263"></a>erine and the other +comrades—there planning the last great blow to strike away forever the +shackles from the bleeding limbs of all the human race!</p> + +<p>But serious and urgent things were to be thought of, and at once, for on +the morrow Brevard was going down, disguised, to Louisville, in one of +the two monoplanes, to attend a final secret meeting of the North-middle +Section Committee. From this he would proceed to the refuge near Port +Colborne, Ontario.</p> + +<p>"Let us make that our meeting-place, one week from tonight," said +Gabriel, "in case anything happens. Should we be detected, or should any +accident befall, we must have some time and place to rally by. Is my +suggestion taken?"</p> + +<p>They all agreed, after some discussion.</p> + +<p>"But," added Mrs. Grantham, "let's hope we're still secure here, for a +while. It doesn't seem possible they could find us <i>here</i>, in this broad +mountain wilderness!"</p> + +<p>Brevard, meanwhile, was spreading out diagrams and plans.</p> + +<p>"The plant at Niagara," said he. "Gabriel, study this, now, as you never +yet have studied anything! For on your intimate knowledge of these +plans—which, by the way, have been obtained only at the cost of eight +lives of our comrades, and through adventures which alone would make a +wonderful book—depends everything. With all communications cut, and +troops kept away, and our own people storming the works, you will yet +fail, Gabriel, unless you know every building, every courtyard, wall and +passage, every door and window, almost, I might say. For the place is +more than a manufacturing plant. <a name="Page_264"></a>It's a fortress, a city in itself, a +wonderful, gigantic center to the whole web of world-domination!</p> + +<p>"So now, to the plans!"</p> + +<p>For hours, while Gabriel took notes and listened keenly, asked questions +and made minute memoranda, Brevard explained the situation at the great +Air Trust works. The others looked on, listened, and from time to time +made suggestions; but for the most part they kept silent, unwilling to +disturb this most important work.</p> + +<p>Carefully and with painstaking accuracy he showed Gabriel how the plant +now embraced more than two square miles of territory around the Falls, +all guarded by tremendous barricades mounting machine-guns and +search-lights. On both sides of the river this huge monster had +squatted, effectually shutting out all sight of the Falls and depriving +the people of their birthright of beauty, at the same time that it had +harnessed the vast waterpower to the task of enslaving the world.</p> + +<p>"From the Grand Trunk steel arch bridge up to and including the former +plant of the Niagara Falls Power Company," said Brevard, "you see the +plant extends. And, on the Canadian side—or what was the Canadian, +before 'we' absorbed Canada—it stretches from the Ontario Power +Company's works to those of the Toronto-Niagara Power Company, including +both. In addition to having absorbed these, it has taken over the +Niagara Falls Hydraulic Power and Manufacturing Company, the Canadian +Power Company and half a dozen others, and has, as you see, established +its central offices and plant on Goat Island.</p> + +<p>"Here Flint and Waldron have what may be called a citadel within a +citadel—twelve acres of administration <a name="Page_265"></a>buildings, laboratories (in +charge of your old friend Herzog, by the way!) and experimental works, +including also the big steel chambers, vacuum-lined, where they are +already storing their liquid oxygen to be turned into their pipe-lines +and tank-cars. This Goat Island central plant will be the real kernel in +the nut, Gabriel. Once <i>that</i> is gone, you'll have ripped the heart out +of the beast, smashed the vital ganglia, and given the world the +respite, the breathing-space it must have, to free itself!"</p> + +<p>"And if I don't?" asked Gabriel. "If anything happens to upset our +blockading tactics, or if our attacking forces are defeated or our +aeroplanes shot down, what then?"</p> + +<p>"Then," said Brevard, slowly, "then the world had better die than +survive under the abominable slavery now impending. Already the +pipe-lines have been laid to Buffalo, Cleveland, Albany and Scranton. +Already they're under way to New York City itself, and to Cincinnati. +Already other plants have been projected for Chicago, Denver, San +Francisco and New Orleans, to say nothing of half a dozen in the Old +World. At this present moment, as we all sit here in this quiet room on +this remote mountain-slope, the world's air is being cornered! All the +atmospheric nitrogen is planned for, by Flint and Waldron, to pass under +their control—and with it, every crop that grows. All the oxygen will +follow. They're already having their domestic-service apparatus +manufactured—their cold-pipe radiators, meters, evaporators and +respirators. I tell you, comrades, this thing is close upon us, not as a +theory, now, but as a terrible, an inconceivably ghastly reality!</p> + +<p>"Even as we talk this thing over, those devils in human <a name="Page_266"></a>form are at +work impoverishing the atmosphere, the very basis of all life. My +oxymeter, today, showed a diminution of .047 per cent. in the amount of +free oxygen in the air right on this mountain. And their plant is hardly +running yet! Wait till they get it under full swing—wait till their +pipe-lines and tanks and instruments and all their vast, infernal +apparatus of exploitation and enslavement are in operation! Even in a +week from now, or less, by the time you issue the call, Gabriel, you may +see wretches gasping in vain for breath, in some dark alley of Niagara +where the air is being drained!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, devilish and infernal plot against the world!" said Gabriel, +bitterly. "Yet in essence, after all, no different from the system of +ten years ago, which kept food and shelter, light and fuel, under lock +and key—and made the dollar the only key to fit the lock! Yet this +seems worse, somehow; and though I die for it, my last supreme blow +shall be against such unutterable, such murderous villainy! So then, +comrades—"</p> + +<p>He paused, suddenly, as Kate laid a hand on his arm.</p> + +<p>"Hark! What's that?" she whispered.</p> + +<p>Outside, somewhere, a sound had made itself heard. Then on the porch, a +loose board creaked.</p> + +<p>Gabriel sprang to his feet. The others stood up and faced the door.</p> + +<p>"In heaven's name, what's that outside?" demanded Craig.</p> + +<p>On the instant, a heavy foot crashed through the panels of their door. +The door, burst open, flew back.</p> + +<p>In the aperture, stood a man, in aviator's dress, with another dimly +visible behind him. Both these men held <a name="Page_267"></a>long, blue-nosed, +oxygen-bullet-shooting revolvers levelled at the little group around the +table.</p> + +<p>"My God! Air Trust spies!" cried Grantham, pale as death.</p> + +<p>"Hands up, you!" shouted the man in the doorway, with a wild triumph in +his voice. "You're caught, all of you! Not a move, you —— —— ——! +Hands up!"</p> + + + +<br /><hr style="width: 65%;" /><br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_XXXI"></a><h3><a name="Page_268"></a>CHAPTER XXXI.</h3> + +<h4>ESCAPE!</h4> +<br /> + +<p>Quick as thought, at sound of the imperative summons and sight of the +levelled weapons, Gabriel swept up most of the papers and crammed them +into the breast of his loose flannel shirt, then dashed the lamp to the +floor, extinguishing it. The room grew dark, for now the fire had burned +down to hardly more than glowing coals.</p> + +<p>There was no panic; the men did not curse, neither did the women scream. +As though the tactic had already been agreed on, Craig tipped the table +up, making a kind of barricade; and over it Grantham's revolver, +snatched from his belt, spat viciously.</p> + +<p>It all happened in a moment.</p> + +<p>The foremost spy grunted, coughed and plunged forward. As he fell, he +fired his terrible weapon.</p> + +<p>The bullet—a small, thin metal shell, filled with a secret chemical and +liquid oxygen—went wild. It struck the wall, some feet to the left of +the fireplace, and instantly the wood burst into vivid flame. Flesh +would crisp to nothing, solid stone would crumble, metal would gutter +and run down, under that awful incandescence.</p> + +<p>Again Grantham's revolver barked, while Bevard tugged at his own, which +had unaccountably got stuck in its holster. But this second shot missed. +And even <a name="Page_269"></a>as Grantham's bullet snicked a long splinter from the +door-jamb, the second spy fired.</p> + +<p>Brevard's choking cry died as the gushing flame enveloped him. He +staggered, flung up both arms and fell stone dead, the life seared clean +out of him, as a lamp sears a moth.</p> + +<p>Gasping, blinded, the others scattered; and for the third time—while +the room now glowed with this unquenchable blossoming of flame—Grantham +shot.</p> + +<p>The spy's body burst into a sheaf of fire. Up past the lintel streamed +the burning swirl. Mute and annihilated, his charred body dropped beside +that of his mate.</p> + +<p>The total time from challenge to complete victory had not exceeded ten +seconds.</p> + +<p>"I exploded some of his cartridges!" choked Grantham. shielding his wife +from the glare, while Gabriel protected Catherine.</p> + +<p>"His—his cartridge belt!" gasped Craig.</p> + +<p>"Yes! And now, out—out of here!"</p> + +<p>"Brevard? We must save his body!" cried Gabriel, pointing.</p> + +<p>"Impossible!" shouted Grantham. "That hellish compound will burn for +hours! And in three minutes this whole place will be a roaring furnace! +Out of here—out—away! We must save the hangar, at all hazards!"</p> + +<p>Against their will, but absolutely unable to approach the now +wildly-roaring fire on the floor that marked the spot where Brevard had +fallen in the Battle with Plutocracy, the comrades quickly retreated.</p> + +<p>Raging fire now hemmed them on three sides. Their only avenue of escape +was through the eastern windows, eight or ten feet above the ground. +Hastily snatching up <a name="Page_270"></a>such of the plans and papers as he had not already +secured—and some of these already were beginning to smoke and turn +brown, in the infernal heat—Gabriel shielded Catherine's retreat. The +others followed.</p> + +<p>Craig and Grantham first jumped from the windows, then caught Mrs. +Grantham and Catherine as Gabriel helped them to escape. He himself was +the last to leave the room, now a raging furnace. Together they all ran +from the building, and none too soon; for suddenly the roof collapsed, a +tremendous burst of crackling flames and sheaved sparks leaped high +above the tree-tops, and the walls came crashing in.</p> + +<p>In the welter of incandescence, where now only the stone chimney +stood—and this, too, was already cracking and swaying—Brevard had +found his tomb, together with the two Air Trust spies. All that +pleasant, necessary place was now a mass of white-hot ruin; all those +books and pictures now had turned to ash.</p> + +<p>The five remaining comrades paused by the hangar, and looked mournfully +back at the still-leaping volcano of destruction.</p> + +<p>"Poor Brevard! Poor old chap!" said Craig. He peered at the women. +Neither one was crying—they were not that type—but both were pale.</p> + +<p>"I don't feel that way," said Gabriel. "Brevard is not to be pitied. +He's to be envied! He died in the noblest war we can conceive—the war +for the human race! And his last act was to take part in a battle that +stamped out two vipers, Air Trust spies, who would have joyed to burn us +all alive!"</p> + +<br /> + +<a name="Image_5"></a><center> +<img src="images/image-5.jpg" height="75%" alt="The spy's body burst into a sheaf of fire." title=""> +</center> +<div class="caption"><center><b>The spy's body burst into a sheaf of fire.</b></center></div> + +<br /> + +<p>"Thank God, I got the Hell-hounds!" muttered Craig. "Two less of Slade's +infamous army, anyhow." Though <a name="Page_271"></a><a name="Page_272"></a>Gabriel knew it not, the first one to +fall was the same who had battled with him in the trap at Rochester, the +same who had trailed him when he, Gabriel, had left the Federal pen. So +one score, at least, was settled.</p> + +<p>"They're gone, anyhow," said Gabriel, "and five of us still live—and +I've still got the plans and all. Moreover, the monoplanes are safe. The +quicker we get away from here, now, the better. Away, and to our last +remaining refuge near Port Colborne, on the shores of Lake Erie. Other +Air Trust forces may be here, before morning. We must get away!"</p> + +<p>A frightful shock awaited them when, entering the hangar—eager now to +escape at once from the scene of the tragedy—they beheld their +aeroplanes.</p> + +<p>By the ruddy light which shone in through the wide doors, from the fire, +they saw long strips and tatters of canvas hanging from the 'planes.</p> + +<p>"Smashed! Broken! Wrecked!" cried Gabriel, starting back aghast.</p> + +<p>The others stared. Only too true; the monoplanes were practically +destroyed. Not only had the spies, before attacking the refuge, slashed +the 'planes to rags, but they had also partly dismantled the motors. +Bits of machinery lay scattered on the floor of the hangar.</p> + +<p>Stunned and unable to gather speech or coherent thought, the five +Socialists stood staring. Then, after a moment, Craig made shift to +exclaim bitterly:</p> + +<p>"A good job, all right! The curs must have got in at the window, and +spent an hour in this work. Whatever happened, they didn't intend we +should have any means of retreat—for of course it's out of the question +for any<a name="Page_273"></a>body to get away from here through the forest over the ridges +and down the cliffs!"</p> + +<p>"They meant to trap us, this way, that's certain," added Gabriel. "There +surely will be others of the same breed, here before morning. They must +not find us here!"</p> + +<p>"But Gabriel, how shall we escape?" asked Catherine, her face illumined +by the leaping flames of the bungalow.</p> + +<p>"How! In their own machine! The machine that Slade and the Air Trust +secret-service gave them, to come here and catch or murder us!"</p> + +<p>"By the Almighty! So we will!" cried Grantham. "Come on, let's find it!"</p> + +<p>The little party hurried off toward the landing-ground, a cleared and +levelled space further up the mountainside. The light of the burning +bungalow helped show them their path; and Craig had also taken an +electric flash-lamp from the hangar. With this he led the way.</p> + +<p>"Right! There it is!" suddenly exclaimed Gabriel, pointing. Craig +painted a brush of electric light over the vague outlines of the Air +Trust machine, a steel racer of the latest kind.</p> + +<p>"A Floriot biplane," said he. "Will hold two and a passenger. Familiar +type. I guess all of us, here, can operate it."</p> + +<p>They all—even the women—could. For you must understand that after the +Great Massacres had foreshown the only possible trend the Movement could +take, practically all the leaders in the work had studied aeronautics, +also chemistry, as most essential branches of knowledge in the +inevitable war.</p> + +<p>"Two, and a passenger," repeated Gabriel, as though echoing Craig's +words. "Who goes first?"</p> + +<p>"<a name="Page_274"></a>You!" said Grantham. "You and Catherine, with Craig to bring the +machine back. You're needed, now, at the front—imperatively needed. +Freda and I," gesturing at his wife, "will hold the fort, here—will +keep watch over our dead, over poor old Brevard, the first to fall in +this great, final battle!"</p> + +<p>A spirited argument followed. Gabriel insisted on being left for the +second trip. A compromise was made by having him get the two women out +of danger, at once, leaving Craig and Grantham on the mountain.</p> + +<p>"I'll send Hazen or Keyes back with the 'plane, for you," said he, as he +climbed into the driving seat, after the passengers had been stowed. +"That will be tomorrow night. Of course, we daren't fly by day. And +mind," he added, adjusting his spark and throttle, "mind you meet me +with this very same machine, safe and sound, at the Lake Erie refuge!"</p> + +<p>"Why this same machine?" inquired Craig.</p> + +<p>"Why? Because I intend to use this, and no other, in the final attack. +Could poetic justice be finer than that the Air Trust works be destroyed +with the help of one of their own 'planes?"</p> + +<p>No more was said, save brief good-byes. Those were times when +demonstrativeness, whether in life or death, was at a discount. A +hand-clasp and a few last instructions as to the time and place of +meeting, sufficed. Then Gabriel pressed the button of the self-starter +and opened the throttle.</p> + +<p>With a sudden gusty chatter, the engine caught. A great wind sprang up, +from the roaring, whirling blades. The Floriot rolled easily forward, +speeded up, and gathered headway.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_275"></a>Gabriel suddenly rotated the rising-plane. The great gull soared, +careened and took the air with majestic power. The watchers on the +mountain-side saw its hooded lights, that glowed upon its compass and +barometric-gauge, slowly spiralling upward, ever upward, as Gabriel +climbed with his two passengers.</p> + +<p>Then the lights sped forward, northward, in a long tangent, and, as they +swiftly diminished to mere specks, the echo of a farewell hail drifted +downward from the black and star-dusted emptiness above.</p> + +<p>Craig turned to Grantham, when the last gleam of light had faded in a +swift trajectory.</p> + +<p>"God grant they reach the last remaining refuge safely!" said he, with +deep emotion. "And may their flight be quick and sure! For the fate of +the world, its hope and its salvation from infinite enslavement, are +whirling through the trackless wastes of air, to-night!"</p> + + + +<br /><hr style="width: 65%;" /><br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_XXXII"></a><h3><a name="Page_276"></a>CHAPTER XXXII.</h3> + +<h4>OMINOUS DEVELOPMENTS.</h4> +<br /> + +<p>The first intimation that Flint and Waldron had of any opposition to +their plans, of any revolt, of any danger, was at quarter past three on +the afternoon of October 8th, 1925. All that afternoon, busy with their +final plans for the immediate extension of their system, they had been +going over certain data with Herzog, receiving reports from branch +managers and conferring with the Congressional committee that—together +with Dillon Slade, their secret-service tool, now also President +Supple's private secretary—they had peremptorily summoned from +Washington to receive instructions.</p> + +<p>In the more than four years that had passed since they had put Gabriel +behind bars—years fruitful in strikes and lockouts, in prostitutions of +justice, in sluggings and crude massacres—both men had altered notably.</p> + +<p>Though the National Censorship now no longer permitted any cartooning of +a "seditious" nature, i.e., representing any of the Air Trust notables, +old Flint's features tempted the artist's pencil more than ever. Save +for a little white fringe of hair at the back of his head, he had become +almost bald, thus adding greatly to his strong suggestion of a vulture. +His face was now more yellow and shrunken than ever, due to a rather +heavier consumption of his favorite drug, morphine; his nose had hooked +more strongly, and his one gold tooth of other <a name="Page_277"></a>days now had two more to +bear it company. His eyes, too, behind his thick pince-nez, had grown +more shifty, cold and cruelly calculating. If it be possible to conceive +a fox, a buzzard and a jackal merged in one, old Isaac Flint today +represented that unnatural and hideous hybrid.</p> + +<p>Now, as he stood facing "Tiger" Waldron, in the inner and sancrosanct +office of the Air Trust plant at Niagara—the office that even the +President of these United States approached with deference and due +humility—the snarl on his face revealed the beast-soul of the man.</p> + +<p>"Damnation!" he was saying, as he shook a newly-received aerogram at his +partner. "What's this, I'd like to know? What does this mean? All +telegraphic communication west of Chicago has suddenly stopped, and from +half a dozen points in the Southern States news is coming in that +railway service is being interrupted! See here, Waldron, this won't do! +Your part of the business has always been to carry on the publicity end, +the newspaper end, the moulding of public opinion and political thought, +<i>and</i> the maintenance of free, clear rail and aero communication +everywhere, all over the world. But now, all at once, see here?"</p> + +<p>Waldron raised red, bleared eyes at his irate partner. He, too, was more +the beast than four years ago. No less the tiger, now, but more the pig. +High, evil living had done its work on him. An unhealthy purple suffused +his heavily-jowled face. Beneath his eyes, sodden bags of flesh hung +pendant. His lips, loose and lascivious, now sucked indolently at the +costly cigar he was smoking as he sat leaning far back in his +desk-chair. And so those two, angry accuser and indifferent accused, +faced each other for a moment; while, incessant, dull, mighty, the +<a name="Page_278"></a>thunders of the giant cataract mingled with the trembling diapason of +the stupendous turbines in the rock-hewn caverns where old Niagara now +toiled in fetters, to swell their power and fling gold into their +bottomless coffers.</p> + +<p>"See here!" Flint repeated angrily, once more shaking the dispatches at +his mate. "Even our wireless system, all over the west and southwest, +has quit working! And you sit there staring at me like—like—"</p> + +<p>"That'll do, Flint!" the younger man retorted in a rough, hoarse voice. +"If there's any trouble, I'll find it and repair it. Very well. But I'll +not be talked to in any such way. Damn it, you can't speak to me Flint, +as if I were one of the people! If you own half the earth, I'll have you +understand I own the other half. So go easy, Flint—go damned easy!"</p> + +<p>Malevolently he eyed the old man's beast-like face. The scorn and +dislike he had conceived for Flint, years ago, when Flint had failed to +win back Catherine to him, had long grown keener and more bitter. +Waldron took it as a personal affront that Flint, apparently so worn and +feeble, could still hang on to life and brains enough to dominate the +enterprise. A thousand times, if once, he had wished Flint well dead and +buried and out of the way, so that he, Waldron, could grasp the whole +circle of the stupendous Air Trust. This, his supreme ambition, had been +constantly curbed by Flint's survival; and as the months and years had +passed, his hate had grown more deep, more ugly, more venomous.</p> + +<p>"Why, curse it," Waldron often thought, "the old dope has taken enough +morphine in his lifetime to have killed a hundred ordinary men! And yet +he still clings on, and withers, and grows yellow like an old dead leaf +that will <a name="Page_279"></a>not drop from the tree! When <i>will</i> he drop? When <i>will</i> +Father Time pick the despicable antique? My God, is the man immortal?"</p> + +<p>Such being the usual tenor of his thoughts, concerning Flint, small +wonder that he took the old man's chiding with an ill grace, and warned +him pointedly not to continue it. Now, facing the Billionaire, he fairly +stared him out of countenance. An awkward silence followed. Both heard, +with relief, a rapping at the office door.</p> + +<p>"Come!" snapped Flint.</p> + +<p>A clerk appeared, with a yellow envelope in hand.</p> + +<p>"Another wireless, sir," said he.</p> + +<p>Flint snatched it from him.</p> + +<p>"Send Herzog and Slade, at once," he commanded, as he ripped the +envelope.</p> + +<p>"Well, more trouble?" insolently drawled "Tiger" happy in the paling of +the old man's face and the sudden look of apprehension there.</p> + +<p>For all answer, Flint handed him the message. Waldron read:</p> + +<div class="blkquot"><p><i>Southern and Gulf States all seemingly cut off from every kind of + communication this P.M. Can get no news. Is this according to your + orders? If not, can you inform me probable cause? I ask + instructions. "K."</i></p></div> + +<p>Silence, a minute, then Waldron whistled, and began pulling at his thick +lower lip, a sure sign of perturbation.</p> + +<p>"By the Almighty, Flint" said he. "I—maybe I was wrong just now, to be +so confoundedly touchy about—about what you said. This—certainly looks +odd, doesn't <a name="Page_280"></a>it? It <i>can't</i> be a series of coincidences! There must be +something back of it, all. But—but <i>what?</i> Rebellion is out of the +question, now, and has been for a long time. Revolution? The way we're +organized, the very idea's an absurdity! But, if not these, what?"</p> + +<p>Flint stared at him with drug-contracted eyes.</p> + +<p>"Yes, that's the question," he rapped out. "What can it mean? Ah, +perhaps Slade can tell us," he added, as the secret-service man quietly +entered through a private door at the rear of the office.</p> + +<p>"Tell you what, gentlemen?" asked Slade, smirking and rubbing his hands.</p> + +<p>"The meaning of that, and that, and <i>that!</i>" snapped old Flint, +thrusting the telegrams at the newcomer.</p> + +<p>"Hm!" grunted the secret-service man, as he glanced them over. "That's +damned odd! But it's of no real moment. If—if there's really any +trouble, any outbreak or what not, of course it can't amount to +anything. All you have to do is order the President to call out the +troops, and—"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I can order him, all right," snarled Flint, "but in case all our +wires are down and all our wireless plants put out of commission, to say +nothing of our transport service interrupted, what then? There's no +doubt in <i>my</i> mind, Slade, that another upheaval is upon us. The fact +that we stamped out the 1918 and 1922 uprisings, and that rivers ran red +and city streets were flushed with blood, apparently hasn't made any +impression on the cattle! Damn it all, I say, <i>can't</i> you keep things +quiet? <i>Can't</i> you?"</p> + +<p>In a very frenzy he paced the office, his face twitching, <a name="Page_281"></a>his bony +fingers snapping with the extremity of his agitation. Suddenly he faced +Slade.</p> + +<p>"See here, you!" he exclaimed. "This certainly means another uprising. +It can't mean anything else! And you've allowed it, you hear? No, no, +don't deny the fact!" he cried, as the detective tried to oppose a word +of self-defense. "It's your fault, at last analysis; and if anything +happens, you and the President, Supple, have got to answer to me, +personally, do you hear? You've got to pay!"</p> + +<p>"Pay, and with devilish big interest, too!" growled "Tiger," fixing his +bleared, savage eyes on Slade.</p> + +<p>"What did I make that man President for, anyhow?" snarled Flint, "if not +to do my bidding and keep things still? Why did I put you in as his +private secretary, if not to have you watch him and see that he <i>did</i> do +my bidding? Why did I have Congress pass all those bills and things, +except to give you the weapons and tools to hold the lid on?</p> + +<p>"You've had a huge army and a conscripted militia given you; and +hundreds of wireless plants, and military roads and war-equipment beyond +all calculating. You've had thousands of spies organized and put under +your control. At your suggestion I've had all political power taken away +from the dogs—and everything done that you've asked for—and this, +<i>this</i> is the kind of work you do!"</p> + +<p>Livid with rage, the old Billionaire stood there shaking by his desk, +his face a fearful mask of passions and evil lusts for vengeance and +power. Slade, recognizing his master, even as President Supple on more +than one occasion had been forced in terrible personal interviews to +<a name="Page_282"></a>recognize him, said no word; but in the secret-service man's eyes a +brutal gleam flashed its message of hate and loathing. Foul as Slade +was, he balked at times, in face of this man's cruel and naked savagery.</p> + +<p>"I tell you," continued Flint, now having recovered his breath, "I tell +you, you're worse than useless, you and your President, ha! +ha!—President Puppet, indeed! Take that great Smoky Mountain clue, for +instance! On the rumor that the ring-leaders of the swine were up there, +somewhere, in the North Carolina mountains, you sent your two best men. +And what's the latest news? What have you to tell me? <i>You</i> know! Other +airmen of yours have just reported that nothing can be found but ruins +of the Socialist refuge, there—nothing but those, and the half-melted +vanadium steel identification-tags of your best scouts! <i>And</i> their +machine is gone—and with it, the birds we wanted! Then, close on the +heels of this, all wires go flat, all wireless breaks down, all rails +are interrupted, and—and Hell's to pay!" Fair in Slade's face he shook +his trembling first.</p> + +<p>"Urrh! You devilish, impotent faker! You four-flusher! You toy +detective! You and your President, too, aren't worth the liquid oxygen +to blow you to Hades! See here, Slade, you get out on this job, now, and +do it damned quick, you understand, or there'll be <i>some</i> shake-up in +your office and in the White House, too. When I buy and pay for tools, I +insist that the tools work. If they don't—!"</p> + +<p>He snatched up a pencil from the desk, broke it in half and threw the +pieces on the floor.</p> + +<p>"Like that!" said he, and stamped on them.</p> + +<p>Waldron nodded approval.</p> + +<p>"<a name="Page_283"></a>Just like that," he echoed, "and then some!"</p> + +<p>"Go, now!" Flint commanded, pointing at the door. "Inside an hour, I +want some reports, and I want them to be satisfactory. If you and Supple +can't get things open again, and start the troops and machine-guns +before then, look out! That's all I've got to say. Now, <i>go!</i>"</p> + + + +<br /><hr style="width: 65%;" /><br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_XXXIII"></a><h3><a name="Page_284"></a>CHAPTER XXXIII.</h3> + +<h4>"NOW COMES THE HOUR SUPREME."</h4> +<br /> + +<p>Hardly had the secret-service man taken his leave, slinking away like a +whipped cur, yet with an ugly snarl that presaged evil, when Herzog +appeared.</p> + +<p>"Come here," said Flint, curtly, heated with his burst of passion.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir," the scientist replied, approaching. "What is it, sir?"</p> + +<p>Still shifty and cringing was he, in presence of the masters; though +with the men beneath him, at the vast plant—and now his importance had +grown till he controlled more than eight thousand—rumor declared him an +intolerable tyrant.</p> + +<p>"Tell me, Herzog, what's the condition of the plant, at this present +moment?"</p> + +<p>"Just how do you mean, sir?"</p> + +<p>"Suppose there were to be trouble, of any kind, how are we fixed for it? +How's the oxygen supply, and—and everything? Good God, man, unlimber! +You're paid to know things and tell 'em. Now, talk."</p> + +<p>Thus adjured, Herzog washed his hands with imaginary soap and in a +deprecating voice began:</p> + +<p>"Trouble, sir? What trouble could there be? There's not the faintest +sign of any organization among the men. They're submissive as so many +rabbits, sir, and—"</p> + +<p>"Damn you, shut up!" roared Flint. "I didn't sum<a name="Page_285"></a>mon you to come up here +and give me a lecture on labor conditions at the works! The trouble I +refer to is possible outside interference. Maybe some kind of wild-eyed +Socialist upheaval, or attack, or what not. In case it comes, what's our +condition? Tell me, in a few words, and for God's sake keep to the +point! The way you wander, and always have, gives me the creeps!"</p> + +<p>Herzog ventured nothing in reply to this outburst, save a conciliatory +leer. Then, collecting his thoughts, he began:</p> + +<p>"Well, sir, in a general way, our condition is perfect. We've got two +regiments of rifle and machine gunmen, half of them equipped with the +oxygen bullets. I guarantee that I could have them away from their +benches and machines, and on the fortifications, inside of fifteen +minutes. Slade's armed guards, 2,500 or so, are all ready, too.</p> + +<p>"Then, beside that, there are eight 'planes in the hangars, and plenty +of men to take them up. If you wish, sir, I can have others brought in. +The aerial-bomb guns are ready. As for the oxygen supply, Tanks F and L +are full, K is half filled, and N and Q each have about 6,000 gallons, +making a total of—let's see, sir—a total of just about 755,000 +gallons."</p> + +<p>"How protected? Have you got those bomb-proof overhead nets on, yet?"</p> + +<p>"Not yet, sir. That is, not over all the lines of tanks. We ran short of +steel wire, last week, and have only got eight of the tanks under +netting. But the work is going on fast, sir, and—"</p> + +<p>"Rush it! At all hazards, get nets over the rest of the tanks. If +anything happens, through this delay, rememb<a name="Page_286"></a>er, Herzog, I shall hold +you personally responsible, and it will go hard with you!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir; thank you, sir," murmured the servile wretch. "Anything else, +sir?"</p> + +<p>Flint thought a moment, glaring at Herzog with angry eyes, then shook +his head in negation.</p> + +<p>"Very well, sir," said Herzog, withdrawing. "I'll go to work at once. By +tomorrow, everything will be safe, I guarantee."</p> + +<p>He closed the door softly—as softly as he had spoken—as softly as he +always did everything.</p> + +<p>Flint glared at the door.</p> + +<p>"The sneaking whelp!" he murmured. "He makes my very flesh crawl. I wish +to heaven he weren't so essential to us; we'd let him go, damned quick!"</p> + +<p>"You forget," put in Tiger, "that he knows too much to be let go, ever. +No, he's a fixture. And now, dismiss him from your mind, and let's go +over those telegrams and radiograms again. If there <i>is</i> a new Socialist +revolt under way—and I admit it certainly begins to look like it—we've +got to understand the situation. Slade will have some more reports for +us, in an hour or so. Till then, these must suffice."</p> + +<p>Flint, curbing his agitation, sat down at the big table and turned on +the vacuum-glow light, for the October afternoon was foggy—a fog that +mingled with the spray of the vast Falls and hung heavy over the +world—and already daylight was beginning to fail.</p> + +<p>"Fools!" he muttered to himself. "Fools, to think they can rebel against +<i>us!</i> Ants would have just as much show of success, charging elephants, +as <i>they</i> have against the Air Trust! By tomorrow they'll be wiped out, +smeared <a name="Page_287"></a>out, shattered and annihilated, whoever and wherever they are. +By tomorrow, at the latest. Again I say, blind, suicidal fools!"</p> + +<p>"Right you are," assented Waldron, drawing up his chair. "They don't +seem to realize, even yet, that we own the whole round earth and all +that is in it. They don't understand that their rebelling is like a +tribe of naked savages going against a modern army with explosive +bullets. Ah, well, let them learn, let them learn! It takes a whip to +teach a cur. Let them feel the lash, and learn!..."</p> +<br /> + +<p>At this same hour, in the last retreat, near Port Colborne, in the State +of Ontario—once a province of Canada—half a dozen grim and determined +men were gathered together. We already recognize Craig, Grantham and +Gabriel. The other three, like them, all wore the Socialist button and +the little tab of red ribbon that marked them as members of the Fighting +Sections.</p> + +<p>"Tonight," Gabriel was saying, as he stood there in the gathering +dusk—they dared not show a light, even behind the drawn curtains of +their refuge—"tonight, comrades, the final die is cast. Everything is +ready, or as nearly ready as we shall ever be able to make it. Our +reports already show that every line of communication has been broken by +one swift, sharp blow. True, in a few hours all these avenues can be +opened up again. By morning, the Niagara works will be in receipt of +messages; trains will be running; the troop-planes will be carrying +their hordes at the command of Flint. By morning, yes. But in the +meantime—"</p> + +<p><a name="Page_288"></a>He spread his fingers, upward, with an expressive gesture.</p> + +<p>"By morning," Craig mumbled, "what will there be left to protect?"</p> + +<p>A little silence followed. Each was busy with his own thoughts.</p> + +<p>All at once, one of the three newcomers spoke—a tall, light-haired +fellow, he seemed, in that dim light, with a strong Southern accent.</p> + +<p>"Pardon me for asking, Gabriel," said he, removing a pipe from his +mouth, "or for discussing details familiar to you all. But, coming as I +<i>have</i> come direct from the New Orleans refuge—they blew it up, last +week, you know—of course I haven't got things as clearly in mind yet, +as you-all have. Now, as I understand it, while we manoeuvre over the +plant, blow up the barricades and, if possible, 'get' the oxygen-tanks, +our men on the ground will pour in through the gaps and storm the place, +under the command of Edward Hargreaves. Is that the idea?"</p> + +<p>"Exactly, Comrade Marion," answered Gabriel. "You've hit it to a T."</p> + +<p>Craig laughed grimly, as he drew at his pipe.</p> + +<p>"Just as we're going to hit those big tanks!" said he. "It's tonight or +never, comrades. They're putting steel nets over them, already. By +tomorrow the whole place will be protected by huge grill-work fully a +hundred feet above the tops of the tanks. Oh, they seem to have thought +of everything, those plutes! But they'll be just a shade too late, this +time; just a shade too late!"</p> + +<p>Another silence, broken again by the tall Southerner.</p> + +<p>"Just let me get this thing quite clear," said he. "We're to start at +5:30, you say, walk past the Welland Canal <a name="Page_289"></a>Feeder out to the Monck +Aviation Grounds, and find everything ready there?"</p> + +<p>"Correct," said Gabriel. "All six of us. That's our part of the program. +Comrades you don't know, out there—comrades in the employ of the Air +Trust itself—will have six machines ready. One of them will be the very +machine that they tried to get us with, in the Great Smokies! So you +see, we're going to use the Air Trust equipment, their field and even +their own telenite, to put them out of business forever and to free the +world!"</p> + +<p>"Poetic justice, all right enough!" laughed Marion. "At the same time +that we're attacking from an elevation of perhaps three thousand feet, +the lateral attack will be delivered. About how many men do you count, +on, for that?"</p> + +<p>"Well," judged Gabriel, "within a ten-mile radius of the plant, at least +a hundred thousand men are waiting, this very instant, with every nerve +keyed up to fighting tension. Scattered in a vast variety of ingenious +and cleverly-devised hiding places, with their chlorine grenades and +their revolvers shooting little hydrocyanic acid gas bullets, they're +waiting the signal—a rocket in mid-heaven."</p> + +<p>"Hydrocyanic acid gas!" exclaimed Marion, forgetting to smoke. "Why, one +whiff of that is death!"</p> + +<p>"It is," agreed Gabriel. "Remember, this is a war of extermination. It's +a case of <i>them</i> or <i>us!</i> And if we're worsted, the whole world loses; +while if they are, then liberty is born! That's why this gas is +justifiable. They'll try to use oxygen-bullets on us, never fear. But +where they can kill ten, with those, we can annihilate a hundred with +our kind. Swine, they have called us, and f<a name="Page_290"></a>ools and apes. Well, we +shall see, we shall see, when it comes to an out-and-out fight between +Plutocrat and Proletarian, who is the better man!"</p> + +<p>Again came silence. And this time it was Grantham who broke it.</p> + +<p>"Comrades," said he, "after you've seen as many Socialists shot down as +<i>I</i> have—shot down and burned, as Brevard was—you'll lose any +lingering ideas of civilized warfare you may still retain. They hunt us +like beasts, prison us in foul traps, ride us down, crush us, break and +tear us, and burn us alive, because we struggle to be free men and +women, not slaves. Now that our hour has struck, now that their lines of +communication and defense are breached, and they—though they still +don't fully understand it—are penned there in their heaven-offending, +monstrous, horrible plant at the Falls, no true man can hesitate to +smash them down with no more compunction than as though they were so +many rattlesnakes or scorpions!</p> + +<p>"This isn't 1915, when political and civil rights still existed, and we +weren't hunted outlaws. This is 1925, and conditions are all different. +It's war, war, war to the death, now; and if war is Hell, then <i>they</i> +are going to get Hell this time, not we."</p> + +<p>Nobody spoke, for a little while; but Marion and Craig smoked +contemplatively, and the others sat there in the dusk, sunk in thought.</p> + +<p>All at once a door opened, and the vague form of a woman became visible.</p> + +<p>"Comrades, you must go," said she. "It's nearly half past five. By the +time you've got everything in readiness, you'll have no time to lose."</p> + +<p>"<a name="Page_291"></a>Right, Catherine," answered Gabriel. "Come, comrades! Up and at it!"</p> + +<p>Ten minutes later they all issued forth into the soft gloom. All were in +aviator's dress, and each carried a parcel by a handle held with stout +straps. Had you seen them, you would have noticed they took particular +pains not to jar or shake these parcels, or approach unduly near each +other.</p> + +<p>At the door of the refuge, Catherine said good-bye to each, and added +some brave word of cheer. Her farewell to Gabriel was longer than to the +others; and for a moment their hands met and clung.</p> + +<p>"Go," she whispered, "go, and God bless you! Go even though it be to +death! Their airmen will take toll of some of the attackers, Gabriel. +Not all the Comrades will return. Oh, may <i>you</i>—may <i>you!</i>"</p> + +<p>"What is written on the Book of Fate, will be," he answered. "Our petty +hopes and fears are nothing, Catherine. If death awaits me, it will be +sweet; for it will come, tonight, in the supreme service of the human +race! Good-bye!"</p> + +<p>With a sudden motion, the girl took his face between her hands, and +kissed his forehead. For all her courage and strength, he sensed her +heart wildly beating and he felt her tears.</p> + +<p>"Good-bye, Gabriel," she breathed. "Would I might go with you! Would +that my duty did not hold me here! Good-bye!"</p> + +<p>Then he was gone, gone with the others, into the thickening obscurity of +the fog-shrouded evening. Now Catherine stood there alone, head bowed +and wet face hidden in both hands.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_292"></a>As the little fighting band disappeared, back to the girl drifted a few +words of song, soft-hummed through the dusk—the deathless chorus of the +International:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>"<i>Now comes the hour supreme!</i><br /></span> +<span><i>To arms, each in his place!</i><br /></span> +<span><i>The new dawn's International</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Shall be the human race!...</i>"<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<br /><hr style="width: 65%;" /><br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_XXXIV"></a><h3><a name="Page_293"></a>CHAPTER XXXIV.</h3> + +<h4>THE ATTACK.</h4> +<br /> + +<p>"Halt! Who goes there?"</p> + +<p>The challenge rang sharply on the night air, outside a small gate in the +barricade of the Monck Aviation Grounds.</p> + +<p>"Liberty!" answered Gabriel, pausing as he gave the password.</p> + +<p>"All right, come on," said a vague figure at the gate. The little group +approached. The gate opened. Silently they entered the enclosure.</p> + +<p>Another man stepped from a hangar. In his hand he held an electric +flash, which he threw upon the newcomers, one by one.</p> + +<p>"Right!" he commented, and took Gabriel by the hand. "This way!"</p> + +<p>Ten minutes later, all of them were in the air, save only Gabriel, who +insisted on staying till his entire squad had made a clean getaway. Then +he too rose; and now in a long, swift line, the fighting squadron +straightened away to north-eastward, on the twenty-mile run to Niagara.</p> + +<p>The night was foggy, chill and dark. All the aviators had instructions +to fly not less than 2,500 feet high, to keep a careful lookout lest +they collide, and to steer by the lights of the great Air Trust plant. +For, misty though the heavens were, still Gabriel could see the dim glow +of the tremendous aerial search-lights dominating Goat Is<a name="Page_294"></a>land—lights +of 5,000,000 candle-power, maintained by current from the Falls, +incessantly sweeping the sky on the lookout for just such perils as now, +indeed, were drawing near.</p> + +<p>Momently, as he flew, Gabriel perceived these huge lights growing +brighter, through the mist, and apprehension won upon him.</p> + +<p>"Incredibly strong!" he muttered to himself, as he glanced from his +barometer to the shining fog ahead. "Even though the mist will be +thicker over the Falls than anywhere else, there's a good possibility +they may pierce it and pick us up—and <i>then</i>, look out for their +'planes and swift, fighting dirigibles!"</p> + +<p>He rotated the rising-plane, and now soared to 2,800 feet. Below and on +either side of him, nothing but tenuous fog. Ahead, the +swiftly-approaching fan of radiance, white, dazzling, beautiful, that +seemed to gush from earth so far below and to the eastward. Already the +thunders of the Falls were audible.</p> + +<p>"Where are the others?" Gabriel wondered, his thoughts seeming to hum +and roar in his head, in harmony with the shuddering diapason of the +muffler-deadened exhaust. "No way of telling, now. Each man for +himself—and each to do his best!"</p> + +<p>And then his thoughts reverted to Catherine; and round his heart a +sudden yearning seemed to strengthen his stern, indomitable +resolve—"Victory or death!"</p> + +<p>But now there was scant time for thought. The moment of action was +already close at hand. Far below there, hidden by night and dark and +mist, Gabriel knew a hundred thousand comrades, of the Fighting +Sections, were lying hidden, waiting for the signal to advance.</p> + +<p>"<a name="Page_295"></a>And it's time, now!" he said aloud, thrilled by a wondrous sense of +vast responsibility—a sense that on this moment hung the fate of the +world. "It's time for the signal. Now then, up and at them!"</p> + +<p>Taking the rocket—a powerful affair, capable of casting an intense, +calcium light—he touched the fuse to a bit of smouldering punk fastened +in a metal cup at his right hand. Then, as it flared, he launched the +rocket far into the void.</p> + +<p>Below, came a quick spurt of radiance, in a long, vivid streak that shot +away with incredible rapidity. Gabriel followed it a moment, with his +gaze, then smiled.</p> + +<p>"The Rubicon is crossed," said he. "The gates of the Temple of Janus are +open wide—and now comes War!"</p> + +<p>He rose again, skimming to a still higher altitude as the glare of the +great Works drew closer and closer underneath. The wind roared in his +ears, louder than the whirling propellers. The whole fabric of the +aeroplane quivered as it climbed, up, up above the rushing, bellowing +cataract.</p> + +<p>"Where are the others?" thought he, and reached for a thanatos +projectile, in the rack near the metal cup where the punk still +glowered.</p> + +<p>All at once, a glare of light burst upward through the white-glowing +mist; and the 'plane reeled with the air-wave, as now a thunderous +concussion boomed across the empty spaces of the sky.</p> + +<p>At the same moment, a faint, ripping noise mounted to Gabriel—a sound +for all the world like the tearing of stout canvas. Then followed a +chattering racket, something like distant mowing-machines at work; and +now all blent to a steady, determined uproar. Gabriel almost <a name="Page_296"></a>thought to +hear, as he launched his own projectile, far sounds as of the shouts and +cries of men; but of this he could not make sure.</p> + +<p>"They're at it, anyhow!" he exulted. "At it, at last! By the way our men +have launched the attack, the first explosion must have breached a wall! +God! What wouldn't I give to be down there, in the thick of it, rather +than here! I—"</p> + +<p><i>Crash!</i></p> + +<p>Again a spouting geyser of light and uproar burst into mid-air.</p> + +<p>"That was <i>my</i> thanatos speaking!" cried Gabriel. "Now for another!"</p> + +<p>Before he could drop it, as he circled round and round, directly over +the great, flailing beams of the Air Trust search-lights, a third +detonation shattered the heavens, nearly unseating him. Up sprang the +roar, with wonderful intensity, reflected from the earth as from a giant +sounding-board. And Gabriel noted, with keen satisfaction, that one of +the huge light-beams had gone dark.</p> + +<p>"Put out <i>one</i> of them, anyway, so far!" thought he, and swung again to +westward, and once more dropped a messenger of death to tyranny.</p> + +<p>Now the bombardment became general. Trust aerial-gun projectiles began +bursting all about. Every second or two, terrible concussions leaped +toward the zenith; and the earth, hidden somewhere down there below the +fog-blanket, seemed flaming upward like a huge volcano. One by one the +search-lights, whipping the sky, went black; and now the glow of them +was fast diminishing, only to be replaced by a ruddier and more +intermittent glare.</p> + +<p>"<a name="Page_297"></a>The plant's burning, at last," thought Gabriel. "Heaven grant the fire +may spread to the oxygen-tanks! If we can only get <i>those</i>—!"</p> + +<p>Again he launched a projectile, and again he circled over the doomed +plant.</p> + +<p>A swift black shape swooped by him. He had just time to exchange a yell +of warning, when it was gone. The near peril gripped his heart, but did +not shake it.</p> + +<p>"Close call!" said he.</p> + +<p>If that machine and his had met, good-bye forever! But after all, the +danger of collision in mid-air, or of being struck by a projectile from +some other machine, above, was no greater than his comrades on the +ground were facing. Not so great, perhaps. Many a one would meet his +death from the aerial attack. In a war like this, a thousand perils +threatened. Gabriel only hoped that Hargreaves, down below there, could +hold them back, away, till the walls should have been destroyed.</p> + +<p>Circling, ever circling, now hearing some echoes of the earth-battle, +some grenade-volleys and rapid-fire clattering, now deafened and all but +blinded by the vast, up-belching explosions of the thanatos projectiles, +Gabriel flew among the drifting mists and vapors. Still was he guided by +one or two search-lights; but most of these were gone, now. Yet the +glare of the conflagration, below, was luridly shuddering through the +fog, painting it all a dull and awful red.</p> + +<p>Red! Suddenly words came into Gabriel's mind—the words of his own poem:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>... <i>Red as blood, red as blood! The blood of the shattered miner,</i><br /></span> +<span><a name="Page_298"></a><i>Blood of the boy in the rifle pits, blood of the coughing child-slave,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Blood of the mangled trainman, blood that the Carpenter shed!</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>"For your sake! For the world's sake, this!" he cried, and hurled +another thanatos. "If ever war of liberation was holy, this is that +war!"</p> + +<p>Suddenly, through all the turmoil of shattering explosions, tossing +air-currents and drifting, acrid smoke, he became conscious of a sudden, +swift-flying pursuer.</p> + +<p>By the light of the burning Plant, down there somewhere in the vapors of +the thunderous Falls, he saw a hawk-like 'plane that swooped toward him +with incredible velocity, savage and lean and black.</p> + +<p>Off to the right, a sudden spattering of shots in mid-air told him the +battle in the sky was likewise being engaged. He saw vague, veiled +explosions, there, then a swift, falling trail of flame. A pang shot +through his heart. Had one of his companions fallen and been dashed to +death? He could not tell—he had no time to wonder, even, for already +the attacker was upon him, the swift Air Trust <i>épervier,</i> one of the +dreaded air-fleet of the world-monopoly!</p> + +<p>Gabriel had just time to swerve from the attack, and swoop +aloft—dropping his next to last projectile as he did so—when the +whirling shape zoomed past, swung round and once more charged. He saw, +vaguely, two men sat in it. One was the pilot, a "Gray" or Cosmos +mercenary. The other—could it be? Yes, there was no mistaking! The +other was Slade himself, commander of the hireling army of Plutocracy!</p> + +<p><a name="Page_299"></a>Out from the attacking 'plane jetted sadden spurts of fire. Gabriel +heard the zip-zip-zip of bullets; heard a ripping tear, as one of his +canvas wings was punctured—God help him, had that explosive bullet +struck a wire or a stay!</p> + +<p>Then, maddened to despair; and burning with fierce rage against this +monster of the upper air that now was hurling death at him, he once more +"banked," brought his machine sharp round, and charged, full drive, at +the attacker!</p> + +<p>This tactic for a second must have disconcerted the Air Trust +mercenaries. Gabriel's speed was terrific. With stupefying suddenness, +the <i>épervier</i> loomed up ahead of him.</p> + +<p>"Now!" he shouted. "Take this, from me!"</p> + +<p>Half rising from his seat, he hurled his last remaining projectile full +at Slade, then wrenched his own 'plane off sharply to the left.</p> + +<p>A thunderous concussion and a dazzling burst of light told him his +chance shot had been effective.</p> + +<p>He got a second's vision of a shattered black mass, a tangle of girders, +wires, collapsed planes, that seemed to hang a moment in midair—of +whirling bodies—of wreckage indescribable. Then the broken debris +plunged with awful speed and vanished through the red-glowing mist.</p> + +<p>Even as he shuddered, sickened at the terrible, though necessary deed, +the deed which alone could save him from swift death, an overwhelming +air-wave from the terrible explosion struck his speeding machine, the +machine captured in the Great Smokies from the Air Trust itself.</p> + +<p>It heeled over like an unballasted yacht under the lash <a name="Page_300"></a>of a hurricane. +Vainly Gabriel jerked at wheel and levers; he could not right it.</p> + +<p>As it seemed to come under control, a stay snapped. The 'plane swooped, +yawned forward and stuck its nose into an air-hole, caused by the vast, +uprising smoke and heat of the huge conflagration beneath.</p> + +<p>Then, lost and beyond all guidance, it somersaulted, slid away down a +long drop and, whirling wildly over and over, plunged with Gabriel into +the glowing, smoking, detonating void!</p> + + + +<br /><hr style="width: 65%;" /><br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_XXXV"></a><h3><a name="Page_301"></a>CHAPTER XXXV.</h3> + +<h4>TERROR AND RETREAT.</h4> +<br /> + +<p>When, despite Flint's imperative orders, Slade failed to reopen the +lines of communication for him, before nightfall, and when President +Supple wired in code for a little more time in obeying Air Trust orders, +the Billionaire recognized that something of terrible menace now had +suddenly broken in upon his dream of universal power.</p> + +<p>He summoned Waldron and Herzog for another conference and together they +feverishly planned to put the works under defense, until such time as +troops could be got through to them.</p> + +<p>The plant regiment was mustered and the Cosmos mercenaries and scabs +were made ready. The machine-guns were unlimbered for action and large +quantities of ammunition were delivered to them and to the aerial-bomb +guns, as nightfall lowered. Herzog set eight hundred men to work +covering all the tanks possible, with wire netting of heavy steel. The +search-lights were all ordered into use; steam and electrical +connections were made, the air-fleet was manned, and everything was done +that unlimited wealth and bitter hate of the Workers could suggest.</p> + +<p>With curses on the fog, which hid the upper air from view, the old man +now stood at one of the west windows of his inner office—the office on +the top floor of the main <a name="Page_302"></a>Administration Building, overlooking nearly +the whole Plant.</p> + +<p>"Damn the weather!" he snarled, his gold teeth glinting. "In addition to +all this mist from the Falls, there's a regular cloud-bank settling +down, tonight! Under cover of it, what may not happen? Nothing could +have been worse, Waldron. Though we shall soon control the air, that +won't be enough, so long as fogs and mists escape us. Our next +problem—hello! Now what the devil's <i>that?</i>"</p> + +<p>"What's what?" retorted Waldron, testily. He had been drinking rather +more heavily than usual, that day, both because of the dull weather and +because the Falls invariably got on his nerves, during his brief +sojourns there. Away from New York and his favorite haunts, Waldron was +lost. "What's what?" he repeated with an ugly look. "This roaring, +glaring, trembling place gives me—"</p> + +<p>"That! That light in the sky!" cried Flint, excitedly pointing. "See? +No—it's gone now! But it looked like—like a rocket! A signal, of some +kind, thrown from an aeroplane! A—"</p> + +<p>Waldron laughed harshly.</p> + +<p>"Seeing things, eh?" he sneered, coming across to the window, himself, +and peering out. "<i>I</i> don't see anything! Nothing here to worry about, +Flint. With all these walls and guns, and netting, and air-ships and a +private army and all, what more do you want? Not getting nervous in your +old age, are you, eh?" he gibed bitterly. "Or is your conscience +beginning to wake up, as the graveyard becomes more a probability +than—"</p> + +<p>"Enough!" Flint snapped at him. "When you drink, <a name="Page_303"></a>Waldron, you're an +idiot! Now, forget all this, and let's get down to work. I tell you, I +just now saw a signal-light up there in the mist. There's trouble coming +tonight, as sure as we own the earth. Trouble, maybe big trouble. +Merciful God, I—I rather think we oughtn't to be here, in person, eh? +We'd be much better off out of here. If there—there should be any +fighting, you know—"</p> + +<p>His voice broke in a falsetto pipe. Waldron laughed brutally.</p> + +<p>"Bravo!" cried he, with flushed and mottled face. "You'll do, Flint! I +see, right now, the firing-line is the life for you! Well, let the row +come, and devil take it, say I. Better anything than—"</p> + +<p>The sentence was never finished, For suddenly a shattering explosion +hurled a vast section of the western encircling wall outward, out into +the River, and, where but a moment before, the partners had been gazing +at a high concrete-and-steel barrier, with electric lights on top, now +only a huge gap appeared, through which the foam-tossed current could be +seen leaping swiftly onward toward the Falls.</p> + +<p>Hurled back from the window by the force of the explosion, both men were +struck dumb with terror and amaze. Flint rallied first, and with a cry +of rage, inarticulate as a beast's howl, sprang to the window again.</p> + +<p>Outside, a scene of desolation and wild activity was visible. The great, +paved courtyard, flanked by the turbine houses and the wall, on one +hand, and on the other by the oxygen tanks' huge bulk that loomed +vaguely through the electric-lighted mist, now had begun to swarm with +men.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_304"></a>Flint saw a few forms lying prone under the hard glare of the arcs and +vacuum lights. Others were crawling, writhing, making strange +contortions. Here, there, men with rifles were running to take their +posts. Hoarse orders were shouted, and shrill replies rang back.</p> + +<p>Then, all at once, a kind of sputtering series of small explosions began +to rip along the edge of the south wall. And now, machine-guns began to +talk, with a dry, hard metallic clatter. And—though whence these came, +Flint could not see—grenades began flying over the wall and bursting in +the court. Though unwounded, men fell everywhere these gas-projectiles +exploded—fell, stone dead and stiffening at once—fell, in strange, +monstrous, awful attitudes of death.</p> + +<p>Steam began billowing up; and crackling electrical discharges leaped +along the naked wires of the outer barricades.</p> + +<p>The whole Plant shook and rattled with the violent concussions of the +aerial-bomb guns, already searching the upper air with shrapnel.</p> + +<p>Somewhere, out of the range of vision, another terrible shock made the +building tremble to its nethermost foundation; and wild yells and cries, +as of a charge, a repulse, a savage and determined rush, echoed through +the vast enclosure. Came a third detonation—and, blinding in its +intensity, a globe of fire burst almost beneath the window, five stories +below.</p> + +<p>The partners, shaking and pale, retreated hastily. A swift, +upward-rising shape swept over the courtyard and was gone—one of the +air-fleet now launched to meet the attackers.</p> + +<p>Far below a sudden crumbling shudder of masonry told <a name="Page_305"></a>the Billionaire +not a moment was to be lost, for already one wing of the Administration +Building was swaying to its fall.</p> + +<p>"Quick, Waldron! Quick!" he shouted, in the shrill treble of senility, +and ran into the corridor that led to the north wing. Waldron, suddenly +sobered, followed; and from the offices, where the night-shift of clerks +were laboring (or had been, till the first explosion), came crowding +pale and frightened men. Not the fighting cast of Air Trust slaves, +these, but the anaemic chemists and experimenters and clerical workers, +scabs, to a man. Now, in the common sentiment of fear, they jostled +Flint and Waldron, as though these plutocrats had been but common clay. +And in the corridor a babel rose, through which fresh volleys and ever +more and more violent explosions ripped and thundered.</p> + +<p>Flint struck savagely at some who barred his way; and Waldron elbowed +through, with curses.</p> + +<p>"Get out of the way, you swine!" shrilled the old Billionaire. "Make +way, there! Way!"</p> + +<p>The two men reached a door that led by a private passage, through to the +steel-and-concrete laboratories.</p> + +<p>"Here, this way, Flint!" shouted Waldron. "If those Hell-devils drop a +bomb on us, this building will cave in like jackstraws! Our only safety +is here, <i>here!</i>"</p> + +<p>Thoroughly cowed now, with all the brutal bluster and half-drunken +swagger gone, Waldron whipped out a bunch of keys, tremblingly unlocked +the door and blundered through. Flint followed. Behind them, others +tried to press, on toward the armored laboratories; but with vile +blasphemies the plutocrats beat them back and slammed the door.</p> + +<p>"<a name="Page_306"></a>To Hell with <i>them!</i>" shouted Flint, perfectly ashen now and shaking +like a leaf, the fear of death strong on his withered soul. "We've got +all we can do to look after ourselves! Quick, Waldron, quick!"</p> + +<p>Both men, sick with panic, with fear of the unknown terror from above, +stumbled rather than ran along the passage, and presently reached the +laboratory.</p> + +<p>Here Waldron unlocked another door, this time a steel one, and—as they +both crowded through—pressed a hand to his dizzy head.</p> + +<p>"Safe!" he gulped, slamming the door again. "They can't get us <i>here</i>, +at any rate, no matter what happens! This place is like a fort, and—"</p> + +<p>His speech was interrupted by a dazing, deafening tumult of sound. The +earth trembled, and the laboratory, steel though it was, with concrete +facing, rocked on its foundation. A glare through the windows, quickly +fading, told them the building they had just quitted was now but a +smoking pile of ruin.</p> + +<p>Flint gasped, unable to speak. Waldron, shaking and cowed, tried to +moisten his dry lips with a thick tongue.</p> + +<p>"We—we weren't any too soon!" he gulped, without one thought of the +doomed scabs in the Administration Building. Stern justice was now +overtaking these wretches. False to the working-class, and eager to +serve the Air Trust—not only eager to serve, but zealous in any attack +on the proletariat, and by their very employment serving to rivet the +shackles on the world—now they were abandoned by their masters.</p> + +<p>Between upper and nether millstone, moving with neither, they were +caught and crushed. And as the great <a name="Page_307"></a>building quivered, gaped wide +open, swayed and came thundering down in a vast pile of flame-lit ruin, +whence a volcanic burst of fire, smoke and dust arose, they perished +miserably, time-servers, cowards and self-seekers to the last.</p> + +<p>But Flint and Waldron still survived. Though the very earth shook and +trembled with the roar of bombs, the crumbling of massive walls, the +rattle of volley-fire and the crashing of the terrible grenades that +mowed down hundreds as they spread their poisonous gas abroad—though +the shriek of projectiles, the thunder of the air-ship guns now sweeping +the sky in blind endeavor to shatter the attackers all swelled the +tumult to a frightful storm of terror and of death; they still lived, +cowered and cringed there in the bomb-proof steel-and-concrete of the +inner laboratories.</p> + +<p>"Come, come!" Flint quavered, peering about him at the deserted room, +still glaring with electric light—the room now abandoned by all its +workers, who, members of Herzog's regiment, had run to take their posts +at the first signal of attack. "Come—this isn't safe enough, even here. +In—in there!"</p> + +<p>He pointed toward a vault-like door, leading to the subterranean steel +chambers where Herzog eventually counted on storing some hundreds of +thousands of tons of liquid oxygen—the reserve-chambers, impregnable to +lightning, fire, frost or storm, to man's attacks or nature's—the +chambers blasted from the living rock, deep as the Falls themselves, +vacuum-lined, wondrous achievement of the highest engineering skill the +world could boast.</p> + +<p>"<a name="Page_308"></a>There! There!" repeated Flint, plucking at the dazed Waldron's sleeve. +"Tool-steel and concrete, twenty-five feet thick—and vacuum chambers +all about—<i>there</i> we can hide! There's safety! Come, come quick!"</p> + +<p>Staring, white-faced (he who had been so red!) and dumb, Waldron +yielded. Together, furtive as the criminals they were, these two +world-masters slunk toward the steel door, while without, their empire +was crashing down in smoke, and flame, and blood!</p> + +<p>They had almost reached it when a smash of glass at the far end of the +laboratory whipped them round, in keener terror.</p> + +<p>Staring, wild-eyed, they beheld the crouching figure of Herzog. Running, +even as he cringed, he had upset a glass retort, which had shattered on +the concrete floor. And as he ran, he screamed:</p> + +<p>"<i>They're in! They're coming! Quick—the steel vaults! Let me in, there! +Let me in!</i>"</p> + +<p>The coward was now a maniac with terror, his face perfectly white, +writhen with panic, and with staring eyes that gleamed horribly under +the greenish vacuum-lights.</p> + +<p>"Back, you! Get out!" roared Waldron, raising a fist. "We—"</p> + +<p>A sudden belch of flame, outside, split the night with terrible +virescence. The whole steel building trembled and swayed. Some of its +girders buckled; and the east wall, nearest the oxygen-tanks, caved +inward as a mass of many tons was hurled against it.</p> + +<p>A stunning concussion flung all three men to the floor; <a name="Page_309"></a>and, as they +fell, a withering heat-wave quivered through the place.</p> + +<p>"The oxygen-tanks!" gasped Flint. "They're blown up—they're +burning—God help us!"</p> + +<p>Scorching, yet still eager to live, he crawled on hands and knees toward +the steel door. Waldron dragged himself along, half-dead with terror. +Now, dripping gouts of inextinguishable fire were raining on the roof of +the building. A whirlwind of flame was sweeping all its eastern side; +and a glare like that of Hell itself seared the eyes of the fugitives.</p> + +<p>Quivering, trembling, slavering, the old man and Waldron wrenched the +steel door open.</p> + +<p>"<i>Me! Me! Let me in! Me! Save me!</i>" howled Herzog, dragging himself +toward them.</p> + +<p>They only laughed derisively, with howls of demoniacal scorn.</p> + +<p>"You slave! You cur!" shouted Waldron, and spat at him as he drew the +vault door shut. "You cringing dog—stay there, now, and face it!"</p> + +<p>The great door boomed shut. In the cool of the winding stairway of steel +which led, lighted by electricity, to the trap-door and the ladder down +into the tremendous vaults, the world-masters breathed deeply once more, +respited from death.</p> + +<p>Herzog, screaming like a fiend in torment, clawed at the impenetrable +steel door, raved, begged, entreated, and tore his fingers on the lock.</p> + +<p>No answer, save the muffled echo of a jeer, from within.</p> + +<p><i>Boom!</i></p> + +<p><a name="Page_310"></a>What was that?</p> + +<p>Mad with terror though he was, he whirled about, and faced the room now +quivering with heat.</p> + +<p>Even as he looked, a great gap yawned in the western wall, farthest from +the flame-belching oxygen-tank that had been struck.</p> + +<p>Through this gap, pouring irresistibly as the sea, swept a tide of +attackers, storming the inner citadel of the infernal, world-strangling +Air Trust.</p> + +<p>At the head of this victorious army, this flood triumphant of the +embattled proletaire, Herzog's staring eyes caught a moment's glimpse of +a dreaded face—the face of Gabriel Armstrong.</p> + +<p>Gasping, the coward and tool of the world-masters made one supreme +decision. Close by, a rack of vials stood. He whirled to it, snatched +out a tiny bottle and waiting not even to draw the cork—craunched the +bottle, glass and all, in his fang-like, uneven teeth.</p> + +<p>An instant change swept over him. His staring eyes closed, his head fell +forward, his whole body collapsed like an empty sack. He fell, twitched +once or twice, and was dead—dead ere the attackers could reach the door +of steel where his bestial masters had betrayed him.</p> + +<p>Thus perished Herzog, coward and tool, a victim of the very forces he +himself had helped create.</p> + +<p>And at the moment of his death, the masters he had cringed to and had +served, sneering with scorn at him even in their mortal terror, were +tremblingly descending the long metal ladder to the impregnable vaults +of steel below.</p> + + + +<br /><hr style="width: 65%;" /><br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_XXXVI"></a><h3><a name="Page_311"></a>CHAPTER XXXVI.</h3> + +<h4>THE STORMING OF THE WORKS.</h4> +<br /> + +<p>Plunged into the abyss of mist and flame by the attack of the Air Trust +<i>épervier</i>, Gabriel had abandoned himself for lost. Death, mercifully +swift, he had felt could be his only fate; and with this thought had +come no fear, but only a wild joy that he had shared this glorious +battle, sure to end in victory! This was his only thought—this, and a +quick vision of Catherine.</p> + +<p>Then, as he hurtled down and over, whirling drunkenly in the void, all +clear perception left him. Everything became a swift blur, a rushing +confusion of terrible wind, and lurid light, and the wild roar of myriad +explosions.</p> + +<p>Came a shock, a sudden checking of the plunge, a long and rapid glide, +as the DeVreeland stabilizer of the machine, asserting its automatic +action, brought it to a level keel once more.</p> + +<p>But now the engine was stopped. Gabriel, realizing that some chance +still existed to save his life, wrenched madly at his levers.</p> + +<p>"If I can volplane down!" he panted, sick and dizzy, "there may yet be +hope!"</p> + +<p>Hope! Yes, but how tenuous! What chance had he, coasting to earth at +that low level, to avoid the detonating bombs, the aerial shrapnel being +hurled aloft, the poisonous gas, the surface-fire?</p> + +<p><a name="Page_312"></a>Here, there and yonder, terrific explosions were shattering the echoes, +as the Air Trust batteries swept the fog with their aeroplane-destroying +missiles. Whither should he steer? He knew not. All sense of direction +was lost, nor could the compass tell him anything. A glance at the +barometric gauge showed him an altitude of but 850 feet, and this was +decreasing with terrible rapidity.</p> + +<p>Strive as he might, he could not check the swift descent.</p> + +<p>"God send me a soft place to fall on!" he thought, grimly, still +clinging to his machine and laboring to jockey it under control.</p> + +<p>Close by, a thunderous detonation crashed through the mist. His machine +reeled and swerved, then plunged more swiftly still. All became vague, +to Gabriel—a dream—a nightmare!</p> + +<p><i>Crash!</i></p> + +<p>Flung from the seat, he sprawled through treetops, caught himself, fell +to a lower limb, slid off and landed among thick bushes; and through +these came to earth.</p> + +<p>The wrecked 'plane, whirling away and down, fell crashing into the river +that rushed cascading by, and vanished in the firelit mist.</p> + +<p>Stunned, yet half-conscious, Gabriel presently sat up and pressed his +right hand to his head. His left arm felt numb and useless; and when he +tried to raise it, he found it refused his will.</p> + +<p>"Where am I, now, I'd like to know?" he muttered. "Not dead, anyhow—not +<i>yet!</i>"</p> + +<p>A continuous roar of explosions shuddered the air, mingled with the +booming of the mighty Falls. Shouts <a name="Page_313"></a>and cheers and the rattle of +machine-guns assailed his ear. The glare of the search-lights, through +the mist and steam, was darkened momentarily by thick, greasy coils of +smoke, shot through by violent flashes of light as explosions took +place.</p> + +<p>Gabriel struggled to his feet, and peered about him,</p> + +<p>"Still alive!" said he. "And I must get back into the fight! That's all +that matters, now—the fight!"</p> + +<p>He knew not, yet, where he was; but this mattered nothing. His machine +had, in fact, fallen near the river bank, in the eastern section of +Prospect Park, beyond the Goat Island bridge—this region of the Park +having been left outside the fortifications, in the extension of the Air +Trust plant.</p> + +<p>The trees, here, had saved his life. Had he smashed to earth a hundred +yards further north, he would have been shattered against high walls and +roofs.</p> + +<p>Still giddy, but sensing no pain from his injured left arm, Gabriel made +way toward the scene of conflict. He knew nothing of how the tide of +battle was going; nothing of his position; nothing as to what men he +would first meet, his comrades or the enemy.</p> + +<p>But for these considerations he had no thought. His only idea, fixed and +grim, was "The fight!" Dazed though he still was, he nerved himself for +action.</p> + +<p>And so, pressing onward through the livid glare, through the night +shattered by stupendous detonations, he drew his revolver and broke into +a run.</p> + +<p>Strange evidences of the battle now became evident. He saw an unexploded +grenade lying beside a wounded man who grasped at him and moaned with +pain. Over a wrecked motor-car, greasy smoke was rising, as it <a name="Page_314"></a>burned. +Louder shouting drew him down a path to the left. Masses of moving +figures became dimly visible, through the mist. And now, stabs of fire +pierced the confusion and clamorous night.</p> + +<p>Gabriel jerked up his revolver, as he ran, the terrible weapon shooting +bullets charged with hydrocyanic-acid gas.</p> + +<p>A man rose before him, shouting.</p> + +<p>Gabriel levelled the weapon; but a glimpse of red ribbon in the other's +coat brought it down again.</p> + +<p>"Comrade!" cried he. "Where's the attack?"</p> + +<p>The other pointed.</p> + +<p>"Gabriel! Is that you?" he gasped, staring.</p> + +<p>"Yes! I fell—machine smashed—come on!"</p> + +<p>"Hurt?"</p> + +<p>"No! Arm, maybe. No matter! God! What's this?"</p> + +<p>Toward them a sudden swirl of men came sweeping, stumbling, shouting, in +pandemonium.</p> + +<p>"Our men!" cried Gabriel, starting forward again. "We're being driven! +Rally, here! Rally!"</p> + +<p>Beyond, a louder crackling sounded. Here, there, men plunged down. The +retreat was becoming a rout!</p> + +<p>Yelling, Gabriel flung himself upon the men.</p> + +<p>"Back there!" he vociferated. "Back, and at the walls! Come on, boys, +now! Come on!"</p> + +<p>His voice, well known to nearly all, thrilled them again with new +determination. A shout rose up; it swelled, deepened, roared to majestic +volume.</p> + +<p>Then the tide turned.</p> + +<p>Back went the fighting men of the great Revolution. <a name="Page_315"></a>back at the +machine-guns, mounted in the breached walls.</p> + +<p>Gabriel was caught and whirled along in that living tide. He found +himself at its crest, its foremost wave. Behind him, a roaring, rushing +river of men. Before the Inner Citadel.</p> + +<p>Gathering speed and weight as it rolled up, the wave broke like an ocean +surge over a crumbling dyke.</p> + +<p>Down went the Air Trust gunners and the guns, down, down to +annihilation!</p> + +<p>Through the breach, foaming and swelling with irresistible power burst +the tides of victory.</p> + +<p>Silenced now were the Trust guns. The steam-jets had none to man them. +Far aloft, a last explosion told the death story of the final +<i>épervier</i>.</p> + +<p>Here and there, from windows and corners of the wrecked and blazing +plant, a little intermittent firing still continued; but now the hearts +of these Air Trust defenders—scabs, thugs and scourings of the +slum—had turned to water, in face of the triumphant army of the working +class.</p> + +<p>They fled, those mercenaries, and all the ways and inner +strongholds—such as still were left—now lay open to Gabriel and his +comrades.</p> + +<p>Lighted by the blazing buildings and the vast fire torch of an +oxygen-tank off to eastward, they stormed the final citadel, the steel +and concrete laboratories, heart and soul and center of the hellish +world-conspiracy.</p> + +<p>Stormed it, as it began to blaze and crumble; stormed it, in search of +Flint and Waldron, would-be murderers of the world.</p> + +<p>Stormed it, only to see Herzog gnash his teeth upon <a name="Page_316"></a>the flask, and +fall, and die; only to know that there, within the rock-hewn, +steel-lined tanks, below, their enemies had still outwitted them!</p> + +<p>The swift onrush of the fire drove the victors back.</p> + +<p>"<i>Out, comrades! Out of here!</i>" shouted Gabriel, facing the attackers.</p> + +<p>None too soon. Hardly had they beaten a retreat, back into the vast +courtyard again, strewn with the dead, when a second oxygen tank +exploded, overwhelming the laboratory building with tons of flying +steel.</p> + +<p>Leaping toward the zenith, a giant tongue of flame roared heavenward. So +intense the heat had now become, that the solid brick and concrete +walls, exposed to the direct verberation of the flame, began to crack +and crumble.</p> + +<p>Gabriel ordered a general retreat of the attacking army. Victory was +won; and to stay near that gushing tornado of flame, with new explosions +bound to occur as the other oxygen tanks let go, must mean annihilation.</p> + +<p>So the triumphant Army of the Proletaire fell back and back still +further, out into the wrecked and trampled Park, and all through the +city, where shattered buildings, many of them ablaze, and broken trees, +dead bodies, smashed ordnance and chaos absolute told something of the +story of that brief but terrible war.</p> + +<p>Ringed round the perishing ruins of the Air Trust they stood, these +mute, thrilled thousands. Silence fell, now, as they watched the +roaring, ever-mounting flames that, whipped by the breeze, crashed +upward in long and cadenced tourbillions of white, of awful +incandescence.</p> + +<p>And the river, ever-hurrying, always foaming on and <a name="Page_317"></a>downward to its +titanic plunge, sparkled with eerie lights in that vast glow. Its voice +of thunder seemed to chant the passing and the requiem of the Curse of +the World, Capitalism.</p> + + + +<br /><hr style="width: 65%;" /><br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_XXXVII"></a><h3><a name="Page_318"></a>CHAPTER XXXVII.</h3> + +<h4>DEATH IN THE PIT OF STEEL.</h4> +<br /> + +<p>And Flint, now, what of him! And Waldron?</p> + +<p>While the Air Trust plant was burning, crumbling, smashing down, what of +its masters, the masters of the world?</p> + +<p>A sense of vast relief possessed them both, at first, as the steel door +clanged after them.</p> + +<p>Now, for a time at least, they realized that they were safe, safe from +the People, safe from the awakened and triumphant Proletariat. Even now, +had they surrendered, they would have been spared; but nothing was +further from their thoughts than any treating with the despised and +hated enemy.</p> + +<p>Foremost in the mind of each, now, was the thought that if they could +but stand siege, a day or so, the troops of the government—their +government and their troops, their own personal property—would +inevitably rescue them.</p> + +<p>With this comforting belief, together they descended the long steel +staircase to the trap-door, passed through this, and climbed down the +metal ladder to the vast storage-vaults.</p> + +<p>Here, everything was cool and quiet and well-lighted. Not yet had the +electric-generating plant been put out of action. Though all its workers +had either been drafted into the ranks of the Cosmos mercenaries, or +Herzog's <a name="Page_319"></a>regiments, or else had fled to hiding, still the huge turbines +and enormous dynamos were whirling, unattended. Thus, for the first few +minutes, in their living tomb, down over which the ruins of the now +white-hot laboratory-building had crashed, the world-masters had +electric light.</p> + +<p>Reassured a little, they descended to the very bottom of the first huge +tank.</p> + +<p>"God!" snarled Flint, as he breathed deeply and glared about him. "The +curs! The swine! To think of this, <i>this</i> really happening! And to think +that if we hadn't got here just in time, they'd actually have—have used +violence on <i>us</i>—"</p> + +<p>Waldron laughed brutally, his body still trembling and his face chalky. +His laugh echoed, hollowly, from the metal walls.</p> + +<p>"You old fool!" he spat. "Canting old hypocrite to the last, eh? +Violence? What the devil do you expect? Rosewater and confetti? Violence +was all that ever held 'em, wasn't it? And when they slipped the leash, +naturally they retorted—that's all! Violence? You make me sick! Damned +lucky for us if we get through this yet, without violence, you whining +cur!"</p> + +<p>Flint, for the first time hearing Waldron's honest opinion of him, +failed even to note it. All his panic-stricken ear had caught was the +note of hope, of survival.</p> + +<p>Clutching eagerly at Waldron's sleeve, he cackled:</p> + +<p>"If we get through? If we get through, you say? Then, in your opinion, +there <i>is</i> a chance to get through? They can't get us here? We surely +shall be rescued?"</p> + +<p>"Bah!" Waldron flung at him, some latent spark of courage still +smouldering in his sodden breast, whereas <a name="Page_320"></a>old Flint was craven to the +marrow. "You nauseate me! Afraid to die, eh? Well, so am I; but not so +damned paralyzed and sick with panic as all that! If you'd taken less +dope, the last twenty years, you'd have more nerve now, to face the +music! World-master, you? Eh? Playing the biggest game on earth—and +now, when things break bad, you squeal! Arrrh! You called me a quitter +once, you mealy-mouthed old Pecksniff! We'll see, now, who quits! We'll +see, at a show-down, who can face it, you or I!"</p> + +<br /> +<a name="Page_321"></a> +<a name="Image_6"></a> +<center> +<img src="images/image-6.jpg" height="75%" alt="His fingers lost their hold—he dropped like a Plummet." title=""> +</center> +<div class="caption"><center><b>His fingers lost their hold—he dropped like a Plummet.</b></center></div> + +<br /> + +<p>Waldron's brutality, the hard, savage quality that all his life had made +him "Tiger" Waldron, now was beginning to reassert itself. His first +sheer panic over, a little manhood was returning. But as for Flint, no +manhood dwelt in him to be awakened. Instead, each moment found him more +abject and more pitiable. Like an old woman he now wrung his hands and +groaned, hysterically; and now he paced the steel floor of the vault +that was destined to be his tomb; and now he stopped again and stared +about him with wild eyes.</p> + +<p>On all sides, sheer up a hundred feet or more, the smooth steel sides of +the vast oxygen tank rose, studded with long lines of rivets.</p> + +<p>Near the top a dark aperture showed where the six-inch pipe joined the +tank; the pipe destined to fill it, when Herzog's last process—never, +now, to be completed—should have been done.</p> + +<p>The huge floor, 150 feet in diameter, sloped gently downward toward the +center; and here yawned another pipe, covered by a grating—the pipe to +drain the liquid oxygen out to the pumping station.</p> + +<p>So deeply set in the rock of the Niagara cliff was this <a name="Page_322"></a>stupendous +tank, and so cunningly surrounded by vacuum-chambers, that now no +faintest sound of the Falls was audible. All that betrayed the nearness +of the cataract was a faint, incessant trembling of the metal walls, as +though the solid ribs of Earth herself were shuddering with the impact +of the plunge.</p> + +<p>Old Flint surveyed this extraordinary chamber with mingled feelings. It +surely offered absolute protection, for the present—or seemed to—but +his distressed mind conjured alarming pictures of the future, in case no +rescue came. Death by starvation, thirst and madness loomed before him. +Nervously he recommenced his pacing. Another terribly serious factor was +to be considered. He had now been three hours without his dose of +morphia, and his nerves were calling, tugging insistently for it.</p> + +<p>"Rotten luck," he grumbled, "that I've got none with me!" Even there, in +the imminent presence of disaster and death, his mind reverted to the +poison, more necessary to him than food.</p> + +<p>Waldron now had grown fairly calm. He stood leaning against the steel +ladder, down which they had descended. Choosing a cigar, he proceeded to +light up.</p> + +<p>"Might as well be comfortable while we wait," said he. "I only wish we +had a couple of chairs, down here. Oversight on our part that we didn't +have some steel ones put in, and a line of canned goods and a few quarts +of Scotch. The floor's a bit damp and cold to sit on, and I want a drink +damn bad!"</p> + +<p>Flint swung about and faced him, pale and shaking, tortured with fear +and with longing for his dope.</p> + +<p>"<a name="Page_323"></a>You—you don't think it <i>will</i> be long, eh, do you?" he demanded. "Not +long before we're taken out?"</p> + +<p>Waldron shrugged his shoulders and blew a long, thin arrow of smoke +athwart the brightly-lighted air.</p> + +<p>"Search me!" he exclaimed. "To judge by what was happening when we made +our exit, the Plant must be a mess, by this time. We seem to have been +checked, even if not mated, Flint. I must admit they caught us by +surprise. Caught us napping, damn them, after all! They were stronger +than we thought, Flint, and cleverer, and better organized. And so—"</p> + +<p>"Don't say 'we,' curse you!" snarled Flint. "Blame yourself, if you want +to, but leave me out! <i>I</i> knew there was trouble due, I tell you. <i>I</i> +saw it coming! Who's been trying to crush the swine completely, if not +I? Who's worked night and day to have those bills put through, and who +had the army increased, and conscription started? Who's driven the +President to back all sorts of things? Who's forced them? Who made the +National Mounted Police a reality, if not I? Damn you, don't include +<i>me</i> in your blame!"</p> + +<p>Waldron shrugged his shoulders, and smoked contemplatively.</p> + +<p>"Suit yourself," he answered. "If we both die, down here, it won't +matter much either way."</p> + +<p>"Die?" quavered the old jackal, suddenly forgetting his rage and peering +about with furtive eyes. "Did you say die, Wally? No, no! You didn't say +that! You didn't mean that, surely!"</p> + +<p>Waldron smiled, evilly, joying in this abject fear of his hated partner.</p> + +<p>"<a name="Page_324"></a>Oh, yes, I did, though," he retorted. "It's quite possible, you know. +In case our government—yours, if you prefer—can't get troops through, +here, or a big general revolution sweeps things, inside a day or two, +we're done. We'll starve and stifle, here, sure as shooting!"</p> + +<p>"No, no, no! Not that, not <i>that!</i>" whimpered Flint, shuddering. "I +can't die, yet. I—I'm not ready for it! There's all that missionary +work of mine not yet done, and my huge international Sunday School +League to perfect; and there's the tremendous ten-million-dollar +Cathedral of Saint Luke the Pious that I'm having built on Riverside +Drive, and there's—"</p> + +<p>"Cut it!" gibed Waldron, spitting with very disgust. "If your time's +come, Flint, you'll die, cathedrals or no cathedrals. Your Sunday +schools won't save you any more than my investments will—which have +largely been wine, women and song. As a matter of fact, if it comes to +starvation, if we aren't rescued and taken out from under the red-hot +wreckage that's on top of us, I'll outlive <i>you!</i> I can exist on my +surplus adipose tissue, for a while; but you—<i>you're</i> nothing but skin +and bone. You'll starve far quicker than I will, old man."</p> + +<p>"Don't! Don't!" implored the shaking wretch, covering his eyes with both +trembling hands.</p> + +<p>"Moral, you oughtn't to have been a dope-fiend, all these years," +continued Waldron, cuttingly, determined that now, once for all, his +despised partner should hear the truth. "How you've lived so long, as it +is, I don't understand. When I tried to marry Kate, and failed, I +reckoned you'd pass over in almost no time—and, by the way, that's why +I was so insistent. But you've disappointed me, Flint. Disappointed me +sorely. You still <a name="Page_325"></a>live. It won't be long, however. Down here, you know, +you simply can't get any dope. In a little while you'll begin to suffer +the torments of Hell. You'll die of starvation and drug 'yen,' Flint, +and you'll die mad, mad, <i>mad!</i> Understand me! Mad, for morphine! And I, +I shall watch you, and exult!"</p> + +<p>Flint cringed, shuddering and stopped his ears. His partner, gloating +over him, smoked faster now. A strange light shone in his eyes. His +pulse beat faster than usual, and a certain extravagance of thought and +speech had become manifest in him.</p> + +<p>He tried to compose himself, feeling that he must not push the cowardly +Flint too far, but his ideas refused to flow in orderly sequence. +Wonderingly he stared at his cigar, the tip of which was now glowing +more brightly than before.</p> + +<p>And then, suddenly sniffing the air he understood. His eyes widened with +horror absolute. He started forward, gasped and cried:</p> + +<p>"<i>Flint! Flint! The oxygen is coming in!</i>"</p> + +<p>Uncomprehending, the old man still stood there, mumbling to himself. His +face was now tinged with unusual color, and his heart, too, was thumping +strangely.</p> + +<p>"<i>Oxygen!</i>" shouted Waldron, shaking him by the shoulder. "It—it's +leaking in, here, somewhere! If we can't stop it—<i>we're dead men!</i>"</p> + +<p>"Eh? <i>What?</i>" stammered the Billionaire, staring at him with eyes of +half-intoxicated fear. "What d'you mean, the oxygen? In—in here?"</p> + +<p>"<i>In here!</i>" cried "Tiger," casting a wild and terrible gaze about him +at the vast, empty trap of steel. "Can't <a name="Page_326"></a>you smell it? That ozone +smell? My God, we're lost! We're lost!"</p> + +<p>"You're crazy!" retorted Flint, with vigor. "Nothing of the sort could +happen!" His head was held high, now, and new life seemed surging +through that spent and drug-wrecked body. "There's no way those curs +could have turned on any gas, here. You're crazy, ha! ha! ha! Insane, +eh? A good joke—capital joke, that! I must tell it at the Union League +Club! 'Tiger' Waldron, suddenly insane, and—ha! ha! ha!"</p> + +<p>He burst into a long, shrill cacchination. Already his face was scarlet +and his mind a whirl. Though neither man understood the reason, yet the +fact remained that one of the last great explosions had ruptured a +subterranean check-valve closing the six-inch pipe that was to feed the +storage-tanks; and now a swift, huge stream of pure oxygen gas was +rushing at tremendous velocity into the vast chamber of steel.</p> + +<p>Waldron, his heart leaping as though it would burst his ribs, raised a +fist to strike down his insulter; then, with drunken indecision, joined +in the maniacal laughter of the staggering old man.</p> + +<p>In their ears a strange, wild humming now became audible. Lights danced +before their eyes; their senses reeled, and violent, extravagant ideas +surged through their drunken brains.</p> + +<p>"<i>Ha! Ha! Ha!</i>" rang Waldron's crazy laughter, echoing the old man's. +All at once, his cigar broke into flame. Cursing, he hurled it away, +staggering back against the ladder and stood there swaying, clutching it +to hold himself from falling.</p> + +<p>There he stood, and stared at Flint, with eyes that <a name="Page_327"></a>started from his +head, with panting breath and crimson face.</p> + +<p>The old man, in a sudden revulsion of terror, was now grovelling along +the floor, by one of the massive walls, clawing at the steel with +impotent hands and screaming mingled prayers and oaths. His ravings, +horrible to hear, echoed through the great tank, now swiftly filling +with gas.</p> + +<p>"Help! Help!" he screamed. "Save me—my God—save me—. Let me out, let +me out! A million, if you let me out! A billion—<i>the whole world!</i> The +world, ha! ha! ha! Damn it to Hell—the world, I say! I'll give the +world to be let out! It's mine—I own it—<i>all, all mine!</i> Ha! Dogs! You +would rise up against your master and your God, would you? But it's no +use—we'll beat you yet—out! <i>out!</i>—the world—I own it! All this +plant—this gas, all mine! My oxygen—ah! it chokes me! <i>Help! +Help!</i>—Swine! I'll scourge you yet—<i>absolute power</i>—<i>the world</i>—!"</p> + +<p>With one final spark of energy, panting, his heart flailing itself to +death under the pitiless urge of the oxygen, old Flint sprang up, ran +wildly, blindly straight across the steel floor, and, screaming +blasphemies like a soul in Hell, dashed into the opposite wall.</p> + +<p>He recoiled, staggered, spun round and fell sprawling most +horribly—stone dead.</p> + +<p>Waldron, at sight of this awful end, felt an uncontrollable terror sweep +over his drunk and maddened senses. Though all his blood was leaping in +his arteries, and his breath coming so fast it choked him, yet a +moment's seeming sanity possessed his reeling brain.</p> + +<p>"<a name="Page_328"></a>The door! The door, up there!" he screamed, with a wild, terrible +curse.</p> + +<p>Then, turning toward the ladder, in spite of his fat and flabby muscles +quivering in terrible spasms, he ran up the long steel structure with a +supreme and ape-like agility.</p> + +<p>Fifty feet he made, seventy-five, ninety—</p> + +<p>But, all at once, something seemed to break in his overtaxed heart.</p> + +<p>A blackness swam before his dazzled eyes. His head fell back. Unnerved, +his fingers lost their hold. And, whirling over and over in midair, he +dropped like a plummet.</p> + +<p>By one wall lay Flint's body. At the foot of the ladder, like a crushed +sack of bones, sprawled the corpse of "Tiger" Waldron.</p> + +<p>And still the rushing oxygen, with which they two had hoped to dominate +the world, poured through the six-inch main, far, far above—senseless +matter, blindly avenging itself upon the rash and evil men who impiously +had sought to cage and master it!</p> + + + +<br /><hr style="width: 65%;" /><br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_XXXVIII"></a><h3><a name="Page_329"></a>CHAPTER XXXVIII.</h3> + +<h4>VISIONS.</h4> +<br /> + +<p>Thus perished Flint and Waldron, scourges of the earth. Thus they died, +slain by the very force which they had planned would betray mankind and +deliver it into their chains. Thus vanished, forever, the most sinister +and cruel minds ever evolved upon this planet; the greatest menace the +human race had ever known; the evil Masters of the World.</p> + +<p>And as they died, massed around their perished Air Trust plant, a throng +of silent, earnest watchers stood, with faces illumined by the symbolic, +sacrificial flames—a throng of emancipated workers, of toilers from +whose bowed shoulders now forever had been lifted the frightful menace +of a universal bondage.</p> + +<p>Explosion after explosion burst from the tortured Inferno of the vast +plant. Buildings came crashing, reeling, thundering down; walls fell, +amid vast, belching clouds of dust and smoke; a white, consuming sheet +of flame crackled across the sinister and evil place; and in its wake +glowed incandescent ruins.</p> + +<p>Then, in one final burst of thunderous tumult, the hugest tank of all, +exploding with a roar like that of Doom itself, hurled belching flames +on high.</p> + +<p>For many miles—in Buffalo, Rochester, Toronto and scores of cities on +both sides of the Great Lakes—silent multitudes watched the glare +against the midnight sky; <a name="Page_330"></a>and many wept for joy; and many prayed. All +understood the meaning of that sight. The light upon the heavens seemed +a signal and a beacon—a promise that the Old Times had passed away +forever—a covenant of the New.</p> + +<p>And, as the final explosion shattered the Temple of Bondage to wreckage, +flung it far into the rushing river and swept it over the leaping, +thundering Falls, the news flashed on a thousand wires, to all cities +and all lands; and though the mercenaries of the two dead world-masters +still might struggle and might strive to beat the toilers back to +slavery again, their days were numbered and their powers forever broken.</p> + +<p>Together in the doorway of the refuge at Port Colborne, Catherine stood +with Gabriel, watching the beacon of liberty upon the heavens. The +light, a halo round her eager face, showed his powerful figure and the +smile of triumph in his eyes. His left arm, broken by the fall in the +aeroplane, now rested in a sling. His right, protecting in its strength, +was round the girl. And as her head found shelter and rest, at length, +upon his shoulder, she, too, smiled; and her eyes seemed to see visions +in the glory of the sky.</p> + +<p>"Visions!" said she, softly, as though voicing a universal thought. "Do +you behold them, too?"</p> + +<p>He nodded.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he answered, "and they are beautiful and sweet and pure!"</p> + +<p>"Visions that we now shall surely see?"</p> + +<p>"Shall surely see!" he echoed; and a little silence fell. Far off, they +seemed to hear a vast and thousand-throated <a name="Page_331"></a>cheering, that the +night-wind brought to them in long and heart-inspiring cadences.</p> + +<p>"Gabriel," she said, at last.</p> + +<p>"Well?"</p> + +<p>"I wish <i>he</i> might have seen them, and have understood! In spite of all +he did, and was, he was my father!"</p> + +<p>"Yes," answered Gabriel, sensing her grief. "But would you have had him +live through this? Live, with the whole world out of his grasp, again? +Live, with all his plans wrecked and broken? Live on in this new time, +where he could have comprehended nothing? Live on, in misery and rage +and impotence?</p> + +<p>"Your father was an old man, Catherine. You know as well as I +do—better, perhaps—the whole trend of his life's thought and ambition. +Even if he'd lived, he couldn't have changed, now, at his age. It would +have been an utter impossibility. Why say more?"</p> + +<p>Catherine made no reply; but in her very attitude of trust and +confidence, Gabriel knew he read the comfort he had given her.</p> + +<p>Silence, a while. At last she spoke.</p> + +<p>"Visions!" she whispered. "Wonderful visions of the glad, new time! How +do you see them, Gabriel?"</p> + +<p>"How do I see them?" His face seemed to glow with inspiration under the +shining light in the far heavens. "I see them as the realization of a +time, now really close at hand, when this old world of ours shall be, as +it never yet has been, in truth civilized, emancipated, free. When the +night of ignorance, kingcraft, priestcraft, servility and prejudice, +bigotry and superstition shall be forever swept away by the dawn of +intelligence and universal education, <a name="Page_332"></a>by scientific truth and light—by +understanding and by fearlessness.</p> + +<p>"When Science shall no longer be 'the mystery of a class,' but shall +become the heritage of all mankind. When, because much is known by all, +nothing shall be dreaded by any. When all mankind shall be absolutely +its own master, strong, and brave, and free!"</p> + +<p>"Like you, Gabriel!" the girl exclaimed, from her heart.</p> + +<p>"Don't say that!" he disclaimed. "Don't—"</p> + +<p>She put her hand over his mouth.</p> + +<p>"Shhhh!" she forbade him. "You mustn't argue, now, because your arm's +just been set and we don't want any fever. If my dreams include you, +too, Gabriel, don't try to tell me I'm mistaken—because I'm not, to +begin with, and I <i>know</i> I'm not!"</p> + +<p>He laughed, and shook his head.</p> + +<p>"Do you realize," said he, "that when it comes to bravery, and strength, +and the splendid freedom of an emancipated soul, I must look to <i>you</i> +for light and leading?"</p> + +<p>"Don't!" she whispered. "Look only to the future—to the newer, better +world now coming to birth! The time which is to know no poverty, no +crime, no children's blood wrung out for dividends!</p> + +<p>"The future when no longer Idleness can enslave Labor to its tasks. When +every man who will, may labor freely, whether with hand or brain, and +receive the full value of his toil, undiminished by any theft or +purloining whatsoever!"</p> + +<p>"The future," he continued, as she paused, "when crowns, titles, swords, +rifles and dreadnaughts shall be <a name="Page_333"></a>known only by history. When the earth +and the fulness thereof shall belong to all Earth's people; and when its +soil need be no longer fertilized with human blood, its crops no longer +be brought forth watered by sweat and tears.</p> + +<p>"Such have been my visions and my dreams, Catherine—a few of them. Now +they are coming true! And other dreams and other visions—dreams of you +and visions of our life together—what of them?"</p> + +<p>"Why need you ask, Gabriel?" she answered, raising her lips to his.</p> + +<p>The sound of singing, a triumphal chorus of the accomplished Revolution, +a vast and million-throated song, seemed wafted to them on the wings of +night.</p> + +<p>And the pure stars, witnessing their love and troth, looked down upon +them from the heavens where shone the fire-glow of the Great +Emancipation.</p> +<br /> + +<p>THE END.</p> + +<br /> + +<p>[Transcriber's note: In the following paragraph, I corrected the second +"Flint" to "Waldron":</p> + +<p>"Very likely," answered Flint, who had now at last entirely recovered +his sang-froid. "But in that event, our work would be at a standstill. +No, Flint, we mustn't oppose this fellow. Better let the check go +through, if he has nerve enough to fill it out and cash it. He won't +dare gouge very deep; and no matter what he takes, it won't be a drop in +the ocean, compared to the golden flood now almost within our grasp!"]</p> + +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 12826 ***</div> +</body> +</html> + + diff --git a/12826-h/images/image-1.jpg b/12826-h/images/image-1.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..d838308 --- /dev/null +++ b/12826-h/images/image-1.jpg diff --git a/12826-h/images/image-2.jpg b/12826-h/images/image-2.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..b1377fe --- /dev/null +++ b/12826-h/images/image-2.jpg diff --git a/12826-h/images/image-3.jpg b/12826-h/images/image-3.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..40c7169 --- /dev/null +++ b/12826-h/images/image-3.jpg diff --git a/12826-h/images/image-4.jpg b/12826-h/images/image-4.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..d79595a --- /dev/null +++ b/12826-h/images/image-4.jpg diff --git a/12826-h/images/image-5.jpg b/12826-h/images/image-5.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..5823a95 --- /dev/null +++ b/12826-h/images/image-5.jpg diff --git a/12826-h/images/image-6.jpg b/12826-h/images/image-6.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..98ea3d3 --- /dev/null +++ b/12826-h/images/image-6.jpg diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3bd9ce8 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #12826 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/12826) diff --git a/old/12826-8.txt b/old/12826-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..03c4e71 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/12826-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,10394 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Air Trust, by George Allan England + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Air Trust + +Author: George Allan England + +Release Date: July 5, 2004 [EBook #12826] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE AIR TRUST *** + + + + +Produced by Steven desJardins and Distributed Proofreaders + + + + + +[Illustration: "Visions!" She said softly, "Do you behold them too?"] + + + + +THE AIR TRUST + +By George Allan England + +Author of +"Darkness and Dawn," "Beyond the Great Oblivion," +"The Afterglow," etc., etc. + +Illustrations by +John Sloan + +1915 + + + + +TO EUGENE V. DEBS + +"Comrade 'Gene," + +Lover of All Mankind and +Apostle of the World's Emancipation, + +I dedicate +THIS BOOK + + + + +FOREWORD + + +This book is the result of an attempt to carry the monopolistic +principle to its logical conclusion. For many years I have entertained +the idea that if a monopoly be right in oil, coal, beef, steel or what +not, it would also be right in larger ways involving, for example, the +use of the ocean and the air itself. I believe that, had capitalists +been able to bring the seas and the atmosphere under physical control, +they would long ago have monopolized them. Capitalism has not refrained +from laying its hand on these things through any sense of decency, but +merely because the task has hitherto proved impossible. + +Granting, then, the premise that some process might be discovered +whereby the air-supply of the world could be controlled, the Air Trust +logically follows. I have endeavored to show how such a Trust would +inevitably lead to the utter enslavement of the human race, unless +overthrown by the only means then possible, i.e., violence. This book is +not a brief for "direct action." Doubtless the capitalist press (if it +indeed notice the work at all) will denounce it as a plea for +"bomb-throwing" and apply the epithet of "Anarchist" to me; but at this +the judicious and the intelligent will only smile; and as for our +friends the enemy, we esteem their opinion at its precise real value, +zero. + +Given the conditions supposed in this book, I repeat--a complete +monopoly of the air, with an absolute suppression of all political +rights--no other outcomes are possible than slavery or violent, physical +revolution. As I have made Gabriel Armstrong say: "The masters would +have it so. Academic discussion becomes absurd, in the face of +plutocratic savagery. And in a case of self-defense, no measures are +unjustifiable." + +I believe in political action. I hope for a peaceful and bloodless +revolution. But if that be impossible, then by all means let us have +revolution in its other sense. And with the hope that this book may +perhaps revive some fainting spirit or renew the vision of emancipation +in some soul where it has dimmed, I give "The Air Trust" to the workers +of America and of the world. + +GEORGE ALLAN ENGLAND. + +Boston, Mass., November 1, 1915. + + + + +TABLE OF CONTENTS + + +I. THE BIRTH OF AN IDEA +II. THE PARTNERS +III. THE BAITING OF HERZOG +IV. AN INTERLOPER +V. IN THE LABORATORY +VI. OXYGEN, KING OF INTOXICATORS +VII. A FREAK OF FATE +VIII. ONE UNBIDDEN, SHARES GREAT SECRETS +IX. DISCHARGED +X. A GLIMPSE OF THE PARASITES +XI. THE END OF TWO GAMES +XII. ON THE GREAT HIGHWAY +XIII. CATASTROPHE +XIV. THE RESCUE +XV. AN HOUR AND A PARTING +XVI. TIGER WALDRON "COMES BACK" +XVII. THOUGHTS +XVIII. FLINT AND WALDRON PLAN +XIX. CATHERINE'S DEFIANCE +XX. THE BILLIONAIRE'S PLOT +XXI. GABRIEL, GOOD SAMARITAN +XXII. THE TRAP IS SPRUNG +XXIII. THE BEAST GLOATS +XXIV. CATHERINE'S SUPREME DECISION +XXV. THROUGH STEEL BARS +XXVI. "GUILTY" +XXVII. BACK IN THE SUNLIGHT +XXVIII. IN THE REFUGE +XXIX. "APRÈS NOUS LE DÉLUGE!" +XXX. TRAPPED! +XXXI. ESCAPE! +XXXII. OMINOUS DEVELOPMENTS +XXXIII. "NOW COMES THE HOUR SUPREME" +XXXIV. THE ATTACK +XXXV. TERROR AND RETREAT +XXXVI. THE STORMING OF THE WORKS +XXXVII. DEATH IN THE PIT OF STEEL +XXXVIII. VISIONS + + + + +LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS + +"VISIONS!" SHE SAID SOFTLY, "DO YOU BEHOLD THEM TOO?" + +"CAN'T BE DONE, EH?" SAID FLINT + +HE GATHERED HER UP AS THOUGH SHE HAD BEEN A CHILD + +AIMING AT THE BASE OF THE SKULL SHE STRUCK + +THE SPY'S BODY BURST INTO A SHEAF OF FIRE + +HIS FINGERS LOST THEIR HOLD--HE DROPPED LIKE A PLUMMET + + + + +THE AIR TRUST + + + +CHAPTER I. + +THE BIRTH OF AN IDEA. + + +Sunk far back in the huge leather cushions of his morris chair, old +Isaac Flint was thinking, thinking hard. Between narrowed lids, his +hard, gray eyes were blinking at the morning sunlight that poured into +his private office, high up in the great building he had reared on Wall +Street. From his thin lips now and then issued a coil of smoke from the +costly cigar he was consuming. His bony legs were crossed, and one foot +twitched impatiently. Now and again he tugged at his white mustache. A +frown creased his hard brow; and, as he pondered, something of the +glitter of a snake seemed reflected in his pupils. + +"Not enough," he muttered, harshly. "It's not enough--there must be +more, more, more! Some way must be found. Must be, and shall be!" + +The sunlight of early spring, glad and warm over Manhattan, brought no +message of cheer to the Billionaire. It bore no news of peace and joy to +him. Its very brightness, as it flooded the metropolis and mellowed his +luxurious inner office, seemed to offend the master of the world. And +presently he arose, walked to the window and made as though to lower +the shade. But for a moment he delayed this action. Standing there at +the window, he peered out. Far below him, the restless, swarming life of +the huge city crept and grovelled. Insects that were men and women +crowded the clefts that were streets. Long lines of cars, toy-like, +crept along the "L" structures. As far as the eye could reach, tufted +plumes of smoke and steam wafted away on the April breeze. The East +River glistened in the sunlight, its bosom vexed by myriad craft, by +ocean liners, by tugs and barges, by grim warships, by sailing-vessels, +whose canvas gleamed, by snow-white fruitboats from the tropics, by +hulls from every port. Over the bridges, long slow lines of traffic +crawled. And, far beyond to the dim horizon, stretched out the hives of +men, till the blue depths of distance swallowed all in haze. + +And as Flint gazed on this marvel, all created and maintained by human +toil, by sweat and skill and tireless patience of the workers, a hard +smile curved his lips. + +"All mine, more or less," said he to himself, puffing deep on his cigar. +"All yielding tribute to me, even as the mines and mills and factories I +cannot see yield tribute! Even as the oil-wells, the pipe-lines, the +railroads and the subways yield--even as the whole world yields it. All +this labor, all this busy strife, I have a hand in. The millions eat and +drink and buy and sell; and I take toll of it--yet it is not enough. I +hold them in my hand, yet the hand cannot close, completely. And until +it does, it is not enough! No, not enough for me!" + +He pondered a moment, standing there musing at the window, surveying +"all the wonders of the earth" that in its fulness, in that year of +grace, 1921, bore tribute to him who toiled not, neither spun; and +though he smiled, the smile was bitter. + +"Not enough, yet," he reflected. "And how--how shall I close my grip? +How shall I master all this, absolutely and completely, till it be mine +in truth? Through light? The mob can do with less, if I squeeze too +hard! Through food? They can economize! Transportation? No, the traffic +will bear only a certain load! How, then? What is it they all must have, +or die, that I can control? What universal need, vital to rich and poor +alike? To great and small? What absolute necessity which shall make my +rivals in the Game as much my vassals as the meanest slave in my steel +mills? What can it be? For power I must have! Like Caesar, who preferred +to be first in the smallest village, rather than be second at Rome, I +can and will have no competitor. I must rule _all_, or the game is +worthless! But how?" + +Almost as in answer to his mental question, a sudden gust of air swayed +the curtain and brushed it against his face. And, on the moment, +inspiration struck him. + +"What?" he exclaimed suddenly, his brows wrinkling, a strange and eager +light burning in his hard eyes. "Eh, what? Can it--could it be possible? +My God! If so--if it might be--the world would be my toy, to play with +as I like! + +"If _that_ could happen, kings and emperors would have to cringe and +crawl to me, like my hordes of serfs all over this broad land. Statesmen +and diplomats, president and judges, lawmakers and captains of industry, +all would fall into bondage; and for the first time in history one man +would rule the earth, completely and absolutely--_and that man would be +Isaac Flint_!" + +Staggered by the very immensity of the bold thought, so vast that for a +moment he could not realize it in its entirety, the Billionaire fell to +pacing the floor of his office. + +His cigar now hung dead and unnoticed between his thinly cruel lips. His +hands were gripped behind his bent back, as he paced the priceless +Shiraz rug, itself having cost the wage of a hundred workmen for a +year's hard, grinding toil. And as he trod, up and down, up and down the +rich apartments, a slow, grim smile curved his mouth. + +"What editor could withstand me, then?" he was thinking. "What clergyman +could raise his voice against my rule? Ah! Their 'high principles' they +prate of so eloquently, their crack-brained economics, their rebellions +and their strikes--the dogs!--would soon bow down before _that_ power! +Men have starved for stiff-necked opposition's sake, and still may do +so--but with my hand at the throat of the world, with the world's very +life-breath in my grip, what then? Submission, or--ha! well, we shall +see, we shall see!" + +A subtle change came over his face, which had been growing paler for +some minutes. Impatiently he flung away his cigar, and, turning to his +desk, opened a drawer, took out a little vial and uncorked it. He shook +out two small white tablets, on the big sheet of plate-glass that +covered the desk, swallowed them eagerly, and replaced the vial in the +desk again. For be it known that, master of the world though Flint was, +he too had a master--morphine. Long years he had bowed beneath its whip, +the veriest slave of the insidious drug. No three hours could pass, +without that dosage. His immense native will power still managed to +control the dose and not increase it; but years ago he had abandoned +hope of ever diminishing or ceasing it. And now he thought no more of it +than of--well, of breathing. + +Breathing! As he stood up again and drew a deep breath, under the +reviving influence of the drug, his inspiration once more recurred to +him. + +"Breath!" said he. "Breath is life. Without food and drink and shelter, +men can live a while. Even without water, for some days. But without +_air_--they die inevitably and at once. And if I make the air my own, +then I am master of all life!" + +And suddenly he burst into a harsh, jangling laugh. + +"Air!" he cried exultantly, "An Air Trust! By God in Heaven, it can be! +It shall be!--it must!" + +His mind, somewhat sluggish before he had taken the morphine, now was +working clearly and accurately again, with that fateful and undeviating +precision which had made him master of billions of dollars and uncounted +millions of human lives; which had woven his network of possession all +over the United States, Europe and Asia and even Africa; which had +drawn, as into a spider's web, the world's railroads and steamship +lines, its coal and copper and steel, its oil and grain and beef, its +every need--save air! + +And now, keen on the track of this last great inspiration, the +Billionaire strode to his revolving book-case, whirled it round and from +its shelves jerked a thick volume, a smaller book and some pamphlets. + +"Let's have some facts!" said he, flinging them upon his desk, and +seating himself before it in a costly chair of teak. "Once I get an +outline of the facts and what I want to do, then my subordinates can +carry out my plans. Before all, I must have facts!" + +For half an hour he thumbed his references, noting all the salient +points mentally, without taking a single note; for, so long as the drug +still acted, his brain was an instrument of unsurpassed keenness and +accuracy. + +A sinister figure he made, as he sat there poring intently over the +technical books before him, contrasting strangely with the beauty and +the luxury of the office. On the mantel, over the fireplace of Carrara +marble, ticked a Louis XIV clock, the price of which might have saved +the lives of a thousand workingmen's children during the last summer's +torment. Gold-woven tapestries from Rouen covered the walls, whereon +hung etchings and rare prints. Old Flint's office, indeed, had more the +air of an art gallery than a place where grim plots and deals +innumerable had been put through, lawmakers corrupted past counting, and +the destinies of nations bent beneath his corded, lean and nervous hand. +And now, as the Billionaire sat there thinking, smiling a smile that +boded no good to the world, the soft spring air that had inspired his +great plan still swayed the silken curtains. + +Of a sudden, he slammed the big book shut, that he was studying, and +rose to his feet with a hard laugh--the laugh that had presaged more +than one calamity to mankind. Beneath the sweep of his mustache one +caught the glint of a gold tooth, sharp and unpleasant. + +A moment he stood there, keen, eager, dominant, his hands gripping the +edge of the desk till the big knuckles whitened. He seemed the +embodiment of harsh and unrelenting Power--power over men and things, +over their laws and institutions; power which, like Alexander's, sought +only new worlds to conquer; power which found all metes and bounds too +narrow. + +"Power!" he whispered, as though to voice the inner inclining of the +picture. "Life, air, breath--the very breath of the world in my +hands--power absolutely, at last!" + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +THE PARTNERS. + + +Then, as was his habit, translating ideas into immediate action, he +strode to a door at the far end of the office, flung it open and said: + +"See here a minute, Wally!" + +"Busy!" came an answering voice, from behind a huge roll-top desk. + +"Of course! But drop it, drop it. I've got news for you." + +"Urgent?" asked the voice, coldly. + +"Very. Come in here, a minute. I've got to unload!" + +From behind the big desk rose the figure of a man about five and forty, +sandy-haired, long-faced and sallow, with a pair of the coldest, +fishiest eyes--eyes set too close together--that ever looked out of a +flat and ugly face. A man precisely dressed, something of a fop, with +just a note of the "sport" in his get-up; a man to fear, a man cool, +wary and dangerous--Maxim Waldron, in fact, the Billionaire's right-hand +man and confidant. Waldron, for some time affianced to his eldest +daughter. Waldron the arch-corruptionist; Waldron, who never yet had +been "caught with the goods," but who had financed scores of industrial +and political campaigns, with Flint's money and his own; Waldron, the +smooth, the suave, the perilous. + +"What now?" asked he, fixing his pale blue eyes on the Billionaire's +face. + +"Come in here, and I'll tell you." + +"Right!" And Waldron, brushing an invisible speck of dust from the +sleeve of his checked coat, strolled rather casually into the +Billionaire's office. + +Flint closed the door. + +"Well?" asked Waldron, with something of a drawl. "What's the +excitement?" + +"See here," began the great financier, stimulated by the drug. "We've +been wasting our time, all these years, with our petty monopolies of +beef and coal and transportation and all such trifles!" + +"So?" And Waldron drew from his pocket a gold cigar-case, monogrammed +with diamonds. "Trifles, eh?" He carefully chose a perfecto. "Perhaps; +but we've managed to rub along, eh? Well, if these are trifles, what's +on?" + +"Air!" + +"Air?" Waldron's match poised a moment, as with a slight widening of the +pale blue eyes he surveyed his partner. "Why--er--what do you mean, +Flint?" + +"The Air Trust!" + +"Eh?" And Waldron lighted his cigar. + +"A monopoly of breathing privileges!" + +"Ha! Ha!" Waldron's laugh was as mirthful as a grave-yard raven's croak. +"Nothing to it, old man. Forget it, and stick to--" + +"Of course! I might have expected as much from you!" retorted the +Billionaire tartly. "You've got neither imagination nor--" + +"Nor any fancy for wild-goose chases," said Waldron, easily, as he sat +down in the big leather chair. "Air? Hot air, Flint! No, no, it won't +do! Nothing to it nothing at all." + +For a moment the Billionaire regarded him with a look of intense +irritation. His thin lips moved, as though to emit some caustic answer; +but he managed to keep silence. The two men looked at each other, a long +minute; then Flint began again: + +"Listen, now, and keep still! The idea came to me not an hour ago, this +morning, looking over the city, here. We've got a finger on everything +but the atmosphere, the most important thing of all. If we could control +_that_--" + +"Of course, I understand," interrupted the other, blowing a ring of +smoke. "Unlimited power and so on. Looks very nice, and all. Only, it +can't be done. Air's too big, too fluid, too universal. Human powers +can't control it, any more than the ocean. Talk about monopolizing the +Atlantic, if you will, Flint. But for heaven's sake, drop--" + +"Can't be done, eh?" exclaimed Flint, warmly, sitting down on the +desk-top and levelling a big-jointed forefinger at his partner. "That's +what every new idea has had to meet. It's no argument! People scoffed at +the idea of gas lighting when it was new. Called it 'burning smoke,' and +made merry over it. That was as recently as 1832. But ten years later, +gas-illumination was in full sway. + +"Electric lighting met the same objection. And remember the objection to +the telephone? When Congress, in 1843, granted Morse an appropriation of +$30,000 to run the first telegraph line from Baltimore to Washington, +one would-be humorist in that supremely intelligent body tried to +introduce an amendment that part of the sum should be spent in surveying +a railroad to the moon! And--" + +[Illustration: "Can't be done, Eh?" said Flint.] + +"Granted," put in Waldron, "that my objection is futile, just what's +your idea?" + +"This!" And Flint stabbed at him with his forefinger, while the other +financier regarded him with a fishily amused eye. "Every human being in +this world--and there are 1,900,000,000 of them now!--is breathing, on +the average, 16 cubic feet of air every hour, or about 400 a day. The +total amount of oxygen actually absorbed in the 24 hours by each person, +is about 17 cubic feet, or _over 30 billions of cubic feet of oxygen_, +each day, in the entire world. Get that?" + +"Well?" drawled the other. + +"Don't you see?" snapped Flint, irritably. "Imagine that we extract +oxygen from the air. Then--" + +"You might as well try to dip up the ocean with a spoon," said Waldron, +"as try to vitiate the atmosphere of the whole world, by any means +whatsoever! But even if you could, what then?" + +"Look here!" exclaimed the Billionaire. "It only needs a reduction of 10 +per cent. in the atmospheric oxygen to make the air so bad that nobody +can breathe it without discomfort and pain. Take out any more and people +will die! We don't have to monopolize _all_ the oxygen, but only a very +small fraction, and the world will come gasping to us, like so many fish +out of water, falling over each other to buy!" + +"Possibly. But the details?" + +"I haven't worked them out yet, naturally. I needn't. Herzog will take +care of those. He and his staff. That's what they're for. Shall we put +it up to him? What? My God, man! Think of the millions in it--the +billions! The power! The--" + +"Of course, of course!" interposed Waldron, calmly, eyeing his smoke. +"Don't get excited, Flint. Rome wasn't built in a day. There may be +something in this; possibly there may be the germ of an idea. I don't +say it's impossible. It looks visionary to me; but then, as you well +say, so has every new idea always looked. Let me think, now; let me +think." + +"Go ahead and think!" growled the Billionaire. "Think and be hanged to +you! _I'm_ going to act!" + +Waldron vouchsafed no reply, but merely eyed his partner with cold +interest, as though he were some biological specimen under a lens, and +smoked the while. + +Flint, however, turned to his telephone and pulled it toward him, over +the big sheet of plate glass. Impatiently he took off the receiver and +held it up to his ear. + +"Hello, hello! 2438 John!" he exclaimed, in answer to the query of +"Number, please?" + +Silence, a moment, while Waldron slowly drew at his cigar and while the +Billionaire tugged with impatience at his gray mustache. + +"Hello! That you, Herzog?" + + * * * * * + +"All right. I want to see you at once. Immediately, understand?" + + * * * * * + +"Very well. And say, Herzog!" + +"Bring whatever literature you have on liquid air, nitrogen extraction +from the atmosphere, and so on. Understand? And come at once!" + + * * * * * + +"That's all! Good-bye!" + +Smiling dourly, with satisfaction, he hung up and shoved the telephone +away again, then turned to his still reflecting partner, who had now +hoisted his patent leather boots to the window sill and seemed absorbed +in regarding their gloss through a blue veil of nicotine. + +"Herzog," announced the Billionaire, "will be here in ten minutes, and +we'll get down to business." + +"So?" languidly commented the immaculate Waldron. "Well, much as I'd +like to flatter your astuteness, Flint, I'm bound to say you're barking +up a false trail, this time! Beef, yes. Steel, yes. Railroads, +steamships, coal, iron, wheat, yes. All tangible, all concrete, all +susceptible of being weighed, measured, put in figures, fenced and +bounded, legislated about and so on and so forth. But _air_--!" + +He snapped his manicured fingers, to show his well-considered contempt +for the Billionaire's scheme, and, throwing away his smoked-out cigar, +chose a fresh one. + +Flint made no reply, but with an angry grunt flung a look of scorn at +the calm and placid one. Then, furtively opening his desk drawer, he +once more sought the little vial and took two more pellets--an action +which Waldron, without moving his head, complacently observed in a +heavily-bevelled mirror that hung between the windows. + +"Air," murmured Waldron, suavely. "Hot air, Flint?" + +No answer, save another grunt and the slamming of the desk-drawer. + +And thus, in silence, the two men, masters of the world, awaited the +coming of the practical scientist, the proletarian, on whom they both, +at last analysis, had to rely for most of their results. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +THE BAITING OF HERZOG. + + +Herzog was not long in arriving. To be summoned in haste by Isaac Flint, +and to delay, was unthinkable. For eighteen years the chemist had +lickspittled to the Billionaire. Keen though his mind was, his character +and stamina were those of a jellyfish; and when the Master took snuff, +as the saying is, Herzog never failed to sneeze. + +He therefore appeared, now, in some ten minutes--a fat, rubicund, +spectacled man, with a cast in his left eye and two fingers missing, to +remind him of early days in experimental work on explosives. Under his +arm he carried several tomes and pamphlets; and so, bowing first to one +financier, then to the other, he stood there on the threshold, awaiting +his masters' pleasure. + +"Come in, Herzog," directed Flint. "Got some material there on liquid +air, and nitrogen, and so on?" + +"Yes, sir. Just what is it you want, sir?" + +"Sit down, and I'll tell you,"--for the chemist, hat in hand, ventured +not to seat himself unbidden in presence of these plutocrats. + +Herzog, murmuring thanks for Flint's gracious permission, deposited his +derby on top of the revolving book-case, sat down tentatively on the edge +of a chair and clutched his books as though they had been so many +shields against the redoubted power of his masters. + +"See here, Herzog," Flint fired at him, without any preliminaries or +beating around the bush, "what do you know about the practical side of +extracting nitrogen from atmospheric air? Or extracting oxygen, in +liquid form? Can it be done--that is, on a commercial basis?" + +"Why, no, sir--yes, that is--perhaps. I mean--" + +"What the devil _do_ you mean?" snapped Flint, while Waldron smiled +maliciously as he smoked. "Yes, or no? I don't pay you to muddle things. +I pay you to _know_, and to tell me! Get that? Now, how about it?" + +"Well, sir--hm!--the fact is," and the unfortunate chemist blinked +through his glasses with extreme uneasiness, "the fact of the matter is +that the processes involved haven't been really perfected, as yet. +Beginnings have been made, but no large-scale work has been done, so +far. Still, the principle--" + +"Is sound?" + +"Yes, sir. I imagine--" + +"Cut that! You aren't paid for imagining!" interrupted the Billionaire, +stabbing at him with that characteristic gesture. "Just what do you know +about it? No technicalities, mind! Essentials, that's all, and in a few +words!" + +"Well, sir," answered Herzog, plucking up a little courage under this +pointed goading, "so far as the fixation of atmospheric nitrogen goes, +more progress has been made in England and Scandinavia, than here. +They're working on it, over there, to obtain cheap and plentiful +fertilizer from the air. Nitrogen _can_ be obtained from the air, even +now, and made into fertilizers even cheaper than the Chili saltpeter. +Oxygen is liberated as a by-product, and--" + +"Oh, it is, eh? And could it be saved? In liquid form for instance?" + +"I think so, sir. The Siemens & Halske interests, in Germany, are doing +it already, on a limited scale. In Norway and Austria, nitrogen has been +manufactured from air, for some years." + +"On a paying, commercial basis?" demanded Flint, while Waldron, now a +trifle less scornful, seemed to listen with more interest as his eyes +rested on the rotund form of the scientist. + +"Yes, sir, quite so," answered Herzog. "It's commercially feasible, +though not a very profitable business at best. The gas is utilized in +chemical combination with a substantial base, and--" + +"No matter about that, just yet," interrupted Flint. "We can have +details later. Do you know of any such business as yet, in the United +States?" + +"Well, sir, there's a plant building at Great Falls, South Carolina, for +the purpose. It is to run by waterpower and will develop 5000 H.P." + +"Hear that, Waldron?" demanded the Billionaire. "It's already beginning +even here! But not one of these plants is working for what I see as the +prime possibility. No imagination, no grasp on the subject! No wonder +most inventors and scientists die poor! They incubate ideas and then +lack the warmth to hatch them into general application. It takes men +like us, Wally--practical men--to turn the trick!" He spoke a bit +rapidly, almost feverishly, under the influence of the subtle drug. "Now +if _we_ take hold of this game, why, we can shake the world as it has +never yet been shaken! Eh, Waldron? What do you think now?" + +Waldron only grunted, non-committally. Flint with a hard glance at his +unresponsive partner, once more turned to Herzog. + +"See here, now," directed he. "What's the best process now in use?" + +"For what, sir?" ventured the timid chemist. + +"For the simultaneous production of nitrogen and oxygen, from the +atmosphere!" + +"Well, sir," he answered, deprecatingly, as though taking a great +liberty even in informing his master on a point the master had expressly +asked about, "there are three processes. But all operate only on a small +scale." + +"Who ever told you I wanted to work on a large scale?" demanded Flint, +savagely. + +"I--er--inferred--beg pardon, sir--I--" And Herzog quite lost himself +and floundered hopelessly, while his mismated eyes wandered about the +room as though seeking the assurance he so sadly lacked. + +"Confine yourself to answering what I ask you," directed Flint, crisply. +"You're not paid to infer. You're paid to answer questions on chemistry, +and to get results. Remember _that_!" + +"Yes, sir," meekly answered the chemist, while Waldron smiled with +cynical amusement. He enjoyed nothing so delightedly as any grilling of +an employee, whether miner, railroad man, clerk, ship's captain or +what-not. This baiting, by Flint, was a rare treat to him. + +"Go on," commanded the Billionaire, in a badgering tone. "What are the +processes?" He eyed Herzog as though the man had been an ox, a dog or +even some inanimate object, coldly and with narrow-lidded condescension. +To him, in truth, men were no more than Shelley's "plow or sword or +spade" for his own purpose--things to serve him and to be ruled--or +broken--as best served his ends. "Go on! Tell me what you know; and no +more!" + +"Yes, sir," ventured Herzog. "There are three processes to extract +nitrogen and oxygen from air. One is by means of what the German +scientists call _Kalkstickstoff_, between calcium carbide and nitrogen, +and the reaction-symbols are--" + +"No matter," Flint waived him, promptly. "I don't care for formulas or +details. What I want is results and general principles. Any other way to +extract these substances, in commercial quantities, from the air we +breathe?" + +"Two others. But one of these operates at a prohibitive cost. The +other--" + +"Yes, yes. What is it?" Flint slid off the edge of the table and walked +over to Herzog; stood there in front of him, and bored down at him with +eager eyes, the pupils contracted by morphine, but very bright. "What's +the best way?" + +"With the electric arc, sir," answered the chemist, mopping his brow. +This grilling method reminded him of what he had heard of "Third Degree" +torments. "That's the best method, sir." + +"Now in use, anywhere?" + +"In Notodden, Norway. They have firebrick furnaces, you understand, sir, +with an alternating current of 5000 volts between water-cooled copper +electrodes. The resulting arc is spread by powerful electro-magnets, +so." And he illustrated with his eight acid-stained fingers. "Spread +out like a disk or sphere of flame, of electric fire, you see." + +"Yes, and what then?" demanded Flint, while his partner, forgetting now +to smile, sat there by the window scrutinizing him. One saw, now, the +terribly keen and prehensile intellect at work under the mask of assumed +foppishness and jesting indifference--the quality, for the most part +masked, which had earned Waldron the nickname of "Tiger" in Wall Street. + +"What then?" repeated Flint, once more levelling that potent forefinger +at the sweating Herzog. + +"Well, sir, that gives a large reactive surface, through which the air +is driven by powerful rotary fans. At the high temperature of the +electric arc in air, the molecules of nitrogen and oxygen dissociate +into their atoms. The air comes out of the arc, charged with about one +per cent. of nitric oxide, and after that--" + +"Jump the details, idiot! Can't you move faster than a paralytic snail? +What's the final result?" + +"The result is, sir," answered Herzog, meek and cowed under this +harrying, "that calcium nitrate is produced, a very excellent +fertilizer. It's a form of nitrogen, you see, directly obtained from +air." + +"At what cost?" + +"One ton of fixed nitrogen in that form costs about $150 or $160." + +"Indeed?" commented Flint. "The same amount, combined in Chile +saltpeter, comes to--?" + +"A little over $300, sir." + +"Hear that, Wally?" exclaimed the Billionaire, turning to his now +interested associate. "Even if this idea never goes a step farther, +there's a gold mine in just the production of fertilizer from air! But, +after all, that will only be a by-product. It's the oxygen we're after, +and must have!" + +He faced Herzog again. + +"Is any oxygen liberated, during the process?" he demanded. + +"At one stage, yes, sir. But in the present process, it is absorbed, +also." + +Flint's eyebrows contracted nervously. For a moment he stood thinking, +while Herzog eyed him with trepidation, and Waldron, almost forgetting +to smoke, waited developments with interest. The Billionaire, however, +wasted but scant time in consideration. It was not money now, he lusted +for, but power. Money was, to him, no longer any great desideratum. At +most, it could now mean no more to him than a figure on a check-book or +a page of statistics in his private memoranda. But power, unlimited, +indisputable power over the whole earth and the fulness thereof, power +which none might dispute, power before which all humanity must bow--God! +the lust of it now gripped and shook his soul. + +Paling a little, but with eyes ablaze, he faced the anxious scientist. + +"Herzog! See here!" + +"Yes, sir?" + +"I've got a job for you, understand?" + +"Yes, sir. What is it?" + +"A big job, and one on which your entire future depends. Put it through, +and I'll do well by you. Fail, and by the Eternal, I'll break you! I +can, and will, mark that! Do you get me?" + +"I--yes, sir--that is, I'll do my best, and--" + +"Listen! You go to work at once, immediately, understand? Work out for +me some process, some practicable method by which the nitrogen and +oxygen can both be collected in large quantities from the air. +Everything in my laboratories at Oakwood Heights is at your disposal. +Money's no object. Nothing counts, now, but _results_! + +"I want the process all mapped out and ready for me, in its essential +outlines, two weeks from today. If it isn't--" His gesture was a menace. +"If it is--well, you'll be suitably rewarded. And no leaks, now. Not a +word of this to any one, understand? If it gets out, you know what I can +do to you, and will! Remember Roswell; remember Parker Hayes. _They_ let +news get to the Dillingham-Saunders people, about the new Tezzoni +radio-electric system--and one's dead, now, a suicide; the other's in +Sing-Sing for eighteen years. Remember that--and keep your mouth shut!" + +"Yes, sir. I understand." + +"All right, then. A fortnight from today, report to me here. And mind +you, have something to report, or--!" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Very well! Now, go!" + +Thus dismissed, Herzog gathered together his books and papers, blinked a +moment with those peculiar wall-eyes of his, arose and, bowing first to +Flint and then to the keenly-watching Waldron, backed out of the office. + +When the door had closed behind him, Flint turned to his partner with a +nervous laugh. + +"That's the way to get results, eh?" he exclaimed. "No dilly-dallying +and no soft soap; but just lay the lash right on, hard--they jump then, +the vermin! Results! That fellow will work his head off, the next two +weeks; and there'll be something doing when he comes again. You'll see!" + +Waldron laughed nonchalantly. Once more the mask of indifference had +fallen over him, veiling the keen, incisive interest he had shown during +the interview. + +"Something doing, yes," he drawled, puffing his cigar to a glow. "Only I +advise you to choose your men. Some day you'll try that on a real +man--one of the rough-necks you know, and--" + +Flint snapped his fingers contemptuously, gazed at Waldron a moment with +unwinking eyes and tugged at his mustache. + +"When I need advice on handling men, I'll ask for it," he rapped out. +Then, glancing at the Louis XIV clock: "Past the time for that C.P.S. +board-meeting, Wally. No more of this, now. We'll talk it over at the +Country Club, tonight; but for the present, let's dismiss it from our +minds." + +"Right!" answered the other, and arose, yawning, as though the whole +subject were of but indifferent interest to him. "It's all moonshine, +Flint. All a pipe-dream. Defoe's philosophers, who spent their lives +trying to extract sunshine from cucumbers, never entertained any more +fantastic notion than this of yours. However, it's your funeral, not +mine. You're paying for it. I decline to put in any funds for any such +purpose. Amuse yourself; you've got to settle the bill." + +Flint smiled sourly, his gold tooth glinting, but made no answer. + +"Come along," said his partner, moving toward the door. "They're waiting +for us, already, at the board meeting. And there's big business coming +up, today--that strike situation, you remember. Slade's going to be on +deck. We've got to decide, at once, whether or not we're going to turn +him loose on the miners, to smash that gang of union thugs and Socialist +fanatics, and do it right. _That's_ a game worth playing, Flint; but +this Air Trust vagary of yours--stuff and nonsense!" + +Flint, for all reply, merely cast a strange look at his partner, with +those strongly-contracted pupils of his; and so the two vultures of prey +betook themselves to the board room where already, round the long +rosewood table, Walter Slade of the Cosmos Detective Company was laying +out his strike-breaking plans to the attentive captains of industry. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +AN INTERLOPER. + + +On the eleventh day after this interview between the two men who, +between them, practically held the whole world in their grasp, Herzog +telephoned up from Oakwood Heights and took the liberty of informing +Flint that his experiments had reached a point of such success that he +prayed Flint would condescend to visit the laboratories in person. + +Flint, after some reflection, decided he would so condescend; and +forthwith ordered his limousine from his private garage on William +Street. Thereafter he called Waldron on the 'phone, at his Fifth Avenue +address. + +"Mr. Waldron is not up, yet, sir," a carefully-modulated voice answered +over the wire. "Any message I can give him, sir?" + +"Oh, hello! That you, Edwards?" Flint demanded, recognizing the suave +tones of his partner's valet. + +"Yes, sir." + +"All right. Tell Waldron I'll call for him in half an hour with the +limousine. And mind, now, I want him to be up and dressed! We're going +down to Staten Island. Got that?" + +"Yes, sir. Any other message, sir?" + +"No. But be sure you get him up, for me! Good-bye!" + +Thirty minutes later, Flint's chauffeur opened the door of the big +limousine, in front of the huge Renaissance pile that Waldron's +millions had raised on land which had cost him more than as though he +had covered it with double eagles; and Flint himself ascended the steps +of Pentelican marble. The limousine, its varnish and silver-plate +flashing in the bright spring sun, stood by the curb, purring softly to +itself with all six cylinders, a thing of matchless beauty and rare +cost. The chauffeur, on the driver's seat, did not even bother to shut +off the gas, but let the engine run, regardless. To have stopped it +would have meant some trifling exertion, in starting again; and since +Flint never considered such details as a few gallons of gasoline, why +should _he_ care? Lighting a Turkish cigarette, this aristocrat of labor +lolled on the padded leather and indifferently--with more of contempt +than of interest--regarded a swarm of iron-workers, masons and laborers +at work on a new building across the avenue. + +Flint, meanwhile, had entered the great mansion, its bronze +doors--ravished from the Palazzo Guelfo at Venice--having swung inward +to admit him, with noiseless majesty. Ignoring the doorman, he addressed +himself to Edwards, who stood in the spacious, mahogany-panelled hall, +washing both hands with imaginary soap. + +"Waldron up, yet, Edwards?" + +"No, sir. He--er--I have been unable--" + +"The devil! Where is he?" + +"In his apartments, sir." + +"Take me up!" + +"He said, sir," ventured Edwards, in his smoothest voice. "He said--" + +"I don't give a damn what he said! Take me up, at once!" + +"Yes, sir. Immediately, sir!" And he gestured suavely toward the +elevator. + +Flint strode down the hall, indifferent to the Kirmanshah rugs, the rare +mosaic floor and stained-glass windows, the Parian fountain and the +Azeglio tapestries that hung suspended up along the stairway--all old +stories to him and as commonplace as rickety odds and ends of furniture +might be to any toiler "cribbed, cabin'd and confined" in fetid East +Side tenement or squalid room on Hester Street. + +The elevator boy bowed before his presence. Edwards hesitated to enter +the private elevator, with this world-master; but Flint beckoned him to +come along. And so, borne aloft by the smooth force of the electric +motor, they presently reached the upper floor where "Tiger" Waldron +laired in stately splendor, like the nabob that he was. + +Without ceremony, Flint pushed forward into the bed-chamber of the +mighty one--a chamber richly finished in panels of the rare sea-grape +tree, brought from Pacific isles at great cost of money and some +expenditure of human lives; but this latter item was, of course, beneath +consideration. + +By the softened light which entered through rich curtains, one saw the +famous frieze of De Lussac, that banded the apartment, over the +panelling--the frieze of Bacchantes, naked and unashamed, revelling with +Satyrs in an abandon that bespoke the age when the world was young. +Their voluptuous forms entwined with clustering grapes and leaves, they +poured tipsy libations of red wine from golden chalices; while old +Silenus, god of drink, astride a donkey, applauded with maudlin joy. + +Flint, however, had no eyes for this scene which would have gladdened a +voluptuary's heart--and which, for that reason was dear to Waldron--but +walked toward the huge, four-posted bed where Wally himself, now rather +paler than usual, with bloodshot eyes, was lying. This bed, despite the +fact that it had been transported all the way from Tours, France, and +that it once had belonged to an archbishop, had only too often witnessed +its owner's insomnia. + +"Hm! You're a devil of a man to keep an appointment, aren't you?" Flint +sneered at the master of the house. "Eleven o'clock, and not up, yet!" + +"Pardon me for remarking, my dear Flint," replied Waldron, stretching +himself between the silken sheets and reaching for a cigarette, "that +the appointment was not of my making. Also that I was up, last +night--this morning, rather--till three-thirty. And in the next place, +that scoundrel Hazeltine, trimmed me out of eighty-six thousand in four +hours--" + +"Roulette again, you idiot?" demanded Flint. + +"And in conclusion," said Wally, "that the bigness of my head and the +brown taste in my mouth are such as no 'soda and sermons, the morning +after' can possibly alleviate. So you understand my dalliance. + +"Damn those workmen!" he exclaimed, with sudden irritation, as a louder +chattering of pneumatic riveters from the new building all at once +clattered in at the window. "A free country, eh? And men are permitted +to make _that_ kind of a racket when a fellow wants to sleep! By God, if +I--" + +"Drop that, Wally, and get up!" commanded Flint. "There's no time for +this kind of thing today. Herzog has just informed me his experiments +have brought results. We're going down to Oakwood Heights to sea a few +things for ourselves. And the quicker you get dressed and in your right +mind, the better. Come along, I tell you!" + +"Still chasing sunbeams from cucumbers, eh?" drawled the magnate, +inhaling cigarette smoke and blowing a thin cloud toward the wanton +Bacchantes. He affected indifference, but his dull eyes brightened a +trifle in his wan face, deep-lined by the savage dissipations of the +previous night. "And you insist on dragging me out on the same fatuous +errand?" + +"Don't be an ass!" snapped the Billionaire. "Get up and come along. The +sooner we have this thing under way, the better." + +"All right, anything to oblige," conceded Waldron, inwardly stirred by +an interest he took good care not to divulge in word or look. "Give me +just time for a cold plunge, a few minutes with my masseur and my +barber, a bite to eat and--" + +Flint laid hold on his partner and shook him roughly. + +"Move, you sluggard!" he commanded. And Tiger Waldron obeyed. + +Forty-five minutes later, the two financiers were speeding down the +asphalt of the avenue at a good round clip. Flint's gleaming car formed +one unit of the never-ending procession of motors which, day and night, +year in and year out, spin unceasingly along the great, hard, splendid, +cruel thoroughfare. + +"I tell you," Flint was asserting as they swung into Broadway, at +Twenty-third Street, and headed for South Ferry, "I tell you, Wally, +the thing is growing vaster and more potent every moment. The longer I +look at it, the huger its possibilities loom up! With air under our +control, as a source of manufacturing alone, we can pull down perfectly +inconceivable fortunes. We shan't have to send anywhere for our raw +material. It will come to us; it's everywhere. No cost for +transportation, to begin with. + +"With oxygen, nitrogen and liquid air as products, think of the +possibilities, will you? Not an ice-plant in the country could compete +with us, in the refrigerating line. With liquid air, we could sweep that +market clean. By installing it on our fruit cars and boats, and our beef +cars, the saving effected in many ways would run to millions. The sale +of nitrogen, for fertilizer, would net us billions. And, above all, the +control of the world's air supply, for breathing, would make us the +absolute, undisputed masters of mankind! + +"We'd have the world by the windpipe. Its very life-breath would be at +our disposal. Ha! What about revolution, then? What about popular +discontent, and stiff-necked legislators, and cranky editors? What about +commercial and financial rivals? What about these damned Socialists, +with their brass-lunged bazoo, howling about monopoly and capitalism and +all the rest of it? Eh, what? Just one squeeze," here Flint closed his +corded, veinous fingers, "just one tightening of the fist, and--all +over! We win, hands down!" + +"Like shutting the wind off from a runaway horse, eh?" suggested +Waldron, squinting at his cigar as though to hide the involuntary gleam +of light that sparkled in his narrow-set eyes. + +"Precisely!" assented Flint, smiling his gold-toothed smile. "The +wildest bolter has got to stop, or fall dead, once you close his +nostrils. That's what we'll do to the world, Wally. We'll get it by the +throat--and there you are!" + +"Yes, there we are," repeated Waldron, "but--" + +"But what, now?" + +Waldron did not answer, for a moment, but squinted up at the tall +buildings, temples of Mammon and of Greed, filled from pave to cornice +with toiling, sweated hordes of men and women, all laboring for +Capitalism; many of them, directly or indirectly, for him. Then, as the +limousine slowed at Spring Street, to let a cross-town car pass--a car +whose earnings he and Flint both shared, just as they shared those of +every surface and subway and "L" car in the vast metropolis--he said: + +"Have you weighed the consequences carefully, Flint? Quite carefully? +This thing of cornering all the oxygen is a pretty big proposition. Do +you think you really ought to undertake it?" + +"Why not?" + +"Have you considered the frightful suffering and loss of life it might +entail? Almost certainly would entail? Are you quite sure you _want_ to +take the world by the throat and--and choke it? For money?" + +"No, not for money, Waldron. We're both staggering under money, as it +is. But power! Ah, that's different!" + +"I know," admitted Waldron. "But ought we--you--to attempt this, even +for the sake of universal power? Your plan contemplates a monopoly such +that everybody who refused or was unable to buy your product would, at +best, have to get along with vitiated air, and at worst would have to +stifle. Do you really think we ought to undertake this?" + +Keenly he eyed Flint, as he thus sounded the elder man's inhuman +determination. Flint, fathoming nothing of his purpose, retorted with +some heat: + +"Ha! Getting punctilious, all at once, are you? Talk ethics, eh? Where +were your scruples, a year ago, when people were paying 25 cents a loaf +for bread, because of that big wheat pool you put through? How about the +oil you've just lately helped me boost by a 20 per cent. increase? And +when the papers--though mostly those infernal Socialist or Anarchist +papers, or whatever they were--shouted that old men and women were +freezing in attics, last winter, what then? Did you vote to arbitrate +the D.K. coal strike? Not by a jugful! You stood shoulder to shoulder +with me, then, Wally, while _now_--!" + +"It's a bit different, now," interposed "Tiger," with an evil smile, +still leading his partner along. "Since then I've had the--ah--the +extreme happiness to become engaged to your daughter, Catherine. New +thoughts have entered my mind. I've experienced a--a--" + +"You quitter!" burst out Flint. "No, by God! you aren't going to put +this thing over on me. I'll have no quitter for _my_ son-in-law! Wally, +I'm astonished at you. Astonished and disappointed. You're not yourself, +this morning. That eighty-six thousand you dropped last night, has +shaken your heart. Come, come, pull together! Where's your nerve, man? +Where's your nerve?" + +Waldron answered nothing. In silence the partners watched the press of +traffic, each busy with his own thoughts, Waldron waiting for Flint to +reopen fire on him, and the Billionaire decided to say no more till his +associate should make some move. Thus the limousine reached the Staten +Island ferry, that glorious monument of municipal ownership wrecked by +Tammany grafting. In silence they smoked while the car rolled down the +incline and out onto the huge ferry boat. Then, as the crowded craft got +under way, a minute later, both men left the car and strolled to the +rail to watch the glittering sparkle of the sunlight on the harbor; the +teeming commerce of the port; the creeping liners and busy tugs; the +towering figure of Liberty, her flameless torch held far aloft in +mockery. + +Suddenly Waldron spoke. + +"You can't do it, I tell you!" said he, waving an eloquent hand toward +the sky. "It's too big, the air is, as I said before. Too damned big! +Own coal and copper, if you will, and steel and ships, here; own those +buildings back there," with a gesture at the frowning line of +skyscrapers buttressing Manhattan, "but don't buck the impossible! And +incidentally, Flint, don't misunderstand me, either. When I asked you if +we _ought_ to try it, I merely meant, would it be _safe_? The world, +Flint, is a dangerous toy to play with, too hard. The people are +perilous baubles, if you step on their corns a bit too often or too +heavily. Every Caesar has a Brutus waiting for him somewhere, with a +club. + +"Once let the unwashed get an idea into their low brows, and you can't +tell where it may lead them. Even a rat fights, in its last corner. +These human rats of ours have been getting a bit nasty of late. True, +they swallowed the Limited Franchise Bill, three years ago, with only a +little futile protest, so that now we've got them politically hamstrung. +True, there's the Dick Military Bill, recently enlarged and perfected, +so they can't move a hand without falling into treason and +court-martial. True again, they've stood for the Censorship and the +National Mounted Police--the Grays--all in the last year. But how much +more will they stand, eh? You close your hand on their windpipes, and by +God! something may happen even yet, after all!" + +Flint snapped his fingers with contempt. + +"Machine guns!" was all he said. + +"Yes, of course," answered Waldron. "But there may be life in the old +beast yet. They may yet kick the apple cart over--and us with it. You +never can tell. And those infernal Socialists, always at it, night and +day, never letting up, flinging firebrands into the powder magazine! +_Sometime_ there's going to be one hell of a bang, Flint! And when it +comes, _suave qui peut_! So go slow, old man--go damned slow, that's all +I've got to say!" + +"On the contrary," said Flint, blinking in the golden spring sunshine as +he peered out over the swashing brine at a raucous knot of gulls, "on +the contrary, Wally, I'm going to push it as fast as the Lord will let +me. You can come in, or not, as you see fit--but remember this, no +quitter ever gets a daughter of mine! And another thing; we're in the +year 1921, now, not 1910 or 1915. Developments, political and otherwise, +have moved swiftly, these few years past. Then, there might have been +trouble. To-day, there can't be. We've got things cinched too tight for +that! + +"Ten years ago, they might have had our blood, the people might, or +given us a hemp-tea party in Wall Street. today, all's safe. Come, be +a man and grip your courage! We can put the initial stages through in +absolute secrecy--and then, once we get our clutch on the world's +breath, what have we to fear?" + +"Go slow, Flint!" + +"Nonsense! Oxygen is life itself. There's no substitute. Vitiate the air +by removing even 10 per cent. of it, and the world will lick our boots +for a chance to breathe! Everybody's got to have oxygen, all the way +from kings and emperors down to the toiling cattle, the Henry Dubbs, as +I believe they're commonly called in vulgar speech. Shut off the air, +and 'the captains and the kings' will run to heel like the rabble +itself. Run to heel, and pay for the privilege of doing it! We've got +the universities, press, churches, laws, judges, army and navy and +everything already in our hands. We'll be secure enough, no fear!" + +"Shhhhh!" And Waldron nudged the Billionaire with his elbow. + +In his excitement, Flint had permitted his voice to rise, a little. Not +far from him, leaning on the rail, a stockily built young fellow in +overalls, a cap pulled down firmly over his well-shaped head, was +apparently watching the gulls and the passing boats, with eyes no less +blue than the bay itself; eyes no less glinting than the sunlight on the +waves. He seemed to be paying no heed to anything but what lay before +him. But "Tiger" Waldron, possessed of something of the instinct of the +beast whose name he bore, subconsciously sensed a peril in his nearness. +The man's ear--if unusually quick--might, just _might_ possibly have +caught a word or two meant for no interloper. And at that thought, +Waldron once more nudged his partner. + +"Shhh!" he repeated, "Enough. We can finish this, in the limousine." + +Flint looked at him a moment, in silence, then nodded. + +"Right you are," said he. And both men climbed back into the closed car. + +"You never can tell what ears are primed for news," said Waldron. +"Better take no chances." + +"Before long, we can throw away all subterfuge," the Billionaire replied +as he shut the door. "But for now, well, you're correct. Once our grasp +tightens on the windpipe of the world, we're safe. From our office in +Wall Street you and I can play the keys of the world-machine as an +organist would finger his instrument. But there must be no leak; no +publicity; no suspicion aroused. We'll play our music _pianissimo_, +Wally, with rare accompaniments to the tune of 'great public utility, +benefit to the public health,' and all that--the same old game, only on +a vastly larger scale. + +"Every modern composer in the field of Big Business knows that score and +has played it many times. _We_ will play it on a monstrous pipe organ, +with the world's lungs for bellows and the world's breath to vibrate our +reeds--and all paying tribute, night and day, year after year, all over +the world, Wally, all over the world! + +"God! What power shall be ours! What infinite power, such as, since time +began, never yet lay in mortal hands! We shall be as gods, Waldron, you +and I--and between us, we shall bring the human race wallowing to our +feet in helpless bondage, in supreme abandon!" + +The ferry boat, nearing the Staten Island landing, slowed its ponderous +screws. The chauffeur flung away his cigarette, drew on his gauntlets +and accelerated his engine. Forward the human drove began to press, +under the long slave-driven habit of haste, of eagerness to do the +masters' bidding. + +The young mechanic by the rail--he of the overalls and keen blue +eyes--turned toward the bows, picked up a canvas bag of tools and stood +there waiting with the rest. + +For a moment his glance rested on the limousine and the two half-seen +figures within. As it did so, a wanton breeze from off the Island +flapped back the lapel of his jumper. In that brief instant one might +have seen a button pinned upon his blue flannel shirt--clasped hands, +surrounded by the legend: "Workers of the World, Unite!" + +But neither of the plutocrats observed this; nor, had they seen, would +they have understood. + +And whether the sturdy toiler had overheard aught of their infernal +conspiring--or, having heard it, grasped its dire and criminal +significance--who, who in all this weary and toil-burdened world, could +say? + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +IN THE LABORATORY. + + +Half an hour's run down Staten Island, along smooth roads lined with +sleepy little towns and through sparse woods beyond which sparkled the +shining waters of the harbor, brought the two plutocrats to the quiet +settlement of Oakwood Heights. + +Now the blasé chauffeur swung the car sharply to the left, past the +aviation field, and so came to the wide-scattered settlement--almost a +colony--which, hidden behind high, barb-wire-topped fences, carried on +the many and complex activities of the partners' experiment station. +Here were the several laboratories where new products were evolved and +old ones refined, for Flint's and Waldron's greater profit. Here stood a +complete electric power plant, for lighting and heating the works, as +well as for current to use in the retorts and many powerful machines of +the testing works. + +Here, again, were broad proving grounds, for fuel and explosives; and, +at one side, stood a low, skylighted group of brick buildings, known as +the electro-chemical station. Dormitories and boarding-houses for the +small army of employees occupied the eastern end of the enclosure, +nearest the sea. Over all, high chimney stacks and the aerials of a +mighty wireless plant dominated the entire works. A private railroad +spur pierced the western side of the enclosure, for food and coal +supplies, as well as for the handling of the numerous imports and +exports of this wonderfully complete feudal domain. As the colony lay +there basking in the sunshine of early spring, under its drifting +streamers of smoke, it seemed an ideal picture of peaceful activities. +Here a locomotive puffed, shunting cars; there, a steam-jet flung its +plumes of snowy vapor into air; yonder, a steam hammer thundered on a +massive anvil. And forges rang, and through open windows hummed sounds +of industry. + +And yet, not one of all those sounds but echoed more bitter slavery for +men. Not one of all those many activities but boded ill to humanity. For +the whole plan and purpose of the place was the devising of still wider +forms of human exploitation and enslavement. Its every motive was to +serve the greed of Flint and Waldron. Outwardly honest and industrious, +it inwardly loomed sinister and terrible, a type and symbol of its +masters' swiftly growing power. Such, in its essence, was the great +experiment station of these two men who lusted for dominion over the +whole world. + +As the long, glittering car drew up at the main gate of the enclosure, a +sharp-eyed watchman peered through a sliding wicket therein. Satisfied +by his inspection, he withdrew; and at once the big gate rolled back, +smoothly actuated by electricity. The car purred onward, into the +enclosure. When the gate had closed noiselessly behind it, the chauffeur +ran it down a splendidly paved roadway, swung to the right, past the +machine shops, and drew it to a stand in front of the administration +building. + +Flint and his partner alighted, and stood for a moment surveying the +scene with satisfaction. Then Flint turned to the chauffeur. + +"Put the car in the garage," he directed. "We may not want it till +afternoon." + +The blasé one touched his cap and nodded, in obedience. Then, as the car +withdrew, the partners ascended the broad steps. + +"Good chap, that Herrick," commented Waldron, casting a glance at the +retreating chauffeur. "Quick-witted, and mum. Give me a man who knows +how to mind _and_ keep still about it, every time!" + +"Right," assented Flint. "Obedience is the first of all virtues, and the +second is silence. Well, it looks to me as though we had the whole world +coming our way, now, along that very same path of virtue. Once we get +this air proposition really to working, the world will obey. It will +have to! And as for silence, we can manage that, too. The mere turn of a +valve, and--!" + +Waldron smiled grimly, as though in derision of what he seemed to think +his partner's chimerical hopes, but made no answer. Together they +entered the administration building. Five minutes later, Herzog, their +servile experimenter, stood bowing and cringing before them. + +"Got it, Herzog?" demanded Flint, while Waldron lighted still another of +those costly cigars--each one worth a good mechanic's daily wage. + +"Yes, sir, I believe so, sir," the scientist replied, depreciatingly. +"That is, at least, on a small scale. Two weeks was the time you allowed +me, sir, but--" + +"I know. You've done it in eleven days," interrupted, the Billionaire. +"Very well. I knew you could. You'll lose nothing by it. So no more of +that. Show us what you've done. Everything all ready?" + +"Quite ready, sir," the other answered. "If you'll be so good as to step +into the electro-chemical building?" + +Flint very graciously signified his willingness thus to condescend; and +without delay, accompanied by the still incredulous Waldron, and +followed by Herzog, he passed out of the administration building, +through a covered passage and into the electro-chemical works. + +A variety of strange odors and stranger sounds filled this large brick +structure, windowless on every side and lighted only by broad skylights +of milky wire-glass--this arrangement being due to the extreme secrecy +of many processes here going forward. The partners had no intention that +any spying eyes should ever so much as glimpse the work in this +department; work involving foods, fuels, power, lighting, almost the +entire range of the vast network of exploiting media they had already +flung over a tired world. + +"This way, gentlemen," ventured Herzog, pointing toward a metal door at +the left of the main room. He unlocked this, which was guarded by a +combination lock, like that of a bank vault, and waited for them to +enter; then closed it after them, and made quite sure the metal door was +fast. + +A peculiar, pungent smell greeted the partners' nostrils as they glanced +about the inner laboratory. At one side an electric furnace was glowing +with graphite crucibles subjected to terrific heat. On the other a +dynamo was humming. Before them a broad, tiled bench held a strange +assortment of test tubes, retorts and complex apparatus of glass and +gleaming metal. The whole was lighted by a strong white light from +above, through the milk-hued glass--one of Herzog's own inventions, by +the way; a wonderful, light-intensifying glass, which would bend but not +break; an invention which, had he himself profited by it, would have +brought him millions, but which the partners had exploited without ever +having given him a single penny above his very moderate salary. + +"Is that it?" demanded Flint, a glitter lighting up his +morphia-contracted pupils. He jerked his thumb at a complicated nexus of +tubes, brass cylinders, coiled wires and glistening retorts which stood +at one end of the broad work-bench. + +"That is it, sir," answered Herzog, apologetically, while "Tiger" +Waldron's hard face hardened even more. "Only an experimental model, you +understand, sir, but--" + +"It gets results?" queried Flint sharply. "It produces oxygen and +nitrogen on a scale that indicates success, with adequate apparatus?" + +"Yes, sir. I believe so, sir. No doubt about it; none whatever." + +"Good!" exclaimed the Billionaire. "Now show us!" + +"With pleasure, sir. But first, let me explain, a little." + +"Well, what?" demanded Flint. His partner, meanwhile, had drawn near the +apparatus, and was studying it with a most intense concentration. Plain +to see, beneath this man's foppish exterior and affected cynicism, dwelt +powerful purposes and keen intelligence. + +"Explain what?" repeated the Billionaire. "As far as details go, I'm not +interested. All I want is results. Go ahead, Herzog; start your machine +and let me see what it can do." + +"I will, sir," acceded the scientist. "But first, with your permission, +I'll point out a few of its main features, and--" + +"Damn the main features!" cried Flint. "Get busy with the +demonstration!" + +"Hold on, hold on," now interrupted Waldron. "Let him discourse, if he +wants to. Ever know a scientist who wasn't primed to the muzzle with +expositions? Here, Herzog," he added, turning to the inventor, "I'll +listen, if nobody else will." + +Undecided, Herzog smiled nervously. Even Flint had to laugh at his +indecision. + +"All right, go on," said the Billionaire. "Only for God's sake, make it +brief!" + +Herzog, thus adjured, cleared his throat and blinked uneasily. + +"Oxygen," he said. "Yes, I can produce it quickly, easily and in large +quantities. As a gas, or as a liquid, which can be shipped to any +desired point and there transformed into gaseous form. Liquid air can +also be produced by this same machine, for refrigerating purposes. You +understand, of course, that when liquid air evaporates, it is only the +nitrogen that goes back into the atmosphere at 313 degrees below zero. +The residue is pure liquid oxygen. In other words, this apparatus will +make money as a liquid air plant, and furnish you oxygen as a +by-product. + +"It will also turn out nitrogen, for fertilizing purposes. The income +from a full-sized machine, on this pattern, from all three sources, +should be very large indeed." + +"Good," put in Waldron. "And liquid air, for example, would cost how +much to produce?" + +"With power-cost at half a cent per H.P. hour, about $2.50 a ton. The +oxygen by-product alone will more than pay for that, in purifying and +cooling buildings, or used to promote combustion in locomotives and +other steam engines. The liquid air itself can be used as a motive power +for a certain type of expansion engine, or--" + +"There, there, that's enough!" interposed Flint, brusquely. "We don't +need any of your advice or suggestions, Herzog. As far as the disposal +of the product is concerned, we can take care of that. All we want from +you is the assurance that that product can be obtained, easily and +cheaply, and in unlimited quantities. Is that the case?" + +"It is, sir." + +"All right. And can liquid oxygen be easily transported any considerable +distance?" + +"Yes, sir. In what is known as Place's Vacuum-jacketed Insulated +Container, it can be kept for weeks at a time without any appreciable +loss." + +Flint pondered a moment, then asked, again: + +"Could large tanks, holding say, a million gallons, be built on that +principle, for wholesale storage? And could vacuum-jacketed pipes be +laid, for conveying liquid oxygen or its gas?" + +"No reason why not, sir. Yes, I may say all that is quite feasible." + +"Very well, then," snapped Flint. "That's enough for the present. Now, +show us your machine at work! Start it Herzog. Let's see what you can +do!" + +The Billionaire's eyes glittered as Herzog laid a hand on a gleaming +switch. Even Waldron forgot to smoke. + +"Gentlemen, observe," said Herzog, as he threw the lever. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +OXYGEN, KING OF INTOXICATORS. + + +A soft humming note began to vibrate through the inner laboratory--a +note which rose in pitch, steadily, as Herzog shoved the lever from one +copper post to another, round the half-circle. + +"I am now heating the little firebrick furnace," said the scientist. "In +Norway, they use an alternating current of only 5,000 volts, between +water-cooled copper electrodes, as I have already told you. I am using +30,000 volts, and my electrodes, my own invention, are--" + +"Never mind," growled Flint. "Just let's see some of the product--some +liquid oxygen, that's all. The why and wherefore is your job, not ours!" + +Herzog, with a pained smile, bent and peered through a red glass +bull's-eye that now had begun to glow in the side of his apparatus. + +"The arc is good," he muttered, as to himself. "Now I will throw in the +electro-magnets and spread it; then switch in my intensifying condenser, +and finally set the turbine fans to work, to throw air through the +field. Then we shall see, we shall see!" + +Suiting the action to the words, he deftly touched here a button, there +a lever; and all at once a shrill buzzing rose above the lower drone of +the induction coils. + +"Gentlemen," said Herzog, straightening up and facing his employers, +"the process is now already at work. In five minutes--yes, in three--I +shall have results to show you!" + +"Good!" grunted Waldron. "That's all we're after, results. That's the +only way you hold your job, Herzog, just getting results!" + +He relighted his cigar, which had gone out during Herzog's +explanation--for "Tiger" Waldron, though he could drop thousands at +roulette without turning a hair, never yet had been known to throw away +a cigar less than half smoked. Flint, meanwhile, took out a little +morocco-covered note book and made a few notes. In this book he had kept +an outline of his plan from the very first; and now with pleasure he +added some memoranda, based on what Herzog had just told him, as well as +observations on the machine itself. + +Thus two minutes passed, then three. + +"Time's up, Herzog!" exclaimed Waldron, glancing at the electric clock +on the wall. "Where's the juice?" + +"One second, sir," answered the scientist. Again he peeked through the +glowing bull's-eye. Then, his face slightly pale, his bulging eyes +blinking nervously, he took two small flint glass bottles, set them +under a couple of pipettes, and deftly made connections. + +"Oxygen cocktail for mine," laughed Waldron, to cover a certain emotion +he could not help feeling at sight of the actual operation of a process +which might, after all, open out ways and means for the utter +subjugation of the world. + +Neither Flint nor the inventor vouchsafed even a smile. The Billionaire +drew near, adjusted a pair of pince-nez on his hawk-like nose, and +peered curiously at the apparatus. Herzog, with a quick gesture, turned +a small silver faucet. + +"Oxygen! Unlimited oxygen!" he exclaimed. "I have found the process, +gentlemen, commercially practicable. Oxygen!" + +Even as he spoke, a lambent, sparkling liquid began to flow through the +pipette, into the flask. At sight of it, the Billionaire's eyes lighted +up with triumph. Waldron, despite his assumed nonchalance, felt the +hunting thrill of Wall street, the quick stab of exultation when victory +seemed well in hand. + +"These bottles," said Herzog, "are double, constructed on the principle +of the Thermos bottle. They will keep the liquid gases I shall show you, +for days. Huge tanks could be built on the same principle. In a short +time, gentlemen, you can handle tons of these gases, if you +like--thousands of tons, unlimited tons. + +"The Siemens and Halske people, and the Great Falls, S.C., plant, will +be mere puttering experimenters beside you. For neither they nor any +other manufacturers have any knowledge of the vital process--my secret, +polarizing transformer, which does the work in one-tenth the time and at +one-hundredth the cost of any other known process. For example, see +here?" + +He turned the faucet, disconnected the flask and handed it to Flint. + +"There, sir," he remarked, "is a half-pint of pure liquid oxygen, drawn +from the air in less than eight minutes, at a cost of perhaps two-tenths +of a cent. On a large scale the cost can be vastly reduced. Are you +satisfied, sir?" + +Flint nodded, curtly. + +"You'll do, Herzog," he replied--his very strongest form of +commendation. "You're not half bad, after all. So this is liquid oxygen, +eh? Very cheap, and very cold?" + +His eyes gleamed with joy at sight of the translucent potent stuff--the +very stuff of life, its essence and prime principle, without which +neither plant nor animal nor man can live--oxygen, mother of all life, +sustainer of the world. + +"Very cheap, yes, sir," answered the scientist. "And cold, enormously +cold. The specimen you hold in your hand, in that vacuum-protected +flask, is more than three hundred degrees below zero. One drop of it on +your palm would burn it to the bone. Incidentally, let me tell you +another fact--" + +"And that is?" + +"This specimen is the allotropic or condensed form of oxygen, much more +powerful than the usual liquified gas." + +"Ozone, you mean?" + +"Precisely. Would you like to sense its effect as a ventilating agent?" + +"No danger?" + +"None, sir. Here, allow me." + +Herzog took the flask, pressed a little spring and liberated the top. At +once a whitish vapor began to coil from the neck of the bottle. + +"Hm!" grunted Waldron, smiling. "Mountain winds and sea breezes have +nothing on that!" He sniffed with appreciation. "Some gas, all right!" + +"You're right, Wally," answered the Billionaire. "If this works out on a +large scale, in all its details--well--I needn't impress its importance +on you!" + +Yielding to the influence of the wonderful, life-giving gas, the rather +close air of the laboratory, contaminated by a variety of chemical +odors, and vitiated by its recent loss of oxygen, had begun to freshen +and purify itself in an astonishing manner. One would have thought that +through an open window, close at hand, the purest ocean breeze was +blowing. A faint tinge of color began to liven the somewhat pasty cheek +of the Billionaire. Waldron's big chest expanded and his eye brightened. +Even the meek Herzog stood straighter and looked more the man, under the +stimulus of the life-giving ozone. + +"Fine!" exclaimed Flint, with unwonted enthusiasm, and nearly yielded to +a laugh. Waldron went so far as to slap Herzog on the shoulder. + +"You're some wizard, old man!" he exclaimed, with a warmth hitherto +never known by him--for already the subtle gas was beginning to +intoxicate his senses. "And you can handle nitrogen with the same ease +and precision?" + +"Exactly," answered Herzog. "This other vial contains pure nitrogen. +With enlarged apparatus, I can supply it by the trainload. The world's +fertilizer problem is solved!" + +"Great work!" ejaculated Waldron, even more excited than before, but +Flint, his natural sourness asserting itself, merely growled some +ungracious remark. + +"Nitrogen can go hang," said he. "It's oxygen we're after, primarily. +Once we get our grip on that, the world will be--" + +Waldron checked him just in time. + +"Enough of this," he interrupted sharply. "I admit, I'm not myself, in +this rich atmosphere. I know _you're_ feeling it, already, Flint. Come +along out of this, where we can regain our aplomb. We've seen enough, +for once." + +He turned to Herzog. + +"For God's sake, man," cried he, "cork that magic bottle of yours, +before all the oxygen-genii escape, or you'll have us both under the +table! And, see here," he added, pulling out his check-book, while Flint +stared in amazed disgust. "Here, take a blank check." He took his +fountain pen and scrawled his name on one. "The amount? That's up to +you. Now, let us out," he bade, as Herzog stood there regarding the +check with entire uncomprehension. "Out, I say, before I get +extravagant!" + +Herzog, perfectly comprehending the magnates' unusual conduct as due to +oxygen-intoxication in its initial stage, made no comment, but walked to +the door, spun the combination and flung it open. + +"Glad to have had the pleasure of demonstrating the process to you, +gentlemen," said he. "If you're convinced it's practicable, I'm at your +orders for any larger extension of the work. Have you any other question +or suggestion?" + +Neither magnate answered. Flint was trying hard to hold his +self-control. Waldron, red-faced now and highly stimulated, looked as +though he had been drinking even more than usual. + +Both passed out of the laboratory with rather unsteady steps. Together +they retraced their way to the administration building; and there, safe +at last in the private inner office, with the door locked, they sat down +and stared at each other with expressions of amazement. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +A FREAK OF FATE. + + +Waldron was the first to speak. With a sudden laugh, boisterous and +wild, he cried: + +"Flint, you old scoundrel, you're drunk!" + +"Drunk yourself!" retorted the Billionaire, half starting from his +chair, his fist clenched in sudden passion. "How dare you--?" + +"Dare? I dare anything!" exclaimed Waldron. "Yes, I admit it--I _am_ +half seas over. That ozone--God! what a stimulant! Must be some +wonderfully powerful form. If we--could market it--" + +Flint sank back in his chair, waving an extravagant hand. + +"Market it?" he answered. "Of course we can market it, and will! Drunk +or sober, Wally, I know what I'm talking about. The power now in our +grasp has never yet been equalled on earth. On the one side, we can +half-stifle every non-subscriber to our service, or wholly stifle every +rebel against us. On the other, we can simply saturate every subscriber +with health and energy, or even--if they want it--waft them to paradise +on the wings of ozone. The old Roman idea of 'bread and circus' to rule +the mob, was child's play compared to this! Science has delivered the +whole world into our hands. Power, man, power! Absolute, infinite power +over every living, breathing thing!" + +He fell silent, pondering the vast future; and Waldron, gazing at him +with sparkling eyes, nodded with keen satisfaction. Thus for a few +moments they sat, looking at each other and letting imagination ran +riot; and as they sat, the sudden, stimulating effect of the condensed +oxygen died in their blood, and calmer feelings ensued. + +Presently Waldron spoke again. + +"Let's get down to brass tacks," said he, drawing his chair up to the +table. "I'm almost myself again. The subtle stuff has got out of my +brain, at last. Generalities and day-dreams are all very well, Flint, +but we've got to lay out some definite line of campaign. And the sooner +we get to it the better." + +"Hm!" sneered Flint. "If it's not more practical than your action in +giving Herzog that blank check, it won't be worth much. As an +extravagant action, Wally, I've never seen it equalled. I'm astonished, +indeed I am!" + +Waldron laughed easily. + +"Don't worry," he answered his partner. "That temporary aberration of +judgment, due to oxygen-stimulus, will have no results. Herzog won't +dare fill out the check, anyhow, because he knows he'd get into trouble +if he did; and even though he should, he can collect nothing. I'll have +payment stopped, at once, on that number. No danger, Flint!" + +"I don't know," mused the Billionaire. "It may be that this man has us +just a little under his thumb. He, and he alone, understands the +process. We've got to treat him with due consideration, or he may leave +us and carry his secret to others--to Masterson, for instance, or the +Amalgamated people, or--" + +"Nothing doing on that, old man!" interrupted "Tiger." "Have no fear. +The first move he makes, off to Sing Sing he goes, the way we jobbed +Parker Hayes. Slade and the Cosmos Agency can take care of _him_, all +right, if he asserts himself!" + +"Very likely," answered Flint, who had now at last entirely recovered +his sang-froid. "But in that event, our work would be at a standstill. +No, Waldron, we mustn't oppose this fellow. Better let the check go +through, if he has nerve enough to fill it out and cash it. He won't +dare gouge very deep; and no matter what he takes, it won't be a drop in +the ocean, compared to the golden flood now almost within our grasp!" + +Waldron pondered a moment, then nodded assent. + +"All right. Correct," he finally answered. "So then, we can dismiss that +trifle from our minds. Now, to work! We've got the process we were +after. What next?" + +"First of all," answered the Billionaire, "we'll let this Herzog +understand that he's to have a share in the results; that in this, as in +everything so far, he's merely a tool--and that when tools lose their +cutting edge we break 'em. He's a meek devil. We can hold _him_ easily +enough." + +"Right. And then?" asked Waldron. + +"Then? First of all, a good, big, wide-sweeping publicity campaign. That +must begin today, to prepare opinion for the forthcoming development of +the new idea." + +"Henderson can handle that, all right," said Wally, leaning forward in +his chair. "Give him the idea, and turn him loose, and he'll get +results. A clever dog, that. He and his press bureau, working through +all the big dailies and many of the magazines, can turn this country +upside down in six months. Let him get on this job, and before you know +it the public will be demanding, be fighting for a chance to subscribe +to the new ventilating-service. That part of it is easy!" + +"Yes, you're right," replied Flint. "We'll see Henderson no later than +this afternoon. He and his writers can lay out a series of popular +articles and advertisements, to be run as pure reading matter, with no +distinguishing mark that they _are_ ads, which will get the country--the +whole world, in fact--coming our way." + +"Good," the other assented. "Meantime, we can begin installing oxygen +machines on a big scale, a huge scale, to supply the demand that's bound +to arise. Where do you think we'd best manufacture? Herzog says water +power is the correct thing. We might use Niagara--use some of the +surplus power we already own there." + +"Niagara would do, very well," answered Flint. He had once more taken +out his little morocco-covered note book, and was now jotting down some +further memoranda. "It's a good location. Pipe-lines could easily be +extended, from it, to cover practically a quarter to a third of the +United States. Eventually we'll put in another plant in Chicago, one in +Denver and one on the Pacific Coast. Then, in time, there must be +distributing centers in Europe, Africa, Asia and Australia. But for the +present, we'll begin with the Niagara plant. After we get that under +full operation, the others will develop in due course of time." + +"Our charter covers this new line of work. There will be no need of any +legal technicalities," said Waldron, with a smile. "Some charter, if I +do say it, who shouldn't. I drew it, you remember. Nothing much in the +way of possible business-extension got past _me_!" + +Flint nodded. + +"You're right," he answered. "Nothing stands in our way, now. Positively +nothing. We have land, power and capital without limit. We have the +process. We control press, law, courts, judges, military and every other +form of government. All we need look out for is to secure public +confidence and keep the bandage on the eyes of the world till our system +is actually in operation--then there will be no redress, no come back, +no possible rebellion. As I've already said, Wally, we'll have the whole +world by the windpipe; and let the mob howl _then_, if they dare!" + +"Yes, let 'em howl!" chimed in "Tiger," with a snarl that proved his +nickname no misnomer. "Inside of a year we'll have them all where we +want them. You were right, Flint, when you called oil, coal, iron and +all the rest of it mere petty activities. Air--ah! that's the talk! Once +we get the _air_ under our control, we're emperors of all life!" + +His words rang frank and bold, but something in his look, as he blinked +at his partner, might have given Flint cause for uneasiness, had the +Billionaire noticed that oblique and dangerous glance. One might have +read therein some shifty and devious plan of Waldron's to dominate even +Flint himself, to rule the master or to wreck him, and to seize in his +own hands the reins of universal power. But Flint, bending over his +note-book and making careful memoranda, saw nothing of all this. + +Waldron, an inveterate smoker, lighted a fresh cigar, leaned back, +surveyed his partner and indulged in a short inner laugh, which hardly +curved his cruel lips, but which hardened still more those pale-blue, +steely eyes of his. + +"All right," said he, at last. "Enough of this, Flint. Let's get back to +town, now, and have a conference with Henderson. That's the first step. +By tonight, the whole campaign of publicity must be mapped out. Come, +come; you can finish your memoranda later. I'm impatient to be back in +Wall Street. Come along!" + +Five minutes later, having left orders that Herzog was to attend upon +them in their private offices, next morning, they had ordered the +limousine and were making way along the hard road toward the gate of the +enclosure. + +The gate opened to let them pass, then swung and locked again, behind +them. At a good clip, the powerful car picked up speed on the homeward +way. The two magnates, exultant and flushed with the consciousness of +coming victory, lolled in the deeply-cushioned seat and spoke of power. + +As they swung past the aviation field and neared the Oakwood Heights +station, a train pulled out. Down the road came tramping a workingman in +overalls and jumper, with a canvas bag of tools swinging from his brawny +right hand. As he walked, striding along with splendid energy, he +whistled to himself--no cheap ragtime air, but Handel's Largo, with an +appreciation which bespoke musical feeling of no common sort. + +The Billionaire caught sight of him, just as the car slowed to take the +sharp turn by the station. Instant recognition followed. Flint's eyes +narrowed sharply. + +"Hm! The same fellow," he grunted to himself. "The same rascal who stood +beside us on the ferry boat, as we were talking over our plans. Now, +what the devil?" + +Shadowed by a kind of instinctive uneasiness, not yet definite or clear +but more in the nature of a premonition of trouble, Flint gazed fixedly +at the mechanic as the car swung round the bend in the road. The glance +was returned. + +Yielding to some kind of imperative curiosity, the Billionaire leaned +over the side of the car--leaned out, with his coat flapping in the +stiff wind--and for a moment peered back at the disquieting workman. + +Then the car swept him out of sight, and Flint resumed his seat again. + +He did not know--for he had not seen it happen--that in that moment the +slippery, leather-covered note-book had slid from his lolling coat +pocket and had fallen with a sharp slap on the white macadam, skidded +along and come to rest in the ditch. + +The workingman, however, who had paused and turned to look after the +speeding car, _he_ had seen all this. + +A moment he stood there, peering. Then, retracing his steps with +resolution he picked up the little book and slid it into the pocket of +his jeans. + +Deserted was the road. Not a soul was to be seen, save the crossing +flagman, musing in his chair beside his little hut, quite oblivious to +everything but a rank cob pipe. The workman's act had not been noticed. + +Nobody had observed him. Nobody knew. Not a living creature had +witnessed the slight deed on which, by a strange freak of fate, the +history of the world was yet to turn. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +ONE UNBIDDEN, SHARES GREAT SECRETS. + + +Immediately on discovering his loss--which was soon after having reached +his office--Flint, in something like a fright, telephoned down to the +Oakwood Heights laboratory and instructed Herzog, in person, to make a +careful search for it and to report results inside an hour. Even though +some of the essentials of his plan were written in a code of his own +devising, Flint paled before the possible results should the book fall +into the hands of anybody intelligent enough to fathom its meaning. + +"Damn the luck!" he ejaculated, pacing the office floor, his fists +knotted. "If it had been a pocket book with a few thousand inside, that +would have been a trifle. But to lose my plan of campaign--God grant no +harm may come of it!" + +Waldron, slyly observing him, could not suppress a smile. + +"Calling on God, eh?" sneered he. "You _must_ be agitated. I haven't +heard that kind of entreaty on your lips, Flint, since the year of the +big coal strike, when you prayed God the gun-men might 'get' the +strikers before they could organize. Come, come, man, brace up! Your +book will turn up all right; and even if it doesn't there's no cause for +alarm. It would take a man of extraordinary acumen to read _your_ +hieroglyphics! Cheer up, Flint. There's really nothing to excite you." + +The Billionaire thus adjured, sat down and tried to calm his agitation. + +"Rotten luck, eh?" he queried. "But after all, Herzog is likely to find +the book. And even if he doesn't, I guess we're safe enough. The very +boldness of the plan--supposing even that the finder could grasp +it--would put it outside the seeming range of the possible. It's hardly +a hundred to one shot any harm may come of it." + +"All right, then, let it go at that," said Waldron. "And now, to +business. Suppose, for example, you've got a perfectly unlimited supply +of oxygen-gas and liquid. How are you going to market it? Just what +details have you worked out?" + +Flint pondered a moment, before replying. At last he said: + +"Of course you understand, Wally, I can't give you every point. The +whole thing will be an evolution, and new ideas and processes, new uses +and demands will develop as time passes. But in the main, my idea is +this: The big producing stations will steadily extract oxygen from the +atmosphere, thus leaving the air increasingly poorer and less adapted to +sustaining human life. + +"I shall store the oxygen in vast tanks, like the ordinary gas-tanks to +be found in every city, only much bigger. These tanks will be fed by +pipe-lines from the central stations, thus." + +Flint drew toward him a sheet of his heavily embossed letter-paper, and, +picking up a pencil, began to sketch a rough diagram. Waldron, making no +comment, followed every stroke with keen interest. + +"From these tanks," the Billionaire continued, "smaller pipes will +convey the gaseous oxygen to every house taking our service." + +"Just like ordinary gas?" + +"Precisely. Each room will be fitted with an oxygen jet apparatus, +something like a gas burner, with a safety device to prevent over supply +and avoid the dangers of combustion." + +"Combustion?" + +"Yes. In pure oxygen, a glowing bit of wire will burst into flame. Your +cigar, there, would catch fire, from the merest spark in its inmost +folds. Too much oxygen in a room not only intoxicates the +occupants--we've already seen _that_ effect--but also develops a great +fire risk. So we shall have to make some provision for that, Wally. It +will be absolutely essential." + +"All right. Allowing it's been made, what then?" asked "Tiger," with +extraordinary interest. + +"Can't you see? We'll have every household under our absolute thumb?" +And Flint pressed his thumb on the table to illustrate. "My God, man, +think of it! Every city honeycombed by our pipes--yes, and every village +and hamlet too, and even every farm house that can afford it! At first, +the cost will be very low, till people have become accustomed to ozone +as they are to water. The whole ventilation problem will be solved, at +once and for all time. Where we can't pipe in the ozone, we can use +portable vaporizers, to be supplied once a month, and of sufficient +capacity to keep the air of an average-sized house perfectly pure for +thirty days. + +"Pure? More than pure! Exhilarating, life-giving, delicious! Under this +system, Wally, the middle and upper classes will thrive as never +before. They'll grow in size and weight, in health and intelligence, +under the steady influence of ozone, day and night. Every vital process +will be stimulated. Our invention will mark a new era in the welfare of +the world!" + +"Bunk!" sneered Wally. "That's all very well for your prospectuses and +newspaper articles, old man, but the fact is we don't give a damn +whether it helps the world or wrecks it. We're out for money and power. +My motto is, Get 'em and do good, if you can--but _get_ 'em anyhow! So +you had better can the philanthropic part of it. Just show me the cash, +and you can have all the credit!" + +Flint shot a grim look at his partner, then continued: + +"Don't be flippant, Wally. This is a serious business and must be +treated as such. In addition to the respiratory service, we can put in +water-cooling and refrigerating services, at low cost, also cold-pipes +for cooling houses in summer. In fine, we can immeasurably add to the +health and comfort of the better classes; and can at last have everybody +using our gas, which, registering through our own sealed meters, will +flood us with wealth so vast as to make that of these Standard Oil +pifflers look like the proverbial thirty cents!" + +"Fine!" exclaimed Waldron, nodding approval. "Also, any time any +rebellion develops we can merely shut off the supply in that quarter, +and quickly reduce it. Or, again, we can increase the potency of the +gas, and fairly intoxicate the people, till they stand for anything. +Just fancy, now, our pipes connected with the sacred Halls of Congress +and with the White House! Even if any difficulty could possibly be +expected from these sources, just imagine how quickly we could nip it in +the bud!" + +"Quickly isn't the word, Wally," answered the Billionaire. "I tell you, +old man, the world lies in our hands, today. And we have only to close +our fingers, in order to possess it!" + +He glanced at his own fingers, as though he visibly perceived the great +world lying there for him to squeeze. Waldron's eyes, following the +Billionaire's, saw that Flint's hand was trembling, and understood the +reason. More than three hours had passed--nay, almost four--since Flint +had had any opportunity to take his necessary dose of morphia. Waldron +arose, paced to the window and stood there looking out over the vast +panorama of city, river and harbor, apparently absorbed in +contemplation, but really keen to hear what Flint might do. + +His expectations were not disappointed. Hardly had he turned his back, +when he heard the desk-drawer open, furtively, and knew the Billionaire +was taking out the little vial of white tablets, dearer to him than ever +the caress of woman to a Don Juan. A moment later, the drawer closed +again. + +"He'll do now, for a while," thought Waldron, with satisfaction. "Let +him go the limit, if he likes--the fool! The more he takes, the quicker +I win. It'll kill him yet, the dope will. And _that_ means, my mastery +of the world will be complete. Let him go it! The harder, the better!" + +He turned back toward Flint, again, veiling in that impenetrable face of +his the slightest hint or expression which might have told Flint that he +understood the Billionaire's vice. If Flint were Vulture, Waldron was +Tiger, indeed. And so, for a brief moment, these two soulless men of +gold and power stood eyeing each other, in silence. + +Suddenly Waldron spoke. + +"There's one thing you've forgotten to speak of, Flint," he said. + +"And that is?" demanded the other, already calmed by the quick action of +the subtle, enslaving drug. + +"The effect on the world's poor--on the toiling millions! The results of +this innovation, in slum, and slave-quarter, and in the haunts of +poverty. Your talk has all been of the middle and upper classes, and of +the benefits accruing to them, from increased oxygen-consumption. But +how about the others? Every ounce of oxygen you take out of the air, +leaves it just so much poorer. Store thousands of tons of the +life-giving gas, in monster tanks, and you vitiate the entire +atmosphere. How about that? How can even the well-to-do breathe, then, +out-doors, to say nothing of the poverty-stricken millions?" + +Flint grimaced, showing a glint of his gold tooth--his substitute for a +smile. + +"That's all reckoned for," he answered. "I thought I made it quite +clear, in our previous talk. To begin with, we will withdraw the oxygen +from the atmosphere so slowly that at first there won't be any +noticeable effect on the out-door air. For a while, the only thing that +will be noticed by the world will be that our gas service, to private +residences and institutions, will result in greatly increased comfort +and health to the better classes. And the cost will be so low--at first, +mind you, only at first--that every family of any means at all can take +it. In fact, Wally, we can afford practically to give away the service, +for the first year, until we get our grip firmly fixed on the throat of +the world. Do you get the idea?" + +Waldron nodded, as he drew leisurely on his cigar. + +"Practical to a degree," he answered. "That is, until the poor begin to +gasp for breath. But what then?" + +"By the time the outer atmosphere really begins to show the effect of +withdrawing a considerable percentage of the oxygen," Flint answered, +"we will have our pocket respirators on the market. Well-to-do people +will as soon think of going out without their shoes, as they will with +their respirators. No, there won't be any visible tubes or attachments, +Wally. Nothing of that kind. Only, each person will carry a properly +insulated cake of solidified oxygen that will evaporate through the +special apparatus and surround him with a normally rich atmosphere. +And--" + +"Yes, but the poor? The workers? What of them?" + +"Devil take _them_, if it comes to that!" retorted Flint, with some +heat. "Who ever gives them any serious attention, as it is? Who bothers +about their health? They eat and drink and breathe the leavings, +anyhow--eat the cheapest and most adulterated food, drink the vilest +slop and breathe the most vitiated slum air. Nobody cares, except +perhaps those crazy Socialists that once in a while get up on the +street-corner and howl about the rights of man and all that rubbish! +Working-class? What do _I_ care about the cattle? Let them die, if they +want to! D'you suppose, for one minute, I'm going to limit or delay this +big innovation, because there's a working-class that may suffer?" + +"They'll do more than suffer, Flint, if you seriously depreciate the +atmosphere. They'll die!" + +"Well, let them, and be damned to them!" retorted Flint, already +showing symptoms of drug-stimulation. Waldron, smoking meanwhile, eyed +him with a dangerous smile lurking in his cold eyes. "Let them, I say! +They die off, now, twice or thrice as fast as the better classes, but +what difference does it make? Great breeders, those people are. The more +they die, the faster they multiply. Let them go their way and do as they +like, so long as they don't interfere with _us_! The only really +important factor to reckon on is this, that with an impoverished air to +breathe, their rebellious spirit will die out--the dogs!--and we'll have +no more talk of social revolution. We'll draw their teeth, all right +enough; or rather, twist the bowstring round their damned necks so tight +that all their energy, outside of work, will be consumed in just keeping +alive. Revolution, then? Forget it, Waldron! We'll kill _that_ viper +once and for all!" + +"Good idea, Flint," the other replied, with approbation. "Only a +master-mind like yours could have conceived it. I'm with you, all right +enough. Only, tell me--do you really believe we can put this whole +program through, without a hitch? Without a leak, anywhere? Without +barricades in the streets, wild-eyed agitators howling, machine-guns +chattering, and Hell to pay?" + +Flint smiled grimly. + +"Wait and see!" he growled. + +"Maybe you're right," his partner answered. "But slow and easy is the +only way." + +"Slow and easy," Flint assented. "Of course we can't go too fast. In +1850, for example, do you suppose the public would have tolerated the +sudden imposition of monopolies? Hardly! But now they lie down under +them, and even vote and fight to keep them! So, too, with this Air +Trust. Time will show you I'm right." + +Waldron glanced at his watch. + +"Long past lunch-time, Flint," said he. "Enough of this, for now. And +this afternoon, I've got that D. K. & E. directors' meeting on +hand. When shall we go on with our plans, and get down to specific +details?" + +"This evening, say?" + +"Very well. At my house?" + +"No. Too noisy. Run out to Englewood, to mine. We'll be quiet there. And +come early, Waldron. We've no end of things to discuss. The quicker we +get the actual work under way, now, the better. You can see Catherine, +too. Isn't that an inducement?" + +Thus ended the conference. It resumed, that night, in Flint's luxurious +study at "Idle Hour," his superb estate on the Palisades. Waldron paid +only a perfunctory court to Catherine, who manifested her pleasure by +studied indifference. Both magnates felt relieved when she withdrew. +They had other and larger matters under way than any dealing with the +amenities of life. + +Until past midnight the session in the study lasted, under the soft glow +of the Billionaire's reading-light. And many choice cigars were smoked, +many sheets of paper covered with diagrams and calculations, many vast +schemes of conquest expanded, ere the two masters said good-night and +separated. + +At the very hour of Waldron's leave-taking, another man was pondering +deeply, studying the problem from quite another angle, and--no less +earnestly, than the two magnates--laying careful plans. + +This man, sturdy, well-built and keen, smoked an old briar as he +worked. A flannel shirt, open at the throat, showed a well-sinewed neck +and powerful chest. Under the inverted cone of a shaded incandescent in +his room, at the electricians' quarters of the Oakwood Heights +enclosure, one could see the deep lines of thought and careful study +crease his high and prominent brow. + +From time to time he gazed out through the open window, off toward the +whispering lines of surf on the eastern shores of Staten Island--the +surf forever talking, forever striving to give its mystic message to the +unheeding ear of man. And as he gazed, his blue eyes narrowed with the +intensity of his thought. Once, as though some sudden understanding had +come to him, he smote the pine table with a corded fist, and swore below +his breath. + +It was past two in the morning when he finally rose, stretched, yawned +and made ready for sleep on his hard iron bunk. + +"Can it be?" he muttered, as he undressed. "Can it be possible, or am I +dreaming? No--this is no dream! This is reality; and thank God, I +understand." + +Then, before he extinguished his light, he took from the table the +material he had been studying over, and put it beneath his pillow, where +he could guard it safe till morning. + +The thing he thus protected was none other than a small note-book, +filled with diagrams, jottings and calculations, and bound in red +morocco covers. + +That night, at Englewood--in the Billionaire's home and in the +workman's simple room at Oakwood Heights--history was being made. + +The outcome, tragic and terrible, who could have foreseen? + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +DISCHARGED. + + +Almost all the following morning, working at his bench in the +electro-chemical laboratories of the great Oakwood Heights plant, +Gabriel Armstrong pondered deeply on the problems and responsibilities +now opening out before him. + +The finding of that little red-leather note-book, he fully understood, +had at one stroke put him in possession of facts more vital to the +labor-movement and the world at large than any which had ever developed +since the very beginning of Capitalism. A Socialist to the backbone, +thoroughly class-conscious and dowered with an incisive intellect, +Gabriel thrilled at thought that he, by chance, had been chosen as the +instrument through which he felt the final revolution now must work. And +though he remained outwardly calm, as he bent above his toil, inwardly +he was aflame. His heart throbbed with an excitement he could scarce +control. His brain seemed on fire; his soul pulsed with savage joy and +magnificent inspiration. For he was only four-and-twenty, and the bitter +grind of years and toil had not yet worn his spirit down nor quelled the +ardor of his splendid strength and optimism. + +Working at his routine labor, his mind was not upon it. No, rather it +dwelt upon the vast discovery he had made--or seemed to have made--the +night before. Clearly limned before his vision, he still saw the notes, +the plans, the calculations he had been able to decipher in the +Billionaire's lost note-book--the note-book which now, deep in the +pocket of his jumper that hung behind him on a hook against the wall, +drew his every thought, as steel draws the compass-needle. + +"Incredible, yet true!" he pondered, as he filed a brass casting for a +new-type dynamo. "These men are plotting to strangle the world to +death--to strangle, if they cannot own and rule it! And, what's more, I +see nothing to prevent their doing it. The plan is sound. They have the +means. At this very moment, the whole human race is standing in the +shadow of a peril so great, a slavery so imminent, that the most savage +war of conquest ever waged would be a mere skirmish, by comparison!" + +Mechanically he labored on and on, turning the tremendous problem in his +brain, striving in vain for some solution, some grasp at effective +opposition. And, as he thought, a kind of dumb hopelessness settled down +about him, tangible almost as a curtain black and heavy. + +"What shall I do?" he muttered to himself. "What can I do, to strike +these devils from their villainous plan of mastery?" + +As yet, he saw nothing clearly. No way seemed open to him. Alone, he +knew he could do nothing; yet whither should he turn for help? To rival +capitalist groups? They would not even listen to him; or, if they +listened and believed, they would only combine with the plotters, or +else, on their own hook, try to emulate them. To the labor movement? It +would mock him as a chimerical dreamer, despite all his proofs. At best, +he might start a few ineffectual strikes, petty and futile, indeed, +against this vast, on-moving power. To the Socialists? They, through +their press and speakers--in case they should believe him and co-operate +with him--could, indeed, give the matter vast publicity and excite +popular opposition; but, after all, could they abort the plan? He feared +they could not. The time, he knew, was not yet ripe when Labor, on the +political field, could meet and overthrow forces such as these. + +And so, for all his fevered thinking, he got no radical, no practical +solution of the terrible problem. More and more definitely, as he +weighed the pros and cons, the belief was borne in upon him that in this +case he must appeal to nobody but himself, count on nobody, trust in +nobody save Gabriel Armstrong. + +"I must play a lone hand game, for a while at least," he concluded, as +he finished his casting and took another. "Later, perhaps, I can enlist +my comrades. But for now, I must watch, wait, work, all alone. Perhaps, +armed with this knowledge--invaluable knowledge shared by no one--I can +meet their moves, checkmate their plans and defeat their ends. Perhaps! +It will be a battle between one man, obscure and without means, and two +men who hold billions of dollars and unlimited resources in their grasp. +A battle unequal in every sense; a battle to the death. But I may win, +after all. Every probability is that I shall lose, lose everything, even +my life. Yet still, there is a chance. By God, I'll take it!" + +The last words, uttered aloud, seemed to spring from his lips as though +uttered by the very power of invincible determination. A sneer, behind +him, brought him round with a start. His gaze widened, at sight of +Herzog standing there, cold and dangerous looking, with a venomous +expression in those ill-mated eyes of his. + +"Take it, will you?" jibed the scientist. "You thief!" + +Gabriel sprang up so suddenly that his stool clattered over backward on +the red-tiled floor. His big fist clenched and lifted. But Herzog never +flinched. + +"Thief!" he repeated, with an ugly thrust of the jaw. Servile and +crawling to his masters, the man was ever arrogant and harsh with those +beneath his authority. "I repeat the word. Drop that fist, Armstrong, if +you know what's good for you. I warn you. Any disturbance, here, +and--well, you know what we can do!" + +The electrician paled, slightly. But it was not through cowardice. Rage, +passion unspeakable, a sudden and animal hate of this lick-spittle and +supine toady shook him to the heart's core. Yet he managed to control +himself, not through any personal apprehension, but because of the great +work he knew still lay before him. At all hazards, come what might, he +must stay on, there, at the Oakwood Heights plant. Nothing, now, must +come between him and that one supreme labor. + +Thus he controlled himself, with an effort so tremendous that it +wrenched his very soul. This trouble, whatever it might be, must not be +noised about. Already, up and down the shop, workers were peering +curiously at him. He must be calm; must pass the insult, smooth the +situation and remain employed there. + +"I--I beg pardon," he managed to articulate, with pale lips that +trembled. He wiped the beaded sweat from his broad forehead. "Excuse me, +Mr. Herzog. I--you startled me. What's the trouble? Any complaint to +make? If so, I'm here to listen." + +Herzog's teeth showed in a rat-like grin of malice. + +"Yes, you'll listen, all right enough," he sneered. "I've named you, and +that goes! You're a thief, Armstrong, and this proves it! Look!" + +From behind his back, where he had been holding it, he produced the +little morocco-covered book. Right in Armstrong's face he shook it, with +an oath. + +"Steal, will you?" he jibed. "For it's the same thing--no difference +whether you picked it out of Mr. Flint's pocket or found it on the floor +here, and tried to keep it! Steal, eh? Hold it for some possible reward? +You skunk! Lucky you haven't brains enough to make out what's in it! +Thought you'd keep it, did you? But you weren't smart enough, +Armstrong--no, not quite smart enough for me! After looking the whole +place over, I thought I'd have a go at a few pockets--and, you see? Oh, +you'll have to get up early to beat _me_ at the game you--you thief!" + +With the last word, he raised the book and struck the young man a +blistering welt across the face with it. + +Armstrong fell back, against the bench, perfectly livid, with the wale +of the blow standing out red and distinct across his cheek. Then he went +pale as death, and staggered as though about to faint. + +"God--God in heaven!" he gasped. "Give me--strength--not to kill this +animal!" + +A startled look came into Herzog's face. He recognized, at last, the +nature of the rage he had awakened. In those twitching fists and that +white, writhen face he recognized the signs of passion that might, on a +second's notice, leap to murder. And, shot through with panic, he now +retreated, like the coward he was, though with the sneer still on his +thin and cruel lips. + +"Get your time!" he commanded, with crude brutality. "Go, get it at +once. You're lucky to get off so easily. If Flint knew this, you'd land +behind bars. But we want no scenes here. Get your money from Sanderson, +and clear out. Your job ended the minute my hand touched that book in +your pocket!" + +Still Armstrong made no reply. Still he remained there, dazed and +stricken, pallid as milk, a wild and terrible light in his blue eyes. + +An ugly murmur rose. Two or three of his fellow-workmen had come +drifting down the shop, toward the scene of altercation. Another joined +them, and another. Not one of them but hated Herzog with a bitter +animosity. And now perhaps, the time was come to pay a score or two. + +But Armstrong, suddenly lifting his head, faced them all, his comrades. +His mind, quick-acting, had realized that, now his possession of the +book had been discovered, his chances of discovering anything more, at +the works, had utterly vanished. Even though he should remain, he could +do nothing there. If he were to act, it must be from the outside, now, +following the trend of events, dogging each development, striving in +hidden, devious ways--violent ways, perhaps--to pull down this horrible +edifice of enslavement ere it should whelm and crush the world. + +So, acting as quickly as he had thought, and now ignoring the man Herzog +as though he had never existed, Armstrong faced his fellows. + +"It's all right, boys," said he, quite slowly, his voice seeming to +come from a distance, his tones forced and unnatural. "It's all right, +every way. I'm caught with the goods. Don't any of you butt in. Don't +mix with my trouble. For once I'm glad this is a scab shop, otherwise +there might be a strike, here, and worse Hell to pay than there will be +otherwise. I'm done. I'll get my time, and quit. But--remember one +thing, you'll understand some day what this is all about. + +"I'm glad to have worked with you fellows, the past few months. You're +all right, every one of you. Good-bye, and remember--" + +"Here, you men, get back to work!" cried Herzog, suddenly. "No +hand-shaking here, and no speech-making. This man's a sneak-thief and +he's fired, that's all there is to it. Now, get onto your job! The first +man that puts up a complaint about it, can get through, too!" + +For a moment they glowered at him, there in the white-lighted glare of +the big shop. A fight, even then, was perilously near, but Armstrong +averted it by turning away. + +"I'm done." he repeated. He gathered up a few tools that belonged to +him, personally, gave one look at his comrades, waved a hand at them, +and then, followed by Herzog, strode off down the long aisle, toward the +door. + +"Herzog," said he, calmly and with cold emphasis, "listen to this." + +"Get out! Get your time, I tell you, and go!" repeated the bully. "To +Hell with you! Clear out of here!" + +"I'm going," the young man answered. "But before I do, remember this; +you grazed death, just now. Well for you, Herzog, almighty well for you, +my temper didn't best me. For remember, you struck me and called me +'thief'--and that sort of thing can't be forgotten, ever, even though +we live a thousand years. + +"Remember, Herzog--not now, but sometime. Remember that one +word--sometime! That's all!" + +With no further speech, and while Herzog still stood there by the shop +door, sneering at him, Armstrong turned and passed out. A few minutes +later he had been paid off, had packed his knapsack with his few +belongings, and was outside the big palisade, striding along the hard +and glaring road toward the station. + +"I did it," his one overmastering thought was. "Thank heaven, I did it! +I held my temper and my tongue, didn't kill that spawn of Hell, and +saved the whole situation. I'm out of a job, true enough, and out of the +plant; but after all, I'm free--and I know what's in the wind! + +"There's yet hope. There'll be a way, a way to do this work! What a man +_must_ do, he _can_ do!" + +Up came Armstrong's chin, as he walked. His shoulders squared, with +strength and purpose, and his stride swung into the easy machine gait +that had already carried him so many thousand miles along the hard and +bitter highways of the world. + +As he strode away, on the long road toward he knew not what, words +seemed to form and shape in his strengthened and refortified mind--words +for long years forgotten--words that he once had heard at his mother's +knee: + +"_He that ruleth his spirit is better than he that taketh a city!_" + + + + +CHAPTER X. + +A GLIMPSE AT THE PARASITES. + + +The Longmeadow Country Club, on the Saturday afternoon following +Armstrong's abrupt dismissal, was a scene of gaiety and beauty without +compare. Set in broad acres of wood and lawn, the club-house proudly +dominated far-flung golf-links and nearer tennis-courts. Shining motors +stood parked on the plaza before the club garage, each valued at several +years' wages of a workingman. Men and women--exploiters all, or +parasites--elegantly and coolly clad in white, smote the swift sphere +upon the tennis-court, with jest and laughter. Others, attended by +caddies--mere proletarian scum, bent beneath the weight of cleeks and +brassies--moved across the smooth-cropped links, kept in condition by +grazing sheep and by steam-rollers. On putting-green and around bunkers +these idlers struggled with artificial difficulties, while in shops and +mines and factories, on railways and in the blazing Hells of +stoke-holes, men of another class, a slave-class, labored and agonized, +toiled and died that _these_ might wear fine linen and spend the long +June afternoon in play. + +From the huge, cobble-stone chimney of the Country Club, upwafting smoke +told of the viands now preparing for the idlers' dinner, after +sport--rich meats and dainties of the rarest. In the rathskeller some of +the elder and more indolent men were absorbing alcohol while music +played and painted nymphs of abundant charms looked down from the +wall-frescoes. Out on the broad piazzas, well sheltered by awnings from +the rather ardent sun, men and women sat at spotless tables, dallying +with drinks of rare hues and exalted prices. Cigarette-smoke wafted away +on the pure breeze from over the Catskills, far to northwest, defiling +the sweet breath of Nature, herself, with fumes of nicotine and dope. A +Hungarian orchestra was playing the latest Manhattan ragtime, at the far +end of the piazza. It was, all in all, a scene of rare refinement, +characteristic to a degree of the efflorescence of American capitalism. + +At one of the tables, obviously bored, sat Catherine Flint, only +daughter of the Billionaire. A rare girl, she, to look +upon--deep-bosomed and erect, dressed simply in a middy-blouse with a +blue tie, a khaki skirt and low, rubber-soled shoes revealing a +silk-stockinged ankle that would have attracted the enthusiastic +attention of gentlemen in any city of the world. No hat disfigured the +coiled and braided masses of coppery hair that circled her shapely head. +A healthy tan on face and arms and open throat bespoke her keen devotion +to all outdoor life. Her fingers, lithe and strong, were graced by but +two rings--a monogram, of gold, and the betrothal ring that Maxim +Waldron had put there, only three weeks before. + +Impatience dominated her. One could see that, in the nervous tapping of +her fingers on the cloth; the slight swing of her right foot as she sat +there, one knee crossed over the other; the glance of her keen, gray +eyes down the broad drive-way that led from the huge stone gates up to +the club-house. + +Beside her sat a nonentity in impeccable dress, dangling a monocle and +trying to make small-talk, the while he dallied with a Bronx cocktail, +costing more than a day's wage for a childish flower-making slave of the +tenements, and inhaled a Rotten Row cigarette, the "last word" from +London in the tobacco line. To the sallies of this elegant, the girl +replied by only monosyllables. Her glass was empty, nor would she have +it filled, despite the exquisite's entreaties. From time to time she +glanced impatiently at the long bag of golf-sticks leaning against the +porch rail; and, now and then, her eyes sought the little Cervine watch +set in a leather wristlet on her arm. + +"Inconsiderate of him, I'm sure--ah--to keep so magnificent a Diana +waiting," drawled her companion, blowing a lungful of thin blue smoke +athwart the breeze. "Especially when you're so deuced keen on doing the +course before dinner. Now if _I_ were the favored swain, wild horses +wouldn't keep me away." + +She made no answer, but turned a look of indifference on the shrimp +beside her. Had he possessed the soul of a real man, he would have +shriveled; but, being oblivious to all things save the pride of wealth +and monstrous self-conceit, he merely snickered and reached for his +cocktail--which, by the way, he was absorbing through a straw. + +"I say, Miss Flint?" he presently began again, stirring the ice in the +cocktail. + +"Well?" she answered, curtly. + +"If you--er--are really very, _very_ impatient to have a go at the +links, why wait for Wally? I--I should be only too glad to volunteer my +services as your knight-errant, and all that sort of thing." + +"Thanks, awfully," she answered, "but Mr. Waldron promised to go round +the course with me, this afternoon, and I'll wait." + +The impeccable one grinned fatuously, invited her again to have a +drink--which she declined--and ordered another for himself, with profuse +apologies for drinking alone; apologies which she hardly seemed to +notice. + +"Deuced bad form of Wally, I must say," the gilded youth resumed, trying +to make capital for himself, "to leave you in the lurch, this way!" + +Silence from Catherine. The would-be interloper, feeling that he was on +the wrong track, took counsel with himself and remained for a moment +immersed in what he imagined to be thought. At last, however, with an +oblique glance at his indifferent companion, he remarked. + +"Devilish hard time women have in this world, you know! Don't you +sometimes wish you were a man?" + +Her answer flashed back like a rapier: + +"No! Do you wish _you_ were?" + +Stunned by this "facer," Reginald Van Slyke gasped and stared. That he, +a scion of the Philadelphia Van Slykes, in his own right worth two +hundred million dollars--dollars ground out of the Kensington +carpet-mill slaves by his grandfather--should be thus flouted and put +upon by the daughter of Flint, that parvenu, absolutely floored him. For +a moment he sat there speechless, unable even to reach for his drink; +but presently some coherence returned. He was about to utter what he +conceived to be a strong rejoinder, when the girl suddenly standing up, +turned her back upon him and ignored him as completely as she might have +ignored any of the menials of the club. + +His irritated glance followed hers. There, far down the drive, just +rounding the long turn by the artificial lake, a big blue motor car was +speeding up the grade at a good clip. Van Slyke recognized it, and swore +below his breath. + +"Wally, at last, damn him!" he muttered. "Just when I was beginning to +make headway with Kate!" + +Vexed beyond endurance, he drummed on the cloth with angry fingers; but +Catherine was oblivious. Unmindful of the merry-makers at the other +tables, the girl waved her handkerchief at the swiftly-approaching +motor. Waldron, from the back seat, raised an answering hand--though +without enthusiasm. Above all things he hated demonstration, and the +girl's frank manner, free, unconventional and not yet broken to the +harness of Mrs. Grundy, never failed to irritate him. + +"Very incorrect for people in our set," he often thought. "But for the +present I can do nothing. Once she is my wife, ah, then I shall find +means to curb her. For the present, however, I must let her have her +head." + +Such was now his frame of mind as the long car slid under the +porte-cochère and came to a stand. He would have infinitely preferred +that the girl should wait his coming to her, on the piazza; but already +she had slung her bag of sticks over her strong shoulder, and was down +the steps to meet him. Her leave-taking of the incensed Van Slyke had +been the merest nod. + +"You're late, Wally," said she, smiling with her usual good humor, which +had already quite dissipated her impatience. "Late, but I'll forgive +you, this time. I'm afraid we won't have time to do all eighteen holes +round. What kept you?" + +"Business, business!" he answered, frowning. "Always the same old +grind, Kate. You women don't understand. I tell you, this slaving in +Wall Street isn't what it's cracked up to be. I couldn't get away till +11:30. Then, just had a quick bite of lunch, and broke every speed law +in New York getting here. Do you forgive me?" + +He had descended from the car, in speaking. They shook hands, while the +chauffeur stood at attention and all the gossips on the piazza, scenting +the possibility of a disagreement, craned discreetly eager necks and +listened intently. + +"Forgive you? Of course--this time, but never again," the girl laughed. +"Now, run along and get into your flannels. I'll meet you on the driving +green, in ten minutes. Not another second, mind, or--" + +"I'll be on the dot," he answered. "Here, boy," beckoning a caddy, "take +Miss Flint's sticks. And have mine carried to the green. Look sharp, +now!" + +Then, with a nod at the girl, he ran up the steps and vanished in the +club-house, bound for the locker-room. + +Fifteen minutes the girl waited on the green, watching others drive off +from the little tees and inwardly chafing to be in action. Fifteen, and +then twenty, before Waldron finally appeared, immaculate in white, +bare-armed and with a loose, checked cap shading his close-set eyes. The +fact was, in addition to having changed his clothes, he had felt obliged +to linger in the bar for a little Scotch; and one drink had meant +another; and thus precious moments had sped. + +But his smile was confident as he approached the green. Women, after +all, he reflected, were meant to be kept waiting. They never appreciated +a man who kept appointments exactly. Not less fatuous at heart, in +truth, was he, than the unfortunate Van Slyke. But his manner was +perfection as he saluted her and bade the caddy build their tees. + +The girl, however, was now plainly vexed. Her mouth had drawn a trifle +tight and the tilt of her chin was determined. Her eyes were far from +soft, as she surveyed this delinquent fiancé. + +"I don't like you a bit, today, Wally," said she, as he deliberated +over the club-bag, choosing a driver. "This makes twice you've kept me +waiting. I warn you don't let it happen again!" + +Under the seeming banter of her tone lurked real resentment. But he, +with a smile--partly due to a finger too much Scotch--only answered, in +a low tone: + +"You're adorable, today, Kate! The combination of fresh air and +annoyance has painted the most wonderful roses on your cheeks!" + +She shrugged her shoulders with a little motion she had inherited from +French ancestry, stooped, set her golf ball on the little mound of sand, +exactly to suit her, and raised her driver on high. + +"Nine holes," said she, "and I'm going to beat you, today!" + +He frowned a little at the spirit of the threat, for any self-assertion +in a woman crossed his grain; but soon forgot his pique in admiration of +the drive. + +Swishing, her club flashed down in a quick circle. _Crack_! It struck +the gutta-percha squarely. The little white sphere zipped away like a +rocket, rose in a far trajectory, up, up, toward the water-hazard at the +foot of the grassy slope, then down in a long curve. + +Even while the girl's cry of "Fore!" was echoing across the green, the +ball struck earth, ricochetted and sped on, away, across the turf, till +it came to rest not twenty yards from the putting green of the first +hole. + +"Wheeoo!" whistled Waldron. "Some drive. I guess you're going to make +good your threat, today, Kate of my heart!" + +The smile she flashed at him showed that her resentment had, for the +moment, been forgotten. + +"Come on, Wally, now let's see what _you_ can do," said she, starting +off down the slope, while her meek caddy tagged at a respectful +distance. + +Waldron, thus adjured, teed up and swung at the ball. But the Scotch had +by no means steadied his aim. He foozled badly and broke his pet driver, +into the bargain. The steel head of it flew farther even than the ball, +which moved hardly ten yards. + +"Damn!" he muttered, under his breath, choosing another stick and +glancing with real irritation at Catherine's lithe, splendidly poised +figure already some distance down the slope. + +His second stroke was more successful, nearly equalling hers. But her +advantage, thus early won, was not destined to be lost again. And as the +game proceeded, Waldron's temper grew steadily worse and worse. + +Thus began, for these two people, an hour destined to be fraught with +such pregnant developments--an hour which, in its own way, vitally bore +on the great loom now weaving warp and woof of world events. + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + +THE END OF TWO GAMES. + + +Trivial events sometimes precipitate catastrophies. It has been said +that had James MacDonald not left the farm gate open, at Hugomont, +Waterloo might have ended otherwise. So now, the rupture between +Catherine Flint and Maxim Waldron was precipitated by a single unguarded +oath. + +It was at the ninth hole, down back of the Terrace Woods bunker. +Waldron, heated by exercise and the whiskey he had drunk, had already +dismissed the caddies and had undertaken to carry the clubs, himself, +hoping--man-fashion--to steal a kiss or two from Catherine, along the +edge of the close-growing oaks and maples. But all his plans went agley, +for Catherine really made good and beat him, there, by half a dozen +strokes; and as her little sphere, deftly driven by the putting-iron +gripped in her brown, firm hands, rolled precisely over the cropped turf +and fell into the tinned hole, the man ejaculated a perfectly audible +"_Hell!_" + +She stood erect and faced him, with a singular expression in those level +gray eyes--eyes the look of which could allure or wither, could entice +or command. + +"Wally," said she, "did you swear?" + +"I--er--why, yes," he stammered, taken aback and realizing, despite his +chagrin, how very poor and unsportsmanlike a figure he was cutting. + +"I don't like it," she returned. "Not a little bit, Wally. It isn't +game, and it isn't manly. You must respect me, now and always. I can't +have profanity, and I won't." + +He essayed lame apologies, but a sudden, hot anger seemed to have +possessed him, in presence of this free, independent, exacting +woman--this woman who, worst of all, had just beaten him at the game of +all games he prided himself on playing well. And despite his every +effort, she saw through the veil of sheer, perfunctory courtesy; and +seeing, flushed with indignation. + +"Wally," she said in a low, quiet tone, fixing a singular gaze upon him, +"Wally, I don't know what to make of you lately. The other night at Idle +Hour, you hardly looked at me. You and father spent the whole evening +discussing some business or other--" + +"Most important business, my dear girl, I do assure you," protested +Waldron, trying to steady his voice. "Most vitally--" + +"No matter about that," she interposed. "It could have been abridged, a +trifle. I barely got six words out of you, that evening; and let me tell +you, Wally, a woman never forgets neglect. She may forgive it; but +forget it, never!" + +"Oh, well, if you put it that way--" he began, but checked himself in +time to suppress the cutting rejoinder he had at his tongue's end. + +"I do, and it's vital, Wally," she answered. "It's all part and parcel +of some singular kind of change that's been coming over you, lately, +like a blight. You haven't been yourself, at all, these few days past. +Something or other, I don't know what, has been coming between us. +You've got something else on your mind, beside me--something bigger and +more important to you than I am--and--and--" + +He pulled out his gold cigar-case, chose and lighted a cigar to steady +his nerve, and faced her with a smile--the worst tactic he could +possibly have chosen in dealing with this woman. Supremely successful in +handling men, he lacked finesse and insight with the other sex; and now +that lack, in his moment of need, was bringing him moment by moment +nearer the edge of catastrophe. + +"I don't like it at all, Waldron," she resumed, again. "You were late, +the other night, in taking me to the Flower Show. You were late, today, +for our appointment here; and the ten minutes I gave you to get ready +in, stretched out to twenty before you--" + +He interrupted her with a gesture of uncontrollable vexation. + +"Really, my dear Kate," he exclaimed, "if you--er--insist on holding me +to account for every moment--" + +"You've been drinking, too, a little," she kept on. "And you know I +detest it! And just now, when I beat you in a square game, you so far +forgot yourself as to swear. Now, Waldron--" + +"Oh, puritanical, eh?" he sneered, ignoring the danger signals in her +eyes. Even yet there might have been some chance of avoiding shipwreck, +had he heeded those twin beacons, humbled himself, made amends by due +apology and promised reformation. For though Catherine never had truly +loved this man, some years older than herself and of radically different +character, still she liked and respected him, and found him--by his very +force and dominance--far more to her taste than the insipid hangers-on, +sons of fortune or fortune-hunters, who, like the sap-brained Van +Slyke, made up so great a part of her "set." + +So, all might yet have been amended; but this was not to be. Never yet +had "Tiger" Waldron bowed the neck to living man or woman. Dominance was +his whole scheme of life. Though he might purr, politely enough, so long +as his fur was smoothed the right way, a single backward stroke set his +fangs gleaming and unsheathed every sabre-like claw. And now this woman, +his fiancée though she was, her beauty dear to him and her charm most +fascinating, her fortune much desired and most of all, an alliance with +her father--now this woman, despite all these considerations, had with a +few incisive words ruffled his temper beyond endurance. + +So great was his agitation that, despite his strongest instinct of +saving, he flung away the scarcely-tasted cigar. + +"Kate," he exclaimed, his very tongue thick with the rage he could not +quell, "Kate, I can't stand this! You're going too far. What do you know +of men's work and men's affairs? Who are you, to judge of their times of +coming and going, their obligations, their habits and man of life? What +do _you_ understand--?" + +"It's obvious," she replied with glacial coldness, "that I don't +understand _you_, and never have. I have been living in a dream, Wally; +seeing you through the glass of illusion; not reality. After all, you're +like all men--just the same, no different. Idealism, self-sacrifice, con +true nobility of character, where are these, in you? What is there but +the same old selfishness, the same innate masculine conceit and--" + +"No more of this, Kate!" cried the financier, paling a little. "No more! +I can't have it! I won't--it's impossible! You--you don't understand, I +tell you. In your narrow, untrained, woman's way, you try to set up +standards for me; try to judge me, and dictate to me. Some old +puritanical streak in you is cropping out, some blue-law atavism, some I +know not what, that rebels against my taking a drink--like every other +man. That cries out against my letting slip a harmless oath--again, like +every other man that lives and breathes. Every man, that is, who _is_ a +man, a real man, not a dummy! If you've been mistaken in me, how much +more have I, in you! And so--" + +"And so," she took the very words from his pale lips, "we've both been +mistaken, that's all. No, no," she forbade him with raised hand, as he +would have interrupted with protests. "No, you needn't try to convince +me otherwise, now. A thousand volumes of speeches, after this, couldn't +do it. An hour's insight into the true depths of a man's character--yes, +even a moment's--perfectly suffices to show the truth. You've just drawn +the veil aside, Wally, for me, and let me look at the true picture. All +that I've known and thought of you, so far, has been sham and illusion. +Now, I _know_ you!" + +"You--you don't, Catherine!" he exclaimed, half in anger, half +contrition, terrified at last by the imminent break between them, by the +thought of losing this rich flower from the garden of womanhood, this +splendid financial and social prize. "I--I've done wrong, Kate. I admit +it. But, truly--" + +"No more," said she, and in her voice sounded a command he knew, at +last, was quite inexorable. "I'm not like other women of our set, +perhaps. I can't be bought and sold, Wally, with money and position. I +can't marry a man, and have to live with him, if he shows himself +petty, or small, or narrow in any way. I must be free, free as air, as +long as I live. Even in marriage, I must be free. Freedom can only come +with the union of two souls that understand and help and inspire each +other. Anything else is slavery--and worse!" + +She shuddered, and for a moment turned half away from him, as, now +contrite enough for the minute, he stood there looking at her with dazed +eyes. For a second the idea came to him that he must take her in his +arms, there in the edge of the woods, burn kisses on her ripe mouth, win +her back to him by force, as he had won all life's battles. He would +not, could not, let this prize escape him now. A wave of desire surged +through his being. He took a step toward her, his trembling arms open to +seize her lithe, seductive body. But she, retreating, held him away with +repellant palms. + +"No, no, no!" she cried. "Not now--never that, any more! I must be free, +Wally--free as air!" + +She raised her face toward the vast reaches of the sky, breathed deep +and for a moment closed her eyes, as though bathing her very soul in the +sweet freedom of the out-of-doors. + +"Free as air!" she whispered. "Let me go!" + +He started violently. Her simile had struck him like a lash. + +"Free--as what?" he exclaimed hoarsely. "As _air_? But--but there's no +such freedom, I tell you! Air isn't free any more--or won't be, soon! It +will be everything, anything but free, before another year is gone! Free +as air? You--you don't understand! Your father and I--we shall soon own +the air. Free as air? Yes, if you like! For that--that means you, too, +must belong to me!" + +Again he sought to take her, to hold her and overmaster her. But she, +now wide-eyed with a kind of sudden terror at this latest outbreak, this +seeming madness on his part, which she could nowise fathom or +comprehend, retreated ever more and more, away from him. + +Then suddenly with a quick effort, she stripped off the splendid, +blazing diamond from her finger, and held it out to him. + +"Wally," said she, calm now and quite herself again, "Wally, let's be +friends. Just that and nothing more. Dear, good, companionable friends, +as we used to be, long years ago, before this madness seized us--this +chimera of--of love!" + +As a bull charging, is struck to the heart by the sword of the matador, +and stops in his tracks, motionless and dazed before he falls, so +"Tiger" Waldron stopped, wholly stunned by this abrupt and crushing +denouement. + +For a moment, man and woman faced each other. Not a word was spoken. +Catherine had no word to say; and Waldron, though his lips worked, could +bring none to utterance. Then their eyes met; and his lowered. + +"Good-bye," said she quietly. "Good-bye forever, as my betrothed. When +we meet again, Wally, it will be as friends, and nothing more. And now, +let me go. Don't come with me. I prefer to be alone. I'd rather walk, a +bit, and think--and then go back quietly to the club-house, and so home, +in my car. Don't follow me. Here--take this, and--good-bye." + +Mechanically he accepted the gleaming jewel. Mechanically, like a man +without sense or reason, he watched her walk away from him, upright and +strong and lithe, voluptuous and desirable in every motion of that +splendid body, now lost to him forever. Then all at once, entering a +woodland path that led by a short cut back to the club-house, she +vanished from his sight. + +Vanished, without having even so much as turned to look at him again, or +wave that firm brown hand. + +Then, seeming to waken from his daze, "Tiger" laughed, a terrible and +cruel laugh; and then he flung a frightful blasphemy upon the still June +air; and then he dashed the wondrous diamond to earth, and stamped and +dug it with a perfect frenzy of rage into the soft mold. + +And, last of all, with lowered head and lips that moved in fearful +curses, he crashed away into the woods, away from the path where the +girl was, away from the club-house, away, away, thirsting for solitude +and time to quell his passion, salve his wounded pride and ponder +measures of terrible revenge. + +The diamond ring, crushed into the earth, and the golf clubs, lying +where they had fallen from the disputants' hands, now remained there as +melancholy reminders of the double game--love and golf--which had so +suddenly ended in disaster. + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + +ON THE GREAT HIGHWAY. + + +As violently rent from his job as Maxim Waldron had been torn from his +alliance with Catherine, Gabriel Armstrong met the sudden change in his +affairs with far more equanimity than the financier could muster. Once +the young electrician's first anger had subsided--and he had pretty well +mastered it before he had reached the Oakwood Heights station--he began +philosophically to turn the situation in his mind, and to rough out his +plans for the future. + +"Things might be worse, all round," he reflected, as he strode along at +a smart pace. "During the seven months I've been working for these +pirates, I've managed to pay off the debt I got into at the time of the +big E. W. strike, and I've got eighteen dollars or a little more in +my pocket. My clothes will do a while longer. Even though Flint +blacklists me all over the country, as he probably will, I can duck into +some job or other, somewhere. And most important of all, I know what's +due to happen in America--I've seen that note-book! Let them do what +they will, they can't take _that_ knowledge away from me!" + +The outlook, on the whole, was cheering. Gabriel broke into a whistle, +as he swung along the highway, and slashed cheerfully with his heavy +stick at the dusty bushes by the roadside. A vigorous, pleasing figure +of a man he made, striding onward in his blue flannel shirt and +corduroys, stout boots making light of distance, somewhat rebellious +black hair clustering under his cap, blue eyes clear and steady as the +sunlight itself. There must have been a drop of Irish blood somewhere or +other in his veins, to have given him that ruddy cheek, those eyes, that +hair, that quick enthusiasm and that swiftness to anger--then, by +reaction, that quick buoyancy which so soon banished everything but +courageous optimism from his hot heart. + +Thus the man walked, all his few worldly belongings--most precious among +them his union card and his red Socialist card--packed in the knapsack +strapped to his broad shoulders. And as he walked, he formulated his +plans. + +"Niagara for mine," he decided. "It's there these hellions mean to start +their devilish work of enslaving the whole world. It's there I want to +be, and must be, to follow the infernal job from the beginning and to +nail it, when the right time comes. I'll put in a day or two with my old +friend, Sam Underwood, up in the Bronx, and maybe tell him what's doing +and frame out the line of action with him. But after that, I strike for +Niagara--yes, and on foot!" + +This decision came to him as strongly desirable. Not for some time, he +knew, could the actual work of building the Air Trust plant be started +at Niagara. Meanwhile, he wanted to keep out of sight, as much as +possible. He wanted, also to save every cent. Again, his usual mode of +travel had always been either to ride the rods or "hike" it on shanks' +mare. Bitterly opposed to swelling the railways' revenues by even a +penny, Armstrong in the past few years of his life had done some +thousands of miles, afoot, all over the country. His best means of +Socialist propaganda, he had found, was in just such meanderings along +the highways and hedges of existence--a casual job, here or there, for a +day, a week, a month--then, quick friendships; a little talk; a few +leaflets handed to the intelligent, if he could find any. He had laced +the continent with such peregrinations, always sowing the seed of +revolution wherever he had passed; getting in touch with the Movement +all over the republic; keeping his finger on the pulse of ever-growing, +always-strengthening Socialism. + +Such had his habits long been. And now, once more adrift and jobless, +but with the most tremendous secret of the ages in his possession, he +naturally turned to the comfort and the calming influence of the broad +highway, in his long journey towards the place where he was to meet, in +desperate opposition, the machinations of the Air Trust magnates. + +"It's the only way for me," he decided, as he turned into the road +leading toward Saint George and the Manhattan Ferry. "Flint and Herzog +will be sure to put Slade and the Cosmos people after me. Blacklisting +will be the least of what they'll try to do. They'll use slugging +tactics, sure, if they get a chance, or railroad me to some Pen or +other, if possible. My one best bet is to keep out of their way; and I +figure I'm ten times safer on the open road, with a few dollars to stave +off a vagrancy charge, and with two good fists and this stick to keep +'em at a distance, than I would be on the railroads or in cheap dumps +along the way. + +"The last place they'll ever think of looking for me will be the big +outdoors. _Their_ idea of hunting for a workman is to dragnet the back +rooms of saloons--especially if they're after a Socialist. That's the +limit of their intelligence, to connect Socialism and beer. I'll beat +'em; I'll hike--and it's a hundred to one I land in Niagara with more +cash than when I started, with better health, more knowledge, and the +freedom that, alone, can save the world now from the most damnable +slavery that ever threatened its existence!" + +Thus reasoning, with perfect clarity and a long-headedness that proved +him a strategist at four-and-twenty, Gabriel Armstrong whistled a louder +note as he tramped away to northward, away from the hateful presence of +Herzog, away from the wage-slavery of the Oakwood Heights plant, +away--with that precious secret in his brain--toward the far scene of +destined warfare, where stranger things were to ensue than even he could +possibly conceive. + +Saturday morning found him, his visit with Underwood at an end, already +twenty miles or more from the Bronx River, marching along through +Haverstraw, up the magnificent road that fringes the Hudson--now hidden +from the mighty river behind a forest-screen, now curving on bold +abutments right above the sun-kissed expanses of Haverstraw Bay, here +more than two miles from wooded shore to shore. + +At eleven, he halted at a farm house, some miles north of the town, got +a job on the woodpile, and astonished the farmer by the amount of birch +he could saw in an hour. He took his pay in the shape of a bountiful +dinner, and--after half an hour's smoke and talk with the farmer, to +whom he gave a few pamphlets from the store in his knapsack--said +good-bye to all hands and once more set his face northward for the long +hike through much wilder country, to West Point, where he hoped to pass +the night. + +Thus we must leave him, for a while. For now the thread of our +narration, like the silken cord in the Labyrinth of Crete, leads us back +to the Country Club at Longmeadow, the scene, that very afternoon, of +the sudden and violent rupture between the financier and Catherine +Flint. + +Catherine, her first indignation somewhat abated, and now vastly +relieved at the realization that she indeed was free from her loveless +and long-since irksome alliance with Waldron, calmly enough returned to +the club-house. Head well up, and eyes defiant, she walked up the broad +steps and into the office. Little cared she whether the piazza +gossips--The Hammer and Anvil Club, in local slang--divined the quarrel +or not. The girl felt herself immeasurably indifferent to such +pettinesses as prying small talk and innuendo. Let people know, or not, +as might be, she cared not a whit. Her business was her own. No wagging +of tongues could one hair's breadth disturb that splendid calm of hers. + +The clerk, behind the desk, smiled and nodded at her approach. + +"Please have my car brought round to the porte-cochère, at once?" she +asked. "And tell Herrick to be sure there's plenty of gas for a long +run. I'm going through to New York." + +"So soon?" queried the clerk. "I'm sure your father will be +disappointed, Miss Flint. He's just wired that he's coming out tomorrow, +to spend Sunday here. He particularly asks to have you remain. See +here?" + +He handed her a telegram. She glanced it over, then crumpled it and +tossed it into the office fire-place. + +"I'm sorry," she answered. "But I can't stay. I must get back, to-night. +I'll telegraph father not to come. A blank, please?" + +The clerk handed her one. She pondered a second, then wrote: + + Dear Father: A change of plans makes me return home at once. + Please wait and see me there. I've something important to talk over + with you. + + Affectionately, + + Kate. + +Ordinarily people try to squeeze their message to ten words, and count +and prune and count again; but not so, Catherine. For her, a telegram +had never contained any space limit. It meant less to her than a +post-card to you or me. Not that the girl was consciously extravagant. +No, had you asked her, she would have claimed rigid economy--she rarely, +for instance, paid more than a hundred dollars for a morning gown, or +more than a thousand for a ball-dress. It was simply that the idea of +counting words had never yet occurred to her. And so now, she +complacently handed this verbose message to the clerk, who--thoroughly +well-trained--understood it was to be charged on her father's perfectly +staggering monthly bill. + +"Very well, Miss Flint," said he. "I'll send this at once. And your car +will be ready for you in ten minutes--or five, if you like?" + +"Ten will do, thank you," she answered. Then she crossed to the +elevator and went up to her own suite of rooms on the second floor, for +her motor-coat and veils. + +"Free, thank heaven!" she breathed, with infinite relief, as she stood +before the tall mirror, adjusting these for the long trip. "Free from +that man forever. What a narrow escape! If things hadn't happened just +as they did, and if I hadn't had that precious insight into Wally's +character--good Lord!--catastrophe! Oh, I haven't been so happy since +I--since--why, I've _never_ been so happy in all my life! + +"Wally, dear boy," she added, turning toward the window as though +apostrophizing him in reality, "now we can be good friends. Now all the +sham and pretense are at an end, forever. As a friend, you may be +splendid. As a husband--oh, impossible!" + +Lighter of heart than she had been for years, was she, with the added +zest of the long spin through the beauty of the June country before +her--down among the hills and cliffs, among the forests and broad +valleys--down to New York again, back to the father and the home she +loved better than all else in the world. + +In this happy frame of mind she presently entered the low-hung, +swift-motored car, settled herself on the luxurious cushions and said +"Home, at once!" to Herrick. + +He nodded, but did not speak. He felt, in truth, somewhat incapable of +quite incoherent speech. Not having expected any service till next day, +he had foregathered with others of his ilk in the servants' bar, +below-stairs, and had with wassail and good cheer very effectively put +himself out of commission. + +But, somewhat sobered by this quick summons, he had managed to pull +together. Now, drunk though he was, he sat there at the wheel, steady +enough--so long as he held on to it--and only by the redness of his face +and a certain glassy look in his eye, betrayed the fact of his +intoxication. The girl, busy with her farewells as the car drew up for +her, had not observed him. At the last moment Van Slyke waved a foppish +hand at her, and smirked adieux. She acknowledged his good-bye with a +smile, so happy was she at the outcome of her golf-game; then cast a +quick glance up at the club windows, fearing to see the harsh face of +Wally peeping down at her in anger. + +But he was nowhere to be seen; and now, with a sudden acceleration of +the powerful six-cylinder engine, the big gray car moved smoothly +forward. Growling in its might, it swung in a wide circle round the +sweep of the drive, gathered speed and shot away down the grade toward +the stone gates of the entrance, a quarter mile distant. + +Presently it swerved through these, to southward. Club-house, waving +handkerchiefs and all vanished from Kate's view. + +"Faster, Herrick," she commanded, leaning forward, "I must be home by +half past five." + +Again he nodded, and notched spark and throttle down. The car, leaping +like a wild creature, began to hum at a swift clip along the smooth, +white road toward Newburgh on the Hudson. + +Thirty miles an hour the speedometer showed, then thirty-five and forty. +Again the drunken chauffeur, still master of his machine despite the +poison pulsing in his dazed brain, snicked the little levers further +down. Forty-five, fifty, fifty-five, the figures on the dial showed. + +Now the exhaust ripped in a crackling staccato, like a machine gun, as +the chauffeur threw out the muffler. Behind, a long trail of dust rose, +whirling in the air. Catherine, a sportswoman born, leaned back and +smiled with keen pleasure, while her yellow veil, whipping sharply on +the wind, let stray locks of that wonderful red-gold hair stream about +her flushed face. + +Thus she sped homeward, driven at a mad race by a man whose every sense +was numbed and stultified by alcohol--homeward, along a road up which, +far, far away, another man, keen, sober and alert, was trudging with a +knapsack on his broad back, swinging a stick and whistling cheerily as +he went. + +Fate, that strange moulder of human destinies, what had it in store for +these two, this woman and this man? This daughter of a billionaire, and +this young proletarian? + +Who could foresee, or, foreseeing, could believe what even now stood +written on the Book of Destiny? + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + +CATASTROPHE! + + +For a time no danger seemed to threaten. Kate was not only fearless as a +passenger, but equally intrepid at the wheel. Many a time and oft she +had driven her father's highest-powered car at dizzying speeds along +worse roads than the one her machine was now following. Velocity was to +her a kind of stimulant, wonderfully pleasurable; and now, realizing +nothing of the truth that Herrick was badly the worse for liquor, she +leaned back in the tonneau, breathed the keen slashing air with delight, +and let her eyes wander over the swiftly-changing panorama of forest, +valley, lake and hill that, in ever new and more radiant beauty, sped +away, away, as the huge car leaped down the smooth and rushing road. + +Dust and pebbles flew in the wake of the machine, as it gathered +velocity. Beneath it, the highway sped like an endless white ribbon, +whirling back and away with smooth rapidity. No common road, this, but +one which the State authorities had very obligingly built especially for +the use of millionaires' motor cars, all through the region of +country-clubs, parks, bungalows and summer-resorts dotting the west +shore region of the Hudson. Let the farmer truck his produce through mud +and ruts, if he would. Let the country folk drive their ramshackle +buggies over rocks and stumps, if they so chose. Nothing of that sort +for millionaires! No, _they_ must have macadam and smooth, long curves, +easy grades and--where the road swung high above the gleaming +river--retaining walls to guard them from plunging into the palisaded +abyss below. + +At just such a place it was, where the road made a sharper turn than any +the drunken chauffeur had reckoned on, that catastrophe leaped out to +shatter the rushing car. + +Only a minute before, Kate--a little uneasy now, at the truly reckless +speeding of the driver, and at the daredevil way in which he was taking +curves without either sounding his siren or reducing speed--had touched +him on the shoulder, with a command: "Not _quite_ so fast, Herrick! Be +careful!" + +His only answer had been a drunken laugh. + +"Careful nothing!" he slobbered, to himself. "You wanted speed--an' +now--hc!--b'Jesus, you _get_--hc!--speed! _I_ ain't +'fraid--are--hc!--_you_?" + +She had not heard the words, but had divined their meaning. + +"Herrick!" she commanded sharply, leaning forward. "What's the matter +with you? Obey me, do you hear? Not so fast!" + +A whiff of alcoholic breath suddenly told her the truth. For a second +she sat there, as though petrified, with fear now for the first time +clutching at her heart. + +"Stop at once!" she cried, gripping the man by the collar of his livery. +"You--you're drunk, Herrick! I--I'll have you discharged, at once, when +we get home. Stop, do you hear me? You're not fit to drive. I'll take +the wheel myself!" + +But Herrick, hopelessly under the influence of the poison, which had +now produced its full effect, paid no heed. + +"Y'--can't dri' _thish_ car!" he muttered, in maudlin accents. "Too +big--too heavy for--hc!--woman! I--_I_ dri' it all right, drunk or +sober! Good chauffeur--good car--I know thish car! You won't fire +me--hc!--for takin' drink or two, huh? I drive you all ri'--drive you to +New York or to--hc!--Hell! Same thing, no difference, ha! ha!--I--" + +A sudden blaze of rage crimsoned the girl's face. In all her life she +never had been thus spoken to. For a second she clenched her fist, as +though to strike down this sodden brute there in the seat before her--a +feat she would have been quite capable of. But second thought convinced +her of the peril of such an act. Ahead of them a long down-grade +stretched away, away, to a turn half-hidden under the arching greenery. +As the car struck this slope, it leaped into ever greater speed; and +now, under the erratic guidance of the lolling wretch at the wheel, it +began to sway in long, unsteady curves, first toward one ditch, then the +other. + +Another woman would have screamed; might even have tried to jump out. +But Kate was not of the hysteric sort. More practical, she. + +"I've got to climb over into the front seat," she realized in a flash, +"and shut off the current--cut the power off--stop the car!" + +On the instant, she acted. But as she arose in the tonneau, Herrick, +sensing her purpose, turned toward her in the sudden rage of complete +intoxication. + +"Naw--naw y' don't!" he shouted, his face perfectly purple with fury +and drink. "No woman--he!--runs this old boat while I'm aboard, see? Go +on, fire me! _I_ don't give--damn! But you don't run--car! Sit down! _I_ +run car--New York or Hell--no matter which! _I_--" + +Hurtling down the slope like a runaway comet, now wholly out of control, +the powerful gray car leaped madly at the turn. + +Catherine, her heart sick at last with terror, caught a second's glimpse +of forest, on one hand; of a stone wall with tree-tops on some steep +abyss below, just grazing it, on the other. Through these trees she saw +a momentary flash of water, far beneath. + +Then the leaping front wheels struck a cluster of loose pebbles, at the +bend. + +Wrenched from the drunkard's grip, the steering wheel jerked sharply +round. + +A skidding--a crash--a cry! + +Over the roadway, vacant now, floated a tenuous cloud of dust and +gasoline-vapor, commingled. + +In the retaining-wall at the left, a jagged gap appeared. Suddenly, far +below, toward the river, a crashing detonation shattered harsh echoes +from shore to shore. + +Came a quick flash of light; then thick, black, greasy smoke arose, and, +wafting through the treetops, drifted away on the warm wind of that late +June afternoon. + +A man, some quarter of a mile to southward, on the great highway, paused +suddenly at sound of this explosion. + +For a moment he stood there listening acutely, a knotted stick in hand, +his flannel shirt, open at the throat, showing a brown and corded neck. +The heavy knapsack on his shoulders seemed no burden to that rugged +strength, as he stood, poised and eager, every sense centered in keen +attention. + +"Trouble ahead, there, by the Eternal!" he suddenly exclaimed. His eye +had just caught sight of the first trailing wreaths of smoke, from up +the cliff. "An auto's gone to smash, down there, or I'm a plute!" + +He needed no second thought to hurl him forward to the rescue. At a +smart pace he ran, halloo'ing loudly, to tell the victims--should they +still live--that help was at hand. At his right, extended the wall. At +his left, a grove of sugar-maples, sparsely set, climbed a long slope, +over the ridge of which the descending sun glowed warmly. Somewhat back +from the road, a rough shack which served as a sugar-house for the +spring sap-boiling, stood with gaping door, open to all the winds that +blew. These things he noted subconsciously, as he ran. + +Then, all at once, as he rounded a sharp turn, he drew up with a cry. + +"Down the cliff!" he exclaimed. "Knocked the wall clean out, and +plunged! Holy Mackinaw, what a smash!" + +In a moment he had reached the scene of the catastrophe. His quick eye +took in, almost at a glance, the skidding mark of the wheels, the ragged +rent in the wall, the broken limbs of trees below. + +"Some wreck!" he ejaculated, dropping his stick and throwing off his +knapsack. "_Hello, Hello, down there!_" he loudly hailed, scrambling +through the gap. + +From below, no answer. + +A silence, as of death, broken only by the echo of his own voice, was +all that greeted his wild cry. + +[Illustration: He gathered her up as though she had been a child.] + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + +THE RESCUE. + + +Gabriel Armstrong leaped, rather than clambered, through the gap in the +wall, and, following the track of devastation through the trees, +scrambled down the steep slope that led toward the Hudson. + +The forest looked as though a car of Juggernaut had passed that way. +Limbs and saplings lay in confusion, larger trees showed long wounds +upon their bark, and here and there pieces of metal--a gray mud-guard, a +car door, a wind-shield frame, with shattered plate glass still clinging +to it--lay scattered on the precipitous declivity. Beside these, hanging +to a branch, Gabriel saw a gaily-striped auto robe; and, further down, a +heavy, fringed shawl. + +Again he shouted, holding to a tree-trunk at the very edge of a cliff of +limestone, and peering far down into the abyss where the car had taken +its final plunge. Still no answer. But, from below, the heavy smoke +still rose. And now, peering more keenly, Armstrong caught sight of the +wreck itself. + +"There it is, and burning like the pit of Hell!" he exclaimed. +"And--what's that, under it? A man?" + +He could not distinctly make out, so thick the foliage was. But it +seemed to him that, from under the jumbled wreckage of the blazing +machine, something protruded, something that suggested a human form, +horribly mangled. + +"Here's where I go down this cliff, whatever happens!" decided Gabriel. +And, acting on the instant, he began swinging himself down from tree to +bush, from shrub to tuft of grass, clinging wherever handhold or +foothold offered, digging his stout boots into every cleft and cranny of +the precipice. + +The height could not have been less than a hundred and fifty feet. By +dint of wonderful strength and agility, and at the momentary risk of +falling, himself, to almost certain death, Gabriel descended in less +than ten minutes. The last quarter of the distance he practically fell, +sliding at a tremendous rate, with boulders and loose earth cascading +all about him in a shower. + +He landed close by the flaming ruin. + +"Lucky this isn't in the autumn, in the dry season!" thought he, as he +approached. "If it were, this whole cliff-side, and the woods beyond, +would be a roaring furnace. Some forest-fire, all right, if the woods +weren't wet and full of sap!" + +Parting the brush, he made his way as close to the car as the intense +heat would let him. The gasoline-tank, he understood, had burst with the +shock, and, taking fire, had wrapped the car in an Inferno of +unquenchable flame. Now, the woodwork was entirely gone; and of the +wheels, as the long machine lay there on its back, only a few blazing +spokes were left. The steel chassis and the engine were red-hot, twisted +and broken as though a giant hammer had smitten them on some Vulcanic +anvil. + +"There's a few thousand dollars gone to the devil!" thought he. But his +mind did not dwell on this phase of the disaster. Still he was hoping, +against hope, that human life had not been dashed and roasted out, in +the wreck. And again he shouted, as he worked his way to the other side +of the machine--to the side which, seen from the cliff above, had seemed +to show him that inert and mangled body. + +All at once he stopped short, shielding his face with his hands, against +the blaze. + +"Good God!" he exclaimed; and involuntarily took off his cap, there in +the presence of death. + +That the man _was_ dead, admitted of no question. Pinned under the +heavy, glowing mass of metal, his body must already have been roasted to +a char. The head could not be seen; but part of one shoulder and one arm +protruded, with the coat burned off and the flesh horribly crackled; +while, nearer Gabriel, a leg showed, with a regulation chauffeur's +legging, also burned to a crisp. + +"Nothing for me to do, here," said Gabriel aloud. "He's past all human +help, poor chap. I don't imagine there can be anybody else in this +wreck. I haven't seen anybody, and nobody has answered my shouts. What's +to be done next?" + +He pondered a moment, then, looking at the license plate of the +machine--its enamel now half cracked off, but the numbers still +legible--drew out his note-book and pencil and made a memo of the +figures. + +"Four-six-two-two, N.Y.," he read, again verifying his numbers. "That +will identify things. And now--the quicker I get back on the road again, +and reach a telephone at West Point, the better." + +Accordingly, after a brief search through the bushes near at hand, for +any other victim--a search which brought no results--he set to work once +more to climb the cliff above him. + +The fire, though still raging, was obviously dying down. In half an +hour, he knew, it would be dead. There was no use in trying to +extinguish it, for gasoline defies water, and no sand was to be had +along that rocky river shore. + +"Let her burn herself out," judged Gabriel. "She can't do any harm, now. +The road for mine!" + +He found the upward path infinitely more difficult than the downward, +and was forced to make a long detour and do some hard climbing that left +him spent and sweating, before he again approached the gap in the wall. +Pausing here to breathe, a minute or two, he once more peered down at +the still-smoking ruin far below. And, as he stood there all at once he +thought he heard a sound not very far away to his right. + +A sound--a groan, a half-inchoate murmur--a cry! + +Instantly his every sense grew keen. Holding his breath he listened +intently. Was it a cry? Or had the breeze but swayed one tree limb +against another; or did some boatman's hail, from far across the river, +but drift upward to him on the cliff? + +"Hello! _Hello_!" he shouted again. "Anybody there?" + +Once more he listened; and now, once more, he heard the sound--this time +he knew it was a cry for help! + +"Where are you?" shouted he, plunging forward along the steep side of +the cliff. "Where?" + +No answer, save a groan. + +"Coming! Coming!" he hailed loudly. Then, guided as it seemed by +instinct, almost as much as by the vague direction of the moaning call, +he ploughed his way through brush and briar, on rescue bent. + +All at once he stopped short in his tracks, wild-eyed, a stammering +exclamation on his lips. + +"A woman!" he cried. + +True. There, lying as though violently flung, a woman was half-crouched, +half-prone behind the roots of a huge maple that leaned out far above a +sheer declivity. + +He saw torn clothing, through the foliage; a white hand, out-stretched +and bleeding; a mass of golden-coppery hair that lay dishevelled on the +bed of moss and last autumn's leaves. + +"A woman! Dying?" he thought, with a sudden stab of pity in his heart. + +Then, forcing his way along, he reached her, and fell upon his knees at +her side. + +"Not dead! Not dying! Thank God!" he exclaimed. One glance showed him +she would live. Though an ugly gash upon her forehead had bathed her +face in blood, and though he knew not but bones were broken, he +recognized the fact that she was now returning, fast, to consciousness. + +Already she had opened her eyes--wild eyes, understanding nothing--and +was staring up at him in dazed, blank terror. Then one hand came up to +her face; and, even as he lifted her in both his powerful arms, she +began to sob hysterically. + +He knew the value of that weeping, and made no attempt to stop it. The +overwrought nerves, he understood, must find some outlet. Asking no +question, speaking no word--for Gabriel was a man of action, not +speech--he gathered her up as though she had been a child. A tall woman, +she; almost as tall as he himself, and proportioned like a Venus. Yet to +him her weight was nothing. + +Sure-footed, now, and bursting through the brambles with fine energy, he +carried her to the gap in the wall, up through it, and so to the roadway +itself. + +"Where--where am I?" the woman cried incoherently. "O--what--where--?" + +"You're all right!" he exclaimed. "Just a little accident, that's all. +Don't worry! I'll take care of you. Just keep quiet, now, and don't +think of anything. You'll be all right, in no time!" + +But she still wept and cried out to know where she might be and what had +happened. Obviously, Gabriel saw, her reason had not yet fully returned. +His first aim must be to bathe her wound, find out what damage had been +done, and keeping her quiet, try to get help. + +Swiftly he thought. Here he and the woman were, miles from any +settlement or house, nearly in the middle of a long stretch of road that +skirted the river through dense woods. At any time a motor might come +along; and then again, one might not arrive for hours. No dependence +could be put on this. There was no telephone for a long distance back; +and even had one been near he would not have ventured to leave the girl. + +Could he carry her back to Fort Clinton, the last settlement he had +passed through? Impossible! No man's strength could stand such a +tremendous task. And even had it been within Gabriel's means, he would +have chosen otherwise. For most of all the girl needed rest and quiet +and immediate care. To bear her all that distance in his arms might +produce serious, even fatal results. + +"No!" he decided. "I must do what I can for her, here and now, and trust +to luck to send help in an auto, down this road!" + +His next thought was that bandages and wraps would be needed for her cut +and to make her a bed. Instantly he remembered the shawl and the big +auto-robe that he had seen caught among the trees. + +"I must have those at once!" he realized. "When the machine went over +the edge, they were thrown out, just as the girl was. A miracle she +wasn't carried down, with the car, and crushed or burned to death down +there by the river, with that poor devil of a chauffeur!" + +Laying her down in the soft grass along the wall, he ran back to where +the wraps were, and, detaching them from the branches, quickly regained +the road once more. + +"Now for the old sugar-house in the maple-grove," said he. "Poor +shelter, but the best to be had. Thank heaven it's fair weather, and +warm!" + +The task was awkward, to carry both the girl and the bulky robes, but +Gabriel was equal to it She had by now regained some measure of +rationality; and though very pale and shaken, manifested her nerve and +courage by no longer weeping or asking questions. + +Instead, she lay in his arms, eyes closed, with the blood stiffening on +her face; and let him bear her whither he would. She seemed to sense his +strength and mastery, his tender care and complete command of the +situation. And, like a hurt and tired child, outworn and suffering, she +yielded herself, unquestioningly, to his ministrations. + +Thus Gabriel, the discharged, blacklisted, outcast rebel and +proletarian, bore in his arms of mercy and compassion the only daughter +of old Isaac Flint, his enemy, Flint the would-be master of the world. + +Thus he bore the woman who had been betrothed to "Tiger" Waldron, +unscrupulous and cruel partner in that scheme of dominance and +enslavement. + +Such was the meeting of this woman and this man. Thus, in his arms, he +carried her to the old sugar-house. + +And far below, the mighty river gleamed, unheeding the tragedy that had +been enacted on its shores, unmindful of the threads of destiny even now +being spun by the swift shuttles of Fate. + +In the branches, above Gabriel and Catherine, birdsong and golden +sunlight seemed to prophesy. But what this message might be, neither the +woman nor the man had any thought or dream. + + + + +CHAPTER XV. + +AN HOUR AND A PARTING. + + +Arriving at the sugar-house, tired yet strong, Gabriel put the wounded +girl down, quickly raked together a few armfuls of dead leaves, in the +most sheltered corner of the ramshackle structure, and laid the heavy +auto-robe upon this improvised bed. Then he helped his patient to lie +down, there, and bade her wait till he got water to wash and dress her +cut. + +"Don't worry about anything," he reassured her. "You're alive, and +that's the main thing, now. I'll see you through with this, whatever +happens. Just keep calm, and don't let anything distress you!" + +She looked at him with big, anxious eyes--eyes where still the full +light of understanding had not yet returned. + +"It--it all happened so suddenly!" she managed to articulate. "He was +drunk--the chauffeur. The car ran away. Where is it? Where is +Herrick--the man?" + +"I don't know," Gabriel lied promptly and with force. Not for worlds +would he have excited her with the truth. "Never you mind about that. +Just lie still, now, till I come back!" + +Already, among the rusty utensils that had served for the +"sugaring-off," the previous spring, he had routed out a tin pail. He +kicked a quantity of leaves in under the sheet-iron open stove, flung +some sticks atop of them, and started a little blaze. Warm water, he +reflected, would serve better than cold in removing that clotting blood +and dressing the hurt. + +Then, saying no further word, but filled with admiration for the girl's +pluck, he seized the pail and started for water. + +"Nerve?" he said to himself, as he ran down the road toward a little +brook he remembered having crossed, a few hundred yards to southward. +"Nerve, indeed! Not one complaint about her own injuries! Not a word of +lamentation! If this isn't a thoroughbred, whoever or whatever she is, I +never saw one!" + +He returned, presently, with the pail nearly full of cold and sparkling +water. Ignoring rust, he made her drink as deeply as she would, and then +set a dipperful of water on the now hot sheet-iron. + +Then, tearing a strip off the shawl, he made ready for his work as an +amateur physician. + +"Tell me," said he, kneeling there beside her in the hut which was +already beginning to grow dusk, "except for this cut on your forehead, +do you feel any injury? Think you've got any broken bones? See if you +can move your legs and arms, all right." + +She obeyed. + +"Nothing broken, I guess," she answered. "What a miracle! Please leave +me, now. I can wash my own hurt. Go--go find Herrick! He needs you worse +than I do!" + +"No he doesn't!" blurted Gabriel with such conviction that she +understood. + +"You mean?" she queried, as he brought the dipper of now tepid water to +her side. "He--he's dead?" + +He hesitated to answer. + +"Dead! Yes, I understand!" she interpreted his silence. "You needn't +tell me. I know!" + +He nodded. + +"Yes," said he. "Your chauffeur has paid the penalty of trying to drive +a six-cylinder car with alcohol. Now, think no more of him! Here, let me +see how badly you're cut." + +"Let me sit up, first," she begged. "I--I'm not hurt enough to be lying +here like--like an invalid!" + +She tried to rise, but with a strong hand on her shoulder he forced her +back. She shuddered, with the horror of the chauffeur's death strong +upon her. + +"Please lie still," he begged. "You've had a terrific shock, and have +lived through it by a miracle, indeed. You're wounded and still +bleeding. You _must_ be quiet!" + +The tone in his voice admitted no argument. Submissive now to his +greater strength, this daughter of wealth and power lay back, closed her +tired eyes and let the revolutionist, the proletarian, minister to her. + +Dipping the piece of shawl into the warm water, he deftly moistened the +dried blood on her brow and cheek, and washed it all away. He cleansed +her sullied hair, as well, and laid it back from the wound. + +"Tell me if I hurt you, now," he bade, gently as a woman. "I've got to +wash the cut itself." + +She answered nothing, but lay quite still. And so, hardly wincing, she +let him lave the jagged wound that stretched from her right temple up +into the first tendrils of the glorious red-gold hair. + +"H'm!" thought Gabriel, as he now observed the cut with close +attention. "I'm afraid there'll have to be some stitches taken here!" +But of this he said nothing. All he told her was: "Nothing to worry +over. You'll be as good as new in a few days. As a miracle, it's _some_ +miracle!" + +Having completed the cleansing of the cut, he fetched his knapsack and +produced a clean handkerchief, which he folded and laid over the wound. +This pad he secured in place by a long bandage cut from the edge of the +shawl and tied securely round her shapely head. + +"There," said he, surveying his improvisation with considerable +satisfaction. "Now you'll do, till we can undertake the next thing. +Sorry I haven't any brandy to give you, or anything of that sort. The +fact is, I don't use it, and have none with me. How do you feel, now?" + +She opened her eyes and looked up at him with the ghost of a smile on +her pale lips. + +"Oh, much, much better, thank you!" she answered. "I don't need any +brandy. I'm--awfully strong, really. In a little while I'll be all +right. Just give me a little more water, and--and tell me--who are you?" + +"Who am I?" he queried, holding up her head while she drank from the tin +cup he had now taken from his knapsack. "I? Oh, just an out-of-work. +Nobody of any interest to you!" + +A certain tinge of bitterness crept into his voice. In health, he knew, +a woman of this class would not suffer him even to touch her hand. + +"_Don't_ ask me who I am, please. And I--I won't ask _your_ name. We're +of different worlds, I guess. But for the moment, Fate has levelled the +barriers. Just let it go at that. And now, if you can stay here, all +right; perhaps I can hike back to the next house, below here, and +telephone, and summon help." + +"How far is it?" she asked, looking at him with wonder in her lovely +eyes--wonder, and new thoughts, and a strange kind of longing to know +more of this extraordinary man, so strong, so gentle, so unwilling to +divulge himself or ask her name. + +"How far?" he repeated. "Oh, four or five miles. I can make it in no +time. And with luck, I can have an auto and a doctor here before dark. +Well, does that suit you?" + +"Don't go, please," she answered. "I--I may be still a little weak and +foolish, but--somehow, I don't want to be left alone. I want to be kept +from remembering, from thinking of those last, awful moments when the +car was running away; when it struck the wall, at the turn; when I was +thrown out, and--and knew no more. Don't go just yet," the girl +entreated, covering her eyes with both hands, as though to shut out the +horrible vision of the catastrophe. + +"All right," Gabriel answered. "Just as you please. Only, if I stay, you +must promise to stop thinking about the accident, and try to pull +together." + +"I promise," she agreed, looking at him with strange eyes. "Oh dear," +she added, with feminine inconsequentiality, "my hair's all down, and +Lord knows where the pins are!" + +He smiled to himself as she managed, with the aid of such few hairpins +as remained, to coil the coppery meshes once more round her head and +even somewhat over the bandage, and secure them in place. + +At sight of his face as he watched her, she too smiled wanly--the first +time he had seen a real smile on her mouth. + +"I'm only a woman, after all," she apologized. "You don't understand. +You can't. But no matter. Tell me--why need you go, at all?" + +"Why? For help, of course." + +"There's sure to be a motor, or something, along this road, before very +long," she answered. "Put up some signal or other, to stop it. That will +save you a long, long walk, and save me from--remembering! I need you +here with me," she added earnestly. "Don't go--please!" + +"All right, as you will," the man made reply. "I'll rig a danger-signal +on the road; and then all we can do will be to wait." + +This plan he immediately put into effect, setting his knapsack in the +middle of the road and piling up brush and limbs of trees about it. + +"There," he said to himself, as he surveyed the result, "no car will get +by _that_, without noticing it!" + +Then he returned to the sugar-house, some hundred yards back from the +highway in the grove, now already beginning to grow dim with the shadows +of approaching nightfall. The glowing coals of the fire gleamed redly, +through the rough place. The girl, still lying on her bed of leaves and +auto-robes, with the mutilated shawl drawn over her, looked up at him +with an expression of trust and gratitude. For a second, only one, +something quick and vital gripped at the wanderer's heart--some vague, +intangible longing for a home and a woman, a longing old as our race, +deep-planted in the inmost citadel of every man's soul. But, +half-impatiently, he drove the thought away, dismissed it, and, smiling +down at her with cheerful eyes and white, even teeth, said reassuringly: + +"Everything's all right now. The first machine that passes, will take +you to civilization." + +"And you?" she asked. "What of you, then?" + +"Me? Oh, I'll hike," he answered. "I'll plug along just as I was doing +when I found you." + +"Where to?" + +"Oh, north." + +"What for?" + +"Work. Please don't question me. I'd rather you wouldn't." + +She pondered a moment. + +"Are you--what they call a--workingman?" she presently resumed. + +"Yes," said he. "Why?" + +"And are you happy?" + +"Yes. In a way. Or shall be, when I've done what I mean to do." + +"But--forgive me--you're very poor?" + +"Not at all! I have, at this present moment, more than eighteen dollars +in my pocket, and I have _these_!" + +He showed her his two hands, big and sinewed, capable and strong. + +"Eighteen dollars," she mused, half to herself. "Why, I have spent that, +and more, for a single ounce of a new perfume--something very rare, you +know, from Japan." + +"Indeed? Well, don't tell _me_," he replied. "I'm not interested in how +you spend money, but how you get it." + +"Get it? Oh, father gives me my allowance, that's all." + +"And he squeezes it out of the common people?" + +She glanced at him quickly. + +"You--you aren't a Socialist, into the bargain, are you?" she inquired. + +"At your service," he bowed. + +"This is strange, strange indeed," she said. "Tell me your name." + +"No," he refused. "I'd still rather not. Nor shall I ask yours. Please +don't volunteer it." + +Came a moment's silence, there in the darkening hut, with the fire-glow +red upon their faces. + +"Happy," said the girl. "You say you're happy. While I--" + +"Are not unhappy, surely?" asked Gabriel, leaning forward as he sat +there beside her, and gazing keenly into her face. + +"How should I know?" she answered. "Unhappy? No, perhaps not. But +vacant--empty--futile!" + +"Yes, I believe you," Gabriel judged. "You tell me no news. And as you +are, you will ever be. You will live so and die so. No, I won't preach. +I won't proselytize. I won't even explain. It would be useless. You are +one pole, I the other. And the world--the whole wide world--lies +between!" + +Suddenly she spoke. + +"You're a Socialist," said she. "What does it mean to be a Socialist?" + +He shook his head. + +"You couldn't understand, if I told you," he answered. + +"Why not?" + +"Oh, because your ideas and environments and interests and everything +have been so different from mine--because you're what you are--because +you can never be anything else." + +"You mean Socialism is something beyond my understanding?" she demanded, +piqued. "Of course, that's nonsense. I'm a human being. I've got brains, +haven't I? I can understand a scheme of dividing up, or levelling down, +or whatever it is, even if I can't believe in it!" + +He smiled oddly. + +"You've just proved, by what you've said," he answered slowly, "that +your whole concepts are mistaken. Socialism isn't anything like what you +think it is, and if I should try to explain it, you'd raise ten thousand +futile objections, and beg the question, and defeat my object of +explanation by your very inability to get the point of view. So you +see--" + +"I see that I want to know more!" she exclaimed, with determination. "If +there's any branch of human knowledge that lies outside my reasoning +powers, it's time I found that fact out. I thought Socialists were wild, +crazy, erratic cranks; but if you're one, then I seem to have been +wrong. You look rational enough, and you talk in an eminently sane +manner." + +"Thank you," he replied, ironically. + +"Don't be sarcastic!" she retorted. "I only meant--" + +"It's all right, anyhow," said he. "You've simply got the old, stupid, +wornout ideas of your class. You can't grasp this new ideal, rising +through the ruck and waste and sin and misery of the present system. I +don't blame you. You're a product of your environment. You can't help +it. With that environment, how can you sense the newer and more vital +ideas of the day?" + +For a moment she fixed eager eyes on him, in silence. Then asked she: + +"Ideals? You mean that Socialism has ideals, and that it's not all a +matter of tearing down and dividing up, and destroying everything good +and noble and right--all the accumulated wisdom and resources of the +world?" + +He laughed heartily. + +"Who handed you that bunk?" he demanded. + +"Father told me Socialism was all that, and more," + +"What's your father's business?" + +"Why, investments, stocks, bonds, industrial development and all that +sort of thing." + +"Hm!" he grunted. "I thought as much!" + +"You mean that father misinformed me?" + +"Rather!" + +"Well, if he did, what is Socialism?" + +"Socialism," answered the young man slowly, while he fixed his eyes on +the smouldering fire, "Socialism is a political movement, a concept of +life, a philosophy, an interpretation, a prophecy, an ideal. It embraces +history, economics, science, art, religion, literature and every phase +of human activity. It explains life, points the way to better things, +gives us hope, strengthens the weary and heavy-laden, bids us look +upward and onward, and constitutes the most sublime ideal ever conceived +by the soul of man!" + +"Can this be true?" the girl demanded, astonished. + +"Not only can, but is! Socialism would free the world from slavery and +slaves, from war, poverty, prostitution, vice and crime; would cleanse +the sores of our rotting capitalism, would loose the gyves from the +fettered hands of mankind, would bid the imprisoned soul of man awake to +nobler and to purer things! How? The answer to that would take me weeks. +You would have to read and study many books, to learn the entire truth. +But I am telling you the substance of the ideal--a realizable ideal, and +no chimera--when I say that Socialism sums up all that is good, and +banishes all that is evil! And do you wonder that I love and serve it, +all my life?" + +She peered at him in wonder. + +"You serve it? How?" she demanded. + +"By spreading it abroad; by speaking for it, working for it, fighting +for it! By the spoken and the printed word! By every act and through +every means whereby I can bring it nearer and nearer realization!" + +"You're a dreamer, a visionary, a fanatic!" she exclaimed. + +"You think so? No, I can't agree. Time will judge that matter. +Meanwhile, I travel up and down the earth, spreading Socialism." + +"And what do you get out of it, personally?" + +"I? What do you mean? I never thought of that question." + +"I mean, money. What do you make out of it?" + +He laughed heartily. + +"I get a few jail-sentences, once in a while; now and then a crack over +the head with a policeman's billy, or maybe a peek down the muzzle of a +rifle. I get--" + +"You mean that you're a martyr?" + +"By no means! I've never even thought of being called such. This is a +privilege, this propaganda of ours. It's the greatest privilege in the +world--bringing the word of life and hope and joy to a crushed, bleeding +and despairing world!" + +She thought a moment, in silence. + +"You're a poet, I believe!" said she. + +"No, not that. Only a worker in the ranks." + +"But do you write poetry?" + +"I write verses. You'd hardly call them poetry!" + +"Verses? About Socialism?" + +"Sometimes." + +"Will you give me some?" + +"What do you mean?" + +"Tell me some of them." + +"Of course not! I can't recite my verses! They aren't worth bothering +you with!" + +"That's for me to judge. Let me hear something of that kind. If you only +knew how terribly much you interest me!" + +"You mean that?" + +"Of course I do! Please let me hear something you've written!" + +He pondered a moment, then in his well-modulated, deep-toned voice +began: + + + _HESPERIDES_. + + + I. + + My feet, used to pine-needles, moss and turf, + And the gray boulders at the lip o' the sea, + Where the cold brine jets up its creamy surf, + Now tread once more these city ways, unloved by me, + Hateful and hot, gross with iniquity. + And so I grieve, + Grieve when I wake, or at high blinding noon + Or when the moon + Mocks this sad Ninevah where the throngs weave + Their jostling ways by day, their paths by night; + Where darkness is not--where the streets burn bright + With hectic fevers, eloquent of death! + I gasp for breath.... + Visions have I, visions! So sweet they seem + That from this welter of men and things I turn, to dream + Of the dim Wood-world, calling out to me. + Where forest-virgins I half glimpse, half see + With cool mysterious fingers beckoning! + Where vine-wreathed woodland altars sunlit burn, + Or Dryads dance their mystic rounds and sing, + Sing high, sing low, with magic cadences + That once the wild oaks of Dodona heard; + And every wood-note bids me burst asunder + The bonds that hold me from the leaf-hid bird. + I quaff thee, O Nepenthe! Ah, the wonder + Grows, that there be who buy their wealth, their ease + By damning serfs to cities, hot and blurred, + Far from thy golden quest, Hesperides!... + + + II. + + I see this August sun again + Sheer up high heaven wheel his angry way; + And hordes of men + Bleared with unrestful sleep rise up another day, + Their bodies racked with aftermaths of toil. + Over the city, in each gasping street, + Shudders a haze of heat, + Reverberant from pillar, span and plinth. + Once more, cribbed in this monstrous labyrinth + Sacrificed to the Minotaur of Greed + Men bear the turmoil, glare, sweat, brute inharmonies; + Denial of each simplest human need, + Loss of life's meaning as day lags on day; + And my rebellious spirit rises, flies + In dreams to the green quiet wood away, + Away! Away! + + + III. + + And now, and now...I feel the forest-moss... + Come! On these moss-beds let me lie with Pan, + Twined with the ivy-vine in tendrill'd curls, + And I will hold all gold, that hampers man, + Only the ashes of base, barren dross! + On with the love-dance of the pagan girls! + The pagan girls with lips all rosy-red, + With breasts upgirt and foreheads garlanded, + With fair white foreheads nobly garlanded! + With sandalled feet that weave the magic ring! + Now...let them sing, + And I will pipe a tune that all may hear, + To bid them mind the time of my wild rhyme; + To warn profaning feet lest they draw near. + Away! Away! Beware these mystic trees! + Who dares to quest you now, Hesperides? + + + IV. + + Great men of song, what sing ye? Woodland meadows? + Rocks, trees and rills where sunlight glints to gold? + Sing ye the hills, adown whose sides blue shadows + Creep when the westering day is growing old? + Sing ye the brooks where in the purling shallows + The small fish dart and gleam? + Sing ye the pale green tresses of the willows + That stoop to kiss the stream? + Or sing ye burning streets, foul with the breath + Of sweatshop, tenement, where endlessly + Spawned swarms of folk serve tyrant masters twain-- + Profit, and his twin-brother, grinning Death? + Where millions toil, hedged off from aught save pain? + Far from thee ever, O mine Arcady?... + + +His voice ceased and silence fell between the man and woman in the old +sugar-house. Gabriel sat there by the dying fire, which cast its ruddy +light over his strongly virile face, and gazed into the coals. The girl, +lying on the rude bed, her face eager, her slim strong hands tightly +clasped, had almost forgotten to breathe. + +At last she spoke. + +"That--that is wonderful!" she cried, a tremor of enthusiasm in her +voice. + +He shook his head. + +"No compliments, please," said he. + +"I'm not complimenting you! I think it _is_ wonderful. You're a true +poet!" + +"I wish I were--so I might use it all for Socialism!" + +"You could make a fortune, if you'd work for some paper or +magazine--some regular one, I mean, not Socialist." + +He shook his head. + +"Dead sea fruit," he answered. "Fairy gold, fading in the clutch, +worthless through and through. No, if my work has any merit, it's all +for Socialism, now and ever!" + +Silence again. Neither now found a word to say, but their eyes met and +read each other; and a kind of solemn hush seemed to lie over their +hearts. + +Then, as they sat there, looking each at each--for now the girl had +raised herself on the crude bed and was supporting herself with one +hand--a sudden sound of a motor, on the road, awakened them from their +musing. + +Came the raucous wail of a siren. Then the engine-exhaust ceased; and a +voice, raised in some annoyance, hailed loudly through the maple-grove: + +"Hello! Hello? What's wrong here?" + +Gabriel stepped to the sugar-house door: + +"Here! Come here!" he shouted in a ringing voice that echoed wildly from +between his hollowed palms. + +As the motorist still sat there, uncomprehending, Gabriel made his way +toward the road. + +"Accident here," said he. "Girl in here, injured. Can you take her to +the nearest town, at once? She needs a doctor." + +Instantly the man was out of his car, and hastening toward Gabriel. + +"Eh? What?" he asked. "Anything serious?" + +In a few words, Gabriel told him the outlines of the tale. + +"The quicker you get the girl to a town, and let her have a doctor and +communication with her family, the better," he concluded. + +"Right! I'll do all in my power," said the other, a rather stout, +well-to-do, vulgar-looking man. + +"Good! This way, then!" + +The man followed Gabriel to the sugar-house. They found the girl already +on her feet, standing there a bit unsteadily, but with determination to +be game, in every feature. + +Five minutes later she was in the new-comer's car, which had been turned +around and now was headed back toward Haverstraw. The shawl and robe +serving her as wraps, she was made comfortable in the tonneau. + +"Think you can stand it, all right?" asked Gabriel, as he took in his +the hand she extended. "In half an hour, you'll be under a doctor's +care, and your father will be on his way toward you." + +She nodded, and for a second tightened the grasp of her hand. + +"I--I'm not even going to know who you are?" she asked, a strange tone +in her voice. + +"No," he answered. "And now, good luck, and good-bye!" + +"Good-bye," she echoed, her voice almost inaudible. "I--I won't forget +you." + +He made no answer, but only smiled in a peculiar way. + +Then, as the car rolled slowly forward, their hands separated. + +Gabriel, bareheaded and with level gaze, stood there in the middle of +the great highway, looking after her. A minute, under the darkening +arches of the forest road, he saw her, still. Then the car swung round +a bend, and vanished. + +Had she waved her hand at him? He could not tell. Motionless he stood, a +while, then cleared away the barrier of branches that obstructed the +road, took up his knapsack, and with slow steps returned to the +sugar-house. + +Almost on the threshold, a white something caught his eye. He picked it +up. Her handkerchief! A moment he held the dainty, filmy thing in his +rough hand. A vague perfume reached his nostrils, disquieting and +seductive. + +"More than eighteen dollars an ounce, perhaps!" he exclaimed, with +sudden bitterness; but still he did not throw the handkerchief away. +Instead, he looked at it more keenly. In one corner, the fading light +just showed him some initials. He studied them, a moment. + +"C. J. F." he read. Then, yielding to a sudden impulse, he +folded the kerchief and put it in his pocket. + +He entered the sugar-house, to make sure, before departing, that he had +left no danger of fire behind him. + +Another impulse bade him sit down on a rough box, there, before the +dying embers. He gazed at the bed of leaves, a while, immersed in +thought, then filled his pipe and lighted it with a glowing brand, and +sat there--while the night came--smoking and musing, in a reverie. + +The overpowering lure of the woman who had lain in his arms, as he had +borne her thither; her breath upon his face; the perfume of her, even +her blood that he had washed away--all these were working on his senses, +still. But most of all he seemed to see her eyes, there in the +ember-lit gloom, and hear her voice, and feel her lithe young body and +her breast against his breast. + +For a long time he sat there, thinking, dreaming, smoking, till the last +shred of tobacco was burned out in the heel of his briar; till the last +ember had winked and died under the old sheet-iron stove. + +At last, with a peculiar laugh, he rose, slung the knapsack once more on +his shoulders, settled his cap upon his head, and made ready to depart. + +But still, one moment, he lingered in the doorway. Lingered and looked +back, as though in his mind's eye he would have borne the place away +with him forever. + +Suddenly he stooped, picked up a leaf from the bed where she had lain, +and put that, too, in his pocket where the kerchief was. + +Then, looking no more behind him, he strode off across the maple-grove, +through which, now, the first pale stars were glimmering. He reached the +road again, swung to the north, and, striking into his long marching +stride, pushed onward northward, away and away into the soft June +twilight. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. + +TIGER WALDRON "COMES BACK." + + +Old Isaac Flint loved but two things in all this world--power, and his +daughter Catherine. + +I speak advisedly in putting "power" first. Much as he idolized the +girl, much as she reminded him of the long-dead wife of his youth, he +could have survived the loss of her. The loss of power would inevitably +have crushed and broken him, stunned him, killed him. Yet, so far as +human affection could still blossom in that withered heart, shrunk by +cold scheming and the cruel piracies of many decades, he loved the girl. + +And so it was that when the message came in, that evening, over the +telephone, the news that Kate had been injured in an auto-accident which +had entirely destroyed the machine and killed Herrick, he paled, +trembled, and clutched the receiver, hardly able to hold it to his ear +with his shaking hand. + +"Here! You!" he cried. "She--she's not badly hurt? She's living? She's +safe? No lies, now! The truth!" + +"Your daughter is very much alive, and perfectly safe," a voice +answered. "This is Doctor MacDougal, of Haverstraw, speaking. The +patient is now having a superficial scalp wound dressed by my assistant. +You can speak to her, in a few minutes, if you like." + +"Now! For God's sake, let me speak _now_!" entreated the Billionaire; +but the doctor refused. Not all Flint's urging or bribing would turn him +one hair's breadth. + +"No," he insisted. "In ten minutes she can talk to you. Not now. But +have no fear, sir. She is perfectly safe and--barring her wound, which +will probably heal almost without a scar--is as well as ever. A little +nervous and unstrung, of course, but that's to be expected." + +"What happened, and how?" demanded Flint, in terrible agitation. + +The doctor briefly gave him such facts as he knew, ending with the +statement that a passing automobilist had brought the girl to him, and +outlining the situation of the first-aid measures in the sugar-house. At +the thought that Herrick, the drunken cause of it all, was dead and +burned, Flint smiled with real satisfaction. + +"Damn him! It's too good for the scum!" he muttered. Then, aloud, he +asked over the wire: + +"And who was the rescuer?" + +"I don't know," MacDougal answered. "Your daughter didn't tell me. But +from what I've learned, he must have been a man of rare strength and +presence of mind. It may well be that you owe your daughter's life to +his prompt work." + +"I'll find him, yet. He'll be suitably rewarded," thought the +Billionaire. "No matter what my enemies have called me, I'm not +incapable of gratitude!" + +Some few minutes later, having paced the library floor meanwhile, in +great excitement, he called the doctor's house again by long-distance, +and this time succeeded in having speech with his daughter. Her voice, +though a little weak, vastly reassured him. Once more he asked for the +outline of the story. She told him all the essentials, and finished by: + +"Now, come and get me, won't you, father dear? I want to go home. And +the quicker you come for me, the happier I'll be." + +"Bless your heart, Kate!" he exclaimed, deeply moved. "Nothing like the +old man, after all, is there? Yes, I'll start at once. I've only been +waiting here, to talk with you and _know_ you're safe. In five minutes +I'll be on my way, with the racing-car. And if I don't break a few +records between here and Haverstraw, my name's not Isaac Flint!" + +After an affectionate good-bye, the old man hung up, rang for Slawson, +his private valet, and ordered the swiftest car in his garage made ready +at once, for a quick run. + +Two hours later, Doctor MacDougal had pocketed the largest fee he ever +had received or ever would, again; and Kate was safe at home, in Idle +Hour. + +On the homeward journey, Flint learned every detail of the affair, from +start to finish; and again grimly consigned the soul of the dead +chauffeur to the nethermost pits of Hell. Yes, he realized, he must have +the body brought in and decently buried, after the coroner's verdict had +been rendered; but in his heart he knew that, save for the eye of public +opinion and the law, he would let those charred remnants lie and rot +there, by the river bank, under the twisted wreckage of the car--and +revel in the thought of that last, barbarous revenge. + +Arrived at home, Flint routed specialists out of their offices, and at a +large expense satisfied himself the girl had really taken no serious +harm. Next day, and the days following, all that money and science +could do to make the gash heal without a scar, was done. Waldron called, +greatly unnerved and not at all himself; and Kate received him with +amicable interest. She had not yet informed her father of the rupture +between Waldron and herself, nor did he suspect it. As for "Tiger," he +realized the time was inopportune for any statement of conditions, and +held his peace. But once she should be well, again, he had savagely +resolved this decision of hers should not stand. + +"Damn it, it can't! It mustn't!" he reflected, as on the third evening +he returned to his Fifth Avenue house. "Now that I'm really in danger of +losing her, I'm just beginning to realize what an extraordinary woman +she is! As a wife, the mistress of my establishment, a hostess, a social +leader, what a figure she would make! And too, the alliance between +Flint and myself simply must not be shattered. Kate is the only child. +The old man's billion, or more, will surely come to her, practically +every penny of it. Flint is more than sixty-three this very minute, he's +a dope-fiend, and his heart's damned weak. He's liable to drop off, any +moment. If I get Kate, and he dies, what a fortune! What a prize! Added +to my interests, it will make me master of the world! + +"Then, too, this new Air Trust scheme positively demands that Flint and +I should be bound together by something closer than mere financial +association. I've simply got to be one of the family. I've got to be his +son-in-law. That's a positive necessity! God, what a fool I was at +Longmeadow, to have taken those three drinks, and have been piqued at +her beating me--to have let my tongue and temper slip--in short, to have +acted like an ass!" + +Ugly and grim, he puffed at his Londres. Vast schemes of finance and of +conquest wove through his busy, plotting brain. Visions of the girl +arose, too, tempting him still more, though his chill heart was +powerless to feel the urge of any real, self-sacrificing or devoted +love. Sensual passion he knew, and ambition, and the lust of power; +nothing else. But these all opened his eyes to the vast blunder he had +committed, and nerved him to reconquest of the ground that he had lost. + +"I can win her, yet," reflected he, as his car swung into the long and +brilliant night-vista of Fifth Avenue. "I know women, and I understand +the game. Flowers, letters, telephone calls, attention every day--every +hour, if need be--these are the artillery to batter down the strongest +fortresses of indifference, even of dislike. And she shall have them +all--all and more. Wally, old chap, you've never been beaten at any +game, whether in the Street or in the pursuit of woman. You'll win yet; +you're bound to win! And Kate shall yet open the door to you, toward +wealth and power and position such as never yet were seen on earth!" + +Thus fortified by his own determination, he slept more calmly that +night. And, on the morrow, his campaign began. + +It lasted but a week. + +At the end of that time, a friendly little note from Idle Hour told him, +frankly and in the kindest manner possible, that--much as she still +liked and respected him--Catherine could not, now or ever, think of him +in any other way than as a friend. + +Stunned by this body-blow, "Tiger" first swore with hideous blasphemies +that caused his valet to retreat precipitately from the famous, +nymph-frieze bedchamber; then ordered drink, then walked the floor a +while in a violent passion; and finally knit up his decision. + +"By God!" he swore, shaking his fist in the direction of Englewood. +"She's balky, eh? She won't, eh? But _I_ say she _will_! And if I can't +make her, there's her father, who can. Together we can break this +stiff-necked spirit and bring her to time. Hm! Fancy anybody or anything +in this world setting up opposition to Flint and Waldron, combined! Just +fancy it, that's all! + +"So then, what's to do? This: See her father and have a heart-to-heart +talk with him. It's obvious she hasn't told him, yet, the real state of +affairs. I doubt if the old idiot has even noticed the absence of my +ring from her finger. And if he has, she's been able to fool him, easily +enough. But not much longer, so help me! + +"No, this very morning he shall hear from me, the whole infernal +story--he shall learn his daughter's unreasonable rebellion, the slight +she's put upon me and her opposition to his will. _Then_ we shall +see--we shall see who's master in that family, he or the girl!" + +With this strong determination in his superheated mind, Waldron rang up +Flint, asked for a private talk, at eleven, in the Wall Street office, +and made ready the mustering of his arguments; his self-defense; his +appeals to Flint's every sense of interest and liking; his whole plea +for the resumption of the broken betrothal. + +And Catherine, all this time of convalescence--what were her thoughts, +and whither were they straying? Not thoughts of Waldron, that is sure, +despite his notes, his telephoning, his flowers, his visits. Not to him +did they wander, as she sat in her sunny bedroom bay-window, looking +out over the great, close cropped lawn, through the oaks and elms, to +the Palisades and the sparkling Hudson beneath. + +No, not to Waldron. Yet wander they did, despite her; and with +persistence they followed channels till then quite unknown to her. + +What might these channels be? And whither, I ask again, did the girl's +memories and fancies, her wondering thoughts, her vague, half-formulated +longings, lead? + +You, perhaps, can answer, as well as I, if you but remember +that--Billionaire's daughter though she was, and all unversed in the +hard realities of life--she was, at heart and soul, very much a woman +after all. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. + +THOUGHTS. + + +During the long days, the June days, of her convalescence, Catherine +found herself involuntarily reverting, more often than she could +understand, to thoughts of the inscrutable and unknown man who had in +all probability saved her life. + +"Had it not been for him," she reflected, as she sat there gazing out +over the river, "I might not be here, this minute. Caught as I was, on +the very brink of the precipice, I should almost certainly have slipped +and fallen over, in my dazed condition, when I tried to get up. If I'd +been alone, if he hadn't found me just when he did--!" + +She shuddered at thought of what must almost inevitably have happened, +and covered her face with both hands. Her cheeks burned; she knew +emotion such as not once had Waldron's kiss ever been able to arouse in +her. The memory of how she, half-unconscious, had lain in that +stranger's arms, so powerful and tense; had been carried by him, as +though she had been a child; had felt his breath upon her face and the +quick, vigorous beating of his heart--all this, and more, dwelt in her +soul, nor could she banish it. + +Gratitude? Yes, and more. For the first time in her two-and-twenty +years, Catherine had sensed the power, the virility of a real man--not +of the make-believe, manicured and tailored parasites of her own +class--and something elemental in her, some urge of primitive womanhood, +grappled her to that memory and, all against her will, caused her to +live and re-live those moments, time and time again, as the most strange +and vital of her life. + +Yet, it was not this physical call alone, in her, that had awakened her +being. The man's eyes, and mouth and hair, true, all remained with her +as a subtly compelling lure; his strength and straight directness seemed +to conquer her and draw her to him; but beyond all this, something in +his speech, in his ideas and the strange reticence that had so puzzled +her, kept him even more constantly in her wondering thoughts. + +"A workingman," she murmured to herself, in uncomprehending revery, "he +said he was a workingman--and he knew that I was very, very rich. He +knew my father would have rewarded him magnificently, given him money, +work, anything he might have asked. And yet, and yet--he would not even +tell his name. And he refused to know mine! He didn't want to know! His +pride--why, in all my life, among all the proud, rich people that I've +known, I've never found such pride as that!" + +She reflected what would have happened had any man of the usual type +rescued her, even a man of wealth and position. Of course, thought she, +that man would have made himself known and would have called on her, +ostensibly to inquire after her condition, yet really to ingratiate +himself. At this reflection she shuddered again. + +"Ugh!" she whispered. "He'd have tried to take liberties, any other man +would. He'd have presumed on the accident--he'd have been--oh, +everything that _that_ man was not, and could never be!" + +Now her thoughts wandered to the brief talk they two had had there in +the old sugar-house. Every word of it seemed graven on her memory. +Disconnected bits of what he had told her, seemed to float before her +mental vision--: "I? Oh, I'm just an out-of-work--don't ask me who I am; +and I won't ask who _you_ are. We're of different worlds, I guess--don't +question me; I'd rather you wouldn't. Am I happy? Yes, in a way, or +shall be, when I've done what I mean to do!" + +Such were some of his phrases that kept coming back to her, as she sat +there in that luxurious and beautiful room, her book lying unread in her +lap, the scent of flowers everywhere, and, merely for her taking, all +the world's treasures hers to command. Strange man, indeed, and stranger +speech, to her! Never had she been thus spoken to. His every word and +thought and point of view, commonplace enough, perhaps, seemed +peculiarly stimulating to her, and wakened eager curiosity, and would +not let her live in peace, as heretofore. + +"He said he was a Socialist, too," she murmured, "whatever that may be. +But he--he didn't _look_ it! On the contrary, he looked remarkably clean +and intelligent. And the words he used were the words of an educated +man. Far better vocabulary than Waldron's, for example; and as for poor +little Van Slyke, and that set, why this man's mind seems to have +towered above them as the Palisades tower above the river! + +"Happy? Rich? He said he was both--and all he had was eighteen dollars +and his two big hands! Just fancy that, will you? He might as well have +said eighteen cents; it would have been about as much! And I--what did +I tell him? I told him I, with all my money and everything, was vacant, +empty, futile! Just those words. And--God help me, I--I am!" + +Suddenly, she felt her eyes were wet. What was the reason? Herself she +knew not. All she knew was that with her beautiful and queenly head +bowed on the arm of her Japanese silk morning gown, as its loose sleeves +lay along the edge of the Chippendale table, she was crying like a +child. + +Crying bitterly; and yet in a kind of new, strange joy. Crying with +tears so bitter-sweet that she, herself, could not half understand them; +could not fathom the deeper meaning that lay hidden there. + +"If!" she whispered to her heart. "If only I were of his class, or he of +mine!" + +And Gabriel, what of him? + +As he swung north and westward, day by day, on the long hike toward +Niagara, the memory of the girl went with him, and hour by hour bore him +company. + +He was not forgetting. Could he forget? Strive as he might, to thrust +her out of his heart and soul, she still indwelt there. + +Not all his philosophy, nor all his realization that this woman he had +saved, this woman who had lain in his two arms and mingled her breath +with his, belonged to another and an alien class, could banish her. + +And as he strode along, swinging his knotted stick at the daisies and +pondering on all that might have been and now could never be, a sudden, +passionate longing burst over him, as a long sea-roller, hurled against +a cliff, flings upward in vast tourbillions of spume. + +Raising his face to the summer sky, his bare head high with emotion and +his eyes wide with the thought of strange possibilities that shook and +intoxicated him, he cried: + +"Oh--would God she were an orphan and an outcast! Would God she had no +penny in this world to call her own!" + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. + +FLINT AND WALDRON PLAN. + + +"Tiger" Waldron's interview with old man Flint, regarding Catherine's +breaking of the engagement, was particularly electric. Promptly at the +appointed hour, Waldron appeared, shook hands with the older man, sat +down and lighted a cigar, then proceeded to business. + +"Flint," said he, without any ado, "I've come here to tell you some very +unpleasant news and to ask your help. Can you stand the one, and give me +the other?" + +The Billionaire looked at him through his pince-nez, poised on that +vulture-beak, with some astonishment. Then he smiled nervously, showing +his gleaming tooth of gold, and answered: + +"Yes, I guess so. What's wrong?" + +"What's wrong? Everything! Catherine has broken our engagement!" + +For a moment old Flint sat there motionless and staring. Then, moving +his head forward with a peculiar, pecking twitch that still further +enhanced his likeness to a buzzard, he stammered: + +"You--you mean--?" + +"I mean just what I say. Your daughter has severed the betrothal. +Haven't you noticed my ring was gone from her finger?" + +"Gone? Bless my soul, no--that is, yes--maybe. I don't know. But--but +at any rate, I thought nothing of it. So then, you say--she's broken it +off? But, why? And when? And--and tell me, Wally, what's it all about?" + +"Listen, and I _will_ tell you," Tiger answered. "And I'll give it to +you straight. I'm partly at fault. Mostly so, it may be. Let me assume +all the blame, at any rate. I'm not sparing myself and have no intention +of doing so. My conduct, I admit, was beastly. No excuses offered. All I +want to do, now, is to make the _amende honorable_, be forgiven, and +have the former status resumed." + +Thus spoke Waldron. But all the time his soul lay hot within him, at +having so to humble himself before Flint; at being thus obliged to eat +crow, and fawn and feign and creep. + +"If I didn't need your billion, old man," his secret thought was, as he +eyed Flint with pretended humility, "you might go to Hell, for all of +me--you and your daughter with you, damn you both!" + +The Billionaire sat blinking, for a moment. Then, picking up a pencil +and idly scrawling pothooks on the big clean sheet of blotting-paper +that covered his reference-book table, beside which the men were +sitting, he asked: + +"Well, what's the trouble all about? What are the facts? I must have +those, in full, before I can guarantee to do anything toward changing my +daughter's opinion. Much as I deplore her action, Wally, I don't know +whether she's right or wrong, till you tell me. Now, let's have it." + +"I will," the other answered; and he was as good as his word. Realizing +the prime futility of any subterfuge, or any misstatement of +fact--which Catherine would surely discover and tell her father, and +which would react against him--Waldron began at the beginning and +narrated the entire affair, with every detail precisely accurate. Nay, +he even exaggerated the offensiveness of his conduct, at the Longmeadow +Club, and in various ways gave the Billionaire to understand that he was +a more serious offender than in truth he really was. For, after all, the +only real offense was the lack of any compatibility between the girl and +himself--the total absence of love. + +Flint listened carefully and with a judicial expression. If he blamed +Waldron, he made no statement of that fact. A man himself, and one who +viewed man's weaknesses and woman's foibles with a cynic eye, he could +judge motives and weigh actions with considerable skill. + +"I see, I see," he commented, when Waldron had quite done, and had +poured forth a highly false declaration of his great love for the girl +and his determination that this rupture should not be permanent. "I +understand the case, I think. It all seems an unfortunate accident--just +one of those unavoidable incidents which strike into and upset human +calculations, against all expectation. + +"You're not terribly guilty, Waldron. You acted inconsiderably. +Irritatingly, perhaps, and not wholly like a gentleman--for which, blame +the rotten Scotch they _will_ persist in selling, out there at +Longmeadow. But even that's not fatal. Many men have done worse and been +forgiven. I'll have a talk with Catherine, inside a day or two, when the +psychological moment offers. And you may be sure, if a father's advice +and good offices are of any avail, this little quarrel will be all +patched up between you two. Surely will be! I can almost positively +promise you that!" + +"Promise it?" asked Waldron, leaning eagerly forward, a strange light in +those close-set, greenish eyes. + +Flint nodded. "Yes," he answered. "I've never yet failed to bring Kate +to reason and good common-sense, when I've set out to. This will be no +exception. My word and my counsel possess the greatest weight with her. +She'll listen and be advised, I'm sure. So have no uneasiness," he +concluded, holding out his hand to his partner. "Leave everything to me. +You'll see, it will all come right, in the end." + +"Tiger" shook his hand, cordially. + +"I haven't words to thank you!" he exclaimed, with as much emotion as he +could simulate from a perfectly cold heart and calculating soul. + +"Don't try to," the Billionaire replied, with seeming benevolence. "All +the thanks I want, Wally, is to patch up this little difficulty and +reunite two--that is--two loving, sympathetic hearts!" + +"You old hypocrite!" Waldron thought, eyeing him. "All _you_ want of me, +if anything, is to keep me as your partner, because you know you're +growing old and losing your grip, and I'm still in the game with all +four claws! Paternal philanthropist _you_ are--I don't think!" + +Wally was dead right. + +"I can't lose this man," the Billionaire was thinking. "Whether or no, +Kate has got to marry him. This Air Trust business demands a strong, a +quick, a perfectly unscrupulous hand. And no outsider will do. My +partner has got to be my son-in-law. Love be damned! Romantic slush can +go to Hell! Kate will marry him--she's _got_ to--or I'll know the reason +why! + +"Though, after all," he soothed his conscience, as Waldron stood up, +walked to the window and stood gazing out as he smoked, "after all, +Wally will make her as happy, I fancy, as any man. He's a fine figure in +the world, commanding, heavily propertied, energetic and successful, +also of the finest family connections. Yes, a husband any woman might +admire and be proud of. Certainly, the only son-in-law for _me_. Even if +she can't idolize and worship him, as some fool women think they must, a +man, she can respect and be respected with him. And with him she can +take the highest position in the land, without a qualm as to his +competence and manner. Beside all that, what's love? Love? Bah!" + +With which philosophy, he too arose, went back into his own office, and +returned to the dictating of some very private letters to Slade, the +Cosmos Detective Agency manager, _in re_ the ferreting-out and jailing +or deporting of all Socialists and labor leaders at Niagara. This +preparatory work on the ground of the huge new Air Trust plant, he +deemed most essential. The Cosmos people, scenting a big contract, had +fostered his belief, and now, already, the work was well under way. +Subterranean methods were still sufficing; but, should these fail, +others lay in the background. + +Flint smiled a grim, vulturine smile as he read over the finished +letters of instruction, a few minutes later. + +"And to think," he mused, as he finished them, "that these fanatics +believe--really believe--they can make headway anywhere in this country, +now! Ten years ago, yes, they might have. But that's not today. Then, +publie opinion--stupid and futile as it was--could still be aroused. +Then, there was a really effective labor and Socialist press. And the +Limited Franchise Bill hadn't gone through. Neither had the enlarged +Military Bill, the National Censorship nor even the Grays--the National +Mounted Police. While _now_--ah, thank Heaven, it's all so different and +so easy that I call myself a fool, at times, for even giving these +matters a single thought! + +"Well," he concluded, handing the letters back to his confidential +secretary, for mailing, "well, now _that's_ done, at any rate. So then, +to the S. & S. committee meeting. And tonight my little +talk with Kate. I'll soon bring her to reason, I'm sure. There's nothing +can't be accomplished by a little patience and persuasion." + +The old Billionaire chose his time well, that night, for the vital +interview with his daughter, who had so far rebelled against his +authority as to break with the man most eminently acceptable to him. +After a simple but exquisite dinner in the Venetian room, he asked the +girl to play for him, which (he knew) always pleased her and put her in +a receptive mood. + +"Play for you, father?" she answered. "Of course I will, anything and as +much as you like! What shall it be, tonight? Chopin, or Grieg, or--?" + +"Anything that pleases you, suits me, my dear," he answered, smiling +with satisfaction at his ruse. Never had he felt more masterful. He had +allowed himself a trifle more morphia than usual that day, by reason of +the approaching interview; and now the subtle drug filled him with +well-being and seemed to enhance his self-control and power. Lighting a +cigar--rare treat for him--he offered Kate his arm; and together, +unattended by any valet or domestic, they walked along the high, +paneled hallway, hung with Gobelin tapestries, and so reached the +magnificent music-room which Kate claimed, in a way, as her own special +place at Idle Hour. + +Here everything suggested harmony. The mahogany wainscotted walls were +decked with fine portraits of the world's great masters of melody. +Handsome cabinets contained costly and elaborate collections and folios +of music, a complete library of the entire world's best productions. The +girl's harp--a masterpiece by Pestalozzi of Venice--stood at one side; +on the other, a five hundred dollar Victrola, with a wonderful +repertoire of records. But the grand piano itself dominated all, +especially made for Catherine by Durand Frères, in Paris, and imported +on the Billionaire's own yacht, the "Bandit." A wondrous instrument, +this, finer even than the pipe-organ in an alcove at the far end of the +room. It summed up all that the world's masters knew of +instrument-production; and its cost, from factory to its present place +at Idle Hour, represented twenty years' wages, and more, of any of +Flint's slaves in the West Virginia mines or the Glenn Pool oil-fields +of Oklahoma. + +At this magnificent piano the girl now seated herself, on a bench of +polished teak, from Mindanao. And, turning to her father, who had sunk +down in his favorite easy-chair of Russia leather, she asked with a +smile: + +"Well, daddy, what shall I play for you, to-night?" + +He looked at her a minute, before replying. Never had she seemed to +dear, so beautiful to him. The rose-tinted light that fell softly from a +Bohemian chandelier over her head, flooded her coiled hair, her face, +her hands, with soft warm color. The slight dressing that her wound now +required was covered by a deft arrangement of her hair. She had regained +her usual tint. Nothing now told of the accident, the close call she had +had, from death, so short a time before. And old Flint smiled, as he +answered her: + +"What shall you play? Anything you like, my dear. You know best--only, +don't make it too classical. Your old father isn't up to that ultra +music, you know, and never will be!" + +She smiled again with understanding, and turned to the keyboard. Then, +without notes, and with a delicate touch of perfectly modulated +interpretation, she began to render "Traümerei," as though she, too, had +been dreaming of something that might have been. + +Flint listened, with perfect content. The music soothed and quieted him. +Even the foreknowledge of the difficult task that lay before him, the +interview that he must have with his daughter, faded from his mind, a +little, and left him wholly calm. Eyes closed, every sense intent on the +delicious harmony, he followed the masterpiece to the end; and sighed +when the last notes had died away, and kept silence. + +Then Kate, still needing no music on the rack before her, played the +"Miserere" from "Il Trovatore," a Hungarian "Czardas," Mendelssohn's +"Frühlingslied" and the overture from "William Tell." She followed these +with the "Intermezzo" and the "Pizzicato" from "Sylvia," and then with +"Narcissus" and "Sans Souci." And at the end of this, she paused again; +for now her father had arisen and come close to her. With a hand on her +shoulder, looking down at her with stern yet kindly eyes, he said: + +"'Sans Souci'? That means 'Without Care,' doesn't it, Kate?" + +"Yes, Daddy. Why?" she answered. + +"Oh, I was just thinking, that's all," said he. "It made me wish _I_ had +no cares, no troubles, no sorrows." + +"Sorrows, father? Why should you have sorrows?" she queried, turning to +him and taking both his shriveled hands in her warm, strong ones. + +"Sorrows? Why shouldn't I?" said he. "Every man of large affairs has +them. Every father has them, too." And he bent over her and kissed her, +with unusual emotion. + +"Every father?" asked she. "What do you mean? Am _I_ a sorrow to you?" + +"A joy in many ways," he answered. "In some, a sorrow." + +"In what ways?" she asked quickly, her eyes widening. + +"In this way, most of all," he told her, as he took her left hand up, +and pointed at the finger where Waldron's ring had been and now no +longer was. + +She looked at him a moment, hardly understanding; then bowed her head. + +"Father," she whispered. "Forgive me--but I couldn't! I--I couldn't! No, +not for the world!" + +Flint's drug-contracted eyes hardened as he stood there gazing down at +her. Once, twice he essayed to speak, but found no words. At last, +however, blinking nervously, he said: + +"This, Kate, is what I want to talk with you about, to-night. Will you +hear me?" + + + + +CHAPTER XIX. + +CATHERINE'S DEFIANCE. + + +"Hear you, best and dearest father in the world?" she cried, looking +quickly up at him again. "Of course I will! Only, I beg you, +don't--don't ask me to--" + +"I will ask you nothing, Kate, my girl, save this--to consider +everything well, and to act like a reasoning, thinking creature, not +like an impetuous and romantic school-girl!" + +Releasing her hands, he once more sat down in the easy-chair, crossed +his legs and peered keenly at her, to fathom if he could the inner +workings of that other brain and heart. + +"Well, father," she said, "I'll admit, right away, that I've done wrong +to keep this from you, or to try to. We--I--broke the engagement, that +day of the accident, out at Longmeadow. I _meant_ to tell you, tell you +everything and explain it all, but somehow--" + +"You needn't explain, my dear," said Flint, judicially. "Wally has +already done so." + +"And does he blame me, father?" cried the girl, eagerly, clasping her +hands on her knees. + +"No, not at all. On the contrary, he claims the fault is all his own. +And he's most contrite and repentant, Kate. Absolutely so. All he asks +in the world is to make amends and--well, resume the old relation, +whenever you are willing." + +Kate shook her head. + +"That's noble and big of him, father," said she, "to assume all the +blame. Really, half of it is mine. But he's acted like a true man, in +taking it. However, that can't change my decision. I want him for a +friend, in every way. But for a husband, no, no, never in this world!" + +The Billionaire frowned darkly. Already a stronger opposition was +developing than he had expected; and opposition was the one thing in all +the world that he could neither tolerate nor endure. + +"Listen, Kate," said he. "You don't grasp the situation at all. Waldron +is an extraordinary man in many ways. In refusing him, you seriously +injure yourself. Of course, he has never done any spectacular, heroic +thing for you, like--for instance--that young man who rescued you, and +whom I shall suitably reward as soon as I find him--" + +"What!" she exclaimed, peering eagerly at her father. "What do you mean? +Find him? Reward him?" + +"Eh? Why, naturally," the Billionaire replied, scowling at the +interruption. "His game of refusing his identity was, of course, just a +clever dodge on his part. He certainly must expect something out of it. +I have--er--set certain forces at work to discover him; and, as I say, +when I've done so, I will reward him liberally, and--" + +"You'd better _not_!" ejaculated Kate, with animation. "He isn't the +sort of man you can take liberties with!" + +"Hm? What now?" said Flint, with vexation. "What do _you_ know about +him?" + +"Oh, nothing, nothing, father," the girl answered quickly. "Only, I +think you're making a mistake to try and force a reward on a man who +doesn't want it. But no matter," she added, her face tinged by a warmer +glow--which Flint was quick to see. "Forgive my interruption. Now, about +Wally?" + +The old man peered intently at his daughter, a full minute, then with a +peculiar sinking at his heart, made shift to say: + +"About Wally, yes; you simply don't understand. That's all. Listen now, +Kate, and be reasonable." + +"I will, daddy. Only don't ask me to marry a man I don't and can't love, +ever, ever, so long as I live!" + +"That isn't anything, my girl. Love isn't all." + +"It is, to _me_! Without it, marriage is only--" She shuddered. "No, +daddy; a thousand times better for me to be an old maid, and--and all +that, than give myself to _him_!" + +Flint set his teeth hard together. + +"Kate," said he, his voice like wire, "now hear what I have to say! I +want you fully to understand the character and desirability of Maxim +Waldron!" + +Then in a cold, analytic voice, carefully, point by point, he analyzed +the suitor, told of his wealth and power, his connections and his +prospects, his culture, travel, political influence and world-wide +reputation. + +"Furthermore," he added, while Kate listened with an expression as cold +as her father's tone itself, "he is my partner. We are allied, in +business. I hope we may be, too, in family. This man is one that any +woman in the world might be proud to call her husband--proud, and glad! +Love flies away, in a few brief months or years. Wealth and power and +respect remain. And, with these, love too may come. Be strong, Kate! Be +sensible! You are no child, but a grown woman. I shall not try to force +you. All I want to do is show you your own best interest. Think this all +over. Sleep on it. Tomorrow, let us talk of it again. For your own sake, +and mine, do as you should, and let folly be averted. Renew the +engagement. Hush the breath of gossip and scandal. Conform. Play the +game! Do right--be strong!" + +She only shook her head; and now he saw the glister of tear-drops in +those beautiful gray eyes. + +"Father," cried she, standing up and holding out both hands to him. +"Have mercy on me! I can't--I can't! My heart refuses and I cannot force +it. All this--what is it to me?" She swept her hand at the glowing +luxury around her. "Without love, what would such another home be to me? +Worse than a prison-cell, I swear! A living death, to one like me! +Barter and sale--cold calculation--oh, horrible prostitution, horrible, +unspeakable! + +"Poverty, with love--yes, I would choose it. Without love, I never, +never can give myself! Never, as long as I live!" + +The Billionaire, too, stood up. He was shaking, now, as in a palsy, +striving to control his rage. His fingers twitched spasmodically, and +his eyes burned like firecoals behind those gleaming lenses. + +Then, as he peered at her, he suddenly went even paler than before. +Through his heart a stab of understanding had all at once gone home. The +veils were lifted, and he knew the truth. + +Her manner in speaking of that unknown, wandering rescuer; the blush +that had burned from breast to brow, when he had mentioned the fellow; +her aversion for Waldron and her reticence in talking of the +accident--all this, and more, now surged on Flint's comprehension, +flooding his mind with light--with light and with terrible anger. + +And, losing all control, he took a step or two, and raised his shaking +hand. His big-knuckled finger, shaken in denunciation, was raised almost +in her face. Choking, stammering, he cried: + +"Ah! Now I know! Now, now I understand you!" + +Terrified, she retreated toward the door of the music-room. + +"Father, father! What makes you look so?" she gasped. "Oh, you have +never looked or spoken to me this way! What--what can it be?" + +"What can it be?" he mouthed at her. "You ask me, you hypocrite, when +you well know?" + +Suddenly she faced him, stiffening into pride and hard rebellion. + +"No more of that, father!" she exclaimed, her eyes blazing. "I am your +daughter, but you can't talk to me thus. You must not!" + +"Who--who are _you_ to say 'must not?'" he gibed, now wholly beside +himself. "You--you, who love a vagabond, a tramp, scum and off-scouring +of the gutter?" + +A strange, half-choking sound was his only answer. Then, with no word, +she turned away from him, biting her lip lest she answer and betray +herself. + +"Go!" he commanded, bloodless and quivering. "Go to your room. No more +of this! We shall see, soon, who's master of this house!" + +She was already gone. + +Old Flint stood there a moment, listening to her retreating footfalls on +the parquetry of the vast hall. Then, as these died he turned and +groped his way, as though blind, back to his chair, and fell in it, and +covered his eyes with both his shaking hands. + +For a long time he sat there, anguished and crucified amid all that +unmeaning luxury and splendor. + +At last he rose and with uncertain steps sought his own suite, +above-stairs. + +Billionaire and world-master though he was, that night he knew his heart +lay dead within him. He realized that all the fruits of life were Dead +Sea fruits, withered to dust and ashes on his pale and quivering lips. + + + + +CHAPTER XX. + +THE BILLIONAIRE'S PLOT. + + +He was aroused from this bitter revery by a rapping at the door. +Opening, he admitted Slawson, his valet. The servile one handed him a +letter with a special-delivery stamp on it. + +"Excuse me for intruding, sir," said Slawson, meekly smiling, "but I +knew this was urgent." + +"All right. Get out!" growled Flint. When the man was gone, he fortified +himself with a couple of morphine tablets, and ripped the long envelope. +It was from Slade, he knew, of the Cosmos Agency. + +With a rapid eye he glanced it over. Then uttering a sudden oath, he +studied it carefully, under the electric bulb beside his dressing-table. + +"Gods and devils!" he ejaculated. "What next?" + +The letter read: + + 142A Park Row, New York City, June 28, 1921. + + Isaac L. Flint, Esq., + + Idle Hour, Englewood, N. J. + + Dear Sir: + + Reporting in the matter of the young man who rescued your + daughter, in the recent accident, let me say I have discovered his + identity and some important facts concerning him. I take the + liberty of thinking that your intention of rewarding him, when + found, will be somewhat modified by this information. + + This man's name is Gabriel Armstrong, age 24. Occupation, expert + electrical and chemical worker. A Socialist and labor agitator, of + the most dangerous type, because intellectual and well-read. A man + of considerable power and influence in Socialist and labor + circles. Has been something of a wanderer. Is well known to union + men and Socialists, all over the country. A powerful speaker, and + resourceful. + + He was last employed at your testing-works on Staten Island. + Discharged by your Mr. Herzog, about two weeks ago for having, I + understand, been in possession of a certain red-covered note-book, + which Mr. Herzog found in his pocket. This book is the same which + you commissioned me to find, but which Mr. Herzog returned to you + before I undertook the search for it. The inference is that this + Armstrong is in possession of some private information about your + work, which may make him even more dangerous. Herzog informs me + that you and Mr. Waldron have had Armstrong blacklisted. But this + seems of no importance to the man, as he is clever and can live + anywhere, by casual labor and by working with the Socialists. + + Armstrong is now at Syracuse. He has been tramping the roads. Have + had two of my operators enter his room at the Excelsior Lodging + House and search, his effects, while he was taking a bath. Can find + nothing to give me any legal means of proceeding against him. He + has some ready money, so a vagrancy-charge will not hold. If you + wish me to resort to extreme measures to "get" him, kindly give me + carte blanche, and guarantee me protection in case of trouble. The + job can be done, but it may be risky, in view of his influence and + backing among the Socialists and labor people. Before proceeding + further I want to know how far you will support me. + + Am having him shadowed. He cannot get away. As yet he suspects + nothing. On receipt of your next, will take measures to put him + away for a few months. I know that, once he lands behind bars, his + finish can be easily arranged. + + Trusting this information will prove satisfactory to you, and + awaiting your further instructions, I am, + + Very truly yours, + + THE COSMOS AGENCY, + + Dillon F. Slade, Mgr. + +Old Flint read this extraordinary communication twice through, then, +raising his head, growled in his shrunken throat, for all the world like +a wild beast. His gold tooth, gleaming in the light, made his rictus of +passion more venomous, more malevolent still. + +"The--the Hell-hound!" he stammered, his eyes narrowed with hate and +rage. "Oh, wait! Wait till we land him! And this--_this_ is the devil, +the scum, that Kate, my daughter--" + +He could not finish; but, clutching at his sparse gray hair, fell to +pacing the floor and mouthing execrations. Had he been of the sanguine +manner of body, he must inevitably have suffered an apoplexy. Only his +spare frame and bloodless type, due to the drug, saved his life, at that +first shock of rage and hate. + +Grown calmer, presently, he took quick action. Seating himself at a desk +in the corner of his bed-chamber--a desk where some of his most +important private matters had been put through--he chose a sheet of +blank paper, with no monogram, and wrote: + + Take immediate action. Will back you to the limit, and beyond. Ten + thousand bonus if you land him behind bars inside a week. Stop at + nothing, but get results. F. + +This he folded and put in an envelope which he addressed to Slade, and +was about to seal, when another idea struck him. + +"By God!" he exclaimed, smiting the desk. "It won't do to have this just +some ordinary charge. The thing has got to be disgraceful, unpardonable, +hideous! + +"There are two things to be considered now. One is to 'get' him, in +connection with that red book of my plans--to head him off from making +any possible trouble in the development of the Air Trust. + +"The other is--Kate! Nothing catches a woman, like martyrdom. If +anything happens to this cur, and she suspects that I've done it, out of +spite, all Hell can't hold her. I know her well enough for _that_. No, +this fellow has got to be put away on some charge that will absolutely +and utterly ruin him, in her eyes, for good and all--that will blast and +wreck him, forever, with her. Something that, when I tell her, will fill +her with loathing and horror. Something that will cause a terrible and +complete revulsion of feeling in her, and bring her back to Waldron, as +to a strong refuge in time of trouble. Something that will crush and +quell her, utterly cure her of those idiotic, school-girl notions of +hers, and make her--as she should be--submissive to my will and my +demands!" + +He pondered a moment, an ugly, crafty smile on those old lips of his; +then, struck by sudden inspiration, laughed a dry, harsh laugh. + +"The very thing!" he exulted, with the mirth of a vulture that has just +found a peculiarly revolting mass of carrion. "Fool that I was, not to +have thought of it before!" + +Hastily he withdrew the letter from the envelope, opened it, and with +eager hand wrote three short sentences. He read these over, nodded +approval, and this time sealed and addressed the letter. Then he pushed +an electric button over the desk. + +"Have this letter carried to this address at once," he commanded +Slawson. "Mr. Dillon Slade, 432 Highland Avenue, Rutherford, N. J. +See? Special delivery won't do. Have Sanders take it at once, in the +racer. No answer required. And after you've seen it start on its way, +come back here. I want to go to bed." + +"Yes, sir. All right, sir," the valet bowed as he took the letter and +departed. + +Ten minutes later, he was back again, helping old Flint undress. + +Long after the Billionaire was in bed, in the big, luxurious room, with +its windows open toward the river--the room guarded all night by armed +men in the house and on the lawn outside--he lay there thinking of his +plot, chuckling to himself over its infernal cunning, and filled with +joy at the prospects now opening out ahead of him. + +"Two birds with one stone, this time, for sure," he pondered. "Ha! +They'll try to beat old Isaac Flint at this or any other game, will +they? Man or woman, I don't care which, they'll never get away with +it--never, so long as life and breath remain in me!" + +Then, soothed by these happy thoughts, and by a somewhat increased +dosage of his drug, the Billionaire gradually and contentedly fell +asleep, to dream of victory, and vengeance, and power. + +Not in weeks had he slumbered so peacefully. + +But for many hours after her father was asleep, Catherine sat at her +window, in a silk kimono, and with fevered pulses and dry eyes, with +throbbing heart and leaping pulses, thought long thoughts. + +Sleepless she sat there, counting the hours tolled from the church-spire +in the town, below. + +Morning still found her at the window, her brain afire, her heart laid +desolate and waste by the consuming struggle which, that night, had +swept and ravaged it. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI. + +GABRIEL, GOOD SAMARITAN. + + +On the evening of July third, a week later, Gabriel Armstrong found +himself at Rochester, having tramped the hundred miles from Syracuse, by +easy stages. During this week, old Flint took good care not to reopen +the subject of the break with Waldron; and his daughter, too, avoided +it. They two were apparently at an impasse regarding it. But Flint +inwardly rejoiced, knowing full well the plot now under way. And though +Waldron urged him to take some further action and force the issue, Flint +bade him hold his peace, and wait, telling him all would yet be well. + +Outwardly calmer, the old man was raging, within, more and ever more +bitterly, against Armstrong. On July first, Slade had reported in person +that his operators who were trailing the quarry had--in the +night--discovered in one of his pockets a maple leaf wrapped in a fine +linen handkerchief marked "C. J. F." Flint, recognizing his +daughter's initials, well-nigh burst a blood-vessel for wrath. But he +instructed Slade not to have the handkerchief abstracted from +Armstrong's possession. By no sign or hint must the victim be made aware +that he was being spied upon. When the final blow should fall, then +(reflected the Billionaire, with devilish satisfaction) all scores would +be paid in full, and more than paid. + +July third, then, found Gabriel at Rochester, now seventy-five or +eighty miles from Niagara Falls, his goal, where--he had already +heard--ground was being actually broken for the huge new power plant of +which he alone, of all outsiders, understood the meaning. Gabriel +counted on spending the Fourth at Rochester where a Socialist picnic and +celebration had been arranged. Ordinarily, he would have taken part in +the work and volunteered as a speaker, but now, anxious to keep out of +sight, he counted merely on forming one of the crowd. There could be +little danger, thought he, in such a mass. Despite the recent stringent +censorship and military rule of the district by the new Mounted Police, +a huge gathering was expected. The big railway and lake-traffic strikes, +both recently lost, had produced keen resentment, and, as political and +economic power had been narrowed here, as all over the country, in these +last few months of on-sweeping capitalist domination, the Socialist +movement had been growing ever more and more swiftly. + +"It will be worth seeing," thought Gabriel, as he stood outside the +lodging-house where he had taken a room for the night. The workers are +surely awakening, at last. The spirit I've been meeting, lately, is +uglier and more determined than anything I ever used to find, a year or +two ago. It seems to me, if conditions are like this all over the +country, the safety-valve is about ready to pop, and the masters had +better look out, or some of them are going to land in Hell! + +"Yes, I'll stop over here, one day, and look and listen. Sorry I can't +take part, but I mustn't. My game, now, is to travel underground as it +were. I've got a bigger job in view than soap-boxing, just _now_!" + +He ate a simple supper at an "Owl" lunch-cart, totally unaware that, +across the street, a couple of Cosmos men were waiting for him to come +out. And, after this, buying a Socialist paper, he strolled into Evans +Park to sit and read, a while, by the red light of the descending sun. + +Here he remained till dark, smoking his briar, watching the dirty, +ragged children of the wretched wage-slaves at play; observing the +exploited men and women on the park-benches, as they sought a little +fresh air and respite from toil; and pondering the problems that still +lay before him. At times--often indeed--his thoughts wandered to the +maple-grove and the old sugar-house, far away on the Hudson. Memories of +the girl would not be banished, nor longings for her. Who she might be, +he still knew not. Unwilling to learn, he had refrained from looking up +the number he had copied from the plate of the wrecked machine. He had +even abstained from reading the papers, a few days, lest he might see +some account of the accident. A strange kind of unwillingness to know +the woman's name possessed him--a feeling that, if he positively +identified her as one of some famous clan of robbers and exploiters, he +could no longer cherish her memory or love the thought of how they two +had, for an hour, sat together and talked and been good, honest friends. + +"No," he murmured to himself, "it's better this way--just to recall her +as a girl in need, a girl who let me help her, a girl I can always +remember with kind thoughts, as long as I live!" + +From his pocket he took the little handkerchief, which wrapped the +leaf, once part of her bed. A faint, elusive scent still hung about +it--something of her, still it seemed. He closed his eyes, there on the +hard park bench, and let his fancies rove whither they would; and for a +time it seemed to him a wondrous peace possessed him. + +"If it could only have been," he murmured, at last. "If only it could +be!" + +Then suddenly urged by a realization of the hopelessness of it all, he +stood up, pocketed the souvenirs of her again, and walked away in the +dusk; away, through the park; away, at random, through squalid, ugly +streets, where the first electric-lights were just beginning to flare; +where children swarmed in the close heat, wallowing along the gutters, +dodging teams and cars, as they essayed to play, setting off a few +premature firecrackers and mocking the police--all in all, leading the +ugly, unnatural, destructive life of all children of the city +proletariat. + +"Poor little devils!" thought Gabriel, stopping to observe a dirty group +clustered about an ice-cream cart, where cheap, adulterated, +high-colored stuff was being sold for a penny a square--aniline poison, +no doubt, and God knows what else. "Poor little kids! Not much like the +children of the masters, eh? with their lawns and playgrounds, their +beaches and flowery fields, their gardens and fine schools, their dogs, +ponies, autos and all the rest! Some difference, all right--and it takes +a thousand of _these_, yes, ten thousand, to keep one of _those_. +And--and _she_ was one of the rich and dainty children! Her beauty, +health and grace were bought at the price of ten thousand other +children's health, and joy and lives! Ah, God, what a price! What a +cruel, awful, barbarous price to pay!" + +Saddened and pensive, he passed on, still thinking of the woman he could +not banish from his mind, despite his bitterness against her class. + +So he walked on and on, now through better streets and now through +worse, up and down the city. + +Here and there, detonations and red fire marked the impatience of some +demonstrator who could not wait till midnight to show his ardent +patriotism and his public spirit by risking life and property. The +saloons were all doing a land-office business, with the holiday +impending and the thermometer at 97. Now and then, slattern women, in +foul clothes and with huge, gelatinous breasts, could be seen rushing +the growler, at the "family entrance" of some low dive. Even little +girls bore tin pails, for the evening's "scuttle o' suds" to be consumed +on roof, or in back yard of stinking tenement, or on some fire-escape. +The city, in fine, was relaxing from its toil; and, as the workers for +the most part knew no other way, nor could afford any, they were trying +to snatch some brief moment of respite from the Hell of their slavery, +by recourse to rough ribaldry and alcohol. + +Nine o'clock had just struck from the church-spires which mocked the +slums with their appeal to an impassive Heaven, when, passing a foul and +narrow alley that led down to the Genesee River, Gabriel saw a woman +sitting on a doorstep, weeping bitterly. + +This woman--hardly more than a girl--was holding a little bundle in one +hand. The other covered her face. Her sobs were audible. Grief of the +most intense, he saw at once, convulsed her. Two or three by-standers, +watching with a kind of pleased curiosity, completed the scene, most +sordid in its setting, there under the flicker of a gas-light on the +corner. + +"Hm! What now?" thought Gabriel, stopping to watch the little tragedy. +"More trouble, eh? It's trouble all up and down the line, for these poor +devils! Nothing but trouble for the slave-class. Well, well, let's see +what's wrong _now_!" + +Gabriel turned down the alley, drew near the little group, and halted. + +"What's wrong?" he asked, in the tone of authority he knew how to use; +the tone which always overbore his outward aspect, even though he might +have been clad in rags; the tone which made men yield to him, and women +look at him with trustful eyes, even as the Billionaire's daughter had +looked. + +"Search _me_!" murmured one of the men, shrugging his shoulders. "_I_ +can't git nothin' out o' her. She's been sittin' here, cryin', a few +minutes, that's all I know; an' she won't say nothin' to nobody. + +"Any of you men know anything about it?" demanded Gabriel, looking at +the rest. + +A murmur of negation was his only answer. One or two others, scenting +some excitement, even though only that of a distressed woman--common +sight, indeed!--lingered near. The little group was growing. + +Gabriel bent and touched the woman's shoulder. + +"What's the matter?" asked he, in a gentle voice. "If you're in trouble, +let me help you." + +Renewed sobs were her only answer. + +"If you'll only tell me what's the matter," Gabriel went on, "I'm sure +I can do something for you." + +"You--you can't!" choked the woman, without raising her head from the +corner of the ragged shawl that she was holding over her eyes. "Nobody +can't! Bill, he's gone, and Eddy's gone, and Mr. Micolo says he won't +let me in. So there ain't nothin' to do. Let me alone--oh dear, oh dear, +dear!" + +Fresh tears and grief. The little knot of spectators, still growing, +nodded with approval, and figuratively licked its lips, in satisfaction. +Somewhere a boy snickered. + +"Come, come," said Gabriel, bending close over the grief-stricken woman, +"pull together, and let's hear what the trouble is! Who's Bill, and +who's Eddy--and what about Mr. Micolo? Come, tell me. I'm sure I can do +something to straighten things out." + +No answer. Gabriel turned to the increasing crowd, again. + +"Any of you people know what about it?" he asked. + +Again no answer, save that one elderly man, standing on the steps beside +the woman, remarked casually: + +"I guess she's got fired out of her room. That's all I know." + +Gabriel took her by the arm, and drew her up. + +"Come, now!" said he, a sterner note in his voice. "This won't do! You +mustn't sit here, and draw a crowd. First thing you know an officer will +be along, and you may get into trouble. Tell me what's wrong, and I +promise to see you through it, as far as I can." + +She raised her face, now, and looked at him, a moment. Tear-stained and +dishevelled though she was, and soiled by marks of drink and +debauchery, Gabriel saw she must once have been very beautiful and still +was comely. + +"Well," he asked. "Aren't you going to tell me?" + +"Tell you?" she repeated. "I--oh, I can't! Not in front of all them +men!" + +"Very well!" said he, "walk with me, and give me your story. Will you do +that? At all events, you mustn't stay here, making a disturbance on the +highway. If you knew the police as well as I do, you'd understand that!" + +"You're right, friend," said she, hoarsely. "I'm on, now. Come along +then--I'll tell you. It ain't much to tell; but it's a lot to me!" + +She glanced at the curious faces of the watchers, then turned and +followed Gabriel, who was already walking up the alley, toward the +brighter lights of Stuart Street. For a moment, one or two of the men +hesitated as though undecided whether or not to follow after; but one +backward look by Gabriel instantly dispelled any desire to intrude. And +as Gabriel and the woman turned into the street, the little knot of +curiosity-seekers dissolved into its component atoms, and vanished. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII. + +THE TRAP IS SPRUNG. + + +"It--it's all along o' that there Mr. Micolo!" the woman suddenly +exclaimed, "Him an' his rent-bill! If he'd ha' let me in, there, +tonight, I could ha' got Ed's things an' then started to my sister's, +out to Scottsville. But he wouldn't. He claimed they was +two-seventy-five still owin', and I didn't have but about fifty cents, +so I couldn't pay it. So he wouldn't let me in. Natchally, anybody'd +feel bad, like that, 'specially when a man told 'em he'd hold their +kid's clothes an' things till they paid--which they couldn't!" + +"Naturally, of course," answered Gabriel, rather dazed by this sudden +burst of details, with which she seemed to think he should already be +quite familiar--details all sordid and commonplace, through which he +seemed to perceive, dimly as in a dark glass, some mean and ugly tragedy +of poverty and ignorance and sin. + +"Are you hungry?" he asked, all at once. "If so, come in here, where we +can talk quietly and get things straight." He pointed at a cheap +restaurant, across the street. + +"Hungry? Gord, yes!" she exclaimed. Only I--I wouldn't ask, if I fell on +the sidewalk! Fifty cents--yes, I got that much, but I been tryin' to +get enough to pay Mr. Micolo, an' get hold of Ed's things, an'--" + +"All right, forget that, now," commanded Gabriel. He took her by the +arm and piloted her across the thoroughfare, then into the dingy +hash-house and to a table in a far corner. A few minutes later, pretty +much everything on the bill of fare was before them on the greasy table. + +"Not a word till you're satisfied," directed Armstrong. "I'll just take +a little bread and coffee, to keep you company." + +The woman adequately proved her statement that she was hungry. Rarely +had Gabriel seen anybody eat with such ravenous appetite. He watched her +with satisfaction, and when she could consume no more, smiled as he +asked: + +"Now, then, feel better? If so, let's tackle the next problem. What's +your grief?" + +The woman stared at him a long moment before she made reply. Then she +exclaimed suddenly: + +"You ain't no kind of 'bull,' are you? Nor plain-clothes man?" + +Gabriel shook his head. + +"No," said he, "nothing of that kind. You can trust me. Let's have the +story." + +"Hm! It ain't much, I s'pose," she answered still half-suspiciously. +"Bill and me was livin' together, that's all. No, not married, nor +nothin'--but--" + +"All right. Go on." + +"That was last winter. When the kid happened--Ed, you know--Bill, he got +sore, an' beat it. Then I--I went on the street, to keep Ed. Nothin' +else to do, Mister, so help me, an'--" + +"Never mind, I understand," said Gabriel. "What next?" + +"And after that, I gets sick. _You_ know. Almost right away. So I has +to go to St. Luke's hospital. I leaves Ed with Mrs. McCane, at the same +house. That place in the alley, you know. Well, when I gets out, the +boy's dead. _An_' they never even tells me, till I goes back! An' I +can't even get his things. Because why? Mrs. McCane's gone, Gord knows +where, an' Mr. Micolo says I still owe two-seventy-five. I want to get +down there to Scottsville, to my sister's; but curse _me_ if I'll go +till I pay that devil an' get them clothes!" + +A sudden savage light in her blurred eyes betrayed the passion of the +mother-love, through all the filth and soilure of her degradation. +Gabriel felt his heart deeply moved. He bent toward her, across the +table, touched her hand and asked: + +"Will you accept five dollars, to pay this man and get you down to +Scottsville?" + +"Huh?" she queried, gazing at him with vacant, uncomprehending eyes. + +He repeated his query. Then, as he saw the slow tears start and roll +down her wan cheeks, he felt a greater joy within his breast than if the +world and all its treasures had been his. + +"Will I take it?" she whispered. "Gord, _will_ I? You bet I will! That +is, if I can have your name, an' pay it back some time?" + +He promised, and wrote it down for her, giving as his address Socialist +Headquarters in Chicago. Then, without publicity, he slipped a V into +her trembling hand. + +"Come on," said he. "_That's_ all settled!" + +He paid the check, and they went out, together. For a moment they stood +together, undecided, on the sidewalk. + +"Couldn't I get them things to-night, an' start?" asked she, eagerly. +"There's a train at 11:08, on the B. R. & P." + +"All right," he assented. "Can you see this Micolo, now? It's after +ten." + +"Oh, _that_ don't make no difference," she answered. "He runs a pawnshop +over here on Dexter Street, two blocks east. He'll be open till +midnight, easy, tomorrow bein' the Fourth." + +"Come on, then," said Gabriel. "I'll see you through the whole business, +and onto the train. Maybe I can help you, all along." + +Without another word she started, with Gabriel at her side. They +traversed the main street, two blocks, then turned to the left down a +narrower, darker one. + +"Here's Micolo's," said she, pausing at a doorway. Gabriel nodded. "All +right," he answered. He had not noted, nor did he dream, that, at the +corner behind them, two slinking, sneaking figures were now watching his +every move. + +The woman turned the knob, and entered. Gabriel followed. + +"It's on the second floor," said she. Gabriel saw a sign, on the +landing: "S. L. Micolo, Pawn Broker," and motioned her to precede +him. + +In a minute they had reached the upper hallway. The woman opened another +door. The room, inside, was dark. + +"This way," said she. "He's in the inside office, I guess. The light +must ha' gone out here, some way or other." + +Gabriel hesitated. Some inkling, some vague intuition all at once had +come upon him, that all was not well. At his elbow some invisible force +seemed plucking. "Come away! Come back, before it is too late!" some +ghostly voice seemed calling in his ear. + +But still, he did not fully understand. Still he remained there, his +mind obsessed by the plausibility of the woman's story and by the pity +he so keenly felt. + +And now he heard her voice again: + +"Mr. Micolo! Oh, Mr. Micolo! Where are you?" + +Striking a match, he advanced into the room. + +"Any gas here?" he asked, peering about for a burner. + +Suddenly he started with violent emotion. Behind him, in some +unaccountable way, the door had been closed. He heard a key turn, +softly. + +"What--what's this?" he exclaimed. He heard the woman moving about, +somewhere in the gloom. "See here!" he cried. "What kind of a--?" + +The match burned brightly, all at once. He peered about him, wide-eyed. + +"This is no office!" shouted he. "Here, you! What's the meaning of this? +This is a bed-room!" + +Sudden realization of the trap stunned and sickened him. + +"God! They've got me! Flint and Waldron--they've landed me, at last!" he +choked. "But--but not till I've broken a few heads, by God!" + +The match fell from his burnt fingers. Whirling toward the door, he +rained powerful kicks upon it. He would get out, he must get out, at all +hazards! + +Suddenly the woman began to scream, with harsh and piercing cries that +seemed to rip the very atmosphere. + +[Illustration: Aiming at the base of the skull she struck.] + +At the third scream, or the fourth, the key was turned and the door +jerked open. + +In its aperture, three men stood--the two who had been so long trailing +Gabriel, and a policeman, burly, red-jowled, big-paunched. + +Gabriel stared at them. His mouth opened, then closed again without a +word. As well for a trapped animal to make explanations to the Indian +hunter, as for him to tell these men the truth. The truth? _They_ knew +the truth; and they were there to crucify him. He read it in their +cruel, eager eyes. + +The woman had stopped screaming now, and was weeping with abandon, +pouring forth a tale of insults and abuse and robbery, with hysterical +sobs. + +Full in the faces of the three men Gabriel sneered. + +"You've done a good job of it, this time, you skunks!" he gibed. "I'm +on. You'll get me, in the end; but not just yet. The first man through +this door gets his head broken--and that goes, too!" + +With a snarl of "You damned white slaver!" the officer raised his +night-stick and hurled himself at Gabriel. + +Gabriel ducked and planted a terrific left-hander on the "bull's" ear. +Roaring, the majesty of the law careened against the bed, crashed the +flimsy thing to wreckage and went down. + +Then, fighting back into the gloom of the trap, Gabriel engaged the two +detectives. For a moment he held them. One went to the floor with an +uppercut under the chin; but came back. The other landed hard on +Gabriel's jaw. + +He turned to strike down, again, the first of the two. He heard the bed +creaking, and saw the policeman struggling to arise. In a whirlwind of +blows, the second detective flailed at him, striving to beat down his +guard and floor him with a vicious rib-jolt. + +"All's fair, here!" thought Gabriel, snatching up a chair. For a moment +he brandished it on high. With this weapon, he knew--though final defeat +was inevitable, when reinforcements should arrive--he could sweep a +clear space. + +Perhaps he might even yet escape! He heard feet trampling on the stairs, +and his heart died within him. Well, even though escape were impossible, +he would fight to a finish and die game, if die he must! + +Down swung the chair, and round, crashing to ruin as it struck the +policeman who was just getting to his feet again. Oaths, cries, screams +made the place hideous. Dust rose, and blood began to flow. + +Armed now with one leg of the chair, Gabriel retreated; and as he went, +he hurled the bitterness of all his scorn and hate upon these vile +conspirators. + +And as he flayed them with his tongue, he struck; and like Samson +against the Philistines, he did great execution. + +Like Samson, too, he lost his power through a woman's treachery. For, +even as the attackers seemed to fall back, shattered and at a loss +before such fury and tremendous strength, behind Gabriel the woman rose, +a laugh of malice on her lips, the policeman's long and heavy +night-stick in her hand. + +A moment she poised it, crouching as he--seeing her not--swung his +weapon and hurled his defiance at the baffled men in front. + +Then, aiming at the base of the skull, she struck. + +Sudden bright lights spangled the darkness, for Gabriel. Everything +whirled about, in dizzying confusion. A strange, far roaring sounded in +his ears. + +Then he fell; and oblivion took him to its blessed peace and rest; and +all grew still and black. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII. + +THE BEAST GLOATS. + + +"Fer Gawd's sake, let's have a light here, somebody!" panted the +dishevelled policeman. Outside, the ringing of a gong became audible. +Then came a clattering of hoofs, as the police-patrol, nicely-timed by +the conspirators, and summoned by a confederate, drew up at the box on +the corner. + +Somebody struck another match, and a raw gas-light flared. From the +hallway, two or three others crowded into the wrecked room. Disjointed +exclamations, oaths and curses intermingled with harsh laughter. + +The woman--Lillian Rafter, probably the finest actress and stool-pigeon +in the whole detective world of graft and crookedness--lighted a +cigarette at the gas-burner, and laughed with triumph. + +"Some make-up, eh kid?" she demanded of the taller detective, who was +now nursing a bad "shiner," as a black eye is known in the under-world, +and whose face was battered to a bleeding pulp. "Believe me, as a job, +this is some job! From start to finish, a pippin. He was bound to fall +for it though. No help for him. Even if he hadn't butted into the +'plant' we fixed for him in the alley, there, I could have braced him in +the street with my tale of woe. He was just bound to be 'it,' this time. +We had him going, all ways for Sunday!" + +Scornfully the woman Gabriel had befriended in her seeming misery, spat +at him as he lay there stunned and scarcely breathing on the dirty +floor. + +"And just pipe this, will you, too?" she exulted, holding up the +five-dollar bill he had given her. "And this?" She exhibited his name +and address, written on a card. "In his own writing, boys. As evidence +to hold him on a white slave charge, is this some evidence or isn't it?" + +"Oh, we'll hold him, all right!" growled the other detective, whose +right arm dangled limp, where the chair had struck him. "The ---- ---- +of a ----! He'll go up for a finif, a five-spot, or I'm a liar! And once +we get him behind bars, good-night!" + +He deliberately drew back his heavy boot and kicked Gabriel full in the +face. + +"You ---- ----!" he cursed. "Try to bean _me_, will you? Damn you! +You've made _your_ last soap-box spiel!" + +"Come on, now, boys, out with him, an' no more rag-chewin'!" the +policeman exclaimed. "Git him in the wagon, an' away, before a gang +piles in here! You, Caffery, take his feet. I'll manage his head. Jesus, +but he's some big guy, though, the ---- ---- of a ----!" + +Together, the battered policeman and the detective who still had some +strength left in him, raised Gabriel's limp body and carried it from the +room. The woman, meanwhile, stood there inhaling cigarette-smoke and +laughing viciously to herself. + +"You easy mutt!" she exclaimed. "Dead baby, room-rent due, wanted to get +home to sister--and you fell for that old gag with whiskers on it! +You're some wise guy all right, all right, I don't think. Well, as a +stall it was a beaut. And I must say I never screamed better in all my +life. And that wallop I handed out, was a peach. If I don't pull down +five hundred for this night's work--" + +"Shut up, you ----!" snarled Caffery, as he turned into the stairway. +"Keep that lip o' yours quiet, will you, or--" + +The woman stared at him a moment, then laughed insolently and snapped +her smoke-yellowed fingers at him in defiance. + +"Mind you show up in court, in the mornin'!" panted the officer, +staggering downstairs under the weight of Gabriel's huge shoulders. + +"Better arrest her now," suggested Caffery, "an' hold her." + +"You will, like Hell!" retorted the woman. + +"Shhh! In one door an' out the other," the second detective whispered in +her ear, as she stood there in the doorway. "I'll see to it you get +fifty extra for _that_!" + +"Oh, if that's the game, fine business!" she smiled. "Go to it--I'm your +huckleberry!" + +Thus it befell that, while a large and growing crowd observed, under the +arc-light on the corner--a crowd where no fewer than six reporters, all +duly tipped off in advance, were taking notes--Gabriel Armstrong, the +Socialist speaker and leader, was bundled, unconscious, into a patrol +wagon of the City of Rochester; and with him, a drunken-acting harlot, +babbling charges of white-slave extortion and violence against him; and +with them both, several witnesses, who would have sworn that Heaven was +Hell, for five dollars cash in hand. + +Thus was the stage set, for the next session of the honorable court. +Thus were the wires pulled. Thus, the prison doors were swung wide open, +and, above all, the honor and the reputation of a man swept to the +garbage-heaps of life. + +True, at the morrow's great mass-meeting, there were destined to be +protests and calls for investigation. The Socialist press was destined +to take it up, defend him and demand the truth. But, swamped by a +perfectly overwhelming capitalist press, not only naturally hostile but +in this case already heavily subsidized; shattered by the close-knit, +circumstantial evidence; hamstrung and hampered in every way by the +power of unlimited money and Tammany pull, the Socialists might as well +have tried to sweep back the sea with a broom as save this man from +legal crucifixion. Worse still, they themselves, and the beaten strikers +with whom they had been fraternizing, got a black eye in the affair; and +many an editorial column, many a pulpit, unctuously discoursed thereon. +Many an anti-Socialist thug and grafter, loud-mouthed and blatant, +bellowed revamped platitudes of "immorality" and "breaking up the home," +and the "nation of fatherless children," pointing at Gabriel Armstrong +as a shining example of Socialist hypocrisy and filth. + +Press, law, church, capitalism itself nailed this man and the movement +he stood for, to the cross. And the pimps and parasites of the private +detective agency chuckled in their well-paid glee. The woman, Gabriel's +betrayer, counted her "thirty pieces of silver" and laughed in the foul +dark. The police cut a fine melon secretly handed them by Flint; and so, +too, did the local papers and more than one local pulpit. + +So, in Gabriel's grief and woe and desolation, as he sat in his grim +cell with aching head, bruised face and bleeding heart, with all his +plans now broken, with the very soul within him dead--in this grief and +anguish, I say, the foul harpy-brood of Capitalism revelled and rioted +like maggots in carrion. + +None more viciously than old Flint, himself. None with more brutal joy, +more savage satisfaction. One of the culminant moments of his life, he +felt, was on the evening after the dastardly plot had been carried to +its putrid conclusion. + +Opening the Rochester "News-Intelligencer" which Slade had sent him, his +glittering eyes seemed to sparkle joy as a blue-penciled column met his +gaze. + +Eagerly he read it all, every word, and weighed it, and re-read it, as +men do when news is dear to their souls. Already, through the New York +papers he had got the essentials of the affair. Already, by long +distance 'phone he had received the outlines of the news from Slade, as +well as a code telegram of more than 500 words, giving him additional +details. But this paper especially pleased him. The other Rochester +sheets, which Slade would send as fast as they appeared, he already was +looking forward to, with keenest pleasure. + +"Ah! _This_ is what I call efficiency!" he exclaimed, settling himself +in his big chair, adjusting the pince-nez on his hawk-bill and preparing +to read the column for the third time. "The way this thing was planned +and carried out, and the manner in which Slade has managed to get it +played up in the papers, proves to me he's a general in his line, a true +Napoleon. I may safely intrust any affair of this sort to him and his +agency. No fee of his shall ever be questioned; and as for +bonuses--well, he shall have no reason to complain. An admirable man, in +every way--a wonderful organization! With men and agencies like _these_ +at work in our interests, what have we, really, to be uneasy about?" + +Smacking his mental lips, if I may be pardoned the phrase, he once more +slowly read the delightful, gratifying news: + + _SOCIALIST WHITE-SLAVER!_ + + _Rotten Affair Unearthed by Police!_ + + _Gabriel Armstrong, Socialist Leader, Caught With the Goods!!!_ + + Rochester, July 4. + + "In one of the most sensational raids ever made in this city, by + the vice squad, under the auspices of the Purity League, what is + believed to be a well-organized white-slave business was unearthed + last night. The leader and brains of the association, Gabriel + Armstrong, a Socialist speaker and worker of national prominence, + was arrested, and is now lodged in Police Headquarters, with + serious charges pending. + + "The arrest was made as a result of the keen work of Officer + Michael P. Duffey, sergeant of the vice squad. Hearing screams in + the assignation house at 42A Belding street, he made his way up + stairs, accompanied by two or three citizens. The screams were + coming from a room on the second floor. Duffey promptly battered + the door down only to be met by a furious assault from Armstrong, + who was intoxicated and extremely violent. + + "A savage hand-to-hand struggle took place, in which furniture was + broken, the policeman badly injured and two of the volunteers + knocked out. Armstrong was finally subdued, however, by the + jiu-jitsu method, in which Duffey is an expert, and was lodged in + the Central Station, together with the woman. + + "According to her statement, the man, Armstrong, had not only been + guilty of grossly immoral practices with her, but had also been + trying to force her to share with him the proceeds of her life of + shame, thus making out against him a clear case under the Mann + White-Slave Traffic law. She has material evidence of this + fact--money which he had given her, to finance her till she could + begin bringing in revenue to him, and also his name and address, + written by his own hand. A significant fact is that the address + given by this white slaver is Socialist headquarters, in Chicago. + The police are now working on the theory that the entire Socialist + organization is honeycombed with this traffic, and that the + Socialist movement is only a blind to cover a wholesale + distribution of women for immoral purposes. Drastic Federal action + against the Socialist Party is now being considered. + + "Still further and more sensational facts are expected to develop + at the preliminary hearing, which will take place tomorrow morning. + In case Armstrong is bound over to the Grand Jury, and convicted, + he may get a heavy fine and as much as five years in a Federal + penitentiary. He is described as being a surly, low type, reticent + and vindictive, of vicious characteristics and mentally defective. + The local Socialists have already taken up arms in his defense, as + was to be expected. + + "Interest is added to the case by the fact that Armstrong is known + to be the man who, at the time of the recent automobile accident to + Miss Catherine Flint--daughter of Isaac Flint, of Englewood, + N. J.--gave the alarm. A theory is now being formed that he + was, in some way, involved in a plot with Miss Flint's chauffeur to + wreck the machine and share a big reward for rescuing the girl. The + plot, however, evidently miscarried, for the chauffeur was killed, + and Armstrong, after giving the alarm, feared to divulge his + identity but fled in disguise. + + "Public interest is greatly aroused in this matter. And if, as now + seems positively certain, this arrest and forthcoming conviction + break up the vicious white-slave gang for some time operating in + Rochester and Ontario Beach, the public will have a still greater + debt of gratitude toward the Purity League, the Vice Squad and the + untiring efforts and bravery of Sergeant Duffey." + +"That, ah that," remarked old Flint, as he finished his last reading, +"is what I call literature! It may not be Scott or Shelley or Dickens, +but it's got far more than _they_ ever had--tremendous value to--er--to +the rightful masters of society. I dare say that this article and also +others like it that are bound to be printed during the trial and after, +will do more to secure our position in society than a whole army with +machine guns. Socialism, eh? After this campaign gets through, by God, +we'll sweep up the leavings in a dustpan and throw them out the window!" + +Again he surveyed the article, smiling thinly. + +"Literature, yes," he repeated. "The writer of those lines, and the +master-minds who engineered the whole affair, must and shall be +liberally rewarded. Editors, preachers, writers, they're all on our +side. All safe and sane--that is, nearly all--enough, at any event, to +assure our safety. I rejoice that I have lived to see this day!" + +He turned the sheets of the paper, to see if any other notice of the +affair was printed; and as he looked, he pondered. + +"Imagine the effect of this, on Kate!" thought he. "It will be just as I +planned it. Nothing will be left in her mind now, but loathing, hate and +rage against this man. In two days, she and Waldron will have patched up +their little difference, and all will be well. A master-stroke on my +part, eh? Yes, yes indeed, a master-stroke!" + +His eye caught another blue-pencilling. + +"Editorial, eh?" said he, adjusting his glasses. "Better and better! +This affair will sweep those troublemakers off the map, or I'm a +beggar!" + +Then, with the keenest of satisfaction, he focussed his attention on the +sapient editorial: + + _SOCIALISM UNVEILED_. + + The arrest and impending conviction of Gabriel Armstrong, the noted + Socialist leader, on a white-slave traffic charge, will do much to + set all sane thinkers right in regard to this whole matter of + Socialist ethics. Socialists, as we have all heard, contend that + their system of thought teaches a high and pure form of morality. + How will they square this assertion with the hard, cold facts, as + brought to light in this most revolting case? + + Much more seems to lie beneath the surface than at first sight + appears. Though we desire to suspend judgment until all the data + are known, it appears conclusively proved that Armstrong is but one + of a band of white-slavers operating through the organization of, + and with the consent of the Socialist party, or at least of its + responsible officials. + + If this prove to be the case, it will substantiate the suspicion + long felt in many quarters that this whole movement, ostensibly + political, is really a menace to the moral and social welfare of + the nation. A foreign importation, openly standing against the + home, the family and religion, may well be expected to foster such + crimes and to be a "culture-medium" for the growth of such vile + microbes as this man Armstrong, and others of his kind. + + Turn on the light! Bring the social antiseptics! Let all the facts + be established; and when known, if--as we anticipate--they prove + this nasty conspiracy, let us make an end, now and forever, to this + un-American, immoral and filthy thing, Socialism! To this object + this paper now and henceforth pledges its policy; and all decent + publications, all citizens who love their country, their God, their + homes, their flag, will join with it in a nation-wide crusade to + choke this slimy monster of Anarchy and Free-love, and fling it + back into the Pit where it belongs. + + Long live religion, purity and the flag! Down with Socialism! + +Flint regarded this masterpiece with an approving eye. Then, chuckling +to himself, he arose and with slow steps advanced toward the dining-room +where already Catherine was awaiting him. + +"Now," he murmured to himself, and smiled thinly, "now for a little +scene with Kate!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. + +CATHERINE'S SUPREME DECISION. + + +The meal was almost at an end--silently, like all their hours spent +together, now--before the old man sprang his _coup_. It was +characteristic of him to wait thus, to hold his fire till what he +conceived to be the opportune moment; never to act prematurely, under +any circumstances whatever. + +"By the way, Kate," he remarked, casually, when coffee had been served +and he had motioned the butlers out of the room, "by the way, I've been +rather badly disappointed, today. Did you know that?" + +"No, father," she answered. She never called him "daddy," now. "No, I'm +sorry to hear it. What's gone wrong?" + +He looked at her a moment before replying, as though to gauge her mind +and the effect his announcement might have. Very charming she looked, +that evening, in a crêpe de Chine gown with three-quarter lace sleeves +and an Oriental girdle--a wonderful Nile-green creation, very simple +(she had told herself) yet of staggering cost. A single white rose +graced her hair. The low-cut neck of the gown revealed a full, strong +bosom. Around her throat she wore a fine gold chain, with a French +20-franc piece and her Vassar Phi Beta Kappa key attached--the only +pendants she cared for. The gold coin spoke to her of the land of her +far ancestry, a land oft visited by her and greatly loved; the gold key +reminded her of college, and high rank taken in studies there. + +Old Flint noted some of these details as he sat looking at her across +the white and gleaming table, where silver and gold plate, cut glass and +flowers and fine Sèvres china all combined to make a picture of splendor +such as the average workingman or his wife has never even dreamed of or +imagined; a picture the merest commonplace, however, to Flint and +Catherine. + +"A devilish fine-looking girl!" thought he, eyeing his daughter with +approval. "She'd grace any board in the world, whether billionaire's or +prince's! Waldron, old man, you'll never be able to thank me +sufficiently for what I'm going to do for you tonight--never, that is, +unless you help me make the Air Trust the staggering success I think you +can, and give me the boost I need to land the whole damned world as my +own private property!" + +He chuckled dryly to himself, then drew the paper from his pocket. + +"Well, father, what's gone wrong?" asked Kale, again. "Your +disappointment--what was it?" + +She spoke without animation, tonelessly, in a flat, even voice. Since +that night when her father had tried to force Waldron upon her, and had +taunted her with loving the vagabond (as he said) who had rescued her, +something seemed to have been broken, in her manner; some spring of +action had snapped; some force was lacking now. + +"What's wrong with me?" asked Flint, trying to veil the secret malice +and keen satisfaction that underlay his speech. "Oh, just this. You +remember about a week ago, when we--ah--had that little talk in the +music room--?" + +"Don't, father, please!" she begged, raising one strong, brown hand. +"Don't bring that up again. It's all over and done with, that matter is. +I beg you, don't re-open it!" + +"I--you misunderstand me, my dear child," said Flint, trying to smile, +but only flashing his gold tooth. "At that time I told you I was looking +for, and would reward, if found, the--er--man who had been so brave and +quick-witted as to rescue you. You remember?" + +"Really, father, I beg you not to--" + +"Why not, pray?" requested Flint, gazing at her through his pince-nez. +"My intentions, I assure you, were most honest and philanthropic. If I +had found him--_then_--I'd have given him--" + +"Oh, but he wouldn't have taken anything, you see!" the girl +interrupted, with some spirit. "I told you that, at the time. It's just +as true, now. So please, father, let's drop the question altogether." + +"I'm sorry not to be able to grant your request, my dear," said the old +man, with hidden malice. "But really, this time, you must hear me. My +disappointment arises from the fact that I've just discovered the young +man's identity, and--" + +"You--you have?" Kate exclaimed, grasping the edge of the table with a +nervous hand. Her father smiled again, bitterly. + +"Yes, I have," said he, with slow emphasis, "and I regret to say, my +dear child, that my diagnosis of his character is precisely what I first +thought. Any interest you may feel in that quarter is being applied to a +very unworthy object. The man is one of my discharged employees, a +thorough rascal and hard ticket in every way--one of the lowest-bred and +most villainous persons yet unhung, I grieve to state. The fact that he +carried you in his arms, and that I owe your preservation to him, is one +of the bitterest facts in my life. Had it been any other man, no matter +of what humble birth--" + +"Father!" she cried, bending forward and gazing at him with strange +eyes. "Father! By what right and on what authority do you make these +accusations? That man, I know, was all that innate gentleness and +upright manhood could make any man. His nobility was not of wealth or +title, but of--" + +"Nonsense!" Flint interrupted. "Nobility, eh? Read _that_, will you?" + +Leering, despite himself, he handed the paper across the table to his +daughter. + +"Those marked passages," said he. "And remember, this is only the +beginning. Wait till all the facts are known, the whole conspiracy laid +bare and everything exposed to public view! _Then_ tell me, if you can, +that he is poor but noble! Bah! Sunday-school dope, that! Noble, yes!" + +Catherine sat there staring at the paper, a minute, as though quite +unable to decipher a word. Through a kind of wavering mist that seemed +to swim before her eyes, she vaguely saw the words: "Socialist White +Slaver!" but that these bore any relation to the man she remembered, +back there at the sugar-house, had not yet occurred to her mind. She +simply could not grasp the significance of the glaring headlines. And, +turning a blank gaze on her father's face, she stammered: + +"Why--why do you give me this? What has this got to do with--_me_? With +_him_?" + +"Everything!" snarled the Billionaire, violently irritated by his +daughter's seeming obtuseness. "Everything, I tell you! That man, that +strong and noble hero of yours, is this man! This white slaver! This +wild beast--this Socialist--this Anarchist! Do you understand now, or +don't you? Do you grasp the truth at last, or is your mind incapable of +apprehending it?" + +He had risen, and now was standing there at his side of the table, +shaking with violent emotion, his glasses awry, face wrinkled and drawn, +hands twitching. His daughter, making no answer to his taunts, sat with +the paper spread before her on the table. A wine glass, overset, had +spilled a red stain--for all the world like the workers' blood, spilled +in war and industry for the greater wealth and glory of the masters--out +across the costly damask, but neither she nor Flint paid any heed. + +For he was staring only at her; and she, now having mastered herself a +little, though her full breast still rose and fell too quickly, was +struggling to read the slanderous lies and foul libels of the +blue-penciled article. + +Silently she read, paling a little but otherwise giving no sign to show +her father how the tide of her thought was setting. Twice over she read +the article; then, pushing the paper back, looked at old Flint with eyes +that seemed to question his very soul--eyes that saw the living truth, +below. + +"It is a lie!" said she, at last, in a grave, quiet voice. + +"What?" blurted the old man. "A--a lie?" + +She nodded. + +"Yes," said she. "A lie." + +Furious, he ripped open the paper, and once more shoved it at her. + +"Fool!" cried he. "Read _that_!" And his shaking, big-knuckled finger +tapped the editorial on "Socialism Unveiled." + +"No," she answered, "I need read no more. I know; I understand!" + +"You--you know _what_?" choked Flint. "This is an editorial, I tell you! +It represents the best thought and the most careful opinion of the +paper. And it condemns this man, absolutely, as a criminal and a menace +to society. It denounces him and his whole gang of Socialists or +Anarchists or White-slavers--they're all the same thing--as a plague to +the world. That's the editor's opinion; and remember, he's on the +ground, there. He has all the facts. You--_you_ are at a distance, and +have none! Yet you set up your futile, childish opinion--" + +"No more, father! No more!" cried Catherine, also standing up. She faced +him calmly, coldly, magnificently. "You can't talk to me this way, any +more. Cannot, and must not! As I see this thing--and my woman's +intuition tells me more in a minute than you can explain away in an +hour--this fabrication here has all, or nearly all, been invented and +carried out by you. For what reason? This--to discredit this man! To +make me hate and loathe him! To force me back to Waldron. To--" + +"Stop!" shouted the old man, in a well-assumed passion. "No daughter of +mine shall talk to me this way! Silence! It is monstrous and +unthinkable. It--it is horrible beyond belief! Silence, I tell +you--and--" + +"No, father, not silence," she replied, with perfect poise. "Not +silence now, but speech. Either this thing is true or it is false. In +either case, I must know the facts. The papers? No truth in _those_! The +finding of the courts? today, they are a by-word and a mockery! All I +can trust is the evidence of my own senses; what I hear, and feel, and +see. So then--" + +"Then?" gulped the Billionaire, holding the back of his chair in a +trembling grasp. + +"Just this, father. I'm going to Rochester, myself, to investigate this +thing, to see this man, to hear his side of the story, to know--" + +"Do that," cried Flint in a terrible voice, "and you never enter these +doors again! From the minute you leave Idle Hour on that fool's errand, +my daughter is dead to me, forever!" + +Swept clean off his feet by rage, as well as by the deadly fear of what +might happen if his daughter really were to learn the truth, he had lost +his head completely. + +With quiet attention, the girl regarded him, then smiled inscrutably. + +"So it be," she replied. "Even though you disinherit me or turn me off +with a penny, my mind is made up, and my duty's clear. + +"While things like these are going on in the world, outside, I have no +right to linger and to idle here. I am no child, now; I have been +thinking of late, reading, learning. Though I can't see it all clearly, +yet, I know that every bite we eat, means deprivation to some other +people, somewhere. This light and luxury mean poverty and darkness +elsewhere. This fruit, this wine, this very bread is ours because some +obscure and unknown men have toiled and sweat and given them to us. Even +this cut glass on our table--see! What tragedies it could reveal, could +it but speak! What tales of coughing, consumptive glass-cutters, bending +over wheels, their lungs cut to pieces by the myriad spicules of sharp +glass, so that we, we of our class, may enjoy beauty of design and +coloring! And the silken gown I wear--that too has cost--" + +"No more! No more of this!" gurgled old Flint, now nearly in apoplexy. +"I deny you! I repudiate you, Anarchist that you are! Go! Never come +back--never, never--!" + +Stumbling blindly, he turned and staggered out of the room. She watched +him go, nor tried to steady his uncertain steps. In the hallway, +outside, she heard him ring for Slawson, heard the valet come, and both +of them ascend the stairs. + +"Father," she whispered to herself, a look of great and pure spiritual +beauty on her noble face, "father, this had to come. Sooner or later, it +was inevitable. Whatever you have done, I forgive you, for you _are_ my +father, and have surely acted for what you think my interest. + +"But none the less, the end is here and now. Between you and me, a great +gulf is fixed. And from tonight I face the world, to battle with it, +learn from it, and know the truth in every way. Enough of this false, +easy, unnatural life. I cannot live it any longer; it would crush and +stifle me! Enough! I must be free, I shall be free, to know, and dare, +and do!" + +That night, having had no further speech with old Flint, Kate left Idle +Hour, taking just a few necessities in a suit-case, and a few dollars +for her immediate needs. + +Giving no explanation to maid, valet or anyone, she let herself out, +walked through the great estate and down Englewood Avenue, to the +station, where she caught a train for Jersey City. + +The midnight special for Chicago bore her swiftly westward. No sleeping +car she took, but passed the night in a seat of an ordinary coach. Her +ticket read "Rochester." + +The old page of her Book of Life was closed forever. A new and better +page was open wide. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV. + +THROUGH STEEL BARS. + + +True to her plan, Catherine ended her journey at Rochester. She engaged +a room at a second-rate hotel--marvelling greatly at the meanness of the +accommodations, the like of which she had never seen--and, at ten +o'clock of the morning, appeared at the Central Police Station. The +bundle of papers in her hand indicated that she had read the latest lies +and venom poured out on Gabriel's defenseless head. + +The haughty, full-fed sergeant in charge of the station made some +objections, at first, to letting her see Gabriel; but the tone of her +voice and the level look of her gray eye presently convinced him he was +playing with fire, and he gave in. Summoning an officer, he bade the man +conduct her. Iron doors opened and closed for her. She was conscious of +long, ill-smelling, concrete-floored corridors, with little steel cages +at either side--cages where hopeless, sodden wrecks of men were +standing, or sitting in attitudes of brutal despair, or lying on foul +bunks, motionless and inert as logs. + +For a moment her heart failed her. + +"Good Lord! Can such things be?" she whispered to herself. "So +this--this is a police station? And real jails and penitentiaries are +worse? Oh, horrible! I never dreamed of anything like this, or any men +like these!" + +The officer, stopping at a cell-door and banging thereon with some +keys, startled her. + +"Here, youse," he addressed the man within, "lady to see youse!" + +Catherine was conscious that her heart was pounding hard and her breath +coming fast, as she peered in through those cold, harsh metal bars. For +a minute she could find no thought, no word. Within, her eyes--still +unaccustomed to the gloom--vaguely perceived a man's figure, big and +powerful, and different in its bearing from those other cringing +wretches she had glimpsed. + +Then the man came toward her, stopped, peered and for a second drew +back. And then--then she heard his voice, in a kind of startled joy: + +"Oh--is it--is it _you_?" + +"Yes," she answered. "I must see you! I must talk with you, again, and +know the truth!" + +The officer edged nearer. + +"Youse can talk all y' want to," he dictated, hoarsely, "but don't you +pass nothin' in. No dope, nor nothin', see? I'll stick around an' watch, +anyhow; but don't try to slip him no dream powders or no 'snow.' 'Cause +if you do--" + +"What--what _on_ earth are you talking about?" the girl demanded, +turning on the officer with absolute astonishment. But he, only winking +wisely, repeated: + +"You heard me, didn't you? No dope. I'm wise to this whole game." + +At a loss for his meaning, yet without any real desire to fathom it, +Kate turned back toward Gabriel. + +A moment they two looked at each other, each noting any change that +might have taken place since that wonderful hour in the sugar-house, +each hungering and thirsting for a sight of the other's face. In her +heart, already Kate knew as well as she knew she was alive, that this +man was totally innocent of the foul charges heaped upon him. And so she +looked at him with eyes wherein lay no reproach, no doubt and no +suspicion. And, as she looked, tears started, and her heart swelled +hotly in her breast; for he was bruised and battered and a helpless +captive. + +"He, caged like a trapped animal!" her thought was. "He, so strong, and +free, and brave! Oh, horrible, horrible!" + +He must have read something of this feeling, in her face; for now, +coming close to the bars, he said in a low tone: + +"Girl--your name I don't know, even yet--girl, you mustn't pity me! +That's _one_ thing I can't have. I'm here because the master class is +stronger than my class, the working class. Here, because I'm dangerous +to that master class. This isn't said to make myself out a martyr. It's +only to make you see things right. I'm not complaining at this plight. +I've richly earned it--under Capitalism. So, then, _that's_ settled. + +"And now, what's more important, tell me how _you_ are! And did your +wound cause you much trouble? I confess I've passed many an anxious +hour, thinking of your narrow escape and of your injury. It wasn't too +bad, was it? Tell me!" + +"No," she answered, still holding to the bars, for she somehow felt +quite unaccountably weak. "It wasn't very bad. There's hardly any scar +at all--or won't be, when it's fully healed. But all this is trifling, +compared to what _you've_ suffered and are suffering. Oh, what a +horrible affair! What frightful accusations! Tell me the truth, +Boy--how, why could--?" + +He looked at her a moment, in silence, noting her splendid hair and eyes +and mouth, the firm, well-moulded chin, the confident and self-reliant +poise of the shapely head; and as he looked, he knew he loved this +woman. He understood, at last, how dear she was to him--dearer than +anything else in all the world save just his principles and stern life +work. He comprehended the meaning of all, his dreams and visions and +long thoughts. And, caring nothing for consequences, unskilled in the +finesse of dealing with women, acting wholly on the irresistible +impulses of a heart that overflowed, he looked deep into those gray eyes +and said in a tone that set her heart-strings vibrating: + +"Listen! The truth? How could I tell you anything else? I know not who +you are, and care not. That you are rich and powerful and free, while I +am poor and in captivity, means nothing. Love cares not for such +trifles. It dares all, hopes all, trusts all, believes all--and is +patient in adversity." + +"Love?" she whispered, her face paling. "How do you dare to--?" + +"Dare? Because my heart bids me. And where it bids, I care not for +conventions or consequences!" He flung his hand out with a splendid +gesture, his head high, his eyes lustrous in the half-light of the cell. +"Where it leads, I have to follow. That is why I am a Socialist! That is +why I am here, today, outcast and execrated, a prisoner, in danger of +long years of living death in the pestilential tomb of some foul +penitentiary!" + +"You're here because--because you are a Socialist?" she asked. + +He nodded. + +"Yes," said he. "I tried to help a suffering, outcast woman--or one who +posed as such. And she betrayed me to my enemies. And so--" + +"There _was_ a woman in this affair, then?" Catherine queried with +sudden pain. "The newspapers haven't made the story _all_ up out of +whole cloth?" + +"No. There _was_ a woman. A Delilah, who delivered me into the hands of +the Philistines, when I tried to help her in what she lied in telling me +was her need. Will you hear the story?" + +Still very pale, she formed a half-inarticulate "Yes!" with her full +lips. Then, seeming to brace herself by a tighter clasp on the hard +steel grating, she listened while he spoke. + +Earnestly, honestly and with perfect straightforwardness, omitting +nothing, adding nothing, he gave her the narrative of that fatal night's +events, from the first moment he had laid eyes on the +wonderfully-disguised woman, till her cudgel-blow had laid him senseless +on the floor. + +He told her the part that every actor therein had played; how the whole +drama had been staged, to dishonor and convict him, to railroad him to +the Pen for a long term, perhaps to kill him. He spoke in a low voice, +to prevent the watching officer from overhearing; and as he talked, he +thanked his stars that in all this network of conspiracy and crime +against the Party and against himself, his captors had not yet placed +him incommunicado. For some reason--perhaps because they thought their +case against him absolutely secure and wanted to avoid any appearance of +unfairness or of martyrizing him--this restriction had not yet been laid +upon him. So now his message of the truth could reach the ears of her +who, more than all the world beside, had grown dear to him and precious +beyond words. + +He told her, then, not only the story of that night, but also all that +had since happened--the newspaper attacks on him and on the Party; the +deliberate attempt to poison the community and the nation against him; +the struggle to fix a foul and lasting blot upon his name, and ruin him +beyond redemption. + +"And why, all this?" he added, while she--listening so intently that she +hardly breathed--knew that he spoke the living, vital truth. "Why this +persecution, this plotting, this labor and expense to 'get' me. Do you +want to know?" + +"Yes, tell me!" she whispered. "I don't understand. I can't! It--it all +seems so horrible, so unreal, so--so different from what I've always +believed about the majesty and purity of the law! Can these things be, +indeed?" + +He laughed bitterly. + +"Can they?" he repeated. "When you see that they _are_, isn't that +answer enough? And the reason of it all is that I'm a Socialist and know +certain secrets of certain men, which--if I should tell the +world--might, nay, surely would precipitate a revolution. So, these men, +and the System behind them, have tried to discredit me by this foul +charge. After this, if the charge sticks, I may shout my head off, +exposing what I know; and who will listen? You know the answer as well +as I! Do I complain? No, not once! What I must suffer, for this +wondrous Cause, is not a tenth what thousands suffer every day, in +silence and high courage. What has happened to me, personally, is but +the merest trifle beside what has already happened to thousands, +fighting for life and liberty, for wife and home and children; for the +right to work and live like men, not beasts!" + +"You mean the--the working class?" she ventured, wonderingly. "Is this +outrage really a minor one, compared with what they, who feed and warm +and carry the whole world, have to suffer? Tell me, for I--God help me, +I am ignorant! I am beginning to see, to half-see, awful, dim, ghostly +shapes of huge, unspeakable wrongs. Tell me the truth about all this, as +you have told it about yourself--and let me know!" + +Then Gabriel talked as never he had talked before. To this, his audience +of one, there in the dirty and ill-smelling police station, he unfolded +the sad tale of the disinherited, the enslaved, the wretched, as never +to a huge, and spell-bound audience in hall or park or city street. His +eloquence, always convincing, now became sublime. + +With master strokes he painted vast outlines of the whole sad +picture--the System based on robbery and fraud and exploitation; its +natural results in millionaire and tramp and harlot and degenerate; the +crime of armies of unemployed and starving men, of millions of women +forced into the factories and shops, there to compete with men and lower +wages and lose their finest feminine attributes in the sordid and +heartless drudging for a pittance. + +He told her of child slavery, and brought before her eyes the pictures +he himself had seen, of the pale, stunted little victims of Mammon's +greed, toiling by day and night in stifling, dangerous mines; in the +Hell-glare of the glass-factories; in the hand-bruising, +soul-obliterating Inferno of the coal-breakers; in the hot, linty, +sickening atmosphere of the southern cotton-mills. And as he talked, she +saw for the first time the figures of these bowed and bloodless little +boys and girls, giving their lives drop by drop, and cough by cough, +that _she_ might have purple and fine linen and the rich, soft, easy +paths of life. + + * * * * * + +Then, pausing not, he spoke to her of white slavery, of girls and women +by the uncounted thousand forced to barter their own bodies for a +mockery of life; and, stinging as a nagaika, he laid the lash of blame +on Capitalism, evil cause of an evil and rotten fruit, of disease and +crime, and misery, and death. He told her of political corruption beyond +belief; of cheating, lying, trickery and greed, for power. Of war, he +told her, and made all its inner, hideous motives clear. She seemed +verily to see the trenches, the "red rampart's slippery edge," the +spattered blood and brains and all the horror of Hell's nethermost +infamy--and then the blasted, wrecked and wasted homes, the long trail +of mourning and of hopeless ruin--the horror of this crime of crimes, +all for profit, all for gold and markets, all for Capitalism! + +And then, while the girl stood there listening, spell-bound by her first +insight, her first understanding of the true character of this, our +striving, slaving world, held by a few for their own inordinate pride +and power, the man's voice changed. + +With new intonations and a deeper tone, he launched into some outlines +of the great hope, the splendid vision, the Wondrous Ideal--Socialism, +the world-salvation. + +Sentence by sentence, imagery of this vast, noble thought flowed from +his inspired lips. Clearly he showed this woman all the causes of the +world's travail and pain; and clearly made her see that only in one way, +only through the ownership of the world by the world's children as a +whole, could peace and justice, life and joy and plenty and the New Time +come to pass, dreamed of and yearned for by many sages and prophets, and +now close at hand on the very threshold of reality! + +Socialism! It leaped from his spirit like a living flame, consuming +dross and waste and evil, lighting up the future with its shining +beacon, its message of hope to the hopeless, of rest and cheer and peace +to all who labored and were heavy laden. + +Socialism! The glory of the vision seemed to blind and dazzle Catherine. +In its supernal light, things grievous to be understood and borne were +now made clear. For the first time in all her life, the woman saw, and +knew, and grasped the truths of this strange nexus of conflict, pain and +sorrow, that we know as our existence. + +"Socialism! The Hope of the World!" Gabriel finished. "And for this, and +for what I know about its enemies, I stand here in this cell and may yet +go to a living death. This is my crime, and nothing else--this battle +for the freedom and the joy of the world--this struggle against the +powers of ignorance and darkness, priestcraft and greed, lust, treachery +and foulness, cruelty and hate and war! This, and this only. You have +heard me. I have spoken!" + +He fell silent, crossed his arms upon the bars of the cage that pent +him, and laid his head upon them with a motion of weariness. + +Something strangely stirred the heart of the woman. Her hand went out +and touched his thick, black hair. + +"Be of good cheer," she whispered. "Though I am ignorant and do not +fully understand, as yet, some glimmer of the light has reached my eyes. +I can learn, and I _will_ learn, and dare, and do! All my life I have +eaten the bread of this bitter slavery, taken the thing I had no right +to take, unknowingly wielded the lash on bleeding backs of men and women +and children. + +"All my life have I, in ignorance and idleness, done these things. But +never shall I do them again. That is all past and gone, an evil dream +that is no more. From now, if you will be patient and forgive and teach +me, I will stand with you and yours, and glory in the new-found strength +and majesty of this supreme ideal!" + +He made no answer, save to reach one hand to her, through the bars. +Their hands met in a long, clinging tension. The policeman, somewhat +down the corridor, moved officiously in their direction. + +"Here, now, none o' that!" he blurted. "Break away! An' say, time's up. +Yuh stayed too long, miss, as it is!" + +Their hands parted. Still Gabriel did not look up. + +"Are--are you coming back again?" he asked. + +"Yes, Gabriel. Tomorrow." + +"And will you tell me then who you are?" + +"I'll tell you now, if you want to know." + +"I do," he answered, and raised his head. Their eyes met, steadily. "I +do, now that you too have seen the light, and that you understand. Tell +me, who are you?" + +A moment's pause. + +Then, facing him, she answered: + +"I am Catherine Flint, only daughter of Isaac Flint, the Billionaire!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI. + +"GUILTY." + + +Speechless and dazed, Gabriel stared at her as though at some strange +apparition. + +"Daughter of--of Isaac Flint?" he stammered, clinging to the bars. + +"Come, come, lady, yuh can't stay no longer!" the officer again +insisted, tapping her on the shoulder. "Yuh'd oughta been out o' here +ten minutes ago! No, nuthin' doin'!" he concluded, as she turned to him +appealingly. "Not today! Time's up an' more than up!" + +Catherine stretched out her hand to Gabriel, in farewell. He took it, +silently. + +"Good-bye!" said she. "Until I come again, good-bye. Keep up a stout +heart, for I am with you. We--we _can't_ lose. We shall win--we _must_ +win! Don't condemn me for being what I am and who I am, Gabriel. Only +think what--with your help--I may yet be! And now again, good-bye!" + +Their hands parted. Gabriel, still silent, stood there in his cell, +watching her till she vanished from his sight down the long corridor of +grief and tears. The officer, winking wisely to himself, thrust his +tongue into his cheek. + +"Daughter of Isaac Flint, th' Billionaire!" he was thinking, with +derision. "Oh, yes, billionaires' daughters would be visitin' Socialists +an' bums an' red-light con-workers like this geezer. Oh yes, sure, sure +they would--I should worry!" + +Which mental attitude was fortunate, indeed; for it, and it alone, +preserved the girl from a wild blare of newspaper notoriety. Had the +truth been known, who could have imagined the results? + +For a long time after the girl had departed, Gabriel sat there in his +cell, motionless and sunk in deepest thought. His emotions passed +recording. That this woman, his ideal, his best-beloved, the cherished, +inmost treasure of his heart and soul--she whom he had rescued, she who +had lain in his arms and shared with him that unforgettable hour in the +old sugar-house--should now prove to be the daughter of his bitterest +enemy, surpassed belief and stunned all clear understanding. + +Flint! The very name connoted, for Gabriel, all that was cruel and +rapacious, hateful, vicious and greedy; all that meant pain and woe and +death to him and his class. Visions of West Virginia and Colorado rose +before his mind. He heard again the whistle of the "Bull Moose Death +Special" as it sped on its swift errand of barbarism up Cabin Creek, +hurling its sprays of leaden death among the slaves of this man and his +vulturine associates. + +Flint! He whispered the name; and now he seemed to see the burning tents +at Ludlow; the fleeing women and children, shot down by barbarous thugs +and gunmen, ghouls in human form! He saw the pits of death, where the +charred bodies of innocent victims of greed and heartless rapacity lay +in mute protest under the far Colorado sky. And more he saw, east and +west, north and south, of this man's inhuman work; and his thoughts, +projected into the future, dwelt bitterly on the Air Trust now already +under way--the terrible, coming slavery which he, Gabriel, had struggled +to checkmate, only to find himself locked like a rat in a steel trap! + +"And this woman," he groaned in agony of soul, "this woman, all in all +to me, is--is _his_ daughter!" + +Flinging himself upon his hard and narrow bunk, he buried his head in +his powerful arms, and tried to blot out thought from his fevered brain; +but still the current ran on and on and on, endlessly, maddeningly. And +to the problem, no answer seemed to come. + +"She must know who I am," he pondered. "Even if her father has not told +her, the papers have. True, she doesn't believe the infamous charge +against me; but what then? Can she, on the other hand, believe the +truth, that her father has conspired with Slade and those Cosmos thugs, +and with the press and courts and the whole damnable prostituted system, +to suppress and kill me? + +"Can she believe her father guilty of all that? And of all the horrors +of this capitalist Hell, that I have told her about? No! Human nature is +incapable of such vast turnings from all the habits and environments of +a lifetime. In her veins flows the blood of that arch-criminal, Flint. +Her thoughts must be, to some extent, his thoughts. She must share his +viewpoint, and be loyal to him. After this first flush of reaction +against her father, she will go back to him. It is inevitable. Betwixt +her and me is fixed a boundless space, wider than Heaven and earth. She +is one pole, and I the other. If I have any strength or resolution or +philosophy, now is the hour for its trial. + +"This woman must be, shall be put away from every thought and wish and +hope. And the word FINIS must be written at the end of the one brief +chapter where our life-stories seem to have run along together in a +false harmony and a fictitious peace!" + +Thus pondered Gabriel, in the gloom of his harsh cell, branded with +crime and writhing in the agony of soul that only those who love +hopelessly can ever know. + +And Catherine, what of her? What were her thoughts, emotions, +inspirations as--seeming to live in a dream, with Gabriel's eloquence +and the new vision of a better, saner, kindlier world shining through +her soul--she made her way back to the dingy hotel where now, shabby as +it was, she felt she had no right to stay, while others, homeless, +walked the brutal streets? + +Who shall know them? Who shall tell? A blind man, suddenly made to see, +can find no words to express the wonder and bright glory of that sudden +sight. A deaf man, regaining his lost sense, cannot describe the sudden +burst of sound that fills the new, strange world wherein he finds +himself. So, now, this cultured, gently bred woman, for the first time +in her life understanding the facts, glimpsing the tragedy and grasping +the answer to it all, felt that no words could compass her strange +exultation and enlargement. + +"It--it's like a chrysalis emerging into the form of a light, swift +butterfly!" she pondered, as, back in her room once more, she prepared +to write two letters. "Just for the present, I can't understand it all. +I don't know, yet, whether I'm worthy to be a Socialist, to be one of +that company of earnest, noble men and women striving for life and +liberty and joy for all the world. But with the help of the man I trust +and honor and believe in, and--and love--perhaps I may yet be. God +grant it may be so!" + +She thought, a few minutes more, her face lighted by an inner radiance +that made its beauty spiritual and pure and calm. Then, having somewhat +composed her thoughts, she wrote this letter to Maxim Waldron: + + My Dear Wally: + + I am writing you without date or place, just as I shall write my + father, because whatever happens, I insist that you two let me go + my way in peace, without trying to find, or hamper, or importune + me. My mind is fully made up. Nothing can change it. We have come + to the parting of the ways, forever. + + Though I may feel bitterly toward you for what I now understand as + your harsh and cruel attitude toward the world, and the rôle you + play as an exploiter of human labor, I shall not reproach you. You + simply cannot see these things as I have come to see them since my + feet have been set upon the road toward Socialism. Don't start, + Wally--that's the truth. Perhaps I'm not much of a Socialist yet, + because I don't know much about it. But I am learning, and shall + learn. My teacher is the best one in the world, I'm sure; and added + to this, all my natural energy and innate radicalism have flamed + into activity with this new thought. So, you see, the past is even + more effectively buried than ever. How could anything ever be + possible, now, between you and me? + + Cease to think of me, Wally. I am gone out of your life, for all + time, as out of that whole circle of false, insincere, wicked and + parasitic existence that we call "society." That other world, where + you still are, shall see me no more. I have found a better and a + nobler kind of life; and to this, and to all it implies, I mean to + be forever faithful. I beg you, never try to find me or to answer + this. + + Good-bye, then, forever. + + Catherine. + +After having read this over and sealed it, she wrote still another: + + Dear Father: + + It is hard to write these words to you. I owe you a debt of + gratitude and love, in many ways; yet, after all, your will and + mine conflict. You have tried to force me to a union abhorrent and + impossible to me. My only course is this--independence to think, + and act, and live as I, no longer a child but a grown woman, now + see fit. + + I shall never return to you, father. Life means one thing to you, + another to me. You cannot change; I would not, now, for all the + world. I must go my way, thinking my own thoughts, doing my own + work, living up to my own ideals, whatever these may be. Your money + cannot lure me back to you, back to that old, false, sheltered, + horrible life of ease and idleness and veiled robbery! The skill + you have given me as a musician will open out a way for me to earn + my own living and be free. For this I thank you, and for much else, + even as I say good-bye to you for all time. + + I have written Wally. He will tell you more about me, and about + the change in my views and ambitions, which has taken place. Do not + think harshly of me, father, and I will try to forgive you for the + burden I now know you have laid upon the aching shoulders of this + sad, old world. + + And now, good-bye. Though you have lost a daughter, you may still + rejoice to know that that daughter has found peace and joy and vast + outlets for the energies of her whole heart and soul and being, in + working for Socialism, the noblest ideal ever conceived by the mind + of man. + + Farewell, father; and think sometimes, not too unkindly, of + + Your + + Kate. + +One week after these letters were mailed, "Tiger" Waldron, fanning the +fires of the old man's terrible rage, had decided Flint to disinherit +Catherine and to name him, Waldron, as his executor. Gabriel's fervent +wish that she might be penniless, was granted. + +On the very day this business was put through, practically delivering +the Flint interests into Waldron's hands in the case of the old man's +death, a verdict was reached in Gabriel's case, at Rochester. + +This case, crammed through the calendar, ahead of a large jam of other +business, proved how well unlimited funds can grease the wheels of Law. +It proved, also, that in the face of infinitely-subsidized witnesses, +lawyers, judge and jurymen, black becomes white, and a good deed is +written down a crime. + +Catherine, working incognito, co-operated with the Socialist defense, +and did all that could be humanely done to have the truth made known, to +overset the mass of perjury and fraud enmeshing Gabriel, and to force +his acquittal. + +As easily might she have bidden the sea rise from its bed and flood the +dry and arid wastes of old Sahara. Her voice and that of the Socialists, +their lawyers and their press, sounded in vain. A solid battery of +capitalist papers, legal lights, private detectives and other +means--particularly including the majority of the priests and +clergy--swamped the man and damned him and doomed him from the first +word of the trial. + +Money flowed in floods. Perjury overran the banks of the River of +Corruption. Herzog branded the man a thief and fire-eater. Dope-fiends +and harlots from the Red-Light district, "madames" and pimps and +hangers-on, swore to the white-slave activities of this man, who never +yet in all his four and twenty years had so much as entered a brothel. + +Forged papers fixed past crimes and sentences on him. By innuendo and +direct statement, dynamitings, arsons, violence and rioting in many +strikes were laid at his door. His Socialist activities were dragged in +the slime of every gutter; and his Party made to suffer for evil deeds +existing only in the foul imagination of the prosecuting attorneys. The +finest "kept" brains in the legal profession conducted the case from +start to finish; and not a juryman was drawn on the panel who was not, +from the first, sworn to convict, and bought and paid for in hard cash. + +After three days--days in which Gabriel plumbed the bitterest depths of +Hell and drank full draughts of gall and wormwood--the verdict came. +Came, and was flashed from sea to sea by an exulting press; and preached +on, and editorialized on, and gloated over by Flint and Waldron and +many, many others of that ilk--while Catherine wept tears that seemed to +drain her very heart of its last drops of blood. + +At last she knew the meaning of the Class Struggle and her terrible +father's part in it all. At last she understood what Gabriel had so long +understood and now was paying for--the fact that Hell hath no fury like +Capitalism when endangered or opposed. + +The Price! Gabriel now must pay it, to the full. For that foul verdict, +bought with gold wrung from the very blood and marrow of countless +toilers, opened the way to the sentence which Judge Harpies regretted +only that he could not make more severe--the sentence which the +detectives and the prison authorities, well "fixed," counted on making a +death-sentence, too. + +"Gabriel Armstrong, stand up!" + +He arose and faced the court. A deathlike stillness hushed the room, +crowded with Socialists, reporters, emissaries of Flint, private +detectives and hangers-on of the System. Heavily veiled, lest some of +her father's people recognize her, Catherine herself sat in a back seat, +very pale yet calm. + +"Prisoner at the bar, have you anything to say, why sentence should not +be pronounced upon you?" + +Gabriel, also a little pale, but with a steadfast and fearless gaze, +looked at the legal prostitute upon the bench, and shook his head in +negation. He deigned not, even, to answer this kept puppet of the ruling +class. + +Judge Harpies frowned a trifle, cleared his throat, glanced about him +with pompous dignity; and then, in a sonorous and impressive tone--his +best asset on the bench, for legal knowledge and probity were not +his--announced: + +"_It is the judgment of this court that you do stand committed to pay a +fine of three thousand dollars into the treasury of the United States, +and to serve five years at hard labor in the Federal Penitentiary at +Atlanta!_" + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII. + +BACK IN THE SUNLIGHT. + + +Four years and two months from the day when this iniquitous verdict fell +from the lips of the "bought and paid for" judge, a sturdily built and +square jawed man stood on the steps of the Atlanta Penitentiary and, for +the first time in all these weary months and years, faced the sun. + +Pale with the prison-pallor that never fails to set its seal on the +victims of a diseased society, which that society retaliates upon by +shutting away from God's own light and air, this man stood there on the +steps, a moment, then advanced to meet a woman who was coming toward him +in the August glare. As he removed his cheap, convict-made cap, one saw +his finely shaped head, close cropped with the infamous prison badge of +servitude. Despite the shoddy miserable prison-suit that the prostituted +government had given him--a suit that would have made Apollo grotesque +and would have marked any man as an ex-convict, thus heavily +handicapping him from the start--Gabriel Armstrong's poise and strength +still made themselves manifest. + +And the smile as they two, the woman and he, came together and their +hands clasped, lighted his pale features with a ray brighter than that +of the blistering Southern sunshine flooding down upon them both. + +"I knew you'd come, Catherine," said he, simply, his voice still the +same deep, vibrant, earnest voice which, all that time ago, had thrilled +and inspired her at the hour of her great conversion. Still were his +eyes clear, level and commanding; and through his splendid body, despite +all his jailers had been able to do, coursed an abundant life and strong +vitality. + +Gabriel had served his time with consummate skill, courage and +intelligence. Like all wise men, he had recognized _force majeure_, and +had submitted. He had made practically no infractions of the prison +rules, during his whole "bit." He had been quiet, obedient and +industrious. His work, in the brush factory, had always been well done; +and though he had consistently refused to bear tales, to spy, to inform +or be a stool-pigeon--the quickest means of winning favor in any +prison--yet he had given no opportunity for savagery and violence to be +applied to him. Not even Flint's eager wish to have his jailers force +him into rebellion had succeeded. Realizing to the full the sort of +tactics that would be used to break, and if possible to kill him, +Gabriel had met them all with calm self-reliance and with a generalship +that showed his brain and nerves were still unshaken. On their own +ground he had met these brutes, and he had beaten them at their own +game. + +Their attempt to make a "dope" out of him had ignominiously failed. He +had detected the morphine they had cleverly mixed with his water; and, +after his drowsiness and weird dreams had convinced him of the plot, had +turned the trick on it by secretly emptying this water out and by +drinking only while in the shop, where he could draw water from the +faucet. The cell guards' intelligence had been too limited to make them +inquire of the brush shop guards about his habits. Also, Gabriel, had +feigned stupefaction while in the cell. Thus he had simulated the +effects of the drug, and had really thrown his tormentors off the track. +For months and months they were convinced that they were weakening his +will and destroying his mentality, while as a matter of fact his +reasoning powers and determination never had been more keen. + +By bathing as often as possible, by taking regular and carefully planned +calisthenics, by reading the best books in the prison library, by +attention to every rule of health within his means, and by allowing +himself no vices, not even his pipe, Gabriel now was emerging from the +Bastile of Capitalism in a condition of mind and body so little impaired +that he knew a few weeks would entirely restore him. The good conduct +allowance, or "copper," which they had been forced to allow him for +exemplary conduct, had cut ten months off his sentence. And now in +mid-August of 1925, there he stood, a free man again, with purpose still +unshaken and with a woman by his side who shared his high ambition and +asked no better lot than to work with him toward the one great +aim--Socialism! + +Now, as these two walked side by side along the sunbaked street of the +sweltering Southern town, Gabriel was saying: + +"So I haven't changed as much as you expected? I'm glad of that, Kate. +Only superficial changes, at most. Just give me a little time to pull +together and get my legs under me again, and--forward march! Charge the +forts! Eh, Catherine?" + +She nodded, smiling. Smiles were rare with her, now. She had grown +sober and serious, in these years of work and battle and stern endeavor. +The Catherine Flint of the old times had vanished--the Catherine of +country club days, and golf and tennis, and the opera--the Catherine of +Newport, of the horse show, of Paris, of "society." In her place now +lived another and a nobler woman, a woman known and loved the length and +breadth of the land, a woman exalted and strengthened by new, high and +splendid race-aspirations; by a vision of supernal beauty--the vision of +the world for the workers, each for all and all for each! + +She had grown more mature and beautiful, with the passing years. No mark +of time had yet laid its hand upon her face or figure. Young, still--she +was now but five-and-twenty, and Gabriel only twenty-eight--she walked +like a goddess, lithe, strong and filled with overflowing vigor. Her +eyes glowed with noble enthusiasms; and every thought, every impulse and +endeavor now was upward, onward, filled with stimulus and hope and +courage. + +Thus, a braver, broader and more splendid woman than Gabriel had known +in the other days of his first love for her--the days when he had wished +her penniless, the days when her prospective millions stood between +them--she walked beside him now. And they two, comrades, understood each +other; spoke the same language, shared the same aspirations, dreamed the +same wondrous dreams. Their smile, as their eyes met, was in itself a +benediction and a warm caress. + +"Charge the forts!" Gabriel repeated. "Yes, Kate, the battle still goes +on, no matter what happens. Here and there, soldiers fall and die. Even +battalions perish; but the war continues. When I think of all the +fights you've been in, since I was put away, I'm unspeakably envious. +You've been through the Tawana Valley strike, the big Consolidated +Western lockout and the Imperial Mills massacre. You were a delegate to +the 1923 Revolution Congress, in Berlin, and saw the slaughter in Unter +den Linden--helped nurse the wounded comrades, inside the Treptow Park +barricades. Then, out in California--" + +She checked him, with a hand on his arm. + +"Please don't, Gabriel," she entreated. "What I have done has been so +little, so terribly, pitiably little, compared to what _needs_ to be +done! And then remember, too, that in and through all, this thought has +run, like the red thread through every cable of the British navy--the +thought that in my every activity, I am working against my own father, +combatting him, being as it were a traitor and--" + +"Traitor?" exclaimed the man. "Never! The bond between you two is +forever broken. You recognize in him, now, an enemy of all mankind. +Waldron is another. So is every one of the Air Trust group--that is to +say, the small handful of men who today own the whole world and +everything in it. + +"Your father, as President of that world-corporation which potentially +controls two thousand millions of human beings--and which will, +tomorrow, absolutely control them, is no longer any father of yours. + +"He is a world-emperor, and his few associates are princes of the royal +house. Your life and thought have forever broken with him. No more can +bonds and ties of blood hold you. Your larger duty calls to battle +against this man. Treachery? A thousand times, no! Treason to tyrants +is obedience to God! Or, if not God, then to mankind!" + +He paused and looked at her. They had now reached a little park, some +half mile from the grim and dour old walls of the Federal Pen. Trees and +grass and playing children seemed to invite them to stop and rest. +Though strong, moreover, Gabriel had for so long been unused to walking, +that even this short distance had tired him a little. And the oppressive +heat had them both by the throat. + +"Shall we sit down here and wait a little?" asked he. "Plan a little, +see where we are and what's to be done next?" + +She nodded assent. + +"Of course," she said, "even if I could have got word in to you, I +wouldn't have given you our real plans." + +"Hardly!" he exclaimed. Then, coming to a fountain, they sat down on a +bench close by. Nobody, they made sure, was within ear-shot. + +"Thank God," he breathed, "that you, Kate, and only you, met me as I +came out! It was a grand good idea, wasn't it, to keep my time of +liberation a secret from the comrades? Otherwise there might have been a +crowd on hand, and various kinds of foolishness; and time and energy +would have been used that might have been better spent in working for +the Revolution!" + +She looked at him a trifle curiously. + +"You forget," said she, "that all public meetings have been prohibited, +ever since last April. Federal statute--the new Penfield Bill--'The +Muzzler' as we call it." + +"That's so!" he murmured. "I forgot. Fact is, Kate, I _am_ out of touch +with things. While you've been fighting, I've been buried alive. Now, I +must learn much, before I can jump back into the war again. And above +all, I must lose my identity. That's the first and most essential thing +of all!" + +"Of course," she assented. "They--the Air Trust World-corporation--will +trail you, everywhere you go. All this, as you know, has been provided +for. You must vanish a while." + +"Indeed I must. If they 'jobbed' me like that, in 1921, what won't they +do now in 1925?" + +"They won't ever get you, again, Gabriel," she answered, "if your wits +and ours combined, can beat them. True, the Movement has been badly shot +to pieces. That is, its visible organization has suffered, and it's +outlawed. But under the surface, Gabriel, you haven't an idea of its +spread and power. It's tremendous--it's a volcano waiting to burst! Let +the moment come, the leader rise, the fire burst forth, and God knows +what may not happen!" + +"Splendid!" exclaimed Gabriel. "The battle calls me, like a +clarion-call! But we must act with circumspection. The Plutes, powerful +as they now are, won't need even the shadow of an excuse to plant me for +life, or slug or shoot me. Things were rotten enough, then; but today +they're worse. The hand of this Air Trust monopoly, grasping every line +of work and product in the world, has got the lid nailed fast. We're all +slaves, every man and woman of us. Even our Socialists in Congress can +do nothing, with all these muzzling and sedition and treason bills, and +with this conscription law just through. Now that the government--the +Air Trust, that is to say--is running the railways and telegraphs and +telephones, a strike is treason--and treason is death! Kate, this year +of grace, 1925, is worse than ever I dreamed it would be. Oh, infinitely +worse! No wonder our movement has been driven largely underground. No +wonder that the war of mass and class is drawing near--the actual, +physical war between the Air Trust few and the vast, toiling, suffering, +stifling world!" + +She nodded. + +"Yes," said she, "it's coming, and soon. Things are as you say, and even +worse than you say, Gabriel. I know more of them, now, than you can +know. Remember London's 'Iron Heel?' When I first read it I thought it +fanciful and wild. God knows I was mistaken! London didn't put it half +strongly enough. The beginning was made when the National Mounted Police +came in. All the rest has swiftly followed. If you and I live five years +longer, Gabriel, we'll see a harsher, sterner and more murderous +trampling of that Heel than ever Comrade Jack imagined!" + +"Right!" said he. "And for that very reason, Kate, I've got to go into +hiding till my beard and hair grow and I can reappear as a different +man. Don't look, just now, but in a minute take a peek. Over on that +third bench, on the other side of the park, see that man? Well, he's a +'shadow.' There were three waiting for me, at the prison gates. You +couldn't spot them, but I could. One was that Italian banana-seller that +stood at the curb, on the first corner. Another was a taxi driver. And +this one, over there, is the third. From now till they 'get' me again, +they'll follow me like bloodhounds. I can't go free, to do my work and +take part in the impending war, till I shake them. Look, now, do you +see the one I mean?" + +Cautiously the girl looked round, with casual glance as though to see a +little boy playing by the fountain. + +"Yes," she murmured. "Who is he? Do you know his name?" + +"No," answered Gabriel. "His name, no. But I remember him, well enough. +He's the larger of the two detectives I knocked out, in that room in +Rochester. Beside his pay, he's got a personal motive in landing me back +in 'stir,' or sending me 'up the escape,' as prison slang names a +penitentiary and a death. So then," he added, "what's the first thing? +Where shall I go, and how, to hide and metamorphose? I'm in your hands, +now, Kate. More than four years out of the world, remember, makes a +fellow want a little lift when he comes back!" + +She smiled and nodded comprehension. + +"Don't explain, Gabriel," said she. "I understand. And I've got just the +place in mind for you. Also, the way to get there. You see, comrade, +we've been planning on this release. When can you go?" + +"When? Right now!" exclaimed Gabriel, standing up. "The quicker, the +better. Every minute I lose in getting myself ready to jump back into +the fight, is a precious treasure that can never be regained!" + +"Go, then," said she, with pride in her eyes. "I will wait here. Don't +think of me; leave me here; I am self-reliant in every way. Go to the +Cuthbert House, on Desplaines Street. Everything has been arranged for +your escape. Every link in the chain is complete. Remember, we are +working more underground, now, than when you were sentenced. And our +machinery is almost perfect. Register at the hotel and take a room for a +week. Then--" + +"Register, under my own name?" asked he. + +"Under your own name. Stay there two days. You won't be molested so +soon, and things won't be ready for you till the third day. On that +day--" + +"Well, what then?" + +"A message will come for you, that's all. Obey it. You have nothing more +to do." + +He nodded. + +"I understand," said he. "But, Kate--who's paying for all this? Not +_you_? I--I can't have _you_ paying, now that every dollar you have must +be earned by your own labor!" + +She smiled a smile of wonderful beauty. + +"Foolish, rebellious boy!" said she. "Have no fear! All expense will be +borne by the Party, just as the Party paid your fine. It needs you and +must have you; and were the cost ten times as great, would bear it to +get you back! Remember, Gabriel, the Party is far larger than when you +were buried alive in a cell. Even though in some ways outlawed and +suppressed, its potential power is tremendous. All it needs is the +electric spark to cause the world-shaking explosion. All that keeps us +from power now is the Iron Heel--that, and the clutch of the Air Trust +already crushing and mangling us! + +"Go, now," she concluded. "Go, and rest a while, and wait. All shall be +well. But first, you must get back your strength completely, and find +yourself, and take your place again in the ranks of the great, +subterranean army!" + +"And shall I see you soon, again?" he asked, his voice trembling just a +little as their hands clasped once more, and once more parted. + +"You will see me soon," she answered. + +"Where?" + +"In a safe place, where we can plan, and work, and organize for the +final blow! Now, you shall know no more. Good-bye!" + +One last look each gave the other. Their eyes met, more caressingly than +many a kiss; and, turning, Gabriel took his way, alone, toward +Desplaines Street. + +At the exit of the park, he looked around. + +There Catherine sat, on the bench. But, seemingly quite oblivious to +everything, she was now reading a little book. Though he lingered a +moment, hoping to get some signal from her, she never stirred or looked +up from the page. + +Sighing, with a strange feeling of sudden loneliness and a vast, empty +yearning in his heart, Gabriel continued on his way, toward what? He +knew not. + +The detective on the other side of the park, no longer sat there. +Somehow, somewhere, he had disappeared. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII. + +IN THE REFUGE. + + +Far on the western slopes of Clingman Dome in the great Smoky Mountains +of North Carolina, a broad, low-built bungalow stood facing the setting +sun. Vast stretches of pine forest shut it off from civilization and the +prying activities of Plutocracy. The nearest settlement was Ravens, +twenty miles away to eastward, across inaccessible ridges and ravines. +Running far to southward, the railway left this wilderness untouched. +High overhead, an eagle soared among the "thunder-heads" that presaged a +storm up Sevier Pass. And, red through the haze to westward, the great +huge sunball slid down the heavens toward the tumbled, jagged mass of +peaks that rimmed the far horizon. + +Within the bungalow, a murmur of voices sounded; and from the huge stone +chimney a curl of smoke, arising, told of the evening meal, within, now +being made ready. On the wide piazza sat a man, writing at a table of +plain boards roughly pegged together. Still a trifle pale, yet with a +look of health and vigor, he sat there hard at work, writing as fast as +pen could travel. Hardly a word he changed. Sheet by sheet he wrote, and +pushed them aside and still worked on. Some of the pages slid to the +porch-floor, but he gave no heed. His brow was wrinkled with the +intensity of his thought; and over his face, where now a disguising +beard was beginning to be visible, the light of the sinking sun cast as +it were a kind of glowing radiance. + +At last the man looked up, and smiled, and eyed the golden mountain-tops +far off across the valley. + +"Wonderful aerie in the hills!" he murmured. "Wonderful retreat and +hiding-place--wonderful care and forethought to have made this possible +for me! How shall I ever repay all this? How, save by giving my last +drop of blood, if need be, for the final victory?" + +He pondered a moment, still half-thinking of the poem he had just +finished, half-reflecting on the strange events of the past week--the +secret ways, by swift auto, by boat, by monoplane which had brought him +hither to this still undiscovered refuge. How had it all been arranged, +he wondered; and who had made it possible? He could not tell, as yet. No +information was forthcoming. But in his heart he understood, and his +lips, murmuring the name of Catherine, blessed that name and tenderly +revered it. + +At last Gabriel bent, picked up the pages that had fallen, and arranged +them all in order. + +"Tomorrow this shall go out to the world," said he, "and to our +press--such of it as still remains. It may inspire some fainting heart +and thrill some lagging mind. Now, that the final struggle is at hand, +more than guns we need inspiration. More than force, to meet the force +that has ravished our every right and crushed Constitution and Law, +alike, we need spiritual insight and integrity. Only through these, and +by these, come what may, can a true, lasting victory be attained!" + +In the doorway of the bungalow a woman appeared, her smile illumined by +the sunset warmth. + +"Come, Gabriel," said she. "We're waiting--the Granthams, Craig, and +Brevard. Supper's ready. Not one of them will sit down, till you come." + +"Have I been delaying you?" asked Gabriel, turning toward the woman, +with a smile that matched her own. + +"I'm afraid so, just a little," she answered. "But no matter; I'm glad. +When you get to writing, you know, nothing else matters. One line of +your verse is worth all the suppers in the world." + +"Nonsense!" he retorted. "I'm a mere scribbler!" + +"We won't argue that point," she answered. "But at any rate, you're +done, now. So come along, boy--or the comrades will begin 'dividing up' +without us; for this mountain air won't brook delay." + +Gabriel took a long breath, stretched his powerful arms out toward the +mountains, and raised his face to the last light of day. + +"Nature!" he whispered. "Ever beautiful and ever young! Ah, could man +but learn thy lessons and live close to thy great heart!" + +Then, turning, he followed Catherine into the bungalow. + +Beautiful and restful though the outside was, the interior was more +restful and more charming still. + +In the vast fireplace, to left, a fire of pine roots was crackling. The +room was filled with their pitchy, wholesome perfume, with the dancing +light of their blaze and with the warmth made grateful by that mountain +height. + +Simple and comfortable all the furnishings were, hand-wrought for use +and pleasure. Big chairs invited. Broad couches offered rest. No +hunting-trophies, no heads of slaughtered wild things disfigured the +walls, as in most bungalows; but the flickering firelight showed +pictures that inspired thought and carried lessons home--pictures of +toil and of repose, pictures of life, and love, and simple joy--pictures +of tragedy, of reality and deep significance. Here one saw Millet's +"Sower," and "Gleaners" and "The Man with the Hoe." There, Fritel's "The +Conquerors," and Stuck's "War." A large copy of Bernard's "Labor,"--the +sensation of the 1922 Paris Salon--hung above the mantelpiece, on which +stood Rodin's "Miner" in bronze. Portraits of Marx, Engels, LaSalle and +Debs, with others loved and honored in the Movement, showed between +original sketches by Walter Crane, Balfour Kerr, Art Young and Ryan +Walker. And in the well-filled bookshelves at the right, Socialist books +in abundance all told the same tale to the observer--that this was a +Socialist nest high up there among the mountains, and that every thought +and word and deed was inspired by one great ideal and one alone--the +Revolution! + +At a plain but well-covered table near the western windows, where fading +sunlight helped firelight to illumine the little company, sat three +men--two of them armed with heavy automatics--and a woman. Another +woman, Catherine, was standing by her chair and beckoning Gabriel to +his. + +"Come, Comrade!" she exclaimed. "If you delay much longer, everything +will be stone cold, and _then_ beg forgiveness if you dare!" + +Gabriel laughed. + +"Your own fault, if you wait for me," he answered, seating himself. "You +know how it is when you get to scribbling--you never know when to stop. +And the scenery, up here, won't let you go. Positively fascinating, +that view is! If the Plutes knew of it, they'd put a summer resort +here, and coin millions!" + +"Yes," answered Craig, once Congressman Craig, but now hiding from the +Air Trust spies. "And what's more, they'd mighty soon confiscate this +resting-up place of the Comrades, and have us back behind bars, or +worse. But they _don't_ know about it, and aren't likely to. Thank +Heaven for at least one place the Party can maintain as an asylum for +our people when too hard-pressed! Not a road within ten miles of here. +No way to reach this place, masked here in the cliffs and mountains, +except by aeroplane. Not one chance in a thousand, fellows, that they'll +ever find it. Confusion take them all!" + +The meal progressed, with plenty of serious and earnest discussion of +the pressing problems now close at hand. Brevard, a short, spare man, +editor of the recently-suppressed "San Francisco Revolutionist" and now +in hiding, made a few trenchant remarks, from time to time. Grantham and +his wife, both active speakers on the "Underground Circuit" and both +under sentence of long imprisonment, said little. Most of the +conversation was between Catherine, Craig and Gabriel. Long before the +supper was done, lamps had to be brought and curtains lowered. At last +the meal was over. + +"Dessert, now, Gabriel!" exclaimed Grantham. "Your turn!" + +"Eh? What?" asked Armstrong. "My turn for what?" + +"Your turn to do your part! Don't think that you're going to write a +poem and then put it in your pocket, that way. Come, out with it!" + +Gabriel's protests availed nothing. The others overbore him. And at +last, unwillingly, he drew out the manuscript and spread it open on his +knee. + +"You really want to hear this?" he demanded. "If you can possibly spare +me, I wish you would!" + +For all answer, Craig pushed a lamp over toward him. The warm light on +Gabriel's face, now slightly bearded, and on his strong, corded throat, +made a striking picture as he cast his eyes on the manuscript and in +vibrant and harmonious voice, read: + + + _I SAW THE SOCIALIST_ + + I saw the Socialist sitting at a great Banquet of Men, + Sitting with honored leaders of the blind, unwitting Multitude; + I saw him there with the writers, editors, painters, men of letters, + Legislators and judges, the Leaders of the People, + Leaders flushed with the wines of price, eating costly and rare + foods, + Making loud talk, and boastful, of that marvel, American Liberty! + Thinking were they no thought of hunger and pinching cold; + Of the blue-lipped, skinny children, the thin-chested, coughing men, + The dry-breasted mothers, the dirt, disease and ignorance, + The mangled workmen, the tramps, drunkards, pickpockets, + prostitutes, thieves, + The mad-houses, jails, asylums and hospitals, the sores, the blood + of war, + And all the other wondrous blessings that attend our civilization-- + That civilization through which the wines and foods were given them. + + I saw the Socialist there, calm, unmoved, unsmiling, thoughtful, + Sober, serious, full of dispassionate and prophetic vision, + Not like the other men, the all-wise Leaders of the People. + The political economists, the professors, the militarists, heroes + and statisticians; + Not like the kings and presidents and emperors, the nobles and + gold-crammed bankers, + But mindful, more than they, of the cellars under the House of Life + Where blind things crawl in the dark, things men and yet not human, + Things whose toil makes possible the Banquets of the Leaders of Men, + Things that live and yet are not alive; things that never taste of + Life; + Things that make the rich foods, themselves snatching filthy crumbs; + Things that produce the wines of price, and must be content with + lees; + Things that shiver and cringe and whine, that snarl sometimes, + That are men and women and children, and yet that know not Life! + + I saw the Socialist there; I sat at the banquet; beside him, + Listened to the surging music, saw all the lights and flowers, + Flowers and lights and crystal cups, whereof the price for each + Might have brought back from Potter's Field some bloodless, + starving baby. + I heard the Leaders' speeches, the turgid oratory, + The well-turned phrases of the Captains, the rotund babble of + prosperity, + (Prosperity for whom? Nay, ask not troublesome questions!) + The Captains' vaunting I heard, their boasts of glory and victory, + While red, red, red their hands dripped red with the blood of the + butchered workers. + I heard the Judges' self-glorification, Quixotic fighting of + windmills, + Heard also the unclean jests that those respected Leaders told. + And as I looked and listened, I still observed the Socialist, + Unmoved and patient and serious, calm, full of sober reflections. + + Then there spake (among many others) an honored and full-paunched + Bishop. + Rubicund he was, and of portly habit of body, + Shepherd of a well-pastured flock, mightily content with God, + Out of whose omnipotent Hand (no doubt) the blessings of his life + descended. + I heard this exponent of Christ the Crucified, Christ the Carpenter, + Christ the Leader of Workingmen, the Agitator, the Disturber, + Christ the Labor-organizer, Christ the Archetypal Socialist, + Friend of the dwellers in the pits of Life, Consoler of earth's + exploited, + Who once with the lash scourged from the Temple the unclean + graft-brood of usurers. + And the rotund Bishop's words were as the crackling of dry thorns + Under a pot, bubbling without use in the desert of dreary + platitudes. + The story he told was spiced and garnished with profane words, + Whereat the Leaders laughed in their cups, making great show of + merriment, + So that the banquet-hall rang, and wine was spilt on the linen. + Wine as red as blood--the blood of the shattered miner, + Blood of the boy in the rifle-pits, blood of the coughing + child-slave, + Blood of the mangled trainman, blood that the Carpenter shed. + + And still I watched the Socialist. Sober, judicial, observant + And full of greater wisdom he was than to laugh with the tipsy + Leaders. + His eyes were fixed on the Bishop, vice-regent of God upon earth. + And as I watched the Socialist, the unmoved, the contemplative one, + He thoughtfully took his pencil, he took the fine and large card + Whereon the names of the rich foods and all the costly wines were + printed, + And made a few notes of the feast, notes of the Bishop's speech, + Notes to remind him to search the slums for the great, God-given + prosperity, + Which all the Judges, Lawmakers, Captains and Leaders knew to be + "our" portion; + Notes of the flowers, the wine, the lights, the music, the splendor, + Notes of the Leaders' oratory, notes of the Bishop's deep-voiced + unctiousness, + Notes he made; and as I looked at the notes he was carefully + writing, + The words ran red like wine and blood, they blazed like the blazing + lights! + Words they were of blood and fire, that spread, that filled the + banquet-hall. + Words of old, I read them--"MENE, MENE, TEKEL, UPHARSHIN!-- + Weighed in the Balance you are, ye Leaders respected of men, + You Statesmen, Lawmakers, Judges, Captains, Bishops, vice-regents of + God! + Weighed and tried and found wanting. Give way, now, to what shall + come after! + Make ye way for the Men who shall do what ye have but neglected and + shirked! + Make ye way for a Time which hath more than Power and Greed for its + watchwords! + Soon your day shall decline forever, your sun shall sink and shall + vanish. + Then from the Cellars of Life the darkness-dwellers shall issue, + Greeting another daunt which shall have more than pain for its + portion. + Then no more shall the humble, the lowly, the friends of the + Nazarene Carpenter + Be starved, be mangled for gold, be crucified, slaughtered, bled. + Make ye way!...Make ye way!..." + + Such was the message I read, the words of that fire-writ warning. + Then peace came back to my spirit, calm peace, and hope and + patience: + Then, through my anger and heat, I thought of the Retribution. + But even more clearly I saw the New Birth of this weary world, + This world now groaning in chains, with the bloody sweat of + oppression. + These things and many more, such as were hard to write of, + I read in the words of the Socialist, patient, peaceful and sober, + Full of prophetic vision, above all things hopeful and patient, + Written in living flame at the Feast of the Leaders of Men.... + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX. + +"APRÈS NOUS LE DÉLUGE!" + + +As Gabriel's voice fell to silence, after the last words, a stillness +came upon the lamp-lit room, a hush broken only by the snapping of the +pine-root fire on the hearth and by the busy ticking of the clock upon +the chimneypiece. Then, after a minute's pause, Craig reached over and +took Gabriel by the hand. + +"I salute you, O poet of the Revolution now impending!" he cried, while +Catherine's eyes gleamed bright with tears. "Would God that _I_ could +write like that, old man!" + +"And would God that my paper was still being issued!" Brevard added, +making a gesture with the pipe that, in his eagerness to hear, he had +allowed to die. "If it were I'd give that poem my front page, and fling +its message full in the faces of Plutocracy!" + +Gabriel smiled a bit nervously. + +"Don't, please don't," he begged. "If you really do like it help me +spread it. Don't waste words on praise, but plan with me, tonight, how +we can get this to the people--how we can perfect our final +arrangements--what we must do, now, at once, to meet the Air Trust and +defeat it before its terrible and unrelenting grip closes on the throat +of the world!" + +"Right!" said Craig. "We must act at once, while there's yet time. +today, all seems safe. The Air Trust spies haven't ferreted this place +out. A week from now, they may have, and one of the most secure and +useful Socialist refuges in the country may be only a heap of +ashes--like the ones at Kenwyck, Hampden, Mount Desert and Loftiss. +Every day is precious. Every one helps to perfect Gabriel's disguise and +adds materially to his strength." + +"True," assented Gabriel. "We mustn't wait too long, now. That last +report we got yesterday, by our wireless, ought to stimulate us. +Brainard says, in it, that the Air Trust people are now putting the +finishing touches on the Niagara plant. That will give them condensing +machinery for over 90,000,000 horsepower, all told. As I see the thing, +it looks absolutely as though, when _that_ is done, the whole Capitalist +system of the world will center right there--focus there, as at a point. +Let kings and emperors continue to strut and mouth vain phrases; let our +own President and Congress make the motions of governing; even let Wall +Street play at finance and power. All, all are empty and meaningless! + +"Power has been sucked dry, out of them all, comrades. You know as well +as I know--better, perhaps--that all real power in the world, today, +whether economic or political--nay, even the power of life and death, +the power of breath or strangulation, has clotted at Niagara, in the +central offices of the Air Trust; nay, right in Flint and Waldron's own +inner office!" + +Gabriel had stood up, while speaking; and now, pacing the floor of the +big living-room, glanced first at one eager and familiar face, then at +another. + +"Comrades," said he, "we should not sleep, tonight. We should get out +all our plans and data, all the dispatches that have come to us here, +all the information at hand about our organization, whether open or +subterranean. We should make this room and this time, in fact, the place +and the hour for the planning of the last great blow on which hangs the +fate of the world. If it succeed, the human race goes free again. If it +fail--and God forbid!--then the whole world will lie in the grip of +Flint and Waldron! With our other centers broken up and under espionage, +our press forced into impotence--save our underground press--and +political action now rendered farcical as ever it was in Mexico, when +Diaz ruled, we have but one recourse!" + +"And that is?" asked Catherine. "The general strike?" + +"A final, general, paralyzing strike; and with it, the actual, physical +destruction of the colossal crime of crimes, the Air Trust works at +Niagara!" + +A little silence followed. They all drew round the reading-table, now, +near the fireplace. Mrs. Grantham brought a lamp; and Brevard, opening a +chest near the book-case, fetched a portfolio of papers, dispatches, +plans, reports and data of all kinds. + +"Gabriel's right," said he. "The time is ripe, now, or will be in a week +or so. Nothing can be gained by delaying any longer. Every day adds to +their power and may weaken ours. Our organization, for the strike and +the attack on the works, is as complete as we can make it. We must come +to extreme measures, at once, or world-strangulation will set in, and we +shall be eternally too late!" + +"Extreme measures, yes," said Gabriel, while Brevard spread the papers +out and sorted them, and Craig drew contemplatively at his pipe. "The +masters would have it so. Our one-time academic discussion about ways +and means has become absurd, in the face of plutocratic savagery. We're +up against facts, now, not theories. God knows it's against the dictates +of my heart to do what must be done; but it's that or stand back and see +the world be murdered, together with our own selves! And in a case of +self-defense, no measures are unjustifiable. + +"Whatever happens our hands are clean. The plutocrats are the attacking +force. They have chosen, and must take the consequences; they have sown, +and must reap. One by one, they have limited and withdrawn every +political right. They have taken away free speech and free assemblage, +free press and universal suffrage. They have limited the right to vote, +by property qualifications that have deprived the proletariat of every +chance to make their will felt. They have put through this National +Censorship outrage and--still worse--the National Mounted Police Bill, +making Cossack rule supreme in the United States of America, as they +have made it in the United States of Europe. + +"Before they elected that tool of tools, President Supple, in 1920, on +the Anti-Socialist ticket, we still had some constitutional rights +left--a few. But now, all are gone. With the absorption and annexation +of Canada, Mexico and Central America, slavery full and absolute settled +down upon us. The unions simply crumbled to dust as you know, in face of +all those millions of Mexican peons swamping the labor-market with +starvation-wage labor. Then, as we all remember, came the terrible +series of strikes in 1921 and 1922, and the massacres at Hopedale and +Boulder, at Los Angeles and Pittsburg, and, worst of all, Gary. That +finished what few rights were left, that killing did. And then came the +army of spies, and the proscriptions, and the electrocution of those +hundred and eleven editors, speakers and organizers--why bring up all +these things that we all know so well? _We_ were willing to play the +game fair and square, and _they_ refused. Say that, and you say all. + +"No need to dwell on details, comrades. The Air Trust has had its will +with the world, so far. It has crushed all opposition as relentlessly as +the car of Juggernaut used to crush its blind, fanatical devotees. True, +our Party still exists and has some standing and some representatives; +but we all know what _power_ it has--in the open! Not _that_ much!" And +he snapped his fingers in the air. + +"In the open, none!" said Craig, blowing a cloud of smoke. "I admit +that, Gabriel. But, underground--ah!" + +"Underground," Gabriel took up the word, "forces are now at work that +can shatter the whole infernal slavery to dust! This way of working is +not our choice; it is theirs. They would have it so--now let them take +their medicine!" + +"Yes, yes," eagerly exclaimed Catherine, her face flushed and intense. +"I'm with you, Gabriel. To work!" + +"To work, yes," put in Craig, "but with system, order and method. My +experience in Congress has taught me some valuable lessons. The +universal, all-embracing Trust made marionettes of us, every one. Our +strength was, to them, no more than that of a mouse to a lion. Their +system is perfect, their lines of supply and communication are without a +flaw. The Prussian army machine of other days was but a bungling +experiment by comparison with the efficiency of this new mechanism. I +tell you, Gabriel, we've got to give these tyrants credit for being +infernally efficient tyrants! All that science has been able to devise, +or press and church and university teach, or political subservience make +possible, is theirs. And back of that, military power, and the courts +and the prisons and the electric chair! And back of all _those_, the +power to choke the whole world to submission, in a week!" + +Gabriel thought, a moment, before replying. Then said he: + +"I know it, Craig. All the more reason why we must hit them at once, and +hit hard! These reports here," and he gestured at the papers that +Brevard had spread out under the lamp-light, "prove that, at the proper +signal, every chance indicates that we can paralyze transportation--the +keynote of the whole situation. + +"True, the government--that is to say, the Air Trust, and _that_ is to +say, Flint and Waldron--can keep men in every engine-cab in the country. +They can keep them at every switch and junction. But this isn't France, +remember, nor is it any small, compact European country. Conditions are +wholly different here. Everywhere, vast stretches of track exist. No +power on earth--not even Flint and Waldron's--can guard all those +hundreds of thousands of miles. And so I tell you, taking our data +simply from these reports and not counting on any more organized +strength than they show, we have today got the means of cutting and +crippling, for a week at least, the movements of troops to Niagara. And +that, just that, is all we need!" + +A little silence. Then said Catherine: + +"You mean, Gabriel, that if we can keep the troops back for a little +while, and annihilate the Air Trust plant itself, the great revolution +will follow?" + +He nodded, with a smouldering fire in his eyes. + +"Yes," said he. "If we can loosen the grip of this monster for only +forty-eight hours, and flash the news to this bleeding, sweating, +choking land that the grip _is_ loosened--after that we need do no more. +_Après nous, le déluge_; only not now in the sense of wreck and ruin, +but meaning that this deluge shall forever wash away the tyranny and +crime of Capitalism! Forever and a day, to leave us free once more, free +men and women, standing erect and facing God's own sunlight, our +heritage and birthplace in this world!" + +Catherine made no answer, but her hand clasped his. The light on her +magnificent masses of copper-golden hair, braided about her head, +enhanced her beauty. And so for a moment, the little group sat there +about the table--the group on which now so infinitely much depended; and +the lamp-glow shone upon their precious plans, reports and diagrams. + +Into each others' eyes they looked, and knew the moment of final +conflict was drawn very near, at last. The moment which, in failure or +success, should for long years, for decades, for centuries perhaps, +determine whether the world and all its teeming millions were to be +slave or free. + +They spoke no word and took no oath of life-and-death fidelity, those +men and women who now had been entrusted with the fate of the world. But +in their eyes one read unshakable devotion to the Cause of Man, +unswerving loyalty to the Great Ideal, and a calm, holy faith that would +make light of death itself, could death but pave the way to victory! + + + + +CHAPTER XXX. + +TRAPPED! + + +Brevard was the first to speak. "Gabriel," said he, "we have agreed that +you must be the leader in this whole affair. The actual, personal +leader. To begin with, you're younger and physically stronger than any +of us men. Your executive ability is, without any question whatever, far +and away ahead of ours--for we are more in the analytical, compiling, +organizing, preparing line. To cap all, your personality carries more, +far more, with the mass of the comrades than any of ours. Your career, +in the past, your conflict with Flint and Waldron, and your long +imprisonment, have given you the necessary following. You, and you +alone, must issue the final call, lead the last, supreme attack, and +carry the old flag, the Crimson Banner of Brotherhood, to the topmost +battlement of an annihilated Capitalism!" + +Gabriel demurred, but they overruled him. So, presently, he consented; +and pledged his life to it; and thrilled with pride and joy at thought +of what now lay written in the Book of Fate, for him to read. + +Catherine's eyes shone with a strange light, as she looked upon him +there, so modest yet so strong. And he, smiling a little as his gaze met +hers, foresaw other things than war, and was glad. His heart sang within +him, that memorable and wondrous night, up there in the hiding-place +among the Great Smokies--there with Catherine and the other +comrades--there planning the last great blow to strike away forever the +shackles from the bleeding limbs of all the human race! + +But serious and urgent things were to be thought of, and at once, for on +the morrow Brevard was going down, disguised, to Louisville, in one of +the two monoplanes, to attend a final secret meeting of the North-middle +Section Committee. From this he would proceed to the refuge near Port +Colborne, Ontario. + +"Let us make that our meeting-place, one week from tonight," said +Gabriel, "in case anything happens. Should we be detected, or should any +accident befall, we must have some time and place to rally by. Is my +suggestion taken?" + +They all agreed, after some discussion. + +"But," added Mrs. Grantham, "let's hope we're still secure here, for a +while. It doesn't seem possible they could find us _here_, in this broad +mountain wilderness!" + +Brevard, meanwhile, was spreading out diagrams and plans. + +"The plant at Niagara," said he. "Gabriel, study this, now, as you never +yet have studied anything! For on your intimate knowledge of these +plans--which, by the way, have been obtained only at the cost of eight +lives of our comrades, and through adventures which alone would make a +wonderful book--depends everything. With all communications cut, and +troops kept away, and our own people storming the works, you will yet +fail, Gabriel, unless you know every building, every courtyard, wall and +passage, every door and window, almost, I might say. For the place is +more than a manufacturing plant. It's a fortress, a city in itself, a +wonderful, gigantic center to the whole web of world-domination! + +"So now, to the plans!" + +For hours, while Gabriel took notes and listened keenly, asked questions +and made minute memoranda, Brevard explained the situation at the great +Air Trust works. The others looked on, listened, and from time to time +made suggestions; but for the most part they kept silent, unwilling to +disturb this most important work. + +Carefully and with painstaking accuracy he showed Gabriel how the plant +now embraced more than two square miles of territory around the Falls, +all guarded by tremendous barricades mounting machine-guns and +search-lights. On both sides of the river this huge monster had +squatted, effectually shutting out all sight of the Falls and depriving +the people of their birthright of beauty, at the same time that it had +harnessed the vast waterpower to the task of enslaving the world. + +"From the Grand Trunk steel arch bridge up to and including the former +plant of the Niagara Falls Power Company," said Brevard, "you see the +plant extends. And, on the Canadian side--or what was the Canadian, +before 'we' absorbed Canada--it stretches from the Ontario Power +Company's works to those of the Toronto-Niagara Power Company, including +both. In addition to having absorbed these, it has taken over the +Niagara Falls Hydraulic Power and Manufacturing Company, the Canadian +Power Company and half a dozen others, and has, as you see, established +its central offices and plant on Goat Island. + +"Here Flint and Waldron have what may be called a citadel within a +citadel--twelve acres of administration buildings, laboratories (in +charge of your old friend Herzog, by the way!) and experimental works, +including also the big steel chambers, vacuum-lined, where they are +already storing their liquid oxygen to be turned into their pipe-lines +and tank-cars. This Goat Island central plant will be the real kernel in +the nut, Gabriel. Once _that_ is gone, you'll have ripped the heart out +of the beast, smashed the vital ganglia, and given the world the +respite, the breathing-space it must have, to free itself!" + +"And if I don't?" asked Gabriel. "If anything happens to upset our +blockading tactics, or if our attacking forces are defeated or our +aeroplanes shot down, what then?" + +"Then," said Brevard, slowly, "then the world had better die than +survive under the abominable slavery now impending. Already the +pipe-lines have been laid to Buffalo, Cleveland, Albany and Scranton. +Already they're under way to New York City itself, and to Cincinnati. +Already other plants have been projected for Chicago, Denver, San +Francisco and New Orleans, to say nothing of half a dozen in the Old +World. At this present moment, as we all sit here in this quiet room on +this remote mountain-slope, the world's air is being cornered! All the +atmospheric nitrogen is planned for, by Flint and Waldron, to pass under +their control--and with it, every crop that grows. All the oxygen will +follow. They're already having their domestic-service apparatus +manufactured--their cold-pipe radiators, meters, evaporators and +respirators. I tell you, comrades, this thing is close upon us, not as a +theory, now, but as a terrible, an inconceivably ghastly reality! + +"Even as we talk this thing over, those devils in human form are at +work impoverishing the atmosphere, the very basis of all life. My +oxymeter, today, showed a diminution of .047 per cent. in the amount of +free oxygen in the air right on this mountain. And their plant is hardly +running yet! Wait till they get it under full swing--wait till their +pipe-lines and tanks and instruments and all their vast, infernal +apparatus of exploitation and enslavement are in operation! Even in a +week from now, or less, by the time you issue the call, Gabriel, you may +see wretches gasping in vain for breath, in some dark alley of Niagara +where the air is being drained!" + +"Oh, devilish and infernal plot against the world!" said Gabriel, +bitterly. "Yet in essence, after all, no different from the system of +ten years ago, which kept food and shelter, light and fuel, under lock +and key--and made the dollar the only key to fit the lock! Yet this +seems worse, somehow; and though I die for it, my last supreme blow +shall be against such unutterable, such murderous villainy! So then, +comrades--" + +He paused, suddenly, as Kate laid a hand on his arm. + +"Hark! What's that?" she whispered. + +Outside, somewhere, a sound had made itself heard. Then on the porch, a +loose board creaked. + +Gabriel sprang to his feet. The others stood up and faced the door. + +"In heaven's name, what's that outside?" demanded Craig. + +On the instant, a heavy foot crashed through the panels of their door. +The door, burst open, flew back. + +In the aperture, stood a man, in aviator's dress, with another dimly +visible behind him. Both these men held long, blue-nosed, +oxygen-bullet-shooting revolvers levelled at the little group around the +table. + +"My God! Air Trust spies!" cried Grantham, pale as death. + +"Hands up, you!" shouted the man in the doorway, with a wild triumph in +his voice. "You're caught, all of you! Not a move, you ---- ---- ----! +Hands up!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI. + +ESCAPE! + + +Quick as thought, at sound of the imperative summons and sight of the +levelled weapons, Gabriel swept up most of the papers and crammed them +into the breast of his loose flannel shirt, then dashed the lamp to the +floor, extinguishing it. The room grew dark, for now the fire had burned +down to hardly more than glowing coals. + +There was no panic; the men did not curse, neither did the women scream. +As though the tactic had already been agreed on, Craig tipped the table +up, making a kind of barricade; and over it Grantham's revolver, +snatched from his belt, spat viciously. + +It all happened in a moment. + +The foremost spy grunted, coughed and plunged forward. As he fell, he +fired his terrible weapon. + +The bullet--a small, thin metal shell, filled with a secret chemical and +liquid oxygen--went wild. It struck the wall, some feet to the left of +the fireplace, and instantly the wood burst into vivid flame. Flesh +would crisp to nothing, solid stone would crumble, metal would gutter +and run down, under that awful incandescence. + +Again Grantham's revolver barked, while Bevard tugged at his own, which +had unaccountably got stuck in its holster. But this second shot missed. +And even as Grantham's bullet snicked a long splinter from the +door-jamb, the second spy fired. + +Brevard's choking cry died as the gushing flame enveloped him. He +staggered, flung up both arms and fell stone dead, the life seared clean +out of him, as a lamp sears a moth. + +Gasping, blinded, the others scattered; and for the third time--while +the room now glowed with this unquenchable blossoming of flame--Grantham +shot. + +The spy's body burst into a sheaf of fire. Up past the lintel streamed +the burning swirl. Mute and annihilated, his charred body dropped beside +that of his mate. + +The total time from challenge to complete victory had not exceeded ten +seconds. + +"I exploded some of his cartridges!" choked Grantham. shielding his wife +from the glare, while Gabriel protected Catherine. + +"His--his cartridge belt!" gasped Craig. + +"Yes! And now, out--out of here!" + +"Brevard? We must save his body!" cried Gabriel, pointing. + +"Impossible!" shouted Grantham. "That hellish compound will burn for +hours! And in three minutes this whole place will be a roaring furnace! +Out of here--out--away! We must save the hangar, at all hazards!" + +Against their will, but absolutely unable to approach the now +wildly-roaring fire on the floor that marked the spot where Brevard had +fallen in the Battle with Plutocracy, the comrades quickly retreated. + +Raging fire now hemmed them on three sides. Their only avenue of escape +was through the eastern windows, eight or ten feet above the ground. +Hastily snatching up such of the plans and papers as he had not already +secured--and some of these already were beginning to smoke and turn +brown, in the infernal heat--Gabriel shielded Catherine's retreat. The +others followed. + +Craig and Grantham first jumped from the windows, then caught Mrs. +Grantham and Catherine as Gabriel helped them to escape. He himself was +the last to leave the room, now a raging furnace. Together they all ran +from the building, and none too soon; for suddenly the roof collapsed, a +tremendous burst of crackling flames and sheaved sparks leaped high +above the tree-tops, and the walls came crashing in. + +In the welter of incandescence, where now only the stone chimney +stood--and this, too, was already cracking and swaying--Brevard had +found his tomb, together with the two Air Trust spies. All that +pleasant, necessary place was now a mass of white-hot ruin; all those +books and pictures now had turned to ash. + +The five remaining comrades paused by the hangar, and looked mournfully +back at the still-leaping volcano of destruction. + +"Poor Brevard! Poor old chap!" said Craig. He peered at the women. +Neither one was crying--they were not that type--but both were pale. + +"I don't feel that way," said Gabriel. "Brevard is not to be pitied. +He's to be envied! He died in the noblest war we can conceive--the war +for the human race! And his last act was to take part in a battle that +stamped out two vipers, Air Trust spies, who would have joyed to burn us +all alive!" + +[Illustration: The spy's body burst into a sheaf of fire.] + +"Thank God, I got the Hell-hounds!" muttered Craig. "Two less of Slade's +infamous army, anyhow." Though Gabriel knew it not, the first one to +fall was the same who had battled with him in the trap at Rochester, the +same who had trailed him when he, Gabriel, had left the Federal pen. So +one score, at least, was settled. + +"They're gone, anyhow," said Gabriel, "and five of us still live--and +I've still got the plans and all. Moreover, the monoplanes are safe. The +quicker we get away from here, now, the better. Away, and to our last +remaining refuge near Port Colborne, on the shores of Lake Erie. Other +Air Trust forces may be here, before morning. We must get away!" + +A frightful shock awaited them when, entering the hangar--eager now to +escape at once from the scene of the tragedy--they beheld their +aeroplanes. + +By the ruddy light which shone in through the wide doors, from the fire, +they saw long strips and tatters of canvas hanging from the 'planes. + +"Smashed! Broken! Wrecked!" cried Gabriel, starting back aghast. + +The others stared. Only too true; the monoplanes were practically +destroyed. Not only had the spies, before attacking the refuge, slashed +the 'planes to rags, but they had also partly dismantled the motors. +Bits of machinery lay scattered on the floor of the hangar. + +Stunned and unable to gather speech or coherent thought, the five +Socialists stood staring. Then, after a moment, Craig made shift to +exclaim bitterly: + +"A good job, all right! The curs must have got in at the window, and +spent an hour in this work. Whatever happened, they didn't intend we +should have any means of retreat--for of course it's out of the question +for anybody to get away from here through the forest over the ridges +and down the cliffs!" + +"They meant to trap us, this way, that's certain," added Gabriel. "There +surely will be others of the same breed, here before morning. They must +not find us here!" + +"But Gabriel, how shall we escape?" asked Catherine, her face illumined +by the leaping flames of the bungalow. + +"How! In their own machine! The machine that Slade and the Air Trust +secret-service gave them, to come here and catch or murder us!" + +"By the Almighty! So we will!" cried Grantham. "Come on, let's find it!" + +The little party hurried off toward the landing-ground, a cleared and +levelled space further up the mountainside. The light of the burning +bungalow helped show them their path; and Craig had also taken an +electric flash-lamp from the hangar. With this he led the way. + +"Right! There it is!" suddenly exclaimed Gabriel, pointing. Craig +painted a brush of electric light over the vague outlines of the Air +Trust machine, a steel racer of the latest kind. + +"A Floriot biplane," said he. "Will hold two and a passenger. Familiar +type. I guess all of us, here, can operate it." + +They all--even the women--could. For you must understand that after the +Great Massacres had foreshown the only possible trend the Movement could +take, practically all the leaders in the work had studied aeronautics, +also chemistry, as most essential branches of knowledge in the +inevitable war. + +"Two, and a passenger," repeated Gabriel, as though echoing Craig's +words. "Who goes first?" + +"You!" said Grantham. "You and Catherine, with Craig to bring the +machine back. You're needed, now, at the front--imperatively needed. +Freda and I," gesturing at his wife, "will hold the fort, here--will +keep watch over our dead, over poor old Brevard, the first to fall in +this great, final battle!" + +A spirited argument followed. Gabriel insisted on being left for the +second trip. A compromise was made by having him get the two women out +of danger, at once, leaving Craig and Grantham on the mountain. + +"I'll send Hazen or Keyes back with the 'plane, for you," said he, as he +climbed into the driving seat, after the passengers had been stowed. +"That will be tomorrow night. Of course, we daren't fly by day. And +mind," he added, adjusting his spark and throttle, "mind you meet me +with this very same machine, safe and sound, at the Lake Erie refuge!" + +"Why this same machine?" inquired Craig. + +"Why? Because I intend to use this, and no other, in the final attack. +Could poetic justice be finer than that the Air Trust works be destroyed +with the help of one of their own 'planes?" + +No more was said, save brief good-byes. Those were times when +demonstrativeness, whether in life or death, was at a discount. A +hand-clasp and a few last instructions as to the time and place of +meeting, sufficed. Then Gabriel pressed the button of the self-starter +and opened the throttle. + +With a sudden gusty chatter, the engine caught. A great wind sprang up, +from the roaring, whirling blades. The Floriot rolled easily forward, +speeded up, and gathered headway. + +Gabriel suddenly rotated the rising-plane. The great gull soared, +careened and took the air with majestic power. The watchers on the +mountain-side saw its hooded lights, that glowed upon its compass and +barometric-gauge, slowly spiralling upward, ever upward, as Gabriel +climbed with his two passengers. + +Then the lights sped forward, northward, in a long tangent, and, as they +swiftly diminished to mere specks, the echo of a farewell hail drifted +downward from the black and star-dusted emptiness above. + +Craig turned to Grantham, when the last gleam of light had faded in a +swift trajectory. + +"God grant they reach the last remaining refuge safely!" said he, with +deep emotion. "And may their flight be quick and sure! For the fate of +the world, its hope and its salvation from infinite enslavement, are +whirling through the trackless wastes of air, to-night!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII. + +OMINOUS DEVELOPMENTS. + + +The first intimation that Flint and Waldron had of any opposition to +their plans, of any revolt, of any danger, was at quarter past three on +the afternoon of October 8th, 1925. All that afternoon, busy with their +final plans for the immediate extension of their system, they had been +going over certain data with Herzog, receiving reports from branch +managers and conferring with the Congressional committee that--together +with Dillon Slade, their secret-service tool, now also President +Supple's private secretary--they had peremptorily summoned from +Washington to receive instructions. + +In the more than four years that had passed since they had put Gabriel +behind bars--years fruitful in strikes and lockouts, in prostitutions of +justice, in sluggings and crude massacres--both men had altered notably. + +Though the National Censorship now no longer permitted any cartooning of +a "seditious" nature, i.e., representing any of the Air Trust notables, +old Flint's features tempted the artist's pencil more than ever. Save +for a little white fringe of hair at the back of his head, he had become +almost bald, thus adding greatly to his strong suggestion of a vulture. +His face was now more yellow and shrunken than ever, due to a rather +heavier consumption of his favorite drug, morphine; his nose had hooked +more strongly, and his one gold tooth of other days now had two more to +bear it company. His eyes, too, behind his thick pince-nez, had grown +more shifty, cold and cruelly calculating. If it be possible to conceive +a fox, a buzzard and a jackal merged in one, old Isaac Flint today +represented that unnatural and hideous hybrid. + +Now, as he stood facing "Tiger" Waldron, in the inner and sancrosanct +office of the Air Trust plant at Niagara--the office that even the +President of these United States approached with deference and due +humility--the snarl on his face revealed the beast-soul of the man. + +"Damnation!" he was saying, as he shook a newly-received aerogram at his +partner. "What's this, I'd like to know? What does this mean? All +telegraphic communication west of Chicago has suddenly stopped, and from +half a dozen points in the Southern States news is coming in that +railway service is being interrupted! See here, Waldron, this won't do! +Your part of the business has always been to carry on the publicity end, +the newspaper end, the moulding of public opinion and political thought, +_and_ the maintenance of free, clear rail and aero communication +everywhere, all over the world. But now, all at once, see here?" + +Waldron raised red, bleared eyes at his irate partner. He, too, was more +the beast than four years ago. No less the tiger, now, but more the pig. +High, evil living had done its work on him. An unhealthy purple suffused +his heavily-jowled face. Beneath his eyes, sodden bags of flesh hung +pendant. His lips, loose and lascivious, now sucked indolently at the +costly cigar he was smoking as he sat leaning far back in his +desk-chair. And so those two, angry accuser and indifferent accused, +faced each other for a moment; while, incessant, dull, mighty, the +thunders of the giant cataract mingled with the trembling diapason of +the stupendous turbines in the rock-hewn caverns where old Niagara now +toiled in fetters, to swell their power and fling gold into their +bottomless coffers. + +"See here!" Flint repeated angrily, once more shaking the dispatches at +his mate. "Even our wireless system, all over the west and southwest, +has quit working! And you sit there staring at me like--like--" + +"That'll do, Flint!" the younger man retorted in a rough, hoarse voice. +"If there's any trouble, I'll find it and repair it. Very well. But I'll +not be talked to in any such way. Damn it, you can't speak to me Flint, +as if I were one of the people! If you own half the earth, I'll have you +understand I own the other half. So go easy, Flint--go damned easy!" + +Malevolently he eyed the old man's beast-like face. The scorn and +dislike he had conceived for Flint, years ago, when Flint had failed to +win back Catherine to him, had long grown keener and more bitter. +Waldron took it as a personal affront that Flint, apparently so worn and +feeble, could still hang on to life and brains enough to dominate the +enterprise. A thousand times, if once, he had wished Flint well dead and +buried and out of the way, so that he, Waldron, could grasp the whole +circle of the stupendous Air Trust. This, his supreme ambition, had been +constantly curbed by Flint's survival; and as the months and years had +passed, his hate had grown more deep, more ugly, more venomous. + +"Why, curse it," Waldron often thought, "the old dope has taken enough +morphine in his lifetime to have killed a hundred ordinary men! And yet +he still clings on, and withers, and grows yellow like an old dead leaf +that will not drop from the tree! When _will_ he drop? When _will_ +Father Time pick the despicable antique? My God, is the man immortal?" + +Such being the usual tenor of his thoughts, concerning Flint, small +wonder that he took the old man's chiding with an ill grace, and warned +him pointedly not to continue it. Now, facing the Billionaire, he fairly +stared him out of countenance. An awkward silence followed. Both heard, +with relief, a rapping at the office door. + +"Come!" snapped Flint. + +A clerk appeared, with a yellow envelope in hand. + +"Another wireless, sir," said he. + +Flint snatched it from him. + +"Send Herzog and Slade, at once," he commanded, as he ripped the +envelope. + +"Well, more trouble?" insolently drawled "Tiger" happy in the paling of +the old man's face and the sudden look of apprehension there. + +For all answer, Flint handed him the message. Waldron read: + + Southern and Gulf States all seemingly cut off from every kind of + communication this P.M. Can get no news. Is this according to your + orders? If not, can you inform me probable cause? I ask + instructions. "K." + +Silence, a minute, then Waldron whistled, and began pulling at his thick +lower lip, a sure sign of perturbation. + +"By the Almighty, Flint" said he. "I--maybe I was wrong just now, to be +so confoundedly touchy about--about what you said. This--certainly looks +odd, doesn't it? It _can't_ be a series of coincidences! There must be +something back of it, all. But--but _what_? Rebellion is out of the +question, now, and has been for a long time. Revolution? The way we're +organized, the very idea's an absurdity! But, if not these, what?" + +Flint stared at him with drug-contracted eyes. + +"Yes, that's the question," he rapped out. "What can it mean? Ah, +perhaps Slade can tell us," he added, as the secret-service man quietly +entered through a private door at the rear of the office. + +"Tell you what, gentlemen?" asked Slade, smirking and rubbing his hands. + +"The meaning of that, and that, and _that_!" snapped old Flint, +thrusting the telegrams at the newcomer. + +"Hm!" grunted the secret-service man, as he glanced them over. "That's +damned odd! But it's of no real moment. If--if there's really any +trouble, any outbreak or what not, of course it can't amount to +anything. All you have to do is order the President to call out the +troops, and--" + +"Yes, I can order him, all right," snarled Flint, "but in case all our +wires are down and all our wireless plants put out of commission, to say +nothing of our transport service interrupted, what then? There's no +doubt in _my_ mind, Slade, that another upheaval is upon us. The fact +that we stamped out the 1918 and 1922 uprisings, and that rivers ran red +and city streets were flushed with blood, apparently hasn't made any +impression on the cattle! Damn it all, I say, _can't_ you keep things +quiet? _Can't_ you?" + +In a very frenzy he paced the office, his face twitching, his bony +fingers snapping with the extremity of his agitation. Suddenly he faced +Slade. + +"See here, you!" he exclaimed. "This certainly means another uprising. +It can't mean anything else! And you've allowed it, you hear? No, no, +don't deny the fact!" he cried, as the detective tried to oppose a word +of self-defense. "It's your fault, at last analysis; and if anything +happens, you and the President, Supple, have got to answer to me, +personally, do you hear? You've got to pay!" + +"Pay, and with devilish big interest, too!" growled "Tiger," fixing his +bleared, savage eyes on Slade. + +"What did I make that man President for, anyhow?" snarled Flint, "if not +to do my bidding and keep things still? Why did I put you in as his +private secretary, if not to have you watch him and see that he _did_ do +my bidding? Why did I have Congress pass all those bills and things, +except to give you the weapons and tools to hold the lid on? + +"You've had a huge army and a conscripted militia given you; and +hundreds of wireless plants, and military roads and war-equipment beyond +all calculating. You've had thousands of spies organized and put under +your control. At your suggestion I've had all political power taken away +from the dogs--and everything done that you've asked for--and this, +_this_ is the kind of work you do!" + +Livid with rage, the old Billionaire stood there shaking by his desk, +his face a fearful mask of passions and evil lusts for vengeance and +power. Slade, recognizing his master, even as President Supple on more +than one occasion had been forced in terrible personal interviews to +recognize him, said no word; but in the secret-service man's eyes a +brutal gleam flashed its message of hate and loathing. Foul as Slade +was, he balked at times, in face of this man's cruel and naked savagery. + +"I tell you," continued Flint, now having recovered his breath, "I tell +you, you're worse than useless, you and your President, ha! +ha!--President Puppet, indeed! Take that great Smoky Mountain clue, for +instance! On the rumor that the ring-leaders of the swine were up there, +somewhere, in the North Carolina mountains, you sent your two best men. +And what's the latest news? What have you to tell me? _You_ know! Other +airmen of yours have just reported that nothing can be found but ruins +of the Socialist refuge, there--nothing but those, and the half-melted +vanadium steel identification-tags of your best scouts! _And_ their +machine is gone--and with it, the birds we wanted! Then, close on the +heels of this, all wires go flat, all wireless breaks down, all rails +are interrupted, and--and Hell's to pay!" Fair in Slade's face he shook +his trembling first. + +"Urrh! You devilish, impotent faker! You four-flusher! You toy +detective! You and your President, too, aren't worth the liquid oxygen +to blow you to Hades! See here, Slade, you get out on this job, now, and +do it damned quick, you understand, or there'll be _some_ shake-up in +your office and in the White House, too. When I buy and pay for tools, I +insist that the tools work. If they don't--!" + +He snatched up a pencil from the desk, broke it in half and threw the +pieces on the floor. + +"Like that!" said he, and stamped on them. + +Waldron nodded approval. + +"Just like that," he echoed, "and then some!" + +"Go, now!" Flint commanded, pointing at the door. "Inside an hour, I +want some reports, and I want them to be satisfactory. If you and Supple +can't get things open again, and start the troops and machine-guns +before then, look out! That's all I've got to say. Now, _go_!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII. + +"NOW COMES THE HOUR SUPREME." + + +Hardly had the secret-service man taken his leave, slinking away like a +whipped cur, yet with an ugly snarl that presaged evil, when Herzog +appeared. + +"Come here," said Flint, curtly, heated with his burst of passion. + +"Yes, sir," the scientist replied, approaching. "What is it, sir?" + +Still shifty and cringing was he, in presence of the masters; though +with the men beneath him, at the vast plant--and now his importance had +grown till he controlled more than eight thousand--rumor declared him an +intolerable tyrant. + +"Tell me, Herzog, what's the condition of the plant, at this present +moment?" + +"Just how do you mean, sir?" + +"Suppose there were to be trouble, of any kind, how are we fixed for it? +How's the oxygen supply, and--and everything? Good God, man, unlimber! +You're paid to know things and tell 'em. Now, talk." + +Thus adjured, Herzog washed his hands with imaginary soap and in a +deprecating voice began: + +"Trouble, sir? What trouble could there be? There's not the faintest +sign of any organization among the men. They're submissive as so many +rabbits, sir, and--" + +"Damn you, shut up!" roared Flint. "I didn't summon you to come up here +and give me a lecture on labor conditions at the works! The trouble I +refer to is possible outside interference. Maybe some kind of wild-eyed +Socialist upheaval, or attack, or what not. In case it comes, what's our +condition? Tell me, in a few words, and for God's sake keep to the +point! The way you wander, and always have, gives me the creeps!" + +Herzog ventured nothing in reply to this outburst, save a conciliatory +leer. Then, collecting his thoughts, he began: + +"Well, sir, in a general way, our condition is perfect. We've got two +regiments of rifle and machine gunmen, half of them equipped with the +oxygen bullets. I guarantee that I could have them away from their +benches and machines, and on the fortifications, inside of fifteen +minutes. Slade's armed guards, 2,500 or so, are all ready, too. + +"Then, beside that, there are eight 'planes in the hangars, and plenty +of men to take them up. If you wish, sir, I can have others brought in. +The aerial-bomb guns are ready. As for the oxygen supply, Tanks F and L +are full, K is half filled, and N and Q each have about 6,000 gallons, +making a total of--let's see, sir--a total of just about 755,000 +gallons." + +"How protected? Have you got those bomb-proof overhead nets on, yet?" + +"Not yet, sir. That is, not over all the lines of tanks. We ran short of +steel wire, last week, and have only got eight of the tanks under +netting. But the work is going on fast, sir, and--" + +"Rush it! At all hazards, get nets over the rest of the tanks. If +anything happens, through this delay, remember, Herzog, I shall hold +you personally responsible, and it will go hard with you!" + +"Yes, sir; thank you, sir," murmured the servile wretch. "Anything else, +sir?" + +Flint thought a moment, glaring at Herzog with angry eyes, then shook +his head in negation. + +"Very well, sir," said Herzog, withdrawing. "I'll go to work at once. By +tomorrow, everything will be safe, I guarantee." + +He closed the door softly--as softly as he had spoken--as softly as he +always did everything. + +Flint glared at the door. + +"The sneaking whelp!" he murmured. "He makes my very flesh crawl. I wish +to heaven he weren't so essential to us; we'd let him go, damned quick!" + +"You forget," put in Tiger, "that he knows too much to be let go, ever. +No, he's a fixture. And now, dismiss him from your mind, and let's go +over those telegrams and radiograms again. If there _is_ a new Socialist +revolt under way--and I admit it certainly begins to look like it--we've +got to understand the situation. Slade will have some more reports for +us, in an hour or so. Till then, these must suffice." + +Flint, curbing his agitation, sat down at the big table and turned on +the vacuum-glow light, for the October afternoon was foggy--a fog that +mingled with the spray of the vast Falls and hung heavy over the +world--and already daylight was beginning to fail. + +"Fools!" he muttered to himself. "Fools, to think they can rebel against +_us_! Ants would have just as much show of success, charging elephants, +as _they_ have against the Air Trust! By tomorrow they'll be wiped out, +smeared out, shattered and annihilated, whoever and wherever they are. +By tomorrow, at the latest. Again I say, blind, suicidal fools!" + +"Right you are," assented Waldron, drawing up his chair. "They don't +seem to realize, even yet, that we own the whole round earth and all +that is in it. They don't understand that their rebelling is like a +tribe of naked savages going against a modern army with explosive +bullets. Ah, well, let them learn, let them learn! It takes a whip to +teach a cur. Let them feel the lash, and learn!..." + + +At this same hour, in the last retreat, near Port Colborne, in the State +of Ontario--once a province of Canada--half a dozen grim and determined +men were gathered together. We already recognize Craig, Grantham and +Gabriel. The other three, like them, all wore the Socialist button and +the little tab of red ribbon that marked them as members of the Fighting +Sections. + +"Tonight," Gabriel was saying, as he stood there in the gathering +dusk--they dared not show a light, even behind the drawn curtains of +their refuge--"tonight, comrades, the final die is cast. Everything is +ready, or as nearly ready as we shall ever be able to make it. Our +reports already show that every line of communication has been broken by +one swift, sharp blow. True, in a few hours all these avenues can be +opened up again. By morning, the Niagara works will be in receipt of +messages; trains will be running; the troop-planes will be carrying +their hordes at the command of Flint. By morning, yes. But in the +meantime--" + +He spread his fingers, upward, with an expressive gesture. + +"By morning," Craig mumbled, "what will there be left to protect?" + +A little silence followed. Each was busy with his own thoughts. + +All at once, one of the three newcomers spoke--a tall, light-haired +fellow, he seemed, in that dim light, with a strong Southern accent. + +"Pardon me for asking, Gabriel," said he, removing a pipe from his +mouth, "or for discussing details familiar to you all. But, coming as I +_have_ come direct from the New Orleans refuge--they blew it up, last +week, you know--of course I haven't got things as clearly in mind yet, +as you-all have. Now, as I understand it, while we manoeuvre over the +plant, blow up the barricades and, if possible, 'get' the oxygen-tanks, +our men on the ground will pour in through the gaps and storm the place, +under the command of Edward Hargreaves. Is that the idea?" + +"Exactly, Comrade Marion," answered Gabriel. "You've hit it to a T." + +Craig laughed grimly, as he drew at his pipe. + +"Just as we're going to hit those big tanks!" said he. "It's tonight or +never, comrades. They're putting steel nets over them, already. By +tomorrow the whole place will be protected by huge grill-work fully a +hundred feet above the tops of the tanks. Oh, they seem to have thought +of everything, those plutes! But they'll be just a shade too late, this +time; just a shade too late!" + +Another silence, broken again by the tall Southerner. + +"Just let me get this thing quite clear," said he. "We're to start at +5:30, you say, walk past the Welland Canal Feeder out to the Monck +Aviation Grounds, and find everything ready there?" + +"Correct," said Gabriel. "All six of us. That's our part of the program. +Comrades you don't know, out there--comrades in the employ of the Air +Trust itself--will have six machines ready. One of them will be the very +machine that they tried to get us with, in the Great Smokies! So you +see, we're going to use the Air Trust equipment, their field and even +their own telenite, to put them out of business forever and to free the +world!" + +"Poetic justice, all right enough!" laughed Marion. "At the same time +that we're attacking from an elevation of perhaps three thousand feet, +the lateral attack will be delivered. About how many men do you count, +on, for that?" + +"Well," judged Gabriel, "within a ten-mile radius of the plant, at least +a hundred thousand men are waiting, this very instant, with every nerve +keyed up to fighting tension. Scattered in a vast variety of ingenious +and cleverly-devised hiding places, with their chlorine grenades and +their revolvers shooting little hydrocyanic acid gas bullets, they're +waiting the signal--a rocket in mid-heaven." + +"Hydrocyanic acid gas!" exclaimed Marion, forgetting to smoke. "Why, one +whiff of that is death!" + +"It is," agreed Gabriel. "Remember, this is a war of extermination. It's +a case of _them_ or _us_! And if we're worsted, the whole world loses; +while if they are, then liberty is born! That's why this gas is +justifiable. They'll try to use oxygen-bullets on us, never fear. But +where they can kill ten, with those, we can annihilate a hundred with +our kind. Swine, they have called us, and fools and apes. Well, we +shall see, we shall see, when it comes to an out-and-out fight between +Plutocrat and Proletarian, who is the better man!" + +Again came silence. And this time it was Grantham who broke it. + +"Comrades," said he, "after you've seen as many Socialists shot down as +_I_ have--shot down and burned, as Brevard was--you'll lose any +lingering ideas of civilized warfare you may still retain. They hunt us +like beasts, prison us in foul traps, ride us down, crush us, break and +tear us, and burn us alive, because we struggle to be free men and +women, not slaves. Now that our hour has struck, now that their lines of +communication and defense are breached, and they--though they still +don't fully understand it--are penned there in their heaven-offending, +monstrous, horrible plant at the Falls, no true man can hesitate to +smash them down with no more compunction than as though they were so +many rattlesnakes or scorpions! + +"This isn't 1915, when political and civil rights still existed, and we +weren't hunted outlaws. This is 1925, and conditions are all different. +It's war, war, war to the death, now; and if war is Hell, then _they_ +are going to get Hell this time, not we." + +Nobody spoke, for a little while; but Marion and Craig smoked +contemplatively, and the others sat there in the dusk, sunk in thought. + +All at once a door opened, and the vague form of a woman became visible. + +"Comrades, you must go," said she. "It's nearly half past five. By the +time you've got everything in readiness, you'll have no time to lose." + +"Right, Catherine," answered Gabriel. "Come, comrades! Up and at it!" + +Ten minutes later they all issued forth into the soft gloom. All were in +aviator's dress, and each carried a parcel by a handle held with stout +straps. Had you seen them, you would have noticed they took particular +pains not to jar or shake these parcels, or approach unduly near each +other. + +At the door of the refuge, Catherine said good-bye to each, and added +some brave word of cheer. Her farewell to Gabriel was longer than to the +others; and for a moment their hands met and clung. + +"Go," she whispered, "go, and God bless you! Go even though it be to +death! Their airmen will take toll of some of the attackers, Gabriel. +Not all the Comrades will return. Oh, may _you_--may _you_!" + +"What is written on the Book of Fate, will be," he answered. "Our petty +hopes and fears are nothing, Catherine. If death awaits me, it will be +sweet; for it will come, tonight, in the supreme service of the human +race! Good-bye!" + +With a sudden motion, the girl took his face between her hands, and +kissed his forehead. For all her courage and strength, he sensed her +heart wildly beating and he felt her tears. + +"Good-bye, Gabriel," she breathed. "Would I might go with you! Would +that my duty did not hold me here! Good-bye!" + +Then he was gone, gone with the others, into the thickening obscurity of +the fog-shrouded evening. Now Catherine stood there alone, head bowed +and wet face hidden in both hands. + +As the little fighting band disappeared, back to the girl drifted a few +words of song, soft-hummed through the dusk--the deathless chorus of the +International: + + "Now comes the hour supreme! + To arms, each in his place! + The new dawn's International + Shall be the human race!..." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV. + +THE ATTACK. + + +"Halt! Who goes there?" + +The challenge rang sharply on the night air, outside a small gate in the +barricade of the Monck Aviation Grounds. + +"Liberty!" answered Gabriel, pausing as he gave the password. + +"All right, come on," said a vague figure at the gate. The little group +approached. The gate opened. Silently they entered the enclosure. + +Another man stepped from a hangar. In his hand he held an electric +flash, which he threw upon the newcomers, one by one. + +"Right!" he commented, and took Gabriel by the hand. "This way!" + +Ten minutes later, all of them were in the air, save only Gabriel, who +insisted on staying till his entire squad had made a clean getaway. Then +he too rose; and now in a long, swift line, the fighting squadron +straightened away to north-eastward, on the twenty-mile run to Niagara. + +The night was foggy, chill and dark. All the aviators had instructions +to fly not less than 2,500 feet high, to keep a careful lookout lest +they collide, and to steer by the lights of the great Air Trust plant. +For, misty though the heavens were, still Gabriel could see the dim glow +of the tremendous aerial search-lights dominating Goat Island--lights +of 5,000,000 candle-power, maintained by current from the Falls, +incessantly sweeping the sky on the lookout for just such perils as now, +indeed, were drawing near. + +Momently, as he flew, Gabriel perceived these huge lights growing +brighter, through the mist, and apprehension won upon him. + +"Incredibly strong!" he muttered to himself, as he glanced from his +barometer to the shining fog ahead. "Even though the mist will be +thicker over the Falls than anywhere else, there's a good possibility +they may pierce it and pick us up--and _then_, look out for their +'planes and swift, fighting dirigibles!" + +He rotated the rising-plane, and now soared to 2,800 feet. Below and on +either side of him, nothing but tenuous fog. Ahead, the +swiftly-approaching fan of radiance, white, dazzling, beautiful, that +seemed to gush from earth so far below and to the eastward. Already the +thunders of the Falls were audible. + +"Where are the others?" Gabriel wondered, his thoughts seeming to hum +and roar in his head, in harmony with the shuddering diapason of the +muffler-deadened exhaust. "No way of telling, now. Each man for +himself--and each to do his best!" + +And then his thoughts reverted to Catherine; and round his heart a +sudden yearning seemed to strengthen his stern, indomitable +resolve--"Victory or death!" + +But now there was scant time for thought. The moment of action was +already close at hand. Far below there, hidden by night and dark and +mist, Gabriel knew a hundred thousand comrades, of the Fighting +Sections, were lying hidden, waiting for the signal to advance. + +"And it's time, now!" he said aloud, thrilled by a wondrous sense of +vast responsibility--a sense that on this moment hung the fate of the +world. "It's time for the signal. Now then, up and at them!" + +Taking the rocket--a powerful affair, capable of casting an intense, +calcium light--he touched the fuse to a bit of smouldering punk fastened +in a metal cup at his right hand. Then, as it flared, he launched the +rocket far into the void. + +Below, came a quick spurt of radiance, in a long, vivid streak that shot +away with incredible rapidity. Gabriel followed it a moment, with his +gaze, then smiled. + +"The Rubicon is crossed," said he. "The gates of the Temple of Janus are +open wide--and now comes War!" + +He rose again, skimming to a still higher altitude as the glare of the +great Works drew closer and closer underneath. The wind roared in his +ears, louder than the whirling propellers. The whole fabric of the +aeroplane quivered as it climbed, up, up above the rushing, bellowing +cataract. + +"Where are the others?" thought he, and reached for a thanatos +projectile, in the rack near the metal cup where the punk still +glowered. + +All at once, a glare of light burst upward through the white-glowing +mist; and the 'plane reeled with the air-wave, as now a thunderous +concussion boomed across the empty spaces of the sky. + +At the same moment, a faint, ripping noise mounted to Gabriel--a sound +for all the world like the tearing of stout canvas. Then followed a +chattering racket, something like distant mowing-machines at work; and +now all blent to a steady, determined uproar. Gabriel almost thought to +hear, as he launched his own projectile, far sounds as of the shouts and +cries of men; but of this he could not make sure. + +"They're at it, anyhow!" he exulted. "At it, at last! By the way our men +have launched the attack, the first explosion must have breached a wall! +God! What wouldn't I give to be down there, in the thick of it, rather +than here! I--" + +_Crash_! + +Again a spouting geyser of light and uproar burst into mid-air. + +"That was _my_ thanatos speaking!" cried Gabriel. "Now for another!" + +Before he could drop it, as he circled round and round, directly over +the great, flailing beams of the Air Trust search-lights, a third +detonation shattered the heavens, nearly unseating him. Up sprang the +roar, with wonderful intensity, reflected from the earth as from a giant +sounding-board. And Gabriel noted, with keen satisfaction, that one of +the huge light-beams had gone dark. + +"Put out _one_ of them, anyway, so far!" thought he, and swung again to +westward, and once more dropped a messenger of death to tyranny. + +Now the bombardment became general. Trust aerial-gun projectiles began +bursting all about. Every second or two, terrible concussions leaped +toward the zenith; and the earth, hidden somewhere down there below the +fog-blanket, seemed flaming upward like a huge volcano. One by one the +search-lights, whipping the sky, went black; and now the glow of them +was fast diminishing, only to be replaced by a ruddier and more +intermittent glare. + +"The plant's burning, at last," thought Gabriel. "Heaven grant the fire +may spread to the oxygen-tanks! If we can only get _those_--!" + +Again he launched a projectile, and again he circled over the doomed +plant. + +A swift black shape swooped by him. He had just time to exchange a yell +of warning, when it was gone. The near peril gripped his heart, but did +not shake it. + +"Close call!" said he. + +If that machine and his had met, good-bye forever! But after all, the +danger of collision in mid-air, or of being struck by a projectile from +some other machine, above, was no greater than his comrades on the +ground were facing. Not so great, perhaps. Many a one would meet his +death from the aerial attack. In a war like this, a thousand perils +threatened. Gabriel only hoped that Hargreaves, down below there, could +hold them back, away, till the walls should have been destroyed. + +Circling, ever circling, now hearing some echoes of the earth-battle, +some grenade-volleys and rapid-fire clattering, now deafened and all but +blinded by the vast, up-belching explosions of the thanatos projectiles, +Gabriel flew among the drifting mists and vapors. Still was he guided by +one or two search-lights; but most of these were gone, now. Yet the +glare of the conflagration, below, was luridly shuddering through the +fog, painting it all a dull and awful red. + +Red! Suddenly words came into Gabriel's mind--the words of his own poem: + + ... Red as blood, red as blood! The blood of the shattered miner, + Blood of the boy in the rifle pits, blood of the coughing child-slave, + Blood of the mangled trainman, blood that the Carpenter shed! + +"For your sake! For the world's sake, this!" he cried, and hurled +another thanatos. "If ever war of liberation was holy, this is that +war!" + +Suddenly, through all the turmoil of shattering explosions, tossing +air-currents and drifting, acrid smoke, he became conscious of a sudden, +swift-flying pursuer. + +By the light of the burning Plant, down there somewhere in the vapors of +the thunderous Falls, he saw a hawk-like 'plane that swooped toward him +with incredible velocity, savage and lean and black. + +Off to the right, a sudden spattering of shots in mid-air told him the +battle in the sky was likewise being engaged. He saw vague, veiled +explosions, there, then a swift, falling trail of flame. A pang shot +through his heart. Had one of his companions fallen and been dashed to +death? He could not tell--he had no time to wonder, even, for already +the attacker was upon him, the swift Air Trust _épervier,_ one of the +dreaded air-fleet of the world-monopoly! + +Gabriel had just time to swerve from the attack, and swoop +aloft--dropping his next to last projectile as he did so--when the +whirling shape zoomed past, swung round and once more charged. He saw, +vaguely, two men sat in it. One was the pilot, a "Gray" or Cosmos +mercenary. The other--could it be? Yes, there was no mistaking! The +other was Slade himself, commander of the hireling army of Plutocracy! + +Out from the attacking 'plane jetted sadden spurts of fire. Gabriel +heard the zip-zip-zip of bullets; heard a ripping tear, as one of his +canvas wings was punctured--God help him, had that explosive bullet +struck a wire or a stay! + +Then, maddened to despair; and burning with fierce rage against this +monster of the upper air that now was hurling death at him, he once more +"banked," brought his machine sharp round, and charged, full drive, at +the attacker! + +This tactic for a second must have disconcerted the Air Trust +mercenaries. Gabriel's speed was terrific. With stupefying suddenness, +the _épervier_ loomed up ahead of him. + +"Now!" he shouted. "Take this, from me!" + +Half rising from his seat, he hurled his last remaining projectile full +at Slade, then wrenched his own 'plane off sharply to the left. + +A thunderous concussion and a dazzling burst of light told him his +chance shot had been effective. + +He got a second's vision of a shattered black mass, a tangle of girders, +wires, collapsed planes, that seemed to hang a moment in midair--of +whirling bodies--of wreckage indescribable. Then the broken debris +plunged with awful speed and vanished through the red-glowing mist. + +Even as he shuddered, sickened at the terrible, though necessary deed, +the deed which alone could save him from swift death, an overwhelming +air-wave from the terrible explosion struck his speeding machine, the +machine captured in the Great Smokies from the Air Trust itself. + +It heeled over like an unballasted yacht under the lash of a hurricane. +Vainly Gabriel jerked at wheel and levers; he could not right it. + +As it seemed to come under control, a stay snapped. The 'plane swooped, +yawned forward and stuck its nose into an air-hole, caused by the vast, +uprising smoke and heat of the huge conflagration beneath. + +Then, lost and beyond all guidance, it somersaulted, slid away down a +long drop and, whirling wildly over and over, plunged with Gabriel into +the glowing, smoking, detonating void! + + + + +CHAPTER XXXV. + +TERROR AND RETREAT. + + +When, despite Flint's imperative orders, Slade failed to reopen the +lines of communication for him, before nightfall, and when President +Supple wired in code for a little more time in obeying Air Trust orders, +the Billionaire recognized that something of terrible menace now had +suddenly broken in upon his dream of universal power. + +He summoned Waldron and Herzog for another conference and together they +feverishly planned to put the works under defense, until such time as +troops could be got through to them. + +The plant regiment was mustered and the Cosmos mercenaries and scabs +were made ready. The machine-guns were unlimbered for action and large +quantities of ammunition were delivered to them and to the aerial-bomb +guns, as nightfall lowered. Herzog set eight hundred men to work +covering all the tanks possible, with wire netting of heavy steel. The +search-lights were all ordered into use; steam and electrical +connections were made, the air-fleet was manned, and everything was done +that unlimited wealth and bitter hate of the Workers could suggest. + +With curses on the fog, which hid the upper air from view, the old man +now stood at one of the west windows of his inner office--the office on +the top floor of the main Administration Building, overlooking nearly +the whole Plant. + +"Damn the weather!" he snarled, his gold teeth glinting. "In addition to +all this mist from the Falls, there's a regular cloud-bank settling +down, tonight! Under cover of it, what may not happen? Nothing could +have been worse, Waldron. Though we shall soon control the air, that +won't be enough, so long as fogs and mists escape us. Our next +problem--hello! Now what the devil's _that_?" + +"What's what?" retorted Waldron, testily. He had been drinking rather +more heavily than usual, that day, both because of the dull weather and +because the Falls invariably got on his nerves, during his brief +sojourns there. Away from New York and his favorite haunts, Waldron was +lost. "What's what?" he repeated with an ugly look. "This roaring, +glaring, trembling place gives me--" + +"That! That light in the sky!" cried Flint, excitedly pointing. "See? +No--it's gone now! But it looked like--like a rocket! A signal, of some +kind, thrown from an aeroplane! A--" + +Waldron laughed harshly. + +"Seeing things, eh?" he sneered, coming across to the window, himself, +and peering out. "_I_ don't see anything! Nothing here to worry about, +Flint. With all these walls and guns, and netting, and air-ships and a +private army and all, what more do you want? Not getting nervous in your +old age, are you, eh?" he gibed bitterly. "Or is your conscience +beginning to wake up, as the graveyard becomes more a probability +than--" + +"Enough!" Flint snapped at him. "When you drink, Waldron, you're an +idiot! Now, forget all this, and let's get down to work. I tell you, I +just now saw a signal-light up there in the mist. There's trouble coming +tonight, as sure as we own the earth. Trouble, maybe big trouble. +Merciful God, I--I rather think we oughtn't to be here, in person, eh? +We'd be much better off out of here. If there--there should be any +fighting, you know--" + +His voice broke in a falsetto pipe. Waldron laughed brutally. + +"Bravo!" cried he, with flushed and mottled face. "You'll do, Flint! I +see, right now, the firing-line is the life for you! Well, let the row +come, and devil take it, say I. Better anything than--" + +The sentence was never finished, For suddenly a shattering explosion +hurled a vast section of the western encircling wall outward, out into +the River, and, where but a moment before, the partners had been gazing +at a high concrete-and-steel barrier, with electric lights on top, now +only a huge gap appeared, through which the foam-tossed current could be +seen leaping swiftly onward toward the Falls. + +Hurled back from the window by the force of the explosion, both men were +struck dumb with terror and amaze. Flint rallied first, and with a cry +of rage, inarticulate as a beast's howl, sprang to the window again. + +Outside, a scene of desolation and wild activity was visible. The great, +paved courtyard, flanked by the turbine houses and the wall, on one +hand, and on the other by the oxygen tanks' huge bulk that loomed +vaguely through the electric-lighted mist, now had begun to swarm with +men. + +Flint saw a few forms lying prone under the hard glare of the arcs and +vacuum lights. Others were crawling, writhing, making strange +contortions. Here, there, men with rifles were running to take their +posts. Hoarse orders were shouted, and shrill replies rang back. + +Then, all at once, a kind of sputtering series of small explosions began +to rip along the edge of the south wall. And now, machine-guns began to +talk, with a dry, hard metallic clatter. And--though whence these came, +Flint could not see--grenades began flying over the wall and bursting in +the court. Though unwounded, men fell everywhere these gas-projectiles +exploded--fell, stone dead and stiffening at once--fell, in strange, +monstrous, awful attitudes of death. + +Steam began billowing up; and crackling electrical discharges leaped +along the naked wires of the outer barricades. + +The whole Plant shook and rattled with the violent concussions of the +aerial-bomb guns, already searching the upper air with shrapnel. + +Somewhere, out of the range of vision, another terrible shock made the +building tremble to its nethermost foundation; and wild yells and cries, +as of a charge, a repulse, a savage and determined rush, echoed through +the vast enclosure. Came a third detonation--and, blinding in its +intensity, a globe of fire burst almost beneath the window, five stories +below. + +The partners, shaking and pale, retreated hastily. A swift, +upward-rising shape swept over the courtyard and was gone--one of the +air-fleet now launched to meet the attackers. + +Far below a sudden crumbling shudder of masonry told the Billionaire +not a moment was to be lost, for already one wing of the Administration +Building was swaying to its fall. + +"Quick, Waldron! Quick!" he shouted, in the shrill treble of senility, +and ran into the corridor that led to the north wing. Waldron, suddenly +sobered, followed; and from the offices, where the night-shift of clerks +were laboring (or had been, till the first explosion), came crowding +pale and frightened men. Not the fighting cast of Air Trust slaves, +these, but the anaemic chemists and experimenters and clerical workers, +scabs, to a man. Now, in the common sentiment of fear, they jostled +Flint and Waldron, as though these plutocrats had been but common clay. +And in the corridor a babel rose, through which fresh volleys and ever +more and more violent explosions ripped and thundered. + +Flint struck savagely at some who barred his way; and Waldron elbowed +through, with curses. + +"Get out of the way, you swine!" shrilled the old Billionaire. "Make +way, there! Way!" + +The two men reached a door that led by a private passage, through to the +steel-and-concrete laboratories. + +"Here, this way, Flint!" shouted Waldron. "If those Hell-devils drop a +bomb on us, this building will cave in like jackstraws! Our only safety +is here, _here_!" + +Thoroughly cowed now, with all the brutal bluster and half-drunken +swagger gone, Waldron whipped out a bunch of keys, tremblingly unlocked +the door and blundered through. Flint followed. Behind them, others +tried to press, on toward the armored laboratories; but with vile +blasphemies the plutocrats beat them back and slammed the door. + +"To Hell with _them_!" shouted Flint, perfectly ashen now and shaking +like a leaf, the fear of death strong on his withered soul. "We've got +all we can do to look after ourselves! Quick, Waldron, quick!" + +Both men, sick with panic, with fear of the unknown terror from above, +stumbled rather than ran along the passage, and presently reached the +laboratory. + +Here Waldron unlocked another door, this time a steel one, and--as they +both crowded through--pressed a hand to his dizzy head. + +"Safe!" he gulped, slamming the door again. "They can't get us _here_, +at any rate, no matter what happens! This place is like a fort, and--" + +His speech was interrupted by a dazing, deafening tumult of sound. The +earth trembled, and the laboratory, steel though it was, with concrete +facing, rocked on its foundation. A glare through the windows, quickly +fading, told them the building they had just quitted was now but a +smoking pile of ruin. + +Flint gasped, unable to speak. Waldron, shaking and cowed, tried to +moisten his dry lips with a thick tongue. + +"We--we weren't any too soon!" he gulped, without one thought of the +doomed scabs in the Administration Building. Stern justice was now +overtaking these wretches. False to the working-class, and eager to +serve the Air Trust--not only eager to serve, but zealous in any attack +on the proletariat, and by their very employment serving to rivet the +shackles on the world--now they were abandoned by their masters. + +Between upper and nether millstone, moving with neither, they were +caught and crushed. And as the great building quivered, gaped wide +open, swayed and came thundering down in a vast pile of flame-lit ruin, +whence a volcanic burst of fire, smoke and dust arose, they perished +miserably, time-servers, cowards and self-seekers to the last. + +But Flint and Waldron still survived. Though the very earth shook and +trembled with the roar of bombs, the crumbling of massive walls, the +rattle of volley-fire and the crashing of the terrible grenades that +mowed down hundreds as they spread their poisonous gas abroad--though +the shriek of projectiles, the thunder of the air-ship guns now sweeping +the sky in blind endeavor to shatter the attackers all swelled the +tumult to a frightful storm of terror and of death; they still lived, +cowered and cringed there in the bomb-proof steel-and-concrete of the +inner laboratories. + +"Come, come!" Flint quavered, peering about him at the deserted room, +still glaring with electric light--the room now abandoned by all its +workers, who, members of Herzog's regiment, had run to take their posts +at the first signal of attack. "Come--this isn't safe enough, even here. +In--in there!" + +He pointed toward a vault-like door, leading to the subterranean steel +chambers where Herzog eventually counted on storing some hundreds of +thousands of tons of liquid oxygen--the reserve-chambers, impregnable to +lightning, fire, frost or storm, to man's attacks or nature's--the +chambers blasted from the living rock, deep as the Falls themselves, +vacuum-lined, wondrous achievement of the highest engineering skill the +world could boast. + +"There! There!" repeated Flint, plucking at the dazed Waldron's sleeve. +"Tool-steel and concrete, twenty-five feet thick--and vacuum chambers +all about--_there_ we can hide! There's safety! Come, come quick!" + +Staring, white-faced (he who had been so red!) and dumb, Waldron +yielded. Together, furtive as the criminals they were, these two +world-masters slunk toward the steel door, while without, their empire +was crashing down in smoke, and flame, and blood! + +They had almost reached it when a smash of glass at the far end of the +laboratory whipped them round, in keener terror. + +Staring, wild-eyed, they beheld the crouching figure of Herzog. Running, +even as he cringed, he had upset a glass retort, which had shattered on +the concrete floor. And as he ran, he screamed: + +"_They're in! They're coming! Quick--the steel vaults! Let me in, there! +Let me in!_" + +The coward was now a maniac with terror, his face perfectly white, +writhen with panic, and with staring eyes that gleamed horribly under +the greenish vacuum-lights. + +"Back, you! Get out!" roared Waldron, raising a fist. "We--" + +A sudden belch of flame, outside, split the night with terrible +virescence. The whole steel building trembled and swayed. Some of its +girders buckled; and the east wall, nearest the oxygen-tanks, caved +inward as a mass of many tons was hurled against it. + +A stunning concussion flung all three men to the floor; and, as they +fell, a withering heat-wave quivered through the place. + +"The oxygen-tanks!" gasped Flint. "They're blown up--they're +burning--God help us!" + +Scorching, yet still eager to live, he crawled on hands and knees toward +the steel door. Waldron dragged himself along, half-dead with terror. +Now, dripping gouts of inextinguishable fire were raining on the roof of +the building. A whirlwind of flame was sweeping all its eastern side; +and a glare like that of Hell itself seared the eyes of the fugitives. + +Quivering, trembling, slavering, the old man and Waldron wrenched the +steel door open. + +"_Me! Me! Let me in! Me! Save me!_" howled Herzog, dragging himself +toward them. + +They only laughed derisively, with howls of demoniacal scorn. + +"You slave! You cur!" shouted Waldron, and spat at him as he drew the +vault door shut. "You cringing dog--stay there, now, and face it!" + +The great door boomed shut. In the cool of the winding stairway of steel +which led, lighted by electricity, to the trap-door and the ladder down +into the tremendous vaults, the world-masters breathed deeply once more, +respited from death. + +Herzog, screaming like a fiend in torment, clawed at the impenetrable +steel door, raved, begged, entreated, and tore his fingers on the lock. + +No answer, save the muffled echo of a jeer, from within. + +_Boom!_ + +What was that? + +Mad with terror though he was, he whirled about, and faced the room now +quivering with heat. + +Even as he looked, a great gap yawned in the western wall, farthest from +the flame-belching oxygen-tank that had been struck. + +Through this gap, pouring irresistibly as the sea, swept a tide of +attackers, storming the inner citadel of the infernal, world-strangling +Air Trust. + +At the head of this victorious army, this flood triumphant of the +embattled proletaire, Herzog's staring eyes caught a moment's glimpse of +a dreaded face--the face of Gabriel Armstrong. + +Gasping, the coward and tool of the world-masters made one supreme +decision. Close by, a rack of vials stood. He whirled to it, snatched +out a tiny bottle and waiting not even to draw the cork--craunched the +bottle, glass and all, in his fang-like, uneven teeth. + +An instant change swept over him. His staring eyes closed, his head fell +forward, his whole body collapsed like an empty sack. He fell, twitched +once or twice, and was dead--dead ere the attackers could reach the door +of steel where his bestial masters had betrayed him. + +Thus perished Herzog, coward and tool, a victim of the very forces he +himself had helped create. + +And at the moment of his death, the masters he had cringed to and had +served, sneering with scorn at him even in their mortal terror, were +tremblingly descending the long metal ladder to the impregnable vaults +of steel below. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVI. + +THE STORMING OF THE WORKS. + + +Plunged into the abyss of mist and flame by the attack of the Air Trust +_épervier_, Gabriel had abandoned himself for lost. Death, mercifully +swift, he had felt could be his only fate; and with this thought had +come no fear, but only a wild joy that he had shared this glorious +battle, sure to end in victory! This was his only thought--this, and a +quick vision of Catherine. + +Then, as he hurtled down and over, whirling drunkenly in the void, all +clear perception left him. Everything became a swift blur, a rushing +confusion of terrible wind, and lurid light, and the wild roar of myriad +explosions. + +Came a shock, a sudden checking of the plunge, a long and rapid glide, +as the DeVreeland stabilizer of the machine, asserting its automatic +action, brought it to a level keel once more. + +But now the engine was stopped. Gabriel, realizing that some chance +still existed to save his life, wrenched madly at his levers. + +"If I can volplane down!" he panted, sick and dizzy, "there may yet be +hope!" + +Hope! Yes, but how tenuous! What chance had he, coasting to earth at +that low level, to avoid the detonating bombs, the aerial shrapnel being +hurled aloft, the poisonous gas, the surface-fire? + +Here, there and yonder, terrific explosions were shattering the echoes, +as the Air Trust batteries swept the fog with their aeroplane-destroying +missiles. Whither should he steer? He knew not. All sense of direction +was lost, nor could the compass tell him anything. A glance at the +barometric gauge showed him an altitude of but 850 feet, and this was +decreasing with terrible rapidity. + +Strive as he might, he could not check the swift descent. + +"God send me a soft place to fall on!" he thought, grimly, still +clinging to his machine and laboring to jockey it under control. + +Close by, a thunderous detonation crashed through the mist. His machine +reeled and swerved, then plunged more swiftly still. All became vague, +to Gabriel--a dream--a nightmare! + +_Crash!_ + +Flung from the seat, he sprawled through treetops, caught himself, fell +to a lower limb, slid off and landed among thick bushes; and through +these came to earth. + +The wrecked 'plane, whirling away and down, fell crashing into the river +that rushed cascading by, and vanished in the firelit mist. + +Stunned, yet half-conscious, Gabriel presently sat up and pressed his +right hand to his head. His left arm felt numb and useless; and when he +tried to raise it, he found it refused his will. + +"Where am I, now, I'd like to know?" he muttered. "Not dead, anyhow--not +_yet_!" + +A continuous roar of explosions shuddered the air, mingled with the +booming of the mighty Falls. Shouts and cheers and the rattle of +machine-guns assailed his ear. The glare of the search-lights, through +the mist and steam, was darkened momentarily by thick, greasy coils of +smoke, shot through by violent flashes of light as explosions took +place. + +Gabriel struggled to his feet, and peered about him, + +"Still alive!" said he. "And I must get back into the fight! That's all +that matters, now--the fight!" + +He knew not, yet, where he was; but this mattered nothing. His machine +had, in fact, fallen near the river bank, in the eastern section of +Prospect Park, beyond the Goat Island bridge--this region of the Park +having been left outside the fortifications, in the extension of the Air +Trust plant. + +The trees, here, had saved his life. Had he smashed to earth a hundred +yards further north, he would have been shattered against high walls and +roofs. + +Still giddy, but sensing no pain from his injured left arm, Gabriel made +way toward the scene of conflict. He knew nothing of how the tide of +battle was going; nothing of his position; nothing as to what men he +would first meet, his comrades or the enemy. + +But for these considerations he had no thought. His only idea, fixed and +grim, was "The fight!" Dazed though he still was, he nerved himself for +action. + +And so, pressing onward through the livid glare, through the night +shattered by stupendous detonations, he drew his revolver and broke into +a run. + +Strange evidences of the battle now became evident. He saw an unexploded +grenade lying beside a wounded man who grasped at him and moaned with +pain. Over a wrecked motor-car, greasy smoke was rising, as it burned. +Louder shouting drew him down a path to the left. Masses of moving +figures became dimly visible, through the mist. And now, stabs of fire +pierced the confusion and clamorous night. + +Gabriel jerked up his revolver, as he ran, the terrible weapon shooting +bullets charged with hydrocyanic-acid gas. + +A man rose before him, shouting. + +Gabriel levelled the weapon; but a glimpse of red ribbon in the other's +coat brought it down again. + +"Comrade!" cried he. "Where's the attack?" + +The other pointed. + +"Gabriel! Is that you?" he gasped, staring. + +"Yes! I fell--machine smashed--come on!" + +"Hurt?" + +"No! Arm, maybe. No matter! God! What's this?" + +Toward them a sudden swirl of men came sweeping, stumbling, shouting, in +pandemonium. + +"Our men!" cried Gabriel, starting forward again. "We're being driven! +Rally, here! Rally!" + +Beyond, a louder crackling sounded. Here, there, men plunged down. The +retreat was becoming a rout! + +Yelling, Gabriel flung himself upon the men. + +"Back there!" he vociferated. "Back, and at the walls! Come on, boys, +now! Come on!" + +His voice, well known to nearly all, thrilled them again with new +determination. A shout rose up; it swelled, deepened, roared to majestic +volume. + +Then the tide turned. + +Back went the fighting men of the great Revolution. back at the +machine-guns, mounted in the breached walls. + +Gabriel was caught and whirled along in that living tide. He found +himself at its crest, its foremost wave. Behind him, a roaring, rushing +river of men. Before the Inner Citadel. + +Gathering speed and weight as it rolled up, the wave broke like an ocean +surge over a crumbling dyke. + +Down went the Air Trust gunners and the guns, down, down to +annihilation! + +Through the breach, foaming and swelling with irresistible power burst +the tides of victory. + +Silenced now were the Trust guns. The steam-jets had none to man them. +Far aloft, a last explosion told the death story of the final +_épervier_. + +Here and there, from windows and corners of the wrecked and blazing +plant, a little intermittent firing still continued; but now the hearts +of these Air Trust defenders--scabs, thugs and scourings of the +slum--had turned to water, in face of the triumphant army of the working +class. + +They fled, those mercenaries, and all the ways and inner +strongholds--such as still were left--now lay open to Gabriel and his +comrades. + +Lighted by the blazing buildings and the vast fire torch of an +oxygen-tank off to eastward, they stormed the final citadel, the steel +and concrete laboratories, heart and soul and center of the hellish +world-conspiracy. + +Stormed it, as it began to blaze and crumble; stormed it, in search of +Flint and Waldron, would-be murderers of the world. + +Stormed it, only to see Herzog gnash his teeth upon the flask, and +fall, and die; only to know that there, within the rock-hewn, +steel-lined tanks, below, their enemies had still outwitted them! + +The swift onrush of the fire drove the victors back. + +"_Out, comrades! Out of here_!" shouted Gabriel, facing the attackers. + +None too soon. Hardly had they beaten a retreat, back into the vast +courtyard again, strewn with the dead, when a second oxygen tank +exploded, overwhelming the laboratory building with tons of flying +steel. + +Leaping toward the zenith, a giant tongue of flame roared heavenward. So +intense the heat had now become, that the solid brick and concrete +walls, exposed to the direct verberation of the flame, began to crack +and crumble. + +Gabriel ordered a general retreat of the attacking army. Victory was +won; and to stay near that gushing tornado of flame, with new explosions +bound to occur as the other oxygen tanks let go, must mean annihilation. + +So the triumphant Army of the Proletaire fell back and back still +further, out into the wrecked and trampled Park, and all through the +city, where shattered buildings, many of them ablaze, and broken trees, +dead bodies, smashed ordnance and chaos absolute told something of the +story of that brief but terrible war. + +Ringed round the perishing ruins of the Air Trust they stood, these +mute, thrilled thousands. Silence fell, now, as they watched the +roaring, ever-mounting flames that, whipped by the breeze, crashed +upward in long and cadenced tourbillions of white, of awful +incandescence. + +And the river, ever-hurrying, always foaming on and downward to its +titanic plunge, sparkled with eerie lights in that vast glow. Its voice +of thunder seemed to chant the passing and the requiem of the Curse of +the World, Capitalism. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVII. + +DEATH IN THE PIT OF STEEL. + + +And Flint, now, what of him! And Waldron? + +While the Air Trust plant was burning, crumbling, smashing down, what of +its masters, the masters of the world? + +A sense of vast relief possessed them both, at first, as the steel door +clanged after them. + +Now, for a time at least, they realized that they were safe, safe from +the People, safe from the awakened and triumphant Proletariat. Even now, +had they surrendered, they would have been spared; but nothing was +further from their thoughts than any treating with the despised and +hated enemy. + +Foremost in the mind of each, now, was the thought that if they could +but stand siege, a day or so, the troops of the government--their +government and their troops, their own personal property--would +inevitably rescue them. + +With this comforting belief, together they descended the long steel +staircase to the trap-door, passed through this, and climbed down the +metal ladder to the vast storage-vaults. + +Here, everything was cool and quiet and well-lighted. Not yet had the +electric-generating plant been put out of action. Though all its workers +had either been drafted into the ranks of the Cosmos mercenaries, or +Herzog's regiments, or else had fled to hiding, still the huge turbines +and enormous dynamos were whirling, unattended. Thus, for the first few +minutes, in their living tomb, down over which the ruins of the now +white-hot laboratory-building had crashed, the world-masters had +electric light. + +Reassured a little, they descended to the very bottom of the first huge +tank. + +"God!" snarled Flint, as he breathed deeply and glared about him. "The +curs! The swine! To think of this, _this_ really happening! And to think +that if we hadn't got here just in time, they'd actually have--have used +violence on _us_--" + +Waldron laughed brutally, his body still trembling and his face chalky. +His laugh echoed, hollowly, from the metal walls. + +"You old fool!" he spat. "Canting old hypocrite to the last, eh? +Violence? What the devil do you expect? Rosewater and confetti? Violence +was all that ever held 'em, wasn't it? And when they slipped the leash, +naturally they retorted--that's all! Violence? You make me sick! Damned +lucky for us if we get through this yet, without violence, you whining +cur!" + +Flint, for the first time hearing Waldron's honest opinion of him, +failed even to note it. All his panic-stricken ear had caught was the +note of hope, of survival. + +Clutching eagerly at Waldron's sleeve, he cackled: + +"If we get through? If we get through, you say? Then, in your opinion, +there _is_ a chance to get through? They can't get us here? We surely +shall be rescued?" + +"Bah!" Waldron flung at him, some latent spark of courage still +smouldering in his sodden breast, whereas old Flint was craven to the +marrow. "You nauseate me! Afraid to die, eh? Well, so am I; but not so +damned paralyzed and sick with panic as all that! If you'd taken less +dope, the last twenty years, you'd have more nerve now, to face the +music! World-master, you? Eh? Playing the biggest game on earth--and +now, when things break bad, you squeal! Arrrh! You called me a quitter +once, you mealy-mouthed old Pecksniff! We'll see, now, who quits! We'll +see, at a show-down, who can face it, you or I!" + +[Illustration: His fingers lost their hold--he dropped like a Plummet.] + +Waldron's brutality, the hard, savage quality that all his life had made +him "Tiger" Waldron, now was beginning to reassert itself. His first +sheer panic over, a little manhood was returning. But as for Flint, no +manhood dwelt in him to be awakened. Instead, each moment found him more +abject and more pitiable. Like an old woman he now wrung his hands and +groaned, hysterically; and now he paced the steel floor of the vault +that was destined to be his tomb; and now he stopped again and stared +about him with wild eyes. + +On all sides, sheer up a hundred feet or more, the smooth steel sides of +the vast oxygen tank rose, studded with long lines of rivets. + +Near the top a dark aperture showed where the six-inch pipe joined the +tank; the pipe destined to fill it, when Herzog's last process--never, +now, to be completed--should have been done. + +The huge floor, 150 feet in diameter, sloped gently downward toward the +center; and here yawned another pipe, covered by a grating--the pipe to +drain the liquid oxygen out to the pumping station. + +So deeply set in the rock of the Niagara cliff was this stupendous +tank, and so cunningly surrounded by vacuum-chambers, that now no +faintest sound of the Falls was audible. All that betrayed the nearness +of the cataract was a faint, incessant trembling of the metal walls, as +though the solid ribs of Earth herself were shuddering with the impact +of the plunge. + +Old Flint surveyed this extraordinary chamber with mingled feelings. It +surely offered absolute protection, for the present--or seemed to--but +his distressed mind conjured alarming pictures of the future, in case no +rescue came. Death by starvation, thirst and madness loomed before him. +Nervously he recommenced his pacing. Another terribly serious factor was +to be considered. He had now been three hours without his dose of +morphia, and his nerves were calling, tugging insistently for it. + +"Rotten luck," he grumbled, "that I've got none with me!" Even there, in +the imminent presence of disaster and death, his mind reverted to the +poison, more necessary to him than food. + +Waldron now had grown fairly calm. He stood leaning against the steel +ladder, down which they had descended. Choosing a cigar, he proceeded to +light up. + +"Might as well be comfortable while we wait," said he. "I only wish we +had a couple of chairs, down here. Oversight on our part that we didn't +have some steel ones put in, and a line of canned goods and a few quarts +of Scotch. The floor's a bit damp and cold to sit on, and I want a drink +damn bad!" + +Flint swung about and faced him, pale and shaking, tortured with fear +and with longing for his dope. + +"You--you don't think it _will_ be long, eh, do you?" he demanded. "Not +long before we're taken out?" + +Waldron shrugged his shoulders and blew a long, thin arrow of smoke +athwart the brightly-lighted air. + +"Search me!" he exclaimed. "To judge by what was happening when we made +our exit, the Plant must be a mess, by this time. We seem to have been +checked, even if not mated, Flint. I must admit they caught us by +surprise. Caught us napping, damn them, after all! They were stronger +than we thought, Flint, and cleverer, and better organized. And so--" + +"Don't say 'we,' curse you!" snarled Flint. "Blame yourself, if you want +to, but leave me out! _I_ knew there was trouble due, I tell you. _I_ +saw it coming! Who's been trying to crush the swine completely, if not +I? Who's worked night and day to have those bills put through, and who +had the army increased, and conscription started? Who's driven the +President to back all sorts of things? Who's forced them? Who made the +National Mounted Police a reality, if not I? Damn you, don't include +_me_ in your blame!" + +Waldron shrugged his shoulders, and smoked contemplatively. + +"Suit yourself," he answered. "If we both die, down here, it won't +matter much either way." + +"Die?" quavered the old jackal, suddenly forgetting his rage and peering +about with furtive eyes. "Did you say die, Wally? No, no! You didn't say +that! You didn't mean that, surely!" + +Waldron smiled, evilly, joying in this abject fear of his hated partner. + +"Oh, yes, I did, though," he retorted. "It's quite possible, you know. +In case our government--yours, if you prefer--can't get troops through, +here, or a big general revolution sweeps things, inside a day or two, +we're done. We'll starve and stifle, here, sure as shooting!" + +"No, no, no! Not that, not _that_!" whimpered Flint, shuddering. "I +can't die, yet. I--I'm not ready for it! There's all that missionary +work of mine not yet done, and my huge international Sunday School +League to perfect; and there's the tremendous ten-million-dollar +Cathedral of Saint Luke the Pious that I'm having built on Riverside +Drive, and there's--" + +"Cut it!" gibed Waldron, spitting with very disgust. "If your time's +come, Flint, you'll die, cathedrals or no cathedrals. Your Sunday +schools won't save you any more than my investments will--which have +largely been wine, women and song. As a matter of fact, if it comes to +starvation, if we aren't rescued and taken out from under the red-hot +wreckage that's on top of us, I'll outlive _you_! I can exist on my +surplus adipose tissue, for a while; but you--_you're_ nothing but skin +and bone. You'll starve far quicker than I will, old man." + +"Don't! Don't!" implored the shaking wretch, covering his eyes with both +trembling hands. + +"Moral, you oughtn't to have been a dope-fiend, all these years," +continued Waldron, cuttingly, determined that now, once for all, his +despised partner should hear the truth. "How you've lived so long, as it +is, I don't understand. When I tried to marry Kate, and failed, I +reckoned you'd pass over in almost no time--and, by the way, that's why +I was so insistent. But you've disappointed me, Flint. Disappointed me +sorely. You still live. It won't be long, however. Down here, you know, +you simply can't get any dope. In a little while you'll begin to suffer +the torments of Hell. You'll die of starvation and drug 'yen,' Flint, +and you'll die mad, mad, _mad_! Understand me! Mad, for morphine! And I, +I shall watch you, and exult!" + +Flint cringed, shuddering and stopped his ears. His partner, gloating +over him, smoked faster now. A strange light shone in his eyes. His +pulse beat faster than usual, and a certain extravagance of thought and +speech had become manifest in him. + +He tried to compose himself, feeling that he must not push the cowardly +Flint too far, but his ideas refused to flow in orderly sequence. +Wonderingly he stared at his cigar, the tip of which was now glowing +more brightly than before. + +And then, suddenly sniffing the air he understood. His eyes widened with +horror absolute. He started forward, gasped and cried: + +"_Flint! Flint! The oxygen is coming in!_" + +Uncomprehending, the old man still stood there, mumbling to himself. His +face was now tinged with unusual color, and his heart, too, was thumping +strangely. + +"_Oxygen_!" shouted Waldron, shaking him by the shoulder. "It--it's +leaking in, here, somewhere! If we can't stop it--_we're dead men_!" + +"Eh? _What_?" stammered the Billionaire, staring at him with eyes of +half-intoxicated fear. "What d'you mean, the oxygen? In--in here?" + +"_In here_!" cried "Tiger," casting a wild and terrible gaze about him +at the vast, empty trap of steel. "Can't you smell it? That ozone +smell? My God, we're lost! We're lost!" + +"You're crazy!" retorted Flint, with vigor. "Nothing of the sort could +happen!" His head was held high, now, and new life seemed surging +through that spent and drug-wrecked body. "There's no way those curs +could have turned on any gas, here. You're crazy, ha! ha! ha! Insane, +eh? A good joke--capital joke, that! I must tell it at the Union League +Club! 'Tiger' Waldron, suddenly insane, and--ha! ha! ha!" + +He burst into a long, shrill cacchination. Already his face was scarlet +and his mind a whirl. Though neither man understood the reason, yet the +fact remained that one of the last great explosions had ruptured a +subterranean check-valve closing the six-inch pipe that was to feed the +storage-tanks; and now a swift, huge stream of pure oxygen gas was +rushing at tremendous velocity into the vast chamber of steel. + +Waldron, his heart leaping as though it would burst his ribs, raised a +fist to strike down his insulter; then, with drunken indecision, joined +in the maniacal laughter of the staggering old man. + +In their ears a strange, wild humming now became audible. Lights danced +before their eyes; their senses reeled, and violent, extravagant ideas +surged through their drunken brains. + +"_Ha! Ha! Ha!_" rang Waldron's crazy laughter, echoing the old man's. +All at once, his cigar broke into flame. Cursing, he hurled it away, +staggering back against the ladder and stood there swaying, clutching it +to hold himself from falling. + +There he stood, and stared at Flint, with eyes that started from his +head, with panting breath and crimson face. + +The old man, in a sudden revulsion of terror, was now grovelling along +the floor, by one of the massive walls, clawing at the steel with +impotent hands and screaming mingled prayers and oaths. His ravings, +horrible to hear, echoed through the great tank, now swiftly filling +with gas. + +"Help! Help!" he screamed. "Save me--my God--save me--. Let me out, let +me out! A million, if you let me out! A billion--_the whole world_! The +world, ha! ha! ha! Damn it to Hell--the world, I say! I'll give the +world to be let out! It's mine--I own it--_all, all mine!_ Ha! Dogs! You +would rise up against your master and your God, would you? But it's no +use--we'll beat you yet--out! _out_!--the world--I own it! All this +plant--this gas, all mine! My oxygen--ah! it chokes me! _Help! +Help!_--Swine! I'll scourge you yet--_absolute power_--_the world_--!" + +With one final spark of energy, panting, his heart flailing itself to +death under the pitiless urge of the oxygen, old Flint sprang up, ran +wildly, blindly straight across the steel floor, and, screaming +blasphemies like a soul in Hell, dashed into the opposite wall. + +He recoiled, staggered, spun round and fell sprawling most +horribly--stone dead. + +Waldron, at sight of this awful end, felt an uncontrollable terror sweep +over his drunk and maddened senses. Though all his blood was leaping in +his arteries, and his breath coming so fast it choked him, yet a +moment's seeming sanity possessed his reeling brain. + +"The door! The door, up there!" he screamed, with a wild, terrible +curse. + +Then, turning toward the ladder, in spite of his fat and flabby muscles +quivering in terrible spasms, he ran up the long steel structure with a +supreme and ape-like agility. + +Fifty feet he made, seventy-five, ninety-- + +But, all at once, something seemed to break in his overtaxed heart. + +A blackness swam before his dazzled eyes. His head fell back. Unnerved, +his fingers lost their hold. And, whirling over and over in midair, he +dropped like a plummet. + +By one wall lay Flint's body. At the foot of the ladder, like a crushed +sack of bones, sprawled the corpse of "Tiger" Waldron. + +And still the rushing oxygen, with which they two had hoped to dominate +the world, poured through the six-inch main, far, far above--senseless +matter, blindly avenging itself upon the rash and evil men who impiously +had sought to cage and master it! + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVIII. + +VISIONS. + + +Thus perished Flint and Waldron, scourges of the earth. Thus they died, +slain by the very force which they had planned would betray mankind and +deliver it into their chains. Thus vanished, forever, the most sinister +and cruel minds ever evolved upon this planet; the greatest menace the +human race had ever known; the evil Masters of the World. + +And as they died, massed around their perished Air Trust plant, a throng +of silent, earnest watchers stood, with faces illumined by the symbolic, +sacrificial flames--a throng of emancipated workers, of toilers from +whose bowed shoulders now forever had been lifted the frightful menace +of a universal bondage. + +Explosion after explosion burst from the tortured Inferno of the vast +plant. Buildings came crashing, reeling, thundering down; walls fell, +amid vast, belching clouds of dust and smoke; a white, consuming sheet +of flame crackled across the sinister and evil place; and in its wake +glowed incandescent ruins. + +Then, in one final burst of thunderous tumult, the hugest tank of all, +exploding with a roar like that of Doom itself, hurled belching flames +on high. + +For many miles--in Buffalo, Rochester, Toronto and scores of cities on +both sides of the Great Lakes--silent multitudes watched the glare +against the midnight sky; and many wept for joy; and many prayed. All +understood the meaning of that sight. The light upon the heavens seemed +a signal and a beacon--a promise that the Old Times had passed away +forever--a covenant of the New. + +And, as the final explosion shattered the Temple of Bondage to wreckage, +flung it far into the rushing river and swept it over the leaping, +thundering Falls, the news flashed on a thousand wires, to all cities +and all lands; and though the mercenaries of the two dead world-masters +still might struggle and might strive to beat the toilers back to +slavery again, their days were numbered and their powers forever broken. + +Together in the doorway of the refuge at Port Colborne, Catherine stood +with Gabriel, watching the beacon of liberty upon the heavens. The +light, a halo round her eager face, showed his powerful figure and the +smile of triumph in his eyes. His left arm, broken by the fall in the +aeroplane, now rested in a sling. His right, protecting in its strength, +was round the girl. And as her head found shelter and rest, at length, +upon his shoulder, she, too, smiled; and her eyes seemed to see visions +in the glory of the sky. + +"Visions!" said she, softly, as though voicing a universal thought. "Do +you behold them, too?" + +He nodded. + +"Yes," he answered, "and they are beautiful and sweet and pure!" + +"Visions that we now shall surely see?" + +"Shall surely see!" he echoed; and a little silence fell. Far off, they +seemed to hear a vast and thousand-throated cheering, that the +night-wind brought to them in long and heart-inspiring cadences. + +"Gabriel," she said, at last. + +"Well?" + +"I wish _he_ might have seen them, and have understood! In spite of all +he did, and was, he was my father!" + +"Yes," answered Gabriel, sensing her grief. "But would you have had him +live through this? Live, with the whole world out of his grasp, again? +Live, with all his plans wrecked and broken? Live on in this new time, +where he could have comprehended nothing? Live on, in misery and rage +and impotence? + +"Your father was an old man, Catherine. You know as well as I +do--better, perhaps--the whole trend of his life's thought and ambition. +Even if he'd lived, he couldn't have changed, now, at his age. It would +have been an utter impossibility. Why say more?" + +Catherine made no reply; but in her very attitude of trust and +confidence, Gabriel knew he read the comfort he had given her. + +Silence, a while. At last she spoke. + +"Visions!" she whispered. "Wonderful visions of the glad, new time! How +do you see them, Gabriel?" + +"How do I see them?" His face seemed to glow with inspiration under the +shining light in the far heavens. "I see them as the realization of a +time, now really close at hand, when this old world of ours shall be, as +it never yet has been, in truth civilized, emancipated, free. When the +night of ignorance, kingcraft, priestcraft, servility and prejudice, +bigotry and superstition shall be forever swept away by the dawn of +intelligence and universal education, by scientific truth and light--by +understanding and by fearlessness. + +"When Science shall no longer be 'the mystery of a class,' but shall +become the heritage of all mankind. When, because much is known by all, +nothing shall be dreaded by any. When all mankind shall be absolutely +its own master, strong, and brave, and free!" + +"Like you, Gabriel!" the girl exclaimed, from her heart. + +"Don't say that!" he disclaimed. "Don't--" + +She put her hand over his mouth. + +"Shhhh!" she forbade him. "You mustn't argue, now, because your arm's +just been set and we don't want any fever. If my dreams include you, +too, Gabriel, don't try to tell me I'm mistaken--because I'm not, to +begin with, and I _know_ I'm not!" + +He laughed, and shook his head. + +"Do you realize," said he, "that when it comes to bravery, and strength, +and the splendid freedom of an emancipated soul, I must look to _you_ +for light and leading?" + +"Don't!" she whispered. "Look only to the future--to the newer, better +world now coming to birth! The time which is to know no poverty, no +crime, no children's blood wrung out for dividends! + +"The future when no longer Idleness can enslave Labor to its tasks. When +every man who will, may labor freely, whether with hand or brain, and +receive the full value of his toil, undiminished by any theft or +purloining whatsoever!" + +"The future," he continued, as she paused, "when crowns, titles, swords, +rifles and dreadnaughts shall be known only by history. When the earth +and the fulness thereof shall belong to all Earth's people; and when its +soil need be no longer fertilized with human blood, its crops no longer +be brought forth watered by sweat and tears. + +"Such have been my visions and my dreams, Catherine--a few of them. Now +they are coming true! And other dreams and other visions--dreams of you +and visions of our life together--what of them?" + +"Why need you ask, Gabriel?" she answered, raising her lips to his. + +The sound of singing, a triumphal chorus of the accomplished Revolution, +a vast and million-throated song, seemed wafted to them on the wings of +night. + +And the pure stars, witnessing their love and troth, looked down upon +them from the heavens where shone the fire-glow of the Great +Emancipation. + + +THE END. + + + +[Transcriber's note: In the following paragraph, I corrected the second +"Flint" to "Waldron": + +"Very likely," answered Flint, who had now at last entirely recovered +his sang-froid. "But in that event, our work would be at a standstill. +No, Flint, we mustn't oppose this fellow. Better let the check go +through, if he has nerve enough to fill it out and cash it. He won't +dare gouge very deep; and no matter what he takes, it won't be a drop in +the ocean, compared to the golden flood now almost within our grasp!"] + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Air Trust, by George Allan England + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE AIR TRUST *** + +***** This file should be named 12826-8.txt or 12826-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/2/8/2/12826/ + +Produced by Steven desJardins and Distributed Proofreaders + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Air Trust + +Author: George Allan England + +Release Date: July 5, 2004 [EBook #12826] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE AIR TRUST *** + + + + +Produced by Steven desJardins and Distributed Proofreaders + + + + + +</pre> + + +<a name="Page_1"></a> +<a name="Image_1"></a><center><img src="images/image-1.jpg" height="75%" alt=""Visions!" She said softly, "Do you behold them too?"" title=""> +</center> +<div class="caption"><center><b>"Visions!" She said softly, "Do you behold them too?"</b></center></div> + + + +<br /><hr style="width: 65%;" /><br /> +<h1>THE AIR TRUST</h1><a name="Page_2"></a> + +<h2>By George Allan England</h2> + +<h4>Author of +"Darkness and Dawn," "Beyond the Great Oblivion," +"The Afterglow," etc., etc.</h4> + +<h3>Illustrations by +John Sloan</h3> + +<h4><a name="Page_3"></a>1915</h4> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<a name="TO_EUGENE_V_DEBS"></a><h3><a name="Page_4"></a>TO EUGENE V. DEBS</h3> + +<h4>"Comrade 'Gene,"</h4> + +<h4>Lover of All Mankind and<br /> +Apostle of the World's Emancipation,</h4> + +<h4>I dedicate<br /> +THIS BOOK</h4> + +<br /> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<br /> + +<a name="FOREWORD"></a><h2><a name="Page_5"></a>FOREWORD</h2> +<br /> + +<p>This book is the result of an attempt to carry the monopolistic +principle to its logical conclusion. For many years I have entertained +the idea that if a monopoly be right in oil, coal, beef, steel or what +not, it would also be right in larger ways involving, for example, the +use of the ocean and the air itself. I believe that, had capitalists +been able to bring the seas and the atmosphere under physical control, +they would long ago have monopolized them. Capitalism has not refrained +from laying its hand on these things through any sense of decency, but +merely because the task has hitherto proved impossible.</p> + +<p>Granting, then, the premise that some process might be discovered +whereby the air-supply of the world could be controlled, the Air Trust +logically follows. I have endeavored to show how such a Trust would +inevitably lead to the utter enslavement of the human race, unless +overthrown by the only means then possible, i.e., violence. This book is +not a brief for "direct action." Doubtless the capitalist press (if it +indeed notice the work at all) will denounce it as a plea for +"bomb-throwing" and apply the epithet of "Anarchist" to me; but at this +the judicious and the intelligent will only smile; and as for our +friends the enemy, we esteem their opinion at its precise real value, +zero.</p> + +<p>Given the conditions supposed in this book, I repeat—a complete +monopoly of the air, with an absolute sup<a name="Page_6"></a>pression of all political +rights—no other outcomes are possible than slavery or violent, physical +revolution. As I have made Gabriel Armstrong say: "The masters would +have it so. Academic discussion becomes absurd, in the face of +plutocratic savagery. And in a case of self-defense, no measures are +unjustifiable."</p> + +<p>I believe in political action. I hope for a peaceful and bloodless +revolution. But if that be impossible, then by all means let us have +revolution in its other sense. And with the hope that this book may +perhaps revive some fainting spirit or renew the vision of emancipation +in some soul where it has dimmed, I give "The Air Trust" to the workers +of America and of the world.</p> + +<p>GEORGE ALLAN ENGLAND.</p> + +<p>Boston, Mass., November 1, 1915.</p> + +<br /> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<br /> + +<a name="TABLE_OF_CONTENTS"></a><h3><a name="Page_7"></a>TABLE OF CONTENTS</h3> + +<br /> + +<h4><a href="#FOREWORD">FOREWORD</a></h4> +<h4><a href="#THE_AIR_TRUST">THE AIR TRUST</a></h4> +<h4><a href="#CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I.—THE BIRTH OF AN IDEA</a></h4> +<h4><a href="#CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II.—THE PARTNERS</a></h4> +<h4><a href="#CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III.—THE BAITING OF HERZOG</a></h4> +<h4><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV.—AN INTERLOPER</a></h4> +<h4><a href="#CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V.—IN THE LABORATORY</a></h4> +<h4><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI.—OXYGEN, KING OF INTOXICATORS</a></h4> +<h4><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII.—A FREAK OF FATE</a></h4> +<h4><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII.—ONE UNBIDDEN, SHARES GREAT SECRETS</a></h4> +<h4><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX.—DISCHARGED</a></h4> +<h4><a href="#CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X.—A GLIMPSE OF THE PARASITES</a></h4> +<h4><a href="#CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI.—THE END OF TWO GAMES</a></h4> +<h4><a href="#CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII.—ON THE GREAT HIGHWAY</a></h4> +<h4><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII.—CATASTROPHE</a></h4> +<h4><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV.—THE RESCUE</a></h4> +<h4><a href="#CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV.—AN HOUR AND A PARTING</a></h4> +<h4><a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVI.—TIGER WALDRON "COMES BACK"</a></h4> +<h4><a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">CHAPTER XVII.—THOUGHTS</a></h4> +<h4><a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">CHAPTER XVIII.—FLINT AND WALDRON PLAN</a></h4> +<h4><a href="#CHAPTER_XIX">CHAPTER XIX.—CATHERINE'S DEFIANCE</a></h4> +<h4><a href="#CHAPTER_XX">CHAPTER XX.—THE BILLIONAIRE'S PLOT</a></h4> +<h4><a href="#CHAPTER_XXI">CHAPTER XXI.—GABRIEL, GOOD SAMARITAN</a></h4> +<h4><a href="#CHAPTER_XXII">CHAPTER XXII.—THE TRAP IS SPRUNG</a></h4> +<h4><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIII">CHAPTER XXIII.—THE BEAST GLOATS</a></h4> +<a name="Page_8"></a><h4><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIV">CHAPTER XXIV.—CATHERINE'S SUPREME DECISION</a></h4> +<h4><a href="#CHAPTER_XXV">CHAPTER XXV.—THROUGH STEEL BARS</a></h4> +<h4><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVI">CHAPTER XXVI.—"GUILTY"</a></h4> +<h4><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVII">CHAPTER XXVII.—BACK IN THE SUNLIGHT</a></h4> +<h4><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVIII">CHAPTER XXVIII.—IN THE REFUGE</a></h4> +<h4><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIX">CHAPTER XXIX.—"APRÈS NOUS LE DÉLUGE!"</a></h4> +<h4><a href="#CHAPTER_XXX">CHAPTER XXX.—TRAPPED!</a></h4> +<h4><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXI">CHAPTER XXXI.—ESCAPE!</a></h4> +<h4><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXII">CHAPTER XXXII.—OMINOUS DEVELOPMENTS</a></h4> +<h4><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIII">CHAPTER XXXIII.—"NOW COMES THE HOUR SUPREME"</a></h4> +<h4><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIV">CHAPTER XXXIV.—THE ATTACK</a></h4> +<h4><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXV">CHAPTER XXXV.—TERROR AND RETREAT</a></h4> +<h4><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXVI">CHAPTER XXXVI.—THE STORMING OF THE WORKS</a></h4> +<h4><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXVII">CHAPTER XXXVII.—DEATH IN THE PIT OF STEEL</a></h4> +<h4><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXVIII">CHAPTER XXXVIII.—VISIONS</a></h4> + +<br /> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<br /> + +<a name="LIST_OF_ILLUSTRATIONS"></a><h3><a name="Page_9"></a>LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS</h3> + +<p><a href="#Image_1">"VISIONS!" SHE SAID SOFTLY, "DO YOU BEHOLD THEM TOO?"</a></p> + +<p><a href="#Image_2">"CAN'T BE DONE, EH?" SAID FLINT</a></p> + +<p><a href="#Image_3">HE GATHERED HER UP AS THOUGH SHE HAD BEEN A CHILD</a></p> + +<p><a href="#Image_4">AIMING AT THE BASE OF THE SKULL SHE STRUCK</a></p> + +<p><a href="#Image_5">THE SPY'S BODY BURST INTO A SHEAF OF FIRE</a></p> + +<p><a href="#Image_6">HIS FINGERS LOST THEIR HOLD—HE DROPPED LIKE A PLUMMET</a></p> + +<br /> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<br /> + +<a name="THE_AIR_TRUST"></a><h2><a name="Page_10"></a>THE AIR TRUST</h2> + +<br /> + +<a name="CHAPTER_I"></a><h3>CHAPTER I.</h3> + +<h4>THE BIRTH OF AN IDEA.</h4> +<br /> + +<p>Sunk far back in the huge leather cushions of his morris chair, old +Isaac Flint was thinking, thinking hard. Between narrowed lids, his +hard, gray eyes were blinking at the morning sunlight that poured into +his private office, high up in the great building he had reared on Wall +Street. From his thin lips now and then issued a coil of smoke from the +costly cigar he was consuming. His bony legs were crossed, and one foot +twitched impatiently. Now and again he tugged at his white mustache. A +frown creased his hard brow; and, as he pondered, something of the +glitter of a snake seemed reflected in his pupils.</p> + +<p>"Not enough," he muttered, harshly. "It's not enough—there must be +more, more, more! Some way must be found. Must be, and shall be!"</p> + +<p>The sunlight of early spring, glad and warm over Manhattan, brought no +message of cheer to the Billionaire. It bore no news of peace and joy to +him. Its very brightness, as it flooded the metropolis and mellowed his +luxurious inner office, seemed to offend the master of the world. And +presently he arose, walked to the win<a name="Page_11"></a>dow and made as though to lower +the shade. But for a moment he delayed this action. Standing there at +the window, he peered out. Far below him, the restless, swarming life of +the huge city crept and grovelled. Insects that were men and women +crowded the clefts that were streets. Long lines of cars, toy-like, +crept along the "L" structures. As far as the eye could reach, tufted +plumes of smoke and steam wafted away on the April breeze. The East +River glistened in the sunlight, its bosom vexed by myriad craft, by +ocean liners, by tugs and barges, by grim warships, by sailing-vessels, +whose canvas gleamed, by snow-white fruitboats from the tropics, by +hulls from every port. Over the bridges, long slow lines of traffic +crawled. And, far beyond to the dim horizon, stretched out the hives of +men, till the blue depths of distance swallowed all in haze.</p> + +<p>And as Flint gazed on this marvel, all created and maintained by human +toil, by sweat and skill and tireless patience of the workers, a hard +smile curved his lips.</p> + +<p>"All mine, more or less," said he to himself, puffing deep on his cigar. +"All yielding tribute to me, even as the mines and mills and factories I +cannot see yield tribute! Even as the oil-wells, the pipe-lines, the +railroads and the subways yield—even as the whole world yields it. All +this labor, all this busy strife, I have a hand in. The millions eat and +drink and buy and sell; and I take toll of it—yet it is not enough. I +hold them in my hand, yet the hand cannot close, completely. And until +it does, it is not enough! No, not enough for me!"</p> + +<p>He pondered a moment, standing there musing at the window, surveying +"all the wonders of the earth" that in its fulness, in that year of +grace, 1921, bore <a name="Page_12"></a>tribute to him who toiled not, neither spun; and +though he smiled, the smile was bitter.</p> + +<p>"Not enough, yet," he reflected. "And how—how shall I close my grip? +How shall I master all this, absolutely and completely, till it be mine +in truth? Through light? The mob can do with less, if I squeeze too +hard! Through food? They can economize! Transportation? No, the traffic +will bear only a certain load! How, then? What is it they all must have, +or die, that I can control? What universal need, vital to rich and poor +alike? To great and small? What absolute necessity which shall make my +rivals in the Game as much my vassals as the meanest slave in my steel +mills? What can it be? For power I must have! Like Caesar, who preferred +to be first in the smallest village, rather than be second at Rome, I +can and will have no competitor. I must rule <i>all</i>, or the game is +worthless! But how?"</p> + +<p>Almost as in answer to his mental question, a sudden gust of air swayed +the curtain and brushed it against his face. And, on the moment, +inspiration struck him.</p> + +<p>"What?" he exclaimed suddenly, his brows wrinkling, a strange and eager +light burning in his hard eyes. "Eh, what? Can it—could it be possible? +My God! If so—if it might be—the world would be my toy, to play with +as I like!</p> + +<p>"If <i>that</i> could happen, kings and emperors would have to cringe and +crawl to me, like my hordes of serfs all over this broad land. Statesmen +and diplomats, president and judges, lawmakers and captains of industry, +all would fall into bondage; and for the first time in history one man +would rule the earth, completely and absolutely—<i>and that man would be +Isaac Flint!</i>"</p> + +<p><a name="Page_13"></a>Staggered by the very immensity of the bold thought, so vast that for a +moment he could not realize it in its entirety, the Billionaire fell to +pacing the floor of his office.</p> + +<p>His cigar now hung dead and unnoticed between his thinly cruel lips. His +hands were gripped behind his bent back, as he paced the priceless +Shiraz rug, itself having cost the wage of a hundred workmen for a +year's hard, grinding toil. And as he trod, up and down, up and down the +rich apartments, a slow, grim smile curved his mouth.</p> + +<p>"What editor could withstand me, then?" he was thinking. "What clergyman +could raise his voice against my rule? Ah! Their 'high principles' they +prate of so eloquently, their crack-brained economics, their rebellions +and their strikes—the dogs!—would soon bow down before <i>that</i> power! +Men have starved for stiff-necked opposition's sake, and still may do +so—but with my hand at the throat of the world, with the world's very +life-breath in my grip, what then? Submission, or—ha! well, we shall +see, we shall see!"</p> + +<p>A subtle change came over his face, which had been growing paler for +some minutes. Impatiently he flung away his cigar, and, turning to his +desk, opened a drawer, took out a little vial and uncorked it. He shook +out two small white tablets, on the big sheet of plate-glass that +covered the desk, swallowed them eagerly, and replaced the vial in the +desk again. For be it known that, master of the world though Flint was, +he too had a master—morphine. Long years he had bowed beneath its whip, +the veriest slave of the insidious drug. No three hours could pass, +without that dosage. His immense native will power still managed to +control the dose and not in<a name="Page_14"></a>crease it; but years ago he had abandoned +hope of ever diminishing or ceasing it. And now he thought no more of it +than of—well, of breathing.</p> + +<p>Breathing! As he stood up again and drew a deep breath, under the +reviving influence of the drug, his inspiration once more recurred to +him.</p> + +<p>"Breath!" said he. "Breath is life. Without food and drink and shelter, +men can live a while. Even without water, for some days. But without +<i>air</i>—they die inevitably and at once. And if I make the air my own, +then I am master of all life!"</p> + +<p>And suddenly he burst into a harsh, jangling laugh.</p> + +<p>"Air!" he cried exultantly, "An Air Trust! By God in Heaven, it can be! +It shall be!—it must!"</p> + +<p>His mind, somewhat sluggish before he had taken the morphine, now was +working clearly and accurately again, with that fateful and undeviating +precision which had made him master of billions of dollars and uncounted +millions of human lives; which had woven his network of possession all +over the United States, Europe and Asia and even Africa; which had +drawn, as into a spider's web, the world's railroads and steamship +lines, its coal and copper and steel, its oil and grain and beef, its +every need—save air!</p> + +<p>And now, keen on the track of this last great inspiration, the +Billionaire strode to his revolving book-case, whirled it round and from +its shelves jerked a thick volume, a smaller book and some pamphlets.</p> + +<p>"Let's have some facts!" said he, flinging them upon his desk, and +seating himself before it in a costly chair of teak. "Once I get an +outline of the facts and what I <a name="Page_15"></a>want to do, then my subordinates can +carry out my plans. Before all, I must have facts!"</p> + +<p>For half an hour he thumbed his references, noting all the salient +points mentally, without taking a single note; for, so long as the drug +still acted, his brain was an instrument of unsurpassed keenness and +accuracy.</p> + +<p>A sinister figure he made, as he sat there poring intently over the +technical books before him, contrasting strangely with the beauty and +the luxury of the office. On the mantel, over the fireplace of Carrara +marble, ticked a Louis XIV clock, the price of which might have saved +the lives of a thousand workingmen's children during the last summer's +torment. Gold-woven tapestries from Rouen covered the walls, whereon +hung etchings and rare prints. Old Flint's office, indeed, had more the +air of an art gallery than a place where grim plots and deals +innumerable had been put through, lawmakers corrupted past counting, and +the destinies of nations bent beneath his corded, lean and nervous hand. +And now, as the Billionaire sat there thinking, smiling a smile that +boded no good to the world, the soft spring air that had inspired his +great plan still swayed the silken curtains.</p> + +<p>Of a sudden, he slammed the big book shut, that he was studying, and +rose to his feet with a hard laugh—the laugh that had presaged more +than one calamity to mankind. Beneath the sweep of his mustache one +caught the glint of a gold tooth, sharp and unpleasant.</p> + +<p>A moment he stood there, keen, eager, dominant, his hands gripping the +edge of the desk till the big knuckles whitened. He seemed the +embodiment of harsh and unrelenting Power—power over men and things, +over their <a name="Page_16"></a>laws and institutions; power which, like Alexander's, sought +only new worlds to conquer; power which found all metes and bounds too +narrow.</p> + +<p>"Power!" he whispered, as though to voice the inner inclining of the +picture. "Life, air, breath—the very breath of the world in my +hands—power absolutely, at last!"</p> + + + +<br /><hr style="width: 65%;" /><br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_II"></a><h3><a name="Page_17"></a>CHAPTER II.</h3> + +<h4>THE PARTNERS.</h4> +<br /> + +<p>Then, as was his habit, translating ideas into immediate action, he +strode to a door at the far end of the office, flung it open and said:</p> + +<p>"See here a minute, Wally!"</p> + +<p>"Busy!" came an answering voice, from behind a huge roll-top desk.</p> + +<p>"Of course! But drop it, drop it. I've got news for you."</p> + +<p>"Urgent?" asked the voice, coldly.</p> + +<p>"Very. Come in here, a minute. I've got to unload!"</p> + +<p>From behind the big desk rose the figure of a man about five and forty, +sandy-haired, long-faced and sallow, with a pair of the coldest, +fishiest eyes—eyes set too close together—that ever looked out of a +flat and ugly face. A man precisely dressed, something of a fop, with +just a note of the "sport" in his get-up; a man to fear, a man cool, +wary and dangerous—Maxim Waldron, in fact, the Billionaire's right-hand +man and confidant. Waldron, for some time affianced to his eldest +daughter. Waldron the arch-corruptionist; Waldron, who never yet had +been "caught with the goods," but who had financed scores of industrial +and political campaigns, with Flint's money and his own; Waldron, the +smooth, the suave, the perilous.</p> + +<p>"<a name="Page_18"></a>What now?" asked he, fixing his pale blue eyes on the Billionaire's +face.</p> + +<p>"Come in here, and I'll tell you."</p> + +<p>"Right!" And Waldron, brushing an invisible speck of dust from the +sleeve of his checked coat, strolled rather casually into the +Billionaire's office.</p> + +<p>Flint closed the door.</p> + +<p>"Well?" asked Waldron, with something of a drawl. "What's the +excitement?"</p> + +<p>"See here," began the great financier, stimulated by the drug. "We've +been wasting our time, all these years, with our petty monopolies of +beef and coal and transportation and all such trifles!"</p> + +<p>"So?" And Waldron drew from his pocket a gold cigar-case, monogrammed +with diamonds. "Trifles, eh?" He carefully chose a perfecto. "Perhaps; +but we've managed to rub along, eh? Well, if these are trifles, what's +on?"</p> + +<p>"Air!"</p> + +<p>"Air?" Waldron's match poised a moment, as with a slight widening of the +pale blue eyes he surveyed his partner. "Why—er—what do you mean, +Flint?"</p> + +<p>"The Air Trust!"</p> + +<p>"Eh?" And Waldron lighted his cigar.</p> + +<p>"A monopoly of breathing privileges!"</p> + +<p>"Ha! Ha!" Waldron's laugh was as mirthful as a grave-yard raven's croak. +"Nothing to it, old man. Forget it, and stick to—"</p> + +<p>"Of course! I might have expected as much from you!" retorted the +Billionaire tartly. "You've got neither imagination nor—"</p> + +<p>"Nor any fancy for wild-goose chases," said Waldron, <a name="Page_19"></a>easily, as he sat +down in the big leather chair. "Air? Hot air, Flint! No, no, it won't +do! Nothing to it nothing at all."</p> + +<p>For a moment the Billionaire regarded him with a look of intense +irritation. His thin lips moved, as though to emit some caustic answer; +but he managed to keep silence. The two men looked at each other, a long +minute; then Flint began again:</p> + +<p>"Listen, now, and keep still! The idea came to me not an hour ago, this +morning, looking over the city, here. We've got a finger on everything +but the atmosphere, the most important thing of all. If we could control +<i>that</i>—"</p> + +<p>"Of course, I understand," interrupted the other, blowing a ring of +smoke. "Unlimited power and so on. Looks very nice, and all. Only, it +can't be done. Air's too big, too fluid, too universal. Human powers +can't control it, any more than the ocean. Talk about monopolizing the +Atlantic, if you will, Flint. But for heaven's sake, drop—"</p> + +<p>"Can't be done, eh?" exclaimed Flint, warmly, sitting down on the +desk-top and levelling a big-jointed forefinger at his partner. "That's +what every new idea has had to meet. It's no argument! People scoffed at +the idea of gas lighting when it was new. Called it 'burning smoke,' and +made merry over it. That was as recently as 1832. But ten years later, +gas-illumination was in full sway.</p> + +<p>"Electric lighting met the same objection. And remember the objection to +the telephone? When Congress, in 1843, granted Morse an appropriation of +$30,000 to run the first telegraph line from Baltimore to Washington, +one would-be humorist in that supremely intelligent body <a name="Page_21"></a><a name="Page_20"></a>tried to +introduce an amendment that part of the sum should be spent in surveying +a railroad to the moon! And—"</p> + +<a name="Image_2"></a><center> +<img src="images/image-2.jpg" height="75%" alt=""Can't be done, Eh?" said Flint." title=""> +</center> +<div class="caption"><center><b>"Can't be done, Eh?" said Flint.</b></center></div> + +<p>"Granted," put in Waldron, "that my objection is futile, just what's +your idea?"</p> + +<p>"This!" And Flint stabbed at him with his forefinger, while the other +financier regarded him with a fishily amused eye. "Every human being in +this world—and there are 1,900,000,000 of them now!—is breathing, on +the average, 16 cubic feet of air every hour, or about 400 a day. The +total amount of oxygen actually absorbed in the 24 hours by each person, +is about 17 cubic feet, or <i>over 30 billions of cubic feet of oxygen</i>, +each day, in the entire world. Get that?"</p> + +<p>"Well?" drawled the other.</p> + +<p>"Don't you see?" snapped Flint, irritably. "Imagine that we extract +oxygen from the air. Then—"</p> + +<p>"You might as well try to dip up the ocean with a spoon," said Waldron, +"as try to vitiate the atmosphere of the whole world, by any means +whatsoever! But even if you could, what then?"</p> + +<p>"Look here!" exclaimed the Billionaire. "It only needs a reduction of 10 +per cent. in the atmospheric oxygen to make the air so bad that nobody +can breathe it without discomfort and pain. Take out any more and people +will die! We don't have to monopolize <i>all</i> the oxygen, but only a very +small fraction, and the world will come gasping to us, like so many fish +out of water, falling over each other to buy!"</p> + +<p>"Possibly. But the details?"</p> + +<p>"I haven't worked them out yet, naturally. I needn't. Herzog will take +care of those. He and his staff. That's <a name="Page_22"></a>what they're for. Shall we put +it up to him? What? My God, man! Think of the millions in it—the +billions! The power! The—"</p> + +<p>"Of course, of course!" interposed Waldron, calmly, eyeing his smoke. +"Don't get excited, Flint. Rome wasn't built in a day. There may be +something in this; possibly there may be the germ of an idea. I don't +say it's impossible. It looks visionary to me; but then, as you well +say, so has every new idea always looked. Let me think, now; let me +think."</p> + +<p>"Go ahead and think!" growled the Billionaire. "Think and be hanged to +you! <i>I'm</i> going to act!"</p> + +<p>Waldron vouchsafed no reply, but merely eyed his partner with cold +interest, as though he were some biological specimen under a lens, and +smoked the while.</p> + +<p>Flint, however, turned to his telephone and pulled it toward him, over +the big sheet of plate glass. Impatiently he took off the receiver and +held it up to his ear.</p> + +<p>"Hello, hello! 2438 John!" he exclaimed, in answer to the query of +"Number, please?"</p> + +<p>Silence, a moment, while Waldron slowly drew at his cigar and while the +Billionaire tugged with impatience at his gray mustache.</p> + +<p>"Hello! That you, Herzog?"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>"All right. I want to see you at once. Immediately, understand?"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>"Very well. And say, Herzog!"</p> + +<p>"Bring whatever literature you have on liquid air, nitro<a name="Page_23"></a>gen extraction +from the atmosphere, and so on. Understand? And come at once!"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>"That's all! Good-bye!"</p> + +<p>Smiling dourly, with satisfaction, he hung up and shoved the telephone +away again, then turned to his still reflecting partner, who had now +hoisted his patent leather boots to the window sill and seemed absorbed +in regarding their gloss through a blue veil of nicotine.</p> + +<p>"Herzog," announced the Billionaire, "will be here in ten minutes, and +we'll get down to business."</p> + +<p>"So?" languidly commented the immaculate Waldron. "Well, much as I'd +like to flatter your astuteness, Flint, I'm bound to say you're barking +up a false trail, this time! Beef, yes. Steel, yes. Railroads, +steamships, coal, iron, wheat, yes. All tangible, all concrete, all +susceptible of being weighed, measured, put in figures, fenced and +bounded, legislated about and so on and so forth. But <i>air</i>—!"</p> + +<p>He snapped his manicured fingers, to show his well-considered contempt +for the Billionaire's scheme, and, throwing away his smoked-out cigar, +chose a fresh one.</p> + +<p>Flint made no reply, but with an angry grunt flung a look of scorn at +the calm and placid one. Then, furtively opening his desk drawer, he +once more sought the little vial and took two more pellets—an action +which Waldron, without moving his head, complacently observed in a +heavily-bevelled mirror that hung between the windows.</p> + +<p>"Air," murmured Waldron, suavely. "Hot air, Flint?"</p> + +<p>No answer, save another grunt and the slamming of the desk-drawer.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_24"></a>And thus, in silence, the two men, masters of the world, awaited the +coming of the practical scientist, the proletarian, on whom they both, +at last analysis, had to rely for most of their results.</p> + + + +<br /><hr style="width: 65%;" /><br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_III"></a><h3><a name="Page_25"></a>CHAPTER III.</h3> + +<h4>THE BAITING OF HERZOG.</h4> +<br /> + +<p>Herzog was not long in arriving. To be summoned in haste by Isaac Flint, +and to delay, was unthinkable. For eighteen years the chemist had +lickspittled to the Billionaire. Keen though his mind was, his character +and stamina were those of a jellyfish; and when the Master took snuff, +as the saying is, Herzog never failed to sneeze.</p> + +<p>He therefore appeared, now, in some ten minutes—a fat, rubicund, +spectacled man, with a cast in his left eye and two fingers missing, to +remind him of early days in experimental work on explosives. Under his +arm he carried several tomes and pamphlets; and so, bowing first to one +financier, then to the other, he stood there on the threshold, awaiting +his masters' pleasure.</p> + +<p>"Come in, Herzog," directed Flint. "Got some material there on liquid +air, and nitrogen, and so on?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir. Just what is it you want, sir?"</p> + +<p>"Sit down, and I'll tell you,"—for the chemist, hat in hand, ventured +not to seat himself unbidden in presence of these plutocrats.</p> + +<p>Herzog, murmuring thanks for Flint's gracious permission, deposited his +derby on top of the revolving book-case, sat down tentatively on the edge +of a chair and clutched his books as though they had been so many +shields against the redoubted power of his masters.</p> + +<p>"<a name="Page_26"></a>See here, Herzog," Flint fired at him, without any preliminaries or +beating around the bush, "what do you know about the practical side of +extracting nitrogen from atmospheric air? Or extracting oxygen, in +liquid form? Can it be done—that is, on a commercial basis?"</p> + +<p>"Why, no, sir—yes, that is—perhaps. I mean—"</p> + +<p>"What the devil <i>do</i> you mean?" snapped Flint, while Waldron smiled +maliciously as he smoked. "Yes, or no? I don't pay you to muddle things. +I pay you to <i>know</i>, and to tell me! Get that? Now, how about it?"</p> + +<p>"Well, sir—hm!—the fact is," and the unfortunate chemist blinked +through his glasses with extreme uneasiness, "the fact of the matter is +that the processes involved haven't been really perfected, as yet. +Beginnings have been made, but no large-scale work has been done, so +far. Still, the principle—"</p> + +<p>"Is sound?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir. I imagine—"</p> + +<p>"Cut that! You aren't paid for imagining!" interrupted the Billionaire, +stabbing at him with that characteristic gesture. "Just what do you know +about it? No technicalities, mind! Essentials, that's all, and in a few +words!"</p> + +<p>"Well, sir," answered Herzog, plucking up a little courage under this +pointed goading, "so far as the fixation of atmospheric nitrogen goes, +more progress has been made in England and Scandinavia, than here. +They're working on it, over there, to obtain cheap and plentiful +fertilizer from the air. Nitrogen <i>can</i> be obtained from the air, even +now, and made into fertilizers even cheaper than the Chili saltpeter. +Oxygen is liberated as a by-product, and—"</p> + +<p>"Oh, it is, eh? And could it be saved? In liquid form for instance?"</p> + +<p>"<a name="Page_27"></a>I think so, sir. The Siemens & Halske interests, in Germany, are doing +it already, on a limited scale. In Norway and Austria, nitrogen has been +manufactured from air, for some years."</p> + +<p>"On a paying, commercial basis?" demanded Flint, while Waldron, now a +trifle less scornful, seemed to listen with more interest as his eyes +rested on the rotund form of the scientist.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir, quite so," answered Herzog. "It's commercially feasible, +though not a very profitable business at best. The gas is utilized in +chemical combination with a substantial base, and—"</p> + +<p>"No matter about that, just yet," interrupted Flint. "We can have +details later. Do you know of any such business as yet, in the United +States?"</p> + +<p>"Well, sir, there's a plant building at Great Falls, South Carolina, for +the purpose. It is to run by waterpower and will develop 5000 H.P."</p> + +<p>"Hear that, Waldron?" demanded the Billionaire. "It's already beginning +even here! But not one of these plants is working for what I see as the +prime possibility. No imagination, no grasp on the subject! No wonder +most inventors and scientists die poor! They incubate ideas and then +lack the warmth to hatch them into general application. It takes men +like us, Wally—practical men—to turn the trick!" He spoke a bit +rapidly, almost feverishly, under the influence of the subtle drug. "Now +if <i>we</i> take hold of this game, why, we can shake the world as it has +never yet been shaken! Eh, Waldron? What do you think now?"</p> + +<p>Waldron only grunted, non-committally. Flint with <a name="Page_28"></a>a hard glance at his +unresponsive partner, once more turned to Herzog.</p> + +<p>"See here, now," directed he. "What's the best process now in use?"</p> + +<p>"For what, sir?" ventured the timid chemist.</p> + +<p>"For the simultaneous production of nitrogen and oxygen, from the +atmosphere!"</p> + +<p>"Well, sir," he answered, deprecatingly, as though taking a great +liberty even in informing his master on a point the master had expressly +asked about, "there are three processes. But all operate only on a small +scale."</p> + +<p>"Who ever told you I wanted to work on a large scale?" demanded Flint, +savagely.</p> + +<p>"I—er—inferred—beg pardon, sir—I—" And Herzog quite lost himself +and floundered hopelessly, while his mismated eyes wandered about the +room as though seeking the assurance he so sadly lacked.</p> + +<p>"Confine yourself to answering what I ask you," directed Flint, crisply. +"You're not paid to infer. You're paid to answer questions on chemistry, +and to get results. Remember <i>that!</i>"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir," meekly answered the chemist, while Waldron smiled with +cynical amusement. He enjoyed nothing so delightedly as any grilling of +an employee, whether miner, railroad man, clerk, ship's captain or +what-not. This baiting, by Flint, was a rare treat to him.</p> + +<p>"Go on," commanded the Billionaire, in a badgering tone. "What are the +processes?" He eyed Herzog as though the man had been an ox, a dog or +even some inanimate object, coldly and with narrow-lidded condescension. +To him, in truth, men were no more than Shelley's "plow or sword or +spade" for his own purpose—things <a name="Page_29"></a>to serve him and to be ruled—or +broken—as best served his ends. "Go on! Tell me what you know; and no +more!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir," ventured Herzog. "There are three processes to extract +nitrogen and oxygen from air. One is by means of what the German +scientists call <i>Kalkstickstoff</i>, between calcium carbide and nitrogen, +and the reaction-symbols are—"</p> + +<p>"No matter," Flint waived him, promptly. "I don't care for formulas or +details. What I want is results and general principles. Any other way to +extract these substances, in commercial quantities, from the air we +breathe?"</p> + +<p>"Two others. But one of these operates at a prohibitive cost. The +other—"</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes. What is it?" Flint slid off the edge of the table and walked +over to Herzog; stood there in front of him, and bored down at him with +eager eyes, the pupils contracted by morphine, but very bright. "What's +the best way?"</p> + +<p>"With the electric arc, sir," answered the chemist, mopping his brow. +This grilling method reminded him of what he had heard of "Third Degree" +torments. "That's the best method, sir."</p> + +<p>"Now in use, anywhere?"</p> + +<p>"In Notodden, Norway. They have firebrick furnaces, you understand, sir, +with an alternating current of 5000 volts between water-cooled copper +electrodes. The resulting arc is spread by powerful electro-magnets, +so." And he illustrated with his eight acid-stained fingers. "<a name="Page_30"></a>Spread +out like a disk or sphere of flame, of electric fire, you see."</p> + +<p>"Yes, and what then?" demanded Flint, while his partner, forgetting now +to smile, sat there by the window scrutinizing him. One saw, now, the +terribly keen and prehensile intellect at work under the mask of assumed +foppishness and jesting indifference—the quality, for the most part +masked, which had earned Waldron the nickname of "Tiger" in Wall Street.</p> + +<p>"What then?" repeated Flint, once more levelling that potent forefinger +at the sweating Herzog.</p> + +<p>"Well, sir, that gives a large reactive surface, through which the air +is driven by powerful rotary fans. At the high temperature of the +electric arc in air, the molecules of nitrogen and oxygen dissociate +into their atoms. The air comes out of the arc, charged with about one +per cent. of nitric oxide, and after that—"</p> + +<p>"Jump the details, idiot! Can't you move faster than a paralytic snail? +What's the final result?"</p> + +<p>"The result is, sir," answered Herzog, meek and cowed under this +harrying, "that calcium nitrate is produced, a very excellent +fertilizer. It's a form of nitrogen, you see, directly obtained from +air."</p> + +<p>"At what cost?"</p> + +<p>"One ton of fixed nitrogen in that form costs about $150 or $160."</p> + +<p>"Indeed?" commented Flint. "The same amount, combined in Chile +saltpeter, comes to—?"</p> + +<p>"A little over $300, sir."</p> + +<p>"Hear that, Wally?" exclaimed the Billionaire, turning to his now +interested associate. "Even if this idea never goes a step farther, +there's a gold mine in just the <a name="Page_31"></a>production of fertilizer from air! But, +after all, that will only be a by-product. It's the oxygen we're after, +and must have!"</p> + +<p>He faced Herzog again.</p> + +<p>"Is any oxygen liberated, during the process?" he demanded.</p> + +<p>"At one stage, yes, sir. But in the present process, it is absorbed, +also."</p> + +<p>Flint's eyebrows contracted nervously. For a moment he stood thinking, +while Herzog eyed him with trepidation, and Waldron, almost forgetting +to smoke, waited developments with interest. The Billionaire, however, +wasted but scant time in consideration. It was not money now, he lusted +for, but power. Money was, to him, no longer any great desideratum. At +most, it could now mean no more to him than a figure on a check-book or +a page of statistics in his private memoranda. But power, unlimited, +indisputable power over the whole earth and the fulness thereof, power +which none might dispute, power before which all humanity must bow—God! +the lust of it now gripped and shook his soul.</p> + +<p>Paling a little, but with eyes ablaze, he faced the anxious scientist.</p> + +<p>"Herzog! See here!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir?"</p> + +<p>"I've got a job for you, understand?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir. What is it?"</p> + +<p>"A big job, and one on which your entire future depends. Put it through, +and I'll do well by you. Fail, and by the Eternal, I'll break you! I +can, and will, mark that! Do you get me?"</p> + +<p>"I—yes, sir—that is, I'll do my best, and—"</p> + +<p>"<a name="Page_32"></a>Listen! You go to work at once, immediately, understand? Work out for +me some process, some practicable method by which the nitrogen and +oxygen can both be collected in large quantities from the air. +Everything in my laboratories at Oakwood Heights is at your disposal. +Money's no object. Nothing counts, now, but <i>results!</i></p> + +<p>"I want the process all mapped out and ready for me, in its essential +outlines, two weeks from today. If it isn't—" His gesture was a menace. +"If it is—well, you'll be suitably rewarded. And no leaks, now. Not a +word of this to any one, understand? If it gets out, you know what I can +do to you, and will! Remember Roswell; remember Parker Hayes. <i>They</i> let +news get to the Dillingham-Saunders people, about the new Tezzoni +radio-electric system—and one's dead, now, a suicide; the other's in +Sing-Sing for eighteen years. Remember that—and keep your mouth shut!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir. I understand."</p> + +<p>"All right, then. A fortnight from today, report to me here. And mind +you, have something to report, or—!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir."</p> + +<p>"Very well! Now, go!"</p> + +<p>Thus dismissed, Herzog gathered together his books and papers, blinked a +moment with those peculiar wall-eyes of his, arose and, bowing first to +Flint and then to the keenly-watching Waldron, backed out of the office.</p> + +<p>When the door had closed behind him, Flint turned to his partner with a +nervous laugh.</p> + +<p>"That's the way to get results, eh?" he exclaimed. "No dilly-dallying +and no soft soap; but just lay the lash right on, hard—they jump then, +the vermin! Results! That <a name="Page_33"></a>fellow will work his head off, the next two +weeks; and there'll be something doing when he comes again. You'll see!"</p> + +<p>Waldron laughed nonchalantly. Once more the mask of indifference had +fallen over him, veiling the keen, incisive interest he had shown during +the interview.</p> + +<p>"Something doing, yes," he drawled, puffing his cigar to a glow. "Only I +advise you to choose your men. Some day you'll try that on a real +man—one of the rough-necks you know, and—"</p> + +<p>Flint snapped his fingers contemptuously, gazed at Waldron a moment with +unwinking eyes and tugged at his mustache.</p> + +<p>"When I need advice on handling men, I'll ask for it," he rapped out. +Then, glancing at the Louis XIV clock: "Past the time for that C.P.S. +board-meeting, Wally. No more of this, now. We'll talk it over at the +Country Club, tonight; but for the present, let's dismiss it from our +minds."</p> + +<p>"Right!" answered the other, and arose, yawning, as though the whole +subject were of but indifferent interest to him. "It's all moonshine, +Flint. All a pipe-dream. Defoe's philosophers, who spent their lives +trying to extract sunshine from cucumbers, never entertained any more +fantastic notion than this of yours. However, it's your funeral, not +mine. You're paying for it. I decline to put in any funds for any such +purpose. Amuse yourself; you've got to settle the bill."</p> + +<p>Flint smiled sourly, his gold tooth glinting, but made no answer.</p> + +<p>"Come along," said his partner, moving toward the door. "They're waiting +for us, already, at the board <a name="Page_34"></a>meeting. And there's big business coming +up, today—that strike situation, you remember. Slade's going to be on +deck. We've got to decide, at once, whether or not we're going to turn +him loose on the miners, to smash that gang of union thugs and Socialist +fanatics, and do it right. <i>That's</i> a game worth playing, Flint; but +this Air Trust vagary of yours—stuff and nonsense!"</p> + +<p>Flint, for all reply, merely cast a strange look at his partner, with +those strongly-contracted pupils of his; and so the two vultures of prey +betook themselves to the board room where already, round the long +rosewood table, Walter Slade of the Cosmos Detective Company was laying +out his strike-breaking plans to the attentive captains of industry.</p> + + + +<br /><hr style="width: 65%;" /><br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_IV"></a><h3><a name="Page_35"></a>CHAPTER IV.</h3> + +<h4>AN INTERLOPER.</h4> +<br /> + +<p>On the eleventh day after this interview between the two men who, +between them, practically held the whole world in their grasp, Herzog +telephoned up from Oakwood Heights and took the liberty of informing +Flint that his experiments had reached a point of such success that he +prayed Flint would condescend to visit the laboratories in person.</p> + +<p>Flint, after some reflection, decided he would so condescend; and +forthwith ordered his limousine from his private garage on William +Street. Thereafter he called Waldron on the 'phone, at his Fifth Avenue +address.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Waldron is not up, yet, sir," a carefully-modulated voice answered +over the wire. "Any message I can give him, sir?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, hello! That you, Edwards?" Flint demanded, recognizing the suave +tones of his partner's valet.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir."</p> + +<p>"All right. Tell Waldron I'll call for him in half an hour with the +limousine. And mind, now, I want him to be up and dressed! We're going +down to Staten Island. Got that?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir. Any other message, sir?"</p> + +<p>"No. But be sure you get him up, for me! Good-bye!"</p> + +<p>Thirty minutes later, Flint's chauffeur opened the door of the big +limousine, in front of the huge Renaissance <a name="Page_36"></a>pile that Waldron's +millions had raised on land which had cost him more than as though he +had covered it with double eagles; and Flint himself ascended the steps +of Pentelican marble. The limousine, its varnish and silver-plate +flashing in the bright spring sun, stood by the curb, purring softly to +itself with all six cylinders, a thing of matchless beauty and rare +cost. The chauffeur, on the driver's seat, did not even bother to shut +off the gas, but let the engine run, regardless. To have stopped it +would have meant some trifling exertion, in starting again; and since +Flint never considered such details as a few gallons of gasoline, why +should <i>he</i> care? Lighting a Turkish cigarette, this aristocrat of labor +lolled on the padded leather and indifferently—with more of contempt +than of interest—regarded a swarm of iron-workers, masons and laborers +at work on a new building across the avenue.</p> + +<p>Flint, meanwhile, had entered the great mansion, its bronze +doors—ravished from the Palazzo Guelfo at Venice—having swung inward +to admit him, with noiseless majesty. Ignoring the doorman, he addressed +himself to Edwards, who stood in the spacious, mahogany-panelled hall, +washing both hands with imaginary soap.</p> + +<p>"Waldron up, yet, Edwards?"</p> + +<p>"No, sir. He—er—I have been unable—"</p> + +<p>"The devil! Where is he?"</p> + +<p>"In his apartments, sir."</p> + +<p>"Take me up!"</p> + +<p>"He said, sir," ventured Edwards, in his smoothest voice. "He said—"</p> + +<p>"I don't give a damn what he said! Take me up, at once!"</p> + +<p>"<a name="Page_37"></a>Yes, sir. Immediately, sir!" And he gestured suavely toward the +elevator.</p> + +<p>Flint strode down the hall, indifferent to the Kirmanshah rugs, the rare +mosaic floor and stained-glass windows, the Parian fountain and the +Azeglio tapestries that hung suspended up along the stairway—all old +stories to him and as commonplace as rickety odds and ends of furniture +might be to any toiler "cribbed, cabin'd and confined" in fetid East +Side tenement or squalid room on Hester Street.</p> + +<p>The elevator boy bowed before his presence. Edwards hesitated to enter +the private elevator, with this world-master; but Flint beckoned him to +come along. And so, borne aloft by the smooth force of the electric +motor, they presently reached the upper floor where "Tiger" Waldron +laired in stately splendor, like the nabob that he was.</p> + +<p>Without ceremony, Flint pushed forward into the bed-chamber of the +mighty one—a chamber richly finished in panels of the rare sea-grape +tree, brought from Pacific isles at great cost of money and some +expenditure of human lives; but this latter item was, of course, beneath +consideration.</p> + +<p>By the softened light which entered through rich curtains, one saw the +famous frieze of De Lussac, that banded the apartment, over the +panelling—the frieze of Bacchantes, naked and unashamed, revelling with +Satyrs in an abandon that bespoke the age when the world was young. +Their voluptuous forms entwined with clustering grapes and leaves, they +poured tipsy libations of red wine from golden chalices; while old +Silenus, god of drink, astride a donkey, applauded with maudlin joy.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_38"></a>Flint, however, had no eyes for this scene which would have gladdened a +voluptuary's heart—and which, for that reason was dear to Waldron—but +walked toward the huge, four-posted bed where Wally himself, now rather +paler than usual, with bloodshot eyes, was lying. This bed, despite the +fact that it had been transported all the way from Tours, France, and +that it once had belonged to an archbishop, had only too often witnessed +its owner's insomnia.</p> + +<p>"Hm! You're a devil of a man to keep an appointment, aren't you?" Flint +sneered at the master of the house. "Eleven o'clock, and not up, yet!"</p> + +<p>"Pardon me for remarking, my dear Flint," replied Waldron, stretching +himself between the silken sheets and reaching for a cigarette, "that +the appointment was not of my making. Also that I was up, last +night—this morning, rather—till three-thirty. And in the next place, +that scoundrel Hazeltine, trimmed me out of eighty-six thousand in four +hours—"</p> + +<p>"Roulette again, you idiot?" demanded Flint.</p> + +<p>"And in conclusion," said Wally, "that the bigness of my head and the +brown taste in my mouth are such as no 'soda and sermons, the morning +after' can possibly alleviate. So you understand my dalliance.</p> + +<p>"Damn those workmen!" he exclaimed, with sudden irritation, as a louder +chattering of pneumatic riveters from the new building all at once +clattered in at the window. "A free country, eh? And men are permitted +to make <i>that</i> kind of a racket when a fellow wants to sleep! By God, if +I—"</p> + +<p>"Drop that, Wally, and get up!" commanded Flint. "There's no time for +this kind of thing today. Herzog <a name="Page_39"></a>has just informed me his experiments +have brought results. We're going down to Oakwood Heights to sea a few +things for ourselves. And the quicker you get dressed and in your right +mind, the better. Come along, I tell you!"</p> + +<p>"Still chasing sunbeams from cucumbers, eh?" drawled the magnate, +inhaling cigarette smoke and blowing a thin cloud toward the wanton +Bacchantes. He affected indifference, but his dull eyes brightened a +trifle in his wan face, deep-lined by the savage dissipations of the +previous night. "And you insist on dragging me out on the same fatuous +errand?"</p> + +<p>"Don't be an ass!" snapped the Billionaire. "Get up and come along. The +sooner we have this thing under way, the better."</p> + +<p>"All right, anything to oblige," conceded Waldron, inwardly stirred by +an interest he took good care not to divulge in word or look. "Give me +just time for a cold plunge, a few minutes with my masseur and my +barber, a bite to eat and—"</p> + +<p>Flint laid hold on his partner and shook him roughly.</p> + +<p>"Move, you sluggard!" he commanded. And Tiger Waldron obeyed.</p> + +<p>Forty-five minutes later, the two financiers were speeding down the +asphalt of the avenue at a good round clip. Flint's gleaming car formed +one unit of the never-ending procession of motors which, day and night, +year in and year out, spin unceasingly along the great, hard, splendid, +cruel thoroughfare.</p> + +<p>"I tell you," Flint was asserting as they swung into Broadway, at +Twenty-third Street, and headed for South <a name="Page_40"></a>Ferry, "I tell you, Wally, +the thing is growing vaster and more potent every moment. The longer I +look at it, the huger its possibilities loom up! With air under our +control, as a source of manufacturing alone, we can pull down perfectly +inconceivable fortunes. We shan't have to send anywhere for our raw +material. It will come to us; it's everywhere. No cost for +transportation, to begin with.</p> + +<p>"With oxygen, nitrogen and liquid air as products, think of the +possibilities, will you? Not an ice-plant in the country could compete +with us, in the refrigerating line. With liquid air, we could sweep that +market clean. By installing it on our fruit cars and boats, and our beef +cars, the saving effected in many ways would run to millions. The sale +of nitrogen, for fertilizer, would net us billions. And, above all, the +control of the world's air supply, for breathing, would make us the +absolute, undisputed masters of mankind!</p> + +<p>"We'd have the world by the windpipe. Its very life-breath would be at +our disposal. Ha! What about revolution, then? What about popular +discontent, and stiff-necked legislators, and cranky editors? What about +commercial and financial rivals? What about these damned Socialists, +with their brass-lunged bazoo, howling about monopoly and capitalism and +all the rest of it? Eh, what? Just one squeeze," here Flint closed his +corded, veinous fingers, "just one tightening of the fist, and—all +over! We win, hands down!"</p> + +<p>"Like shutting the wind off from a runaway horse, eh?" suggested +Waldron, squinting at his cigar as though <a name="Page_41"></a>to hide the involuntary gleam +of light that sparkled in his narrow-set eyes.</p> + +<p>"Precisely!" assented Flint, smiling his gold-toothed smile. "The +wildest bolter has got to stop, or fall dead, once you close his +nostrils. That's what we'll do to the world, Wally. We'll get it by the +throat—and there you are!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, there we are," repeated Waldron, "but—"</p> + +<p>"But what, now?"</p> + +<p>Waldron did not answer, for a moment, but squinted up at the tall +buildings, temples of Mammon and of Greed, filled from pave to cornice +with toiling, sweated hordes of men and women, all laboring for +Capitalism; many of them, directly or indirectly, for him. Then, as the +limousine slowed at Spring Street, to let a cross-town car pass—a car +whose earnings he and Flint both shared, just as they shared those of +every surface and subway and "L" car in the vast metropolis—he said:</p> + +<p>"Have you weighed the consequences carefully, Flint? Quite carefully? +This thing of cornering all the oxygen is a pretty big proposition. Do +you think you really ought to undertake it?"</p> + +<p>"Why not?"</p> + +<p>"Have you considered the frightful suffering and loss of life it might +entail? Almost certainly would entail? Are you quite sure you <i>want</i> to +take the world by the throat and—and choke it? For money?"</p> + +<p>"No, not for money, Waldron. We're both staggering under money, as it +is. But power! Ah, that's different!"</p> + +<p>"I know," admitted Waldron. "But ought we—you—to attempt this, even +for the sake of universal power? Your plan contemplates a monopoly such +that everybody <a name="Page_42"></a>who refused or was unable to buy your product would, at +best, have to get along with vitiated air, and at worst would have to +stifle. Do you really think we ought to undertake this?"</p> + +<p>Keenly he eyed Flint, as he thus sounded the elder man's inhuman +determination. Flint, fathoming nothing of his purpose, retorted with +some heat:</p> + +<p>"Ha! Getting punctilious, all at once, are you? Talk ethics, eh? Where +were your scruples, a year ago, when people were paying 25 cents a loaf +for bread, because of that big wheat pool you put through? How about the +oil you've just lately helped me boost by a 20 per cent. increase? And +when the papers—though mostly those infernal Socialist or Anarchist +papers, or whatever they were—shouted that old men and women were +freezing in attics, last winter, what then? Did you vote to arbitrate +the D.K. coal strike? Not by a jugful! You stood shoulder to shoulder +with me, then, Wally, while <i>now</i>—!"</p> + +<p>"It's a bit different, now," interposed "Tiger," with an evil smile, +still leading his partner along. "Since then I've had the—ah—the +extreme happiness to become engaged to your daughter, Catherine. New +thoughts have entered my mind. I've experienced a—a—"</p> + +<p>"You quitter!" burst out Flint. "No, by God! you aren't going to put +this thing over on me. I'll have no quitter for <i>my</i> son-in-law! Wally, +I'm astonished at you. Astonished and disappointed. You're not yourself, +this morning. That eighty-six thousand you dropped last night, has +shaken your heart. Come, come, pull together! Where's your nerve, man? +Where's your nerve?"</p> + +<p>Waldron answered nothing. In silence the partners watched the press of +traffic, each busy with his own <a name="Page_43"></a>thoughts, Waldron waiting for Flint to +reopen fire on him, and the Billionaire decided to say no more till his +associate should make some move. Thus the limousine reached the Staten +Island ferry, that glorious monument of municipal ownership wrecked by +Tammany grafting. In silence they smoked while the car rolled down the +incline and out onto the huge ferry boat. Then, as the crowded craft got +under way, a minute later, both men left the car and strolled to the +rail to watch the glittering sparkle of the sunlight on the harbor; the +teeming commerce of the port; the creeping liners and busy tugs; the +towering figure of Liberty, her flameless torch held far aloft in +mockery.</p> + +<p>Suddenly Waldron spoke.</p> + +<p>"You can't do it, I tell you!" said he, waving an eloquent hand toward +the sky. "It's too big, the air is, as I said before. Too damned big! +Own coal and copper, if you will, and steel and ships, here; own those +buildings back there," with a gesture at the frowning line of +skyscrapers buttressing Manhattan, "but don't buck the impossible! And +incidentally, Flint, don't misunderstand me, either. When I asked you if +we <i>ought</i> to try it, I merely meant, would it be <i>safe?</i> The world, +Flint, is a dangerous toy to play with, too hard. The people are +perilous baubles, if you step on their corns a bit too often or too +heavily. Every Caesar has a Brutus waiting for him somewhere, with a +club.</p> + +<p>"Once let the unwashed get an idea into their low brows, and you can't +tell where it may lead them. Even a rat fights, in its last corner. +These human rats of ours have been getting a bit nasty of late. True, +they swallowed the Limited Franchise Bill, three years ago, with <a name="Page_44"></a>only a +little futile protest, so that now we've got them politically hamstrung. +True, there's the Dick Military Bill, recently enlarged and perfected, +so they can't move a hand without falling into treason and +court-martial. True again, they've stood for the Censorship and the +National Mounted Police—the Grays—all in the last year. But how much +more will they stand, eh? You close your hand on their windpipes, and by +God! something may happen even yet, after all!"</p> + +<p>Flint snapped his fingers with contempt.</p> + +<p>"Machine guns!" was all he said.</p> + +<p>"Yes, of course," answered Waldron. "But there may be life in the old +beast yet. They may yet kick the apple cart over—and us with it. You +never can tell. And those infernal Socialists, always at it, night and +day, never letting up, flinging firebrands into the powder magazine! +<i>Sometime</i> there's going to be one hell of a bang, Flint! And when it +comes, <i>suave qui peut!</i> So go slow, old man—go damned slow, that's all +I've got to say!"</p> + +<p>"On the contrary," said Flint, blinking in the golden spring sunshine as +he peered out over the swashing brine at a raucous knot of gulls, "on +the contrary, Wally, I'm going to push it as fast as the Lord will let +me. You can come in, or not, as you see fit—but remember this, no +quitter ever gets a daughter of mine! And another thing; we're in the +year 1921, now, not 1910 or 1915. Developments, political and otherwise, +have moved swiftly, these few years past. Then, there might have been +trouble. To-day, there can't be. We've got things cinched too tight for +that!</p> + +<p>"Ten years ago, they might have had our blood, the people might, or +given us a hemp-tea party in Wall Street. <a name="Page_45"></a>today, all's safe. Come, be +a man and grip your courage! We can put the initial stages through in +absolute secrecy—and then, once we get our clutch on the world's +breath, what have we to fear?"</p> + +<p>"Go slow, Flint!"</p> + +<p>"Nonsense! Oxygen is life itself. There's no substitute. Vitiate the air +by removing even 10 per cent. of it, and the world will lick our boots +for a chance to breathe! Everybody's got to have oxygen, all the way +from kings and emperors down to the toiling cattle, the Henry Dubbs, as +I believe they're commonly called in vulgar speech. Shut off the air, +and 'the captains and the kings' will run to heel like the rabble +itself. Run to heel, and pay for the privilege of doing it! We've got +the universities, press, churches, laws, judges, army and navy and +everything already in our hands. We'll be secure enough, no fear!"</p> + +<p>"Shhhhh!" And Waldron nudged the Billionaire with his elbow.</p> + +<p>In his excitement, Flint had permitted his voice to rise, a little. Not +far from him, leaning on the rail, a stockily built young fellow in +overalls, a cap pulled down firmly over his well-shaped head, was +apparently watching the gulls and the passing boats, with eyes no less +blue than the bay itself; eyes no less glinting than the sunlight on the +waves. He seemed to be paying no heed to anything but what lay before +him. But "Tiger" Waldron, possessed of something of the instinct of the +beast whose name he bore, subconsciously sensed a peril in his nearness. +The man's ear—if unusually quick—might, just <i>might</i> possibly have +caught a word or two meant for no interloper. And at that thought, +Waldron once more nudged his partner.</p> + +<p>"<a name="Page_46"></a>Shhh!" he repeated, "Enough. We can finish this, in the limousine."</p> + +<p>Flint looked at him a moment, in silence, then nodded.</p> + +<p>"Right you are," said he. And both men climbed back into the closed car.</p> + +<p>"You never can tell what ears are primed for news," said Waldron. +"Better take no chances."</p> + +<p>"Before long, we can throw away all subterfuge," the Billionaire replied +as he shut the door. "But for now, well, you're correct. Once our grasp +tightens on the windpipe of the world, we're safe. From our office in +Wall Street you and I can play the keys of the world-machine as an +organist would finger his instrument. But there must be no leak; no +publicity; no suspicion aroused. We'll play our music <i>pianissimo</i>, +Wally, with rare accompaniments to the tune of 'great public utility, +benefit to the public health,' and all that—the same old game, only on +a vastly larger scale.</p> + +<p>"Every modern composer in the field of Big Business knows that score and +has played it many times. <i>We</i> will play it on a monstrous pipe organ, +with the world's lungs for bellows and the world's breath to vibrate our +reeds—and all paying tribute, night and day, year after year, all over +the world, Wally, all over the world!</p> + +<p>"God! What power shall be ours! What infinite power, such as, since time +began, never yet lay in mortal hands! We shall be as gods, Waldron, you +and I—and between us, we shall bring the human race wallowing to our +feet in helpless bondage, in supreme abandon!"</p> + +<p>The ferry boat, nearing the Staten Island landing, slowed its ponderous +screws. The chauffeur flung away <a name="Page_47"></a>his cigarette, drew on his gauntlets +and accelerated his engine. Forward the human drove began to press, +under the long slave-driven habit of haste, of eagerness to do the +masters' bidding.</p> + +<p>The young mechanic by the rail—he of the overalls and keen blue +eyes—turned toward the bows, picked up a canvas bag of tools and stood +there waiting with the rest.</p> + +<p>For a moment his glance rested on the limousine and the two half-seen +figures within. As it did so, a wanton breeze from off the Island +flapped back the lapel of his jumper. In that brief instant one might +have seen a button pinned upon his blue flannel shirt—clasped hands, +surrounded by the legend: "Workers of the World, Unite!"</p> + +<p>But neither of the plutocrats observed this; nor, had they seen, would +they have understood.</p> + +<p>And whether the sturdy toiler had overheard aught of their infernal +conspiring—or, having heard it, grasped its dire and criminal +significance—who, who in all this weary and toil-burdened world, could +say?</p> + + + +<br /><hr style="width: 65%;" /><br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_V"></a><h3><a name="Page_48"></a>CHAPTER V.</h3> + +<h4>IN THE LABORATORY.</h4> +<br /> + +<p>Half an hour's run down Staten Island, along smooth roads lined with +sleepy little towns and through sparse woods beyond which sparkled the +shining waters of the harbor, brought the two plutocrats to the quiet +settlement of Oakwood Heights.</p> + +<p>Now the blasé chauffeur swung the car sharply to the left, past the +aviation field, and so came to the wide-scattered settlement—almost a +colony—which, hidden behind high, barb-wire-topped fences, carried on +the many and complex activities of the partners' experiment station. +Here were the several laboratories where new products were evolved and +old ones refined, for Flint's and Waldron's greater profit. Here stood a +complete electric power plant, for lighting and heating the works, as +well as for current to use in the retorts and many powerful machines of +the testing works.</p> + +<p>Here, again, were broad proving grounds, for fuel and explosives; and, +at one side, stood a low, skylighted group of brick buildings, known as +the electro-chemical station. Dormitories and boarding-houses for the +small army of employees occupied the eastern end of the enclosure, +nearest the sea. Over all, high chimney stacks and the aerials of a +mighty wireless plant dominated the entire works. A private railroad +spur pierced the western side of the enclosure, for food and coal +supplies, as well as for the <a name="Page_49"></a>handling of the numerous imports and +exports of this wonderfully complete feudal domain. As the colony lay +there basking in the sunshine of early spring, under its drifting +streamers of smoke, it seemed an ideal picture of peaceful activities. +Here a locomotive puffed, shunting cars; there, a steam-jet flung its +plumes of snowy vapor into air; yonder, a steam hammer thundered on a +massive anvil. And forges rang, and through open windows hummed sounds +of industry.</p> + +<p>And yet, not one of all those sounds but echoed more bitter slavery for +men. Not one of all those many activities but boded ill to humanity. For +the whole plan and purpose of the place was the devising of still wider +forms of human exploitation and enslavement. Its every motive was to +serve the greed of Flint and Waldron. Outwardly honest and industrious, +it inwardly loomed sinister and terrible, a type and symbol of its +masters' swiftly growing power. Such, in its essence, was the great +experiment station of these two men who lusted for dominion over the +whole world.</p> + +<p>As the long, glittering car drew up at the main gate of the enclosure, a +sharp-eyed watchman peered through a sliding wicket therein. Satisfied +by his inspection, he withdrew; and at once the big gate rolled back, +smoothly actuated by electricity. The car purred onward, into the +enclosure. When the gate had closed noiselessly behind it, the chauffeur +ran it down a splendidly paved roadway, swung to the right, past the +machine shops, and drew it to a stand in front of the administration +building.</p> + +<p>Flint and his partner alighted, and stood for a moment <a name="Page_50"></a>surveying the +scene with satisfaction. Then Flint turned to the chauffeur.</p> + +<p>"Put the car in the garage," he directed. "We may not want it till +afternoon."</p> + +<p>The blasé one touched his cap and nodded, in obedience. Then, as the car +withdrew, the partners ascended the broad steps.</p> + +<p>"Good chap, that Herrick," commented Waldron, casting a glance at the +retreating chauffeur. "Quick-witted, and mum. Give me a man who knows +how to mind <i>and</i> keep still about it, every time!"</p> + +<p>"Right," assented Flint. "Obedience is the first of all virtues, and the +second is silence. Well, it looks to me as though we had the whole world +coming our way, now, along that very same path of virtue. Once we get +this air proposition really to working, the world will obey. It will +have to! And as for silence, we can manage that, too. The mere turn of a +valve, and—!"</p> + +<p>Waldron smiled grimly, as though in derision of what he seemed to think +his partner's chimerical hopes, but made no answer. Together they +entered the administration building. Five minutes later, Herzog, their +servile experimenter, stood bowing and cringing before them.</p> + +<p>"Got it, Herzog?" demanded Flint, while Waldron lighted still another of +those costly cigars—each one worth a good mechanic's daily wage.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir, I believe so, sir," the scientist replied, depreciatingly. +"That is, at least, on a small scale. Two weeks was the time you allowed +me, sir, but—"</p> + +<p>"I know. You've done it in eleven days," interrupted, the Billionaire. +"Very well. I knew you could. You'll <a name="Page_51"></a>lose nothing by it. So no more of +that. Show us what you've done. Everything all ready?"</p> + +<p>"Quite ready, sir," the other answered. "If you'll be so good as to step +into the electro-chemical building?"</p> + +<p>Flint very graciously signified his willingness thus to condescend; and +without delay, accompanied by the still incredulous Waldron, and +followed by Herzog, he passed out of the administration building, +through a covered passage and into the electro-chemical works.</p> + +<p>A variety of strange odors and stranger sounds filled this large brick +structure, windowless on every side and lighted only by broad skylights +of milky wire-glass—this arrangement being due to the extreme secrecy +of many processes here going forward. The partners had no intention that +any spying eyes should ever so much as glimpse the work in this +department; work involving foods, fuels, power, lighting, almost the +entire range of the vast network of exploiting media they had already +flung over a tired world.</p> + +<p>"This way, gentlemen," ventured Herzog, pointing toward a metal door at +the left of the main room. He unlocked this, which was guarded by a +combination lock, like that of a bank vault, and waited for them to +enter; then closed it after them, and made quite sure the metal door was +fast.</p> + +<p>A peculiar, pungent smell greeted the partners' nostrils as they glanced +about the inner laboratory. At one side an electric furnace was glowing +with graphite crucibles subjected to terrific heat. On the other a +dynamo was humming. Before them a broad, tiled bench held a strange +assortment of test tubes, retorts and complex apparatus of glass and +gleaming metal. The whole was lighted by <a name="Page_52"></a>a strong white light from +above, through the milk-hued glass—one of Herzog's own inventions, by +the way; a wonderful, light-intensifying glass, which would bend but not +break; an invention which, had he himself profited by it, would have +brought him millions, but which the partners had exploited without ever +having given him a single penny above his very moderate salary.</p> + +<p>"Is that it?" demanded Flint, a glitter lighting up his +morphia-contracted pupils. He jerked his thumb at a complicated nexus of +tubes, brass cylinders, coiled wires and glistening retorts which stood +at one end of the broad work-bench.</p> + +<p>"That is it, sir," answered Herzog, apologetically, while "Tiger" +Waldron's hard face hardened even more. "Only an experimental model, you +understand, sir, but—"</p> + +<p>"It gets results?" queried Flint sharply. "It produces oxygen and +nitrogen on a scale that indicates success, with adequate apparatus?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir. I believe so, sir. No doubt about it; none whatever."</p> + +<p>"Good!" exclaimed the Billionaire. "Now show us!"</p> + +<p>"With pleasure, sir. But first, let me explain, a little."</p> + +<p>"Well, what?" demanded Flint. His partner, meanwhile, had drawn near the +apparatus, and was studying it with a most intense concentration. Plain +to see, beneath this man's foppish exterior and affected cynicism, dwelt +powerful purposes and keen intelligence.</p> + +<p>"Explain what?" repeated the Billionaire. "As far as details go, I'm not +interested. All I want is results. Go ahead, Herzog; start your machine +and let me see what it can do."</p> + +<p>"I will, sir," acceded the scientist. "But first, with <a name="Page_53"></a>your permission, +I'll point out a few of its main features, and—"</p> + +<p>"Damn the main features!" cried Flint. "Get busy with the +demonstration!"</p> + +<p>"Hold on, hold on," now interrupted Waldron. "Let him discourse, if he +wants to. Ever know a scientist who wasn't primed to the muzzle with +expositions? Here, Herzog," he added, turning to the inventor, "I'll +listen, if nobody else will."</p> + +<p>Undecided, Herzog smiled nervously. Even Flint had to laugh at his +indecision.</p> + +<p>"All right, go on," said the Billionaire. "Only for God's sake, make it +brief!"</p> + +<p>Herzog, thus adjured, cleared his throat and blinked uneasily.</p> + +<p>"Oxygen," he said. "Yes, I can produce it quickly, easily and in large +quantities. As a gas, or as a liquid, which can be shipped to any +desired point and there transformed into gaseous form. Liquid air can +also be produced by this same machine, for refrigerating purposes. You +understand, of course, that when liquid air evaporates, it is only the +nitrogen that goes back into the atmosphere at 313 degrees below zero. +The residue is pure liquid oxygen. In other words, this apparatus will +make money as a liquid air plant, and furnish you oxygen as a +by-product.</p> + +<p>"It will also turn out nitrogen, for fertilizing purposes. The income +from a full-sized machine, on this pattern, from all three sources, +should be very large indeed."</p> + +<p>"Good," put in Waldron. "And liquid air, for example, would cost how +much to produce?"</p> + +<p>"With power-cost at half a cent per H.P. hour, about <a name="Page_54"></a>$2.50 a ton. The +oxygen by-product alone will more than pay for that, in purifying and +cooling buildings, or used to promote combustion in locomotives and +other steam engines. The liquid air itself can be used as a motive power +for a certain type of expansion engine, or—"</p> + +<p>"There, there, that's enough!" interposed Flint, brusquely. "We don't +need any of your advice or suggestions, Herzog. As far as the disposal +of the product is concerned, we can take care of that. All we want from +you is the assurance that that product can be obtained, easily and +cheaply, and in unlimited quantities. Is that the case?"</p> + +<p>"It is, sir."</p> + +<p>"All right. And can liquid oxygen be easily transported any considerable +distance?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir. In what is known as Place's Vacuum-jacketed Insulated +Container, it can be kept for weeks at a time without any appreciable +loss."</p> + +<p>Flint pondered a moment, then asked, again:</p> + +<p>"Could large tanks, holding say, a million gallons, be built on that +principle, for wholesale storage? And could vacuum-jacketed pipes be +laid, for conveying liquid oxygen or its gas?"</p> + +<p>"No reason why not, sir. Yes, I may say all that is quite feasible."</p> + +<p>"Very well, then," snapped Flint. "That's enough for the present. Now, +show us your machine at work! Start it Herzog. Let's see what you can +do!"</p> + +<p>The Billionaire's eyes glittered as Herzog laid a hand on a gleaming +switch. Even Waldron forgot to smoke.</p> + +<p>"Gentlemen, observe," said Herzog, as he threw the lever.</p> + + + +<br /><hr style="width: 65%;" /><br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_VI"></a><h3><a name="Page_55"></a>CHAPTER VI.</h3> + +<h4>OXYGEN, KING OF INTOXICATORS.</h4> +<br /> + +<p>A soft humming note began to vibrate through the inner laboratory—a +note which rose in pitch, steadily, as Herzog shoved the lever from one +copper post to another, round the half-circle.</p> + +<p>"I am now heating the little firebrick furnace," said the scientist. "In +Norway, they use an alternating current of only 5,000 volts, between +water-cooled copper electrodes, as I have already told you. I am using +30,000 volts, and my electrodes, my own invention, are—"</p> + +<p>"Never mind," growled Flint. "Just let's see some of the product—some +liquid oxygen, that's all. The why and wherefore is your job, not ours!"</p> + +<p>Herzog, with a pained smile, bent and peered through a red glass +bull's-eye that now had begun to glow in the side of his apparatus.</p> + +<p>"The arc is good," he muttered, as to himself. "Now I will throw in the +electro-magnets and spread it; then switch in my intensifying condenser, +and finally set the turbine fans to work, to throw air through the +field. Then we shall see, we shall see!"</p> + +<p>Suiting the action to the words, he deftly touched here a button, there +a lever; and all at once a shrill buzzing rose above the lower drone of +the induction coils.</p> + +<p>"Gentlemen," said Herzog, straightening up and facing his employers, +"the process is now already at work. In <a name="Page_56"></a>five minutes—yes, in three—I +shall have results to show you!"</p> + +<p>"Good!" grunted Waldron. "That's all we're after, results. That's the +only way you hold your job, Herzog, just getting results!"</p> + +<p>He relighted his cigar, which had gone out during Herzog's +explanation—for "Tiger" Waldron, though he could drop thousands at +roulette without turning a hair, never yet had been known to throw away +a cigar less than half smoked. Flint, meanwhile, took out a little +morocco-covered note book and made a few notes. In this book he had kept +an outline of his plan from the very first; and now with pleasure he +added some memoranda, based on what Herzog had just told him, as well as +observations on the machine itself.</p> + +<p>Thus two minutes passed, then three.</p> + +<p>"Time's up, Herzog!" exclaimed Waldron, glancing at the electric clock +on the wall. "Where's the juice?"</p> + +<p>"One second, sir," answered the scientist. Again he peeked through the +glowing bull's-eye. Then, his face slightly pale, his bulging eyes +blinking nervously, he took two small flint glass bottles, set them +under a couple of pipettes, and deftly made connections.</p> + +<p>"Oxygen cocktail for mine," laughed Waldron, to cover a certain emotion +he could not help feeling at sight of the actual operation of a process +which might, after all, open out ways and means for the utter +subjugation of the world.</p> + +<p>Neither Flint nor the inventor vouchsafed even a smile. The Billionaire +drew near, adjusted a pair of pince-nez on his hawk-like nose, and +peered curiously at the appara<a name="Page_57"></a>tus. Herzog, with a quick gesture, turned +a small silver faucet.</p> + +<p>"Oxygen! Unlimited oxygen!" he exclaimed. "I have found the process, +gentlemen, commercially practicable. Oxygen!"</p> + +<p>Even as he spoke, a lambent, sparkling liquid began to flow through the +pipette, into the flask. At sight of it, the Billionaire's eyes lighted +up with triumph. Waldron, despite his assumed nonchalance, felt the +hunting thrill of Wall street, the quick stab of exultation when victory +seemed well in hand.</p> + +<p>"These bottles," said Herzog, "are double, constructed on the principle +of the Thermos bottle. They will keep the liquid gases I shall show you, +for days. Huge tanks could be built on the same principle. In a short +time, gentlemen, you can handle tons of these gases, if you +like—thousands of tons, unlimited tons.</p> + +<p>"The Siemens and Halske people, and the Great Falls, S.C., plant, will +be mere puttering experimenters beside you. For neither they nor any +other manufacturers have any knowledge of the vital process—my secret, +polarizing transformer, which does the work in one-tenth the time and at +one-hundredth the cost of any other known process. For example, see +here?"</p> + +<p>He turned the faucet, disconnected the flask and handed it to Flint.</p> + +<p>"There, sir," he remarked, "is a half-pint of pure liquid oxygen, drawn +from the air in less than eight minutes, at a cost of perhaps two-tenths +of a cent. On a large scale the cost can be vastly reduced. Are you +satisfied, sir?"</p> + +<p>Flint nodded, curtly.</p> + +<p>"You'll do, Herzog," he replied—his very strongest <a name="Page_58"></a>form of +commendation. "You're not half bad, after all. So this is liquid oxygen, +eh? Very cheap, and very cold?"</p> + +<p>His eyes gleamed with joy at sight of the translucent potent stuff—the +very stuff of life, its essence and prime principle, without which +neither plant nor animal nor man can live—oxygen, mother of all life, +sustainer of the world.</p> + +<p>"Very cheap, yes, sir," answered the scientist. "And cold, enormously +cold. The specimen you hold in your hand, in that vacuum-protected +flask, is more than three hundred degrees below zero. One drop of it on +your palm would burn it to the bone. Incidentally, let me tell you +another fact—"</p> + +<p>"And that is?"</p> + +<p>"This specimen is the allotropic or condensed form of oxygen, much more +powerful than the usual liquified gas."</p> + +<p>"Ozone, you mean?"</p> + +<p>"Precisely. Would you like to sense its effect as a ventilating agent?"</p> + +<p>"No danger?"</p> + +<p>"None, sir. Here, allow me."</p> + +<p>Herzog took the flask, pressed a little spring and liberated the top. At +once a whitish vapor began to coil from the neck of the bottle.</p> + +<p>"Hm!" grunted Waldron, smiling. "Mountain winds and sea breezes have +nothing on that!" He sniffed with appreciation. "Some gas, all right!"</p> + +<p>"You're right, Wally," answered the Billionaire. "If this works out on a +large scale, in all its details—well—I needn't impress its importance +on you!"</p> + +<p><a name="Page_59"></a>Yielding to the influence of the wonderful, life-giving gas, the rather +close air of the laboratory, contaminated by a variety of chemical +odors, and vitiated by its recent loss of oxygen, had begun to freshen +and purify itself in an astonishing manner. One would have thought that +through an open window, close at hand, the purest ocean breeze was +blowing. A faint tinge of color began to liven the somewhat pasty cheek +of the Billionaire. Waldron's big chest expanded and his eye brightened. +Even the meek Herzog stood straighter and looked more the man, under the +stimulus of the life-giving ozone.</p> + +<p>"Fine!" exclaimed Flint, with unwonted enthusiasm, and nearly yielded to +a laugh. Waldron went so far as to slap Herzog on the shoulder.</p> + +<p>"You're some wizard, old man!" he exclaimed, with a warmth hitherto +never known by him—for already the subtle gas was beginning to +intoxicate his senses. "And you can handle nitrogen with the same ease +and precision?"</p> + +<p>"Exactly," answered Herzog. "This other vial contains pure nitrogen. +With enlarged apparatus, I can supply it by the trainload. The world's +fertilizer problem is solved!"</p> + +<p>"Great work!" ejaculated Waldron, even more excited than before, but +Flint, his natural sourness asserting itself, merely growled some +ungracious remark.</p> + +<p>"Nitrogen can go hang," said he. "It's oxygen we're after, primarily. +Once we get our grip on that, the world will be—"</p> + +<p>Waldron checked him just in time.</p> + +<p>"Enough of this," he interrupted sharply. "I admit, I'm not myself, in +this rich atmosphere. I know <i>you're</i> <a name="Page_60"></a>feeling it, already, Flint. Come +along out of this, where we can regain our aplomb. We've seen enough, +for once."</p> + +<p>He turned to Herzog.</p> + +<p>"For God's sake, man," cried he, "cork that magic bottle of yours, +before all the oxygen-genii escape, or you'll have us both under the +table! And, see here," he added, pulling out his check-book, while Flint +stared in amazed disgust. "Here, take a blank check." He took his +fountain pen and scrawled his name on one. "The amount? That's up to +you. Now, let us out," he bade, as Herzog stood there regarding the +check with entire uncomprehension. "Out, I say, before I get +extravagant!"</p> + +<p>Herzog, perfectly comprehending the magnates' unusual conduct as due to +oxygen-intoxication in its initial stage, made no comment, but walked to +the door, spun the combination and flung it open.</p> + +<p>"Glad to have had the pleasure of demonstrating the process to you, +gentlemen," said he. "If you're convinced it's practicable, I'm at your +orders for any larger extension of the work. Have you any other question +or suggestion?"</p> + +<p>Neither magnate answered. Flint was trying hard to hold his +self-control. Waldron, red-faced now and highly stimulated, looked as +though he had been drinking even more than usual.</p> + +<p>Both passed out of the laboratory with rather unsteady steps. Together +they retraced their way to the administration building; and there, safe +at last in the private inner office, with the door locked, they sat down +and stared at each other with expressions of amazement.</p> + + + +<br /><hr style="width: 65%;" /><br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_VII"></a><h3><a name="Page_61"></a>CHAPTER VII.</h3> + +<h4>A FREAK OF FATE.</h4> +<br /> + +<p>Waldron was the first to speak. With a sudden laugh, boisterous and +wild, he cried:</p> + +<p>"Flint, you old scoundrel, you're drunk!"</p> + +<p>"Drunk yourself!" retorted the Billionaire, half starting from his +chair, his fist clenched in sudden passion. "How dare you—?"</p> + +<p>"Dare? I dare anything!" exclaimed Waldron. "Yes, I admit it—I <i>am</i> +half seas over. That ozone—God! what a stimulant! Must be some +wonderfully powerful form. If we—could market it—"</p> + +<p>Flint sank back in his chair, waving an extravagant hand.</p> + +<p>"Market it?" he answered. "Of course we can market it, and will! Drunk +or sober, Wally, I know what I'm talking about. The power now in our +grasp has never yet been equalled on earth. On the one side, we can +half-stifle every non-subscriber to our service, or wholly stifle every +rebel against us. On the other, we can simply saturate every subscriber +with health and energy, or even—if they want it—waft them to paradise +on the wings of ozone. The old Roman idea of 'bread and circus' to rule +the mob, was child's play compared to this! Science has delivered the +whole world into our hands. Power, man, power! Absolute, infinite power +over every living, breathing thing!"</p> + +<p><a name="Page_62"></a>He fell silent, pondering the vast future; and Waldron, gazing at him +with sparkling eyes, nodded with keen satisfaction. Thus for a few +moments they sat, looking at each other and letting imagination ran +riot; and as they sat, the sudden, stimulating effect of the condensed +oxygen died in their blood, and calmer feelings ensued.</p> + +<p>Presently Waldron spoke again.</p> + +<p>"Let's get down to brass tacks," said he, drawing his chair up to the +table. "I'm almost myself again. The subtle stuff has got out of my +brain, at last. Generalities and day-dreams are all very well, Flint, +but we've got to lay out some definite line of campaign. And the sooner +we get to it the better."</p> + +<p>"Hm!" sneered Flint. "If it's not more practical than your action in +giving Herzog that blank check, it won't be worth much. As an +extravagant action, Wally, I've never seen it equalled. I'm astonished, +indeed I am!"</p> + +<p>Waldron laughed easily.</p> + +<p>"Don't worry," he answered his partner. "That temporary aberration of +judgment, due to oxygen-stimulus, will have no results. Herzog won't +dare fill out the check, anyhow, because he knows he'd get into trouble +if he did; and even though he should, he can collect nothing. I'll have +payment stopped, at once, on that number. No danger, Flint!"</p> + +<p>"I don't know," mused the Billionaire. "It may be that this man has us +just a little under his thumb. He, and he alone, understands the +process. We've got to treat him with due consideration, or he may leave +us and carry his secret to others—to Masterson, for instance, or the +Amalgamated people, or—"</p> + +<p>"Nothing doing on that, old man!" interrupted "<a name="Page_63"></a>Tiger." "Have no fear. +The first move he makes, off to Sing Sing he goes, the way we jobbed +Parker Hayes. Slade and the Cosmos Agency can take care of <i>him</i>, all +right, if he asserts himself!"</p> + +<p>"Very likely," answered Flint, who had now at last entirely recovered +his sang-froid. "But in that event, our work would be at a standstill. +No, Waldron, we mustn't oppose this fellow. Better let the check go +through, if he has nerve enough to fill it out and cash it. He won't +dare gouge very deep; and no matter what he takes, it won't be a drop in +the ocean, compared to the golden flood now almost within our grasp!"</p> + +<p>Waldron pondered a moment, then nodded assent.</p> + +<p>"All right. Correct," he finally answered. "So then, we can dismiss that +trifle from our minds. Now, to work! We've got the process we were +after. What next?"</p> + +<p>"First of all," answered the Billionaire, "we'll let this Herzog +understand that he's to have a share in the results; that in this, as in +everything so far, he's merely a tool—and that when tools lose their +cutting edge we break 'em. He's a meek devil. We can hold <i>him</i> easily +enough."</p> + +<p>"Right. And then?" asked Waldron.</p> + +<p>"Then? First of all, a good, big, wide-sweeping publicity campaign. That +must begin today, to prepare opinion for the forthcoming development of +the new idea."</p> + +<p>"Henderson can handle that, all right," said Wally, leaning forward in +his chair. "Give him the idea, and turn him loose, and he'll get +results. A clever dog, that. He and his press bureau, working through +all the big dailies and many of the magazines, can turn this country +<a name="Page_64"></a>upside down in six months. Let him get on this job, and before you know +it the public will be demanding, be fighting for a chance to subscribe +to the new ventilating-service. That part of it is easy!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, you're right," replied Flint. "We'll see Henderson no later than +this afternoon. He and his writers can lay out a series of popular +articles and advertisements, to be run as pure reading matter, with no +distinguishing mark that they <i>are</i> ads, which will get the country—the +whole world, in fact—coming our way."</p> + +<p>"Good," the other assented. "Meantime, we can begin installing oxygen +machines on a big scale, a huge scale, to supply the demand that's bound +to arise. Where do you think we'd best manufacture? Herzog says water +power is the correct thing. We might use Niagara—use some of the +surplus power we already own there."</p> + +<p>"Niagara would do, very well," answered Flint. He had once more taken +out his little morocco-covered note book, and was now jotting down some +further memoranda. "It's a good location. Pipe-lines could easily be +extended, from it, to cover practically a quarter to a third of the +United States. Eventually we'll put in another plant in Chicago, one in +Denver and one on the Pacific Coast. Then, in time, there must be +distributing centers in Europe, Africa, Asia and Australia. But for the +present, we'll begin with the Niagara plant. After we get that under +full operation, the others will develop in due course of time."</p> + +<p>"Our charter covers this new line of work. There will be no need of any +legal technicalities," said Waldron, with a smile. "Some charter, if I +do say it, who shouldn't. <a name="Page_65"></a>I drew it, you remember. Nothing much in the +way of possible business-extension got past <i>me!</i>"</p> + +<p>Flint nodded.</p> + +<p>"You're right," he answered. "Nothing stands in our way, now. Positively +nothing. We have land, power and capital without limit. We have the +process. We control press, law, courts, judges, military and every other +form of government. All we need look out for is to secure public +confidence and keep the bandage on the eyes of the world till our system +is actually in operation—then there will be no redress, no come back, +no possible rebellion. As I've already said, Wally, we'll have the whole +world by the windpipe; and let the mob howl <i>then</i>, if they dare!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, let 'em howl!" chimed in "Tiger," with a snarl that proved his +nickname no misnomer. "Inside of a year we'll have them all where we +want them. You were right, Flint, when you called oil, coal, iron and +all the rest of it mere petty activities. Air—ah! that's the talk! Once +we get the <i>air</i> under our control, we're emperors of all life!"</p> + +<p>His words rang frank and bold, but something in his look, as he blinked +at his partner, might have given Flint cause for uneasiness, had the +Billionaire noticed that oblique and dangerous glance. One might have +read therein some shifty and devious plan of Waldron's to dominate even +Flint himself, to rule the master or to wreck him, and to seize in his +own hands the reins of universal power. But Flint, bending over his +note-book and making careful memoranda, saw nothing of all this.</p> + +<p>Waldron, an inveterate smoker, lighted a fresh cigar, leaned back, +surveyed his partner and indulged in a short <a name="Page_66"></a>inner laugh, which hardly +curved his cruel lips, but which hardened still more those pale-blue, +steely eyes of his.</p> + +<p>"All right," said he, at last. "Enough of this, Flint. Let's get back to +town, now, and have a conference with Henderson. That's the first step. +By tonight, the whole campaign of publicity must be mapped out. Come, +come; you can finish your memoranda later. I'm impatient to be back in +Wall Street. Come along!"</p> + +<p>Five minutes later, having left orders that Herzog was to attend upon +them in their private offices, next morning, they had ordered the +limousine and were making way along the hard road toward the gate of the +enclosure.</p> + +<p>The gate opened to let them pass, then swung and locked again, behind +them. At a good clip, the powerful car picked up speed on the homeward +way. The two magnates, exultant and flushed with the consciousness of +coming victory, lolled in the deeply-cushioned seat and spoke of power.</p> + +<p>As they swung past the aviation field and neared the Oakwood Heights +station, a train pulled out. Down the road came tramping a workingman in +overalls and jumper, with a canvas bag of tools swinging from his brawny +right hand. As he walked, striding along with splendid energy, he +whistled to himself—no cheap ragtime air, but Handel's Largo, with an +appreciation which bespoke musical feeling of no common sort.</p> + +<p>The Billionaire caught sight of him, just as the car slowed to take the +sharp turn by the station. Instant recognition followed. Flint's eyes +narrowed sharply.</p> + +<p>"Hm! The same fellow," he grunted to himself. "The same rascal who stood +beside us on the ferry boat, as we were talking over our plans. Now, +what the devil?"</p> + +<p><a name="Page_67"></a>Shadowed by a kind of instinctive uneasiness, not yet definite or clear +but more in the nature of a premonition of trouble, Flint gazed fixedly +at the mechanic as the car swung round the bend in the road. The glance +was returned.</p> + +<p>Yielding to some kind of imperative curiosity, the Billionaire leaned +over the side of the car—leaned out, with his coat flapping in the +stiff wind—and for a moment peered back at the disquieting workman.</p> + +<p>Then the car swept him out of sight, and Flint resumed his seat again.</p> + +<p>He did not know—for he had not seen it happen—that in that moment the +slippery, leather-covered note-book had slid from his lolling coat +pocket and had fallen with a sharp slap on the white macadam, skidded +along and come to rest in the ditch.</p> + +<p>The workingman, however, who had paused and turned to look after the +speeding car, <i>he</i> had seen all this.</p> + +<p>A moment he stood there, peering. Then, retracing his steps with +resolution he picked up the little book and slid it into the pocket of +his jeans.</p> + +<p>Deserted was the road. Not a soul was to be seen, save the crossing +flagman, musing in his chair beside his little hut, quite oblivious to +everything but a rank cob pipe. The workman's act had not been noticed.</p> + +<p>Nobody had observed him. Nobody knew. Not a living creature had +witnessed the slight deed on which, by a strange freak of fate, the +history of the world was yet to turn.</p> + + + +<br /><hr style="width: 65%;" /><br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_VIII"></a><h3><a name="Page_68"></a>CHAPTER VIII.</h3> + +<h4>ONE UNBIDDEN, SHARES GREAT SECRETS.</h4> +<br /> + +<p>Immediately on discovering his loss—which was soon after having reached +his office—Flint, in something like a fright, telephoned down to the +Oakwood Heights laboratory and instructed Herzog, in person, to make a +careful search for it and to report results inside an hour. Even though +some of the essentials of his plan were written in a code of his own +devising, Flint paled before the possible results should the book fall +into the hands of anybody intelligent enough to fathom its meaning.</p> + +<p>"Damn the luck!" he ejaculated, pacing the office floor, his fists +knotted. "If it had been a pocket book with a few thousand inside, that +would have been a trifle. But to lose my plan of campaign—God grant no +harm may come of it!"</p> + +<p>Waldron, slyly observing him, could not suppress a smile.</p> + +<p>"Calling on God, eh?" sneered he. "You <i>must</i> be agitated. I haven't +heard that kind of entreaty on your lips, Flint, since the year of the +big coal strike, when you prayed God the gun-men might 'get' the +strikers before they could organize. Come, come, man, brace up! Your +book will turn up all right; and even if it doesn't there's no cause for +alarm. It would take a man of extraordinary <a name="Page_69"></a>acumen to read <i>your</i> +hieroglyphics! Cheer up, Flint. There's really nothing to excite you."</p> + +<p>The Billionaire thus adjured, sat down and tried to calm his agitation.</p> + +<p>"Rotten luck, eh?" he queried. "But after all, Herzog is likely to find +the book. And even if he doesn't, I guess we're safe enough. The very +boldness of the plan—supposing even that the finder could grasp +it—would put it outside the seeming range of the possible. It's hardly +a hundred to one shot any harm may come of it."</p> + +<p>"All right, then, let it go at that," said Waldron. "And now, to +business. Suppose, for example, you've got a perfectly unlimited supply +of oxygen-gas and liquid. How are you going to market it? Just what +details have you worked out?"</p> + +<p>Flint pondered a moment, before replying. At last he said:</p> + +<p>"Of course you understand, Wally, I can't give you every point. The +whole thing will be an evolution, and new ideas and processes, new uses +and demands will develop as time passes. But in the main, my idea is +this: The big producing stations will steadily extract oxygen from the +atmosphere, thus leaving the air increasingly poorer and less adapted to +sustaining human life.</p> + +<p>"I shall store the oxygen in vast tanks, like the ordinary gas-tanks to +be found in every city, only much bigger. These tanks will be fed by +pipe-lines from the central stations, thus."</p> + +<p>Flint drew toward him a sheet of his heavily embossed letter-paper, and, +picking up a pencil, began to sketch a rough diagram. Waldron, making no +comment, followed every stroke with keen interest.</p> + +<p>"<a name="Page_70"></a>From these tanks," the Billionaire continued, "smaller pipes will +convey the gaseous oxygen to every house taking our service."</p> + +<p>"Just like ordinary gas?"</p> + +<p>"Precisely. Each room will be fitted with an oxygen jet apparatus, +something like a gas burner, with a safety device to prevent over supply +and avoid the dangers of combustion."</p> + +<p>"Combustion?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. In pure oxygen, a glowing bit of wire will burst into flame. Your +cigar, there, would catch fire, from the merest spark in its inmost +folds. Too much oxygen in a room not only intoxicates the +occupants—we've already seen <i>that</i> effect—but also develops a great +fire risk. So we shall have to make some provision for that, Wally. It +will be absolutely essential."</p> + +<p>"All right. Allowing it's been made, what then?" asked "Tiger," with +extraordinary interest.</p> + +<p>"Can't you see? We'll have every household under our absolute thumb?" +And Flint pressed his thumb on the table to illustrate. "My God, man, +think of it! Every city honeycombed by our pipes—yes, and every village +and hamlet too, and even every farm house that can afford it! At first, +the cost will be very low, till people have become accustomed to ozone +as they are to water. The whole ventilation problem will be solved, at +once and for all time. Where we can't pipe in the ozone, we can use +portable vaporizers, to be supplied once a month, and of sufficient +capacity to keep the air of an average-sized house perfectly pure for +thirty days.</p> + +<p>"Pure? More than pure! Exhilarating, life-giving, delicious! Under this +system, Wally, the middle and up<a name="Page_71"></a>per classes will thrive as never +before. They'll grow in size and weight, in health and intelligence, +under the steady influence of ozone, day and night. Every vital process +will be stimulated. Our invention will mark a new era in the welfare of +the world!"</p> + +<p>"Bunk!" sneered Wally. "That's all very well for your prospectuses and +newspaper articles, old man, but the fact is we don't give a damn +whether it helps the world or wrecks it. We're out for money and power. +My motto is, Get 'em and do good, if you can—but <i>get</i> 'em anyhow! So +you had better can the philanthropic part of it. Just show me the cash, +and you can have all the credit!"</p> + +<p>Flint shot a grim look at his partner, then continued:</p> + +<p>"Don't be flippant, Wally. This is a serious business and must be +treated as such. In addition to the respiratory service, we can put in +water-cooling and refrigerating services, at low cost, also cold-pipes +for cooling houses in summer. In fine, we can immeasurably add to the +health and comfort of the better classes; and can at last have everybody +using our gas, which, registering through our own sealed meters, will +flood us with wealth so vast as to make that of these Standard Oil +pifflers look like the proverbial thirty cents!"</p> + +<p>"Fine!" exclaimed Waldron, nodding approval. "Also, any time any +rebellion develops we can merely shut off the supply in that quarter, +and quickly reduce it. Or, again, we can increase the potency of the +gas, and fairly intoxicate the people, till they stand for anything. +Just fancy, now, our pipes connected with the sacred Halls of Congress +and with the White House! Even if any <a name="Page_72"></a>difficulty could possibly be +expected from these sources, just imagine how quickly we could nip it in +the bud!"</p> + +<p>"Quickly isn't the word, Wally," answered the Billionaire. "I tell you, +old man, the world lies in our hands, today. And we have only to close +our fingers, in order to possess it!"</p> + +<p>He glanced at his own fingers, as though he visibly perceived the great +world lying there for him to squeeze. Waldron's eyes, following the +Billionaire's, saw that Flint's hand was trembling, and understood the +reason. More than three hours had passed—nay, almost four—since Flint +had had any opportunity to take his necessary dose of morphia. Waldron +arose, paced to the window and stood there looking out over the vast +panorama of city, river and harbor, apparently absorbed in +contemplation, but really keen to hear what Flint might do.</p> + +<p>His expectations were not disappointed. Hardly had he turned his back, +when he heard the desk-drawer open, furtively, and knew the Billionaire +was taking out the little vial of white tablets, dearer to him than ever +the caress of woman to a Don Juan. A moment later, the drawer closed +again.</p> + +<p>"He'll do now, for a while," thought Waldron, with satisfaction. "Let +him go the limit, if he likes—the fool! The more he takes, the quicker +I win. It'll kill him yet, the dope will. And <i>that</i> means, my mastery +of the world will be complete. Let him go it! The harder, the better!"</p> + +<p>He turned back toward Flint, again, veiling in that impenetrable face of +his the slightest hint or expression which might have told Flint that he +understood the Billionaire's vice. If Flint were Vulture, Waldron was +<a name="Page_73"></a>Tiger, indeed. And so, for a brief moment, these two soulless men of +gold and power stood eyeing each other, in silence.</p> + +<p>Suddenly Waldron spoke.</p> + +<p>"There's one thing you've forgotten to speak of, Flint," he said.</p> + +<p>"And that is?" demanded the other, already calmed by the quick action of +the subtle, enslaving drug.</p> + +<p>"The effect on the world's poor—on the toiling millions! The results of +this innovation, in slum, and slave-quarter, and in the haunts of +poverty. Your talk has all been of the middle and upper classes, and of +the benefits accruing to them, from increased oxygen-consumption. But +how about the others? Every ounce of oxygen you take out of the air, +leaves it just so much poorer. Store thousands of tons of the +life-giving gas, in monster tanks, and you vitiate the entire +atmosphere. How about that? How can even the well-to-do breathe, then, +out-doors, to say nothing of the poverty-stricken millions?"</p> + +<p>Flint grimaced, showing a glint of his gold tooth—his substitute for a +smile.</p> + +<p>"That's all reckoned for," he answered. "I thought I made it quite +clear, in our previous talk. To begin with, we will withdraw the oxygen +from the atmosphere so slowly that at first there won't be any +noticeable effect on the out-door air. For a while, the only thing that +will be noticed by the world will be that our gas service, to private +residences and institutions, will result in greatly increased comfort +and health to the better classes. And the cost will be so low—at first, +mind you, only at first—that every family of any means at all can take +it. In fact, Wally, we can afford practically to give away the <a name="Page_74"></a>service, +for the first year, until we get our grip firmly fixed on the throat of +the world. Do you get the idea?"</p> + +<p>Waldron nodded, as he drew leisurely on his cigar.</p> + +<p>"Practical to a degree," he answered. "That is, until the poor begin to +gasp for breath. But what then?"</p> + +<p>"By the time the outer atmosphere really begins to show the effect of +withdrawing a considerable percentage of the oxygen," Flint answered, +"we will have our pocket respirators on the market. Well-to-do people +will as soon think of going out without their shoes, as they will with +their respirators. No, there won't be any visible tubes or attachments, +Wally. Nothing of that kind. Only, each person will carry a properly +insulated cake of solidified oxygen that will evaporate through the +special apparatus and surround him with a normally rich atmosphere. +And—"</p> + +<p>"Yes, but the poor? The workers? What of them?"</p> + +<p>"Devil take <i>them</i>, if it comes to that!" retorted Flint, with some +heat. "Who ever gives them any serious attention, as it is? Who bothers +about their health? They eat and drink and breathe the leavings, +anyhow—eat the cheapest and most adulterated food, drink the vilest +slop and breathe the most vitiated slum air. Nobody cares, except +perhaps those crazy Socialists that once in a while get up on the +street-corner and howl about the rights of man and all that rubbish! +Working-class? What do <i>I</i> care about the cattle? Let them die, if they +want to! D'you suppose, for one minute, I'm going to limit or delay this +big innovation, because there's a working-class that may suffer?"</p> + +<p>"They'll do more than suffer, Flint, if you seriously depreciate the +atmosphere. They'll die!"</p> + +<p>"<a name="Page_75"></a>Well, let them, and be damned to them!" retorted Flint, already +showing symptoms of drug-stimulation. Waldron, smoking meanwhile, eyed +him with a dangerous smile lurking in his cold eyes. "Let them, I say! +They die off, now, twice or thrice as fast as the better classes, but +what difference does it make? Great breeders, those people are. The more +they die, the faster they multiply. Let them go their way and do as they +like, so long as they don't interfere with <i>us!</i> The only really +important factor to reckon on is this, that with an impoverished air to +breathe, their rebellious spirit will die out—the dogs!—and we'll have +no more talk of social revolution. We'll draw their teeth, all right +enough; or rather, twist the bowstring round their damned necks so tight +that all their energy, outside of work, will be consumed in just keeping +alive. Revolution, then? Forget it, Waldron! We'll kill <i>that</i> viper +once and for all!"</p> + +<p>"Good idea, Flint," the other replied, with approbation. "Only a +master-mind like yours could have conceived it. I'm with you, all right +enough. Only, tell me—do you really believe we can put this whole +program through, without a hitch? Without a leak, anywhere? Without +barricades in the streets, wild-eyed agitators howling, machine-guns +chattering, and Hell to pay?"</p> + +<p>Flint smiled grimly.</p> + +<p>"Wait and see!" he growled.</p> + +<p>"Maybe you're right," his partner answered. "But slow and easy is the +only way."</p> + +<p>"Slow and easy," Flint assented. "Of course we can't go too fast. In +1850, for example, do you suppose the public would have tolerated the +sudden imposition of monopolies? Hardly! But now they lie down under +<a name="Page_76"></a>them, and even vote and fight to keep them! So, too, with this Air +Trust. Time will show you I'm right."</p> + +<p>Waldron glanced at his watch.</p> + +<p>"Long past lunch-time, Flint," said he. "Enough of this, for now. And +this afternoon, I've got that D. K. & E. directors' meeting on +hand. When shall we go on with our plans, and get down to specific +details?"</p> + +<p>"This evening, say?"</p> + +<p>"Very well. At my house?"</p> + +<p>"No. Too noisy. Run out to Englewood, to mine. We'll be quiet there. And +come early, Waldron. We've no end of things to discuss. The quicker we +get the actual work under way, now, the better. You can see Catherine, +too. Isn't that an inducement?"</p> + +<p>Thus ended the conference. It resumed, that night, in Flint's luxurious +study at "Idle Hour," his superb estate on the Palisades. Waldron paid +only a perfunctory court to Catherine, who manifested her pleasure by +studied indifference. Both magnates felt relieved when she withdrew. +They had other and larger matters under way than any dealing with the +amenities of life.</p> + +<p>Until past midnight the session in the study lasted, under the soft glow +of the Billionaire's reading-light. And many choice cigars were smoked, +many sheets of paper covered with diagrams and calculations, many vast +schemes of conquest expanded, ere the two masters said good-night and +separated.</p> + +<p>At the very hour of Waldron's leave-taking, another man was pondering +deeply, studying the problem from quite another angle, and—no less +earnestly, than the two magnates—laying careful plans.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_77"></a>This man, sturdy, well-built and keen, smoked an old briar as he +worked. A flannel shirt, open at the throat, showed a well-sinewed neck +and powerful chest. Under the inverted cone of a shaded incandescent in +his room, at the electricians' quarters of the Oakwood Heights +enclosure, one could see the deep lines of thought and careful study +crease his high and prominent brow.</p> + +<p>From time to time he gazed out through the open window, off toward the +whispering lines of surf on the eastern shores of Staten Island—the +surf forever talking, forever striving to give its mystic message to the +unheeding ear of man. And as he gazed, his blue eyes narrowed with the +intensity of his thought. Once, as though some sudden understanding had +come to him, he smote the pine table with a corded fist, and swore below +his breath.</p> + +<p>It was past two in the morning when he finally rose, stretched, yawned +and made ready for sleep on his hard iron bunk.</p> + +<p>"Can it be?" he muttered, as he undressed. "Can it be possible, or am I +dreaming? No—this is no dream! This is reality; and thank God, I +understand."</p> + +<p>Then, before he extinguished his light, he took from the table the +material he had been studying over, and put it beneath his pillow, where +he could guard it safe till morning.</p> + +<p>The thing he thus protected was none other than a small note-book, +filled with diagrams, jottings and calculations, and bound in red +morocco covers.</p> + +<p>That night, at Englewood—in the Billionaire's home <a name="Page_78"></a>and in the +workman's simple room at Oakwood Heights—history was being made.</p> + +<p>The outcome, tragic and terrible, who could have foreseen?</p> + + + +<br /><hr style="width: 65%;" /><br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_IX"></a><h3><a name="Page_79"></a>CHAPTER IX.</h3> + +<h4>DISCHARGED.</h4> +<br /> + +<p>Almost all the following morning, working at his bench in the +electro-chemical laboratories of the great Oakwood Heights plant, +Gabriel Armstrong pondered deeply on the problems and responsibilities +now opening out before him.</p> + +<p>The finding of that little red-leather note-book, he fully understood, +had at one stroke put him in possession of facts more vital to the +labor-movement and the world at large than any which had ever developed +since the very beginning of Capitalism. A Socialist to the backbone, +thoroughly class-conscious and dowered with an incisive intellect, +Gabriel thrilled at thought that he, by chance, had been chosen as the +instrument through which he felt the final revolution now must work. And +though he remained outwardly calm, as he bent above his toil, inwardly +he was aflame. His heart throbbed with an excitement he could scarce +control. His brain seemed on fire; his soul pulsed with savage joy and +magnificent inspiration. For he was only four-and-twenty, and the bitter +grind of years and toil had not yet worn his spirit down nor quelled the +ardor of his splendid strength and optimism.</p> + +<p>Working at his routine labor, his mind was not upon it. No, rather it +dwelt upon the vast discovery he had made—or seemed to have made—the +night before. Clear<a name="Page_80"></a>ly limned before his vision, he still saw the notes, +the plans, the calculations he had been able to decipher in the +Billionaire's lost note-book—the note-book which now, deep in the +pocket of his jumper that hung behind him on a hook against the wall, +drew his every thought, as steel draws the compass-needle.</p> + +<p>"Incredible, yet true!" he pondered, as he filed a brass casting for a +new-type dynamo. "These men are plotting to strangle the world to +death—to strangle, if they cannot own and rule it! And, what's more, I +see nothing to prevent their doing it. The plan is sound. They have the +means. At this very moment, the whole human race is standing in the +shadow of a peril so great, a slavery so imminent, that the most savage +war of conquest ever waged would be a mere skirmish, by comparison!"</p> + +<p>Mechanically he labored on and on, turning the tremendous problem in his +brain, striving in vain for some solution, some grasp at effective +opposition. And, as he thought, a kind of dumb hopelessness settled down +about him, tangible almost as a curtain black and heavy.</p> + +<p>"What shall I do?" he muttered to himself. "What can I do, to strike +these devils from their villainous plan of mastery?"</p> + +<p>As yet, he saw nothing clearly. No way seemed open to him. Alone, he +knew he could do nothing; yet whither should he turn for help? To rival +capitalist groups? They would not even listen to him; or, if they +listened and believed, they would only combine with the plotters, or +else, on their own hook, try to emulate them. To the labor movement? It +would mock him as a chimerical dreamer, despite all his proofs. At best, +he might start a few ineffectual strikes, petty and futile, indeed, +<a name="Page_81"></a>against this vast, on-moving power. To the Socialists? They, through +their press and speakers—in case they should believe him and co-operate +with him—could, indeed, give the matter vast publicity and excite +popular opposition; but, after all, could they abort the plan? He feared +they could not. The time, he knew, was not yet ripe when Labor, on the +political field, could meet and overthrow forces such as these.</p> + +<p>And so, for all his fevered thinking, he got no radical, no practical +solution of the terrible problem. More and more definitely, as he +weighed the pros and cons, the belief was borne in upon him that in this +case he must appeal to nobody but himself, count on nobody, trust in +nobody save Gabriel Armstrong.</p> + +<p>"I must play a lone hand game, for a while at least," he concluded, as +he finished his casting and took another. "Later, perhaps, I can enlist +my comrades. But for now, I must watch, wait, work, all alone. Perhaps, +armed with this knowledge—invaluable knowledge shared by no one—I can +meet their moves, checkmate their plans and defeat their ends. Perhaps! +It will be a battle between one man, obscure and without means, and two +men who hold billions of dollars and unlimited resources in their grasp. +A battle unequal in every sense; a battle to the death. But I may win, +after all. Every probability is that I shall lose, lose everything, even +my life. Yet still, there is a chance. By God, I'll take it!"</p> + +<p>The last words, uttered aloud, seemed to spring from his lips as though +uttered by the very power of invincible determination. A sneer, behind +him, brought him round with a start. His gaze widened, at sight of +Herzog stand<a name="Page_82"></a>ing there, cold and dangerous looking, with a venomous +expression in those ill-mated eyes of his.</p> + +<p>"Take it, will you?" jibed the scientist. "You thief!"</p> + +<p>Gabriel sprang up so suddenly that his stool clattered over backward on +the red-tiled floor. His big fist clenched and lifted. But Herzog never +flinched.</p> + +<p>"Thief!" he repeated, with an ugly thrust of the jaw. Servile and +crawling to his masters, the man was ever arrogant and harsh with those +beneath his authority. "I repeat the word. Drop that fist, Armstrong, if +you know what's good for you. I warn you. Any disturbance, here, +and—well, you know what we can do!"</p> + +<p>The electrician paled, slightly. But it was not through cowardice. Rage, +passion unspeakable, a sudden and animal hate of this lick-spittle and +supine toady shook him to the heart's core. Yet he managed to control +himself, not through any personal apprehension, but because of the great +work he knew still lay before him. At all hazards, come what might, he +must stay on, there, at the Oakwood Heights plant. Nothing, now, must +come between him and that one supreme labor.</p> + +<p>Thus he controlled himself, with an effort so tremendous that it +wrenched his very soul. This trouble, whatever it might be, must not be +noised about. Already, up and down the shop, workers were peering +curiously at him. He must be calm; must pass the insult, smooth the +situation and remain employed there.</p> + +<p>"I—I beg pardon," he managed to articulate, with pale lips that +trembled. He wiped the beaded sweat from his broad forehead. "Excuse me, +Mr. Herzog. I—you startled me. What's the trouble? Any complaint to +make? If so, I'm here to listen."</p> + +<p><a name="Page_83"></a>Herzog's teeth showed in a rat-like grin of malice.</p> + +<p>"Yes, you'll listen, all right enough," he sneered. "I've named you, and +that goes! You're a thief, Armstrong, and this proves it! Look!"</p> + +<p>From behind his back, where he had been holding it, he produced the +little morocco-covered book. Right in Armstrong's face he shook it, with +an oath.</p> + +<p>"Steal, will you?" he jibed. "For it's the same thing—no difference +whether you picked it out of Mr. Flint's pocket or found it on the floor +here, and tried to keep it! Steal, eh? Hold it for some possible reward? +You skunk! Lucky you haven't brains enough to make out what's in it! +Thought you'd keep it, did you? But you weren't smart enough, +Armstrong—no, not quite smart enough for me! After looking the whole +place over, I thought I'd have a go at a few pockets—and, you see? Oh, +you'll have to get up early to beat <i>me</i> at the game you—you thief!"</p> + +<p>With the last word, he raised the book and struck the young man a +blistering welt across the face with it.</p> + +<p>Armstrong fell back, against the bench, perfectly livid, with the wale +of the blow standing out red and distinct across his cheek. Then he went +pale as death, and staggered as though about to faint.</p> + +<p>"God—God in heaven!" he gasped. "Give me—strength—not to kill this +animal!"</p> + +<p>A startled look came into Herzog's face. He recognized, at last, the +nature of the rage he had awakened. In those twitching fists and that +white, writhen face he recognized the signs of passion that might, on a +second's notice, leap to murder. And, shot through with panic, <a name="Page_84"></a>he now +retreated, like the coward he was, though with the sneer still on his +thin and cruel lips.</p> + +<p>"Get your time!" he commanded, with crude brutality. "Go, get it at +once. You're lucky to get off so easily. If Flint knew this, you'd land +behind bars. But we want no scenes here. Get your money from Sanderson, +and clear out. Your job ended the minute my hand touched that book in +your pocket!"</p> + +<p>Still Armstrong made no reply. Still he remained there, dazed and +stricken, pallid as milk, a wild and terrible light in his blue eyes.</p> + +<p>An ugly murmur rose. Two or three of his fellow-workmen had come +drifting down the shop, toward the scene of altercation. Another joined +them, and another. Not one of them but hated Herzog with a bitter +animosity. And now perhaps, the time was come to pay a score or two.</p> + +<p>But Armstrong, suddenly lifting his head, faced them all, his comrades. +His mind, quick-acting, had realized that, now his possession of the +book had been discovered, his chances of discovering anything more, at +the works, had utterly vanished. Even though he should remain, he could +do nothing there. If he were to act, it must be from the outside, now, +following the trend of events, dogging each development, striving in +hidden, devious ways—violent ways, perhaps—to pull down this horrible +edifice of enslavement ere it should whelm and crush the world.</p> + +<p>So, acting as quickly as he had thought, and now ignoring the man Herzog +as though he had never existed, Armstrong faced his fellows.</p> + +<p>"It's all right, boys," said he, quite slowly, his voice <a name="Page_85"></a>seeming to +come from a distance, his tones forced and unnatural. "It's all right, +every way. I'm caught with the goods. Don't any of you butt in. Don't +mix with my trouble. For once I'm glad this is a scab shop, otherwise +there might be a strike, here, and worse Hell to pay than there will be +otherwise. I'm done. I'll get my time, and quit. But—remember one +thing, you'll understand some day what this is all about.</p> + +<p>"I'm glad to have worked with you fellows, the past few months. You're +all right, every one of you. Good-bye, and remember—"</p> + +<p>"Here, you men, get back to work!" cried Herzog, suddenly. "No +hand-shaking here, and no speech-making. This man's a sneak-thief and +he's fired, that's all there is to it. Now, get onto your job! The first +man that puts up a complaint about it, can get through, too!"</p> + +<p>For a moment they glowered at him, there in the white-lighted glare of +the big shop. A fight, even then, was perilously near, but Armstrong +averted it by turning away.</p> + +<p>"I'm done." he repeated. He gathered up a few tools that belonged to +him, personally, gave one look at his comrades, waved a hand at them, +and then, followed by Herzog, strode off down the long aisle, toward the +door.</p> + +<p>"Herzog," said he, calmly and with cold emphasis, "listen to this."</p> + +<p>"Get out! Get your time, I tell you, and go!" repeated the bully. "To +Hell with you! Clear out of here!"</p> + +<p>"I'm going," the young man answered. "But before I do, remember this; +you grazed death, just now. Well for you, Herzog, almighty well for you, +my temper didn't best me. For remember, you struck me and called me +<a name="Page_86"></a>'thief'—and that sort of thing can't be forgotten, ever, even though +we live a thousand years.</p> + +<p>"Remember, Herzog—not now, but sometime. Remember that one +word—sometime! That's all!"</p> + +<p>With no further speech, and while Herzog still stood there by the shop +door, sneering at him, Armstrong turned and passed out. A few minutes +later he had been paid off, had packed his knapsack with his few +belongings, and was outside the big palisade, striding along the hard +and glaring road toward the station.</p> + +<p>"I did it," his one overmastering thought was. "Thank heaven, I did it! +I held my temper and my tongue, didn't kill that spawn of Hell, and +saved the whole situation. I'm out of a job, true enough, and out of the +plant; but after all, I'm free—and I know what's in the wind!</p> + +<p>"There's yet hope. There'll be a way, a way to do this work! What a man +<i>must</i> do, he <i>can</i> do!"</p> + +<p>Up came Armstrong's chin, as he walked. His shoulders squared, with +strength and purpose, and his stride swung into the easy machine gait +that had already carried him so many thousand miles along the hard and +bitter highways of the world.</p> + +<p>As he strode away, on the long road toward he knew not what, words +seemed to form and shape in his strengthened and refortified mind—words +for long years forgotten—words that he once had heard at his mother's +knee:</p> + +<p>"<i>He that ruleth his spirit is better than he that taketh a city!</i>"</p> + + + +<br /><hr style="width: 65%;" /><br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_X"></a><h3><a name="Page_87"></a>CHAPTER X.</h3> + +<h4>A GLIMPSE AT THE PARASITES.</h4> +<br /> + +<p>The Longmeadow Country Club, on the Saturday afternoon following +Armstrong's abrupt dismissal, was a scene of gaiety and beauty without +compare. Set in broad acres of wood and lawn, the club-house proudly +dominated far-flung golf-links and nearer tennis-courts. Shining motors +stood parked on the plaza before the club garage, each valued at several +years' wages of a workingman. Men and women—exploiters all, or +parasites—elegantly and coolly clad in white, smote the swift sphere +upon the tennis-court, with jest and laughter. Others, attended by +caddies—mere proletarian scum, bent beneath the weight of cleeks and +brassies—moved across the smooth-cropped links, kept in condition by +grazing sheep and by steam-rollers. On putting-green and around bunkers +these idlers struggled with artificial difficulties, while in shops and +mines and factories, on railways and in the blazing Hells of +stoke-holes, men of another class, a slave-class, labored and agonized, +toiled and died that <i>these</i> might wear fine linen and spend the long +June afternoon in play.</p> + +<p>From the huge, cobble-stone chimney of the Country Club, upwafting smoke +told of the viands now preparing for the idlers' dinner, after +sport—rich meats and dainties of the rarest. In the rathskeller some of +the elder and more indolent men were absorbing alcohol while <a name="Page_88"></a>music +played and painted nymphs of abundant charms looked down from the +wall-frescoes. Out on the broad piazzas, well sheltered by awnings from +the rather ardent sun, men and women sat at spotless tables, dallying +with drinks of rare hues and exalted prices. Cigarette-smoke wafted away +on the pure breeze from over the Catskills, far to northwest, defiling +the sweet breath of Nature, herself, with fumes of nicotine and dope. A +Hungarian orchestra was playing the latest Manhattan ragtime, at the far +end of the piazza. It was, all in all, a scene of rare refinement, +characteristic to a degree of the efflorescence of American capitalism.</p> + +<p>At one of the tables, obviously bored, sat Catherine Flint, only +daughter of the Billionaire. A rare girl, she, to look +upon—deep-bosomed and erect, dressed simply in a middy-blouse with a +blue tie, a khaki skirt and low, rubber-soled shoes revealing a +silk-stockinged ankle that would have attracted the enthusiastic +attention of gentlemen in any city of the world. No hat disfigured the +coiled and braided masses of coppery hair that circled her shapely head. +A healthy tan on face and arms and open throat bespoke her keen devotion +to all outdoor life. Her fingers, lithe and strong, were graced by but +two rings—a monogram, of gold, and the betrothal ring that Maxim +Waldron had put there, only three weeks before.</p> + +<p>Impatience dominated her. One could see that, in the nervous tapping of +her fingers on the cloth; the slight swing of her right foot as she sat +there, one knee crossed over the other; the glance of her keen, gray +eyes down the broad drive-way that led from the huge stone gates up to +the club-house.</p> + +<p>Beside her sat a nonentity in impeccable dress, dangling <a name="Page_89"></a>a monocle and +trying to make small-talk, the while he dallied with a Bronx cocktail, +costing more than a day's wage for a childish flower-making slave of the +tenements, and inhaled a Rotten Row cigarette, the "last word" from +London in the tobacco line. To the sallies of this elegant, the girl +replied by only monosyllables. Her glass was empty, nor would she have +it filled, despite the exquisite's entreaties. From time to time she +glanced impatiently at the long bag of golf-sticks leaning against the +porch rail; and, now and then, her eyes sought the little Cervine watch +set in a leather wristlet on her arm.</p> + +<p>"Inconsiderate of him, I'm sure—ah—to keep so magnificent a Diana +waiting," drawled her companion, blowing a lungful of thin blue smoke +athwart the breeze. "Especially when you're so deuced keen on doing the +course before dinner. Now if <i>I</i> were the favored swain, wild horses +wouldn't keep me away."</p> + +<p>She made no answer, but turned a look of indifference on the shrimp +beside her. Had he possessed the soul of a real man, he would have +shriveled; but, being oblivious to all things save the pride of wealth +and monstrous self-conceit, he merely snickered and reached for his +cocktail—which, by the way, he was absorbing through a straw.</p> + +<p>"I say, Miss Flint?" he presently began again, stirring the ice in the +cocktail.</p> + +<p>"Well?" she answered, curtly.</p> + +<p>"If you—er—are really very, <i>very</i> impatient to have a go at the +links, why wait for Wally? I—I should be only too glad to volunteer my +services as your knight-errant, and all that sort of thing."</p> + +<p>"Thanks, awfully," she answered, "but Mr. Waldron <a name="Page_90"></a>promised to go round +the course with me, this afternoon, and I'll wait."</p> + +<p>The impeccable one grinned fatuously, invited her again to have a +drink—which she declined—and ordered another for himself, with profuse +apologies for drinking alone; apologies which she hardly seemed to +notice.</p> + +<p>"Deuced bad form of Wally, I must say," the gilded youth resumed, trying +to make capital for himself, "to leave you in the lurch, this way!"</p> + +<p>Silence from Catherine. The would-be interloper, feeling that he was on +the wrong track, took counsel with himself and remained for a moment +immersed in what he imagined to be thought. At last, however, with an +oblique glance at his indifferent companion, he remarked.</p> + +<p>"Devilish hard time women have in this world, you know! Don't you +sometimes wish you were a man?"</p> + +<p>Her answer flashed back like a rapier:</p> + +<p>"No! Do you wish <i>you</i> were?"</p> + +<p>Stunned by this "facer," Reginald Van Slyke gasped and stared. That he, +a scion of the Philadelphia Van Slykes, in his own right worth two +hundred million dollars—dollars ground out of the Kensington +carpet-mill slaves by his grandfather—should be thus flouted and put +upon by the daughter of Flint, that parvenu, absolutely floored him. For +a moment he sat there speechless, unable even to reach for his drink; +but presently some coherence returned. He was about to utter what he +conceived to be a strong rejoinder, when the girl suddenly standing up, +turned her back upon him and ignored him as completely as she might have +ignored any of the menials of the club.</p> + +<p>His irritated glance followed hers. There, far down <a name="Page_91"></a>the drive, just +rounding the long turn by the artificial lake, a big blue motor car was +speeding up the grade at a good clip. Van Slyke recognized it, and swore +below his breath.</p> + +<p>"Wally, at last, damn him!" he muttered. "Just when I was beginning to +make headway with Kate!"</p> + +<p>Vexed beyond endurance, he drummed on the cloth with angry fingers; but +Catherine was oblivious. Unmindful of the merry-makers at the other +tables, the girl waved her handkerchief at the swiftly-approaching +motor. Waldron, from the back seat, raised an answering hand—though +without enthusiasm. Above all things he hated demonstration, and the +girl's frank manner, free, unconventional and not yet broken to the +harness of Mrs. Grundy, never failed to irritate him.</p> + +<p>"Very incorrect for people in our set," he often thought. "But for the +present I can do nothing. Once she is my wife, ah, then I shall find +means to curb her. For the present, however, I must let her have her +head."</p> + +<p>Such was now his frame of mind as the long car slid under the +porte-cochère and came to a stand. He would have infinitely preferred +that the girl should wait his coming to her, on the piazza; but already +she had slung her bag of sticks over her strong shoulder, and was down +the steps to meet him. Her leave-taking of the incensed Van Slyke had +been the merest nod.</p> + +<p>"You're late, Wally," said she, smiling with her usual good humor, which +had already quite dissipated her impatience. "Late, but I'll forgive +you, this time. I'm afraid we won't have time to do all eighteen holes +round. What kept you?"</p> + +<p>"Business, business!" he answered, frowning. "Always <a name="Page_92"></a>the same old +grind, Kate. You women don't understand. I tell you, this slaving in +Wall Street isn't what it's cracked up to be. I couldn't get away till +11:30. Then, just had a quick bite of lunch, and broke every speed law +in New York getting here. Do you forgive me?"</p> + +<p>He had descended from the car, in speaking. They shook hands, while the +chauffeur stood at attention and all the gossips on the piazza, scenting +the possibility of a disagreement, craned discreetly eager necks and +listened intently.</p> + +<p>"Forgive you? Of course—this time, but never again," the girl laughed. +"Now, run along and get into your flannels. I'll meet you on the driving +green, in ten minutes. Not another second, mind, or—"</p> + +<p>"I'll be on the dot," he answered. "Here, boy," beckoning a caddy, "take +Miss Flint's sticks. And have mine carried to the green. Look sharp, +now!"</p> + +<p>Then, with a nod at the girl, he ran up the steps and vanished in the +club-house, bound for the locker-room.</p> + +<p>Fifteen minutes the girl waited on the green, watching others drive off +from the little tees and inwardly chafing to be in action. Fifteen, and +then twenty, before Waldron finally appeared, immaculate in white, +bare-armed and with a loose, checked cap shading his close-set eyes. The +fact was, in addition to having changed his clothes, he had felt obliged +to linger in the bar for a little Scotch; and one drink had meant +another; and thus precious moments had sped.</p> + +<p>But his smile was confident as he approached the green. Women, after +all, he reflected, were meant to be kept waiting. They never appreciated +a man who kept appointments exactly. Not less fatuous at heart, in +truth, was <a name="Page_93"></a>he, than the unfortunate Van Slyke. But his manner was +perfection as he saluted her and bade the caddy build their tees.</p> + +<p>The girl, however, was now plainly vexed. Her mouth had drawn a trifle +tight and the tilt of her chin was determined. Her eyes were far from +soft, as she surveyed this delinquent fiancé.</p> + +<p>"I don't like you a bit, today, Wally," said she, as he deliberated +over the club-bag, choosing a driver. "This makes twice you've kept me +waiting. I warn you don't let it happen again!"</p> + +<p>Under the seeming banter of her tone lurked real resentment. But he, +with a smile—partly due to a finger too much Scotch—only answered, in +a low tone:</p> + +<p>"You're adorable, today, Kate! The combination of fresh air and +annoyance has painted the most wonderful roses on your cheeks!"</p> + +<p>She shrugged her shoulders with a little motion she had inherited from +French ancestry, stooped, set her golf ball on the little mound of sand, +exactly to suit her, and raised her driver on high.</p> + +<p>"Nine holes," said she, "and I'm going to beat you, today!"</p> + +<p>He frowned a little at the spirit of the threat, for any self-assertion +in a woman crossed his grain; but soon forgot his pique in admiration of +the drive.</p> + +<p>Swishing, her club flashed down in a quick circle. <i>Crack!</i> It struck +the gutta-percha squarely. The little white sphere zipped away like a +rocket, rose in a far trajectory, up, up, toward the water-hazard at the +foot of the grassy slope, then down in a long curve.</p> + +<p>Even while the girl's cry of "Fore!" was echoing across <a name="Page_94"></a>the green, the +ball struck earth, ricochetted and sped on, away, across the turf, till +it came to rest not twenty yards from the putting green of the first +hole.</p> + +<p>"Wheeoo!" whistled Waldron. "Some drive. I guess you're going to make +good your threat, today, Kate of my heart!"</p> + +<p>The smile she flashed at him showed that her resentment had, for the +moment, been forgotten.</p> + +<p>"Come on, Wally, now let's see what <i>you</i> can do," said she, starting +off down the slope, while her meek caddy tagged at a respectful +distance.</p> + +<p>Waldron, thus adjured, teed up and swung at the ball. But the Scotch had +by no means steadied his aim. He foozled badly and broke his pet driver, +into the bargain. The steel head of it flew farther even than the ball, +which moved hardly ten yards.</p> + +<p>"Damn!" he muttered, under his breath, choosing another stick and +glancing with real irritation at Catherine's lithe, splendidly poised +figure already some distance down the slope.</p> + +<p>His second stroke was more successful, nearly equalling hers. But her +advantage, thus early won, was not destined to be lost again. And as the +game proceeded, Waldron's temper grew steadily worse and worse.</p> + +<p>Thus began, for these two people, an hour destined to be fraught with +such pregnant developments—an hour which, in its own way, vitally bore +on the great loom now weaving warp and woof of world events.</p> + + + +<br /><hr style="width: 65%;" /><br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_XI"></a><h3><a name="Page_95"></a>CHAPTER XI.</h3> + +<h4>THE END OF TWO GAMES.</h4> +<br /> + +<p>Trivial events sometimes precipitate catastrophies. It has been said +that had James MacDonald not left the farm gate open, at Hugomont, +Waterloo might have ended otherwise. So now, the rupture between +Catherine Flint and Maxim Waldron was precipitated by a single unguarded +oath.</p> + +<p>It was at the ninth hole, down back of the Terrace Woods bunker. +Waldron, heated by exercise and the whiskey he had drunk, had already +dismissed the caddies and had undertaken to carry the clubs, himself, +hoping—man-fashion—to steal a kiss or two from Catherine, along the +edge of the close-growing oaks and maples. But all his plans went agley, +for Catherine really made good and beat him, there, by half a dozen +strokes; and as her little sphere, deftly driven by the putting-iron +gripped in her brown, firm hands, rolled precisely over the cropped turf +and fell into the tinned hole, the man ejaculated a perfectly audible +"<i>Hell!</i>"</p> + +<p>She stood erect and faced him, with a singular expression in those level +gray eyes—eyes the look of which could allure or wither, could entice +or command.</p> + +<p>"Wally," said she, "did you swear?"</p> + +<p>"I—er—why, yes," he stammered, taken aback and realizing, despite his +chagrin, how very poor and unsportsmanlike a figure he was cutting.</p> + +<p>"<a name="Page_96"></a>I don't like it," she returned. "Not a little bit, Wally. It isn't +game, and it isn't manly. You must respect me, now and always. I can't +have profanity, and I won't."</p> + +<p>He essayed lame apologies, but a sudden, hot anger seemed to have +possessed him, in presence of this free, independent, exacting +woman—this woman who, worst of all, had just beaten him at the game of +all games he prided himself on playing well. And despite his every +effort, she saw through the veil of sheer, perfunctory courtesy; and +seeing, flushed with indignation.</p> + +<p>"Wally," she said in a low, quiet tone, fixing a singular gaze upon him, +"Wally, I don't know what to make of you lately. The other night at Idle +Hour, you hardly looked at me. You and father spent the whole evening +discussing some business or other—"</p> + +<p>"Most important business, my dear girl, I do assure you," protested +Waldron, trying to steady his voice. "Most vitally—"</p> + +<p>"No matter about that," she interposed. "It could have been abridged, a +trifle. I barely got six words out of you, that evening; and let me tell +you, Wally, a woman never forgets neglect. She may forgive it; but +forget it, never!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, well, if you put it that way—" he began, but checked himself in +time to suppress the cutting rejoinder he had at his tongue's end.</p> + +<p>"I do, and it's vital, Wally," she answered. "It's all part and parcel +of some singular kind of change that's been coming over you, lately, +like a blight. You haven't been yourself, at all, these few days past. +Something or other, I don't know what, has been coming between us. +You've got something else on your mind, beside me—<a name="Page_97"></a>something bigger and +more important to you than I am—and—and—"</p> + +<p>He pulled out his gold cigar-case, chose and lighted a cigar to steady +his nerve, and faced her with a smile—the worst tactic he could +possibly have chosen in dealing with this woman. Supremely successful in +handling men, he lacked finesse and insight with the other sex; and now +that lack, in his moment of need, was bringing him moment by moment +nearer the edge of catastrophe.</p> + +<p>"I don't like it at all, Waldron," she resumed, again. "You were late, +the other night, in taking me to the Flower Show. You were late, today, +for our appointment here; and the ten minutes I gave you to get ready +in, stretched out to twenty before you—"</p> + +<p>He interrupted her with a gesture of uncontrollable vexation.</p> + +<p>"Really, my dear Kate," he exclaimed, "if you—er—insist on holding me +to account for every moment—"</p> + +<p>"You've been drinking, too, a little," she kept on. "And you know I +detest it! And just now, when I beat you in a square game, you so far +forgot yourself as to swear. Now, Waldron—"</p> + +<p>"Oh, puritanical, eh?" he sneered, ignoring the danger signals in her +eyes. Even yet there might have been some chance of avoiding shipwreck, +had he heeded those twin beacons, humbled himself, made amends by due +apology and promised reformation. For though Catherine never had truly +loved this man, some years older than herself and of radically different +character, still she liked and respected him, and found him—by his very +force and dominance—far more to her taste than the insipid hangers-on, +sons of fortune or fortune-hunters, who, like the <a name="Page_98"></a>sap-brained Van +Slyke, made up so great a part of her "set."</p> + +<p>So, all might yet have been amended; but this was not to be. Never yet +had "Tiger" Waldron bowed the neck to living man or woman. Dominance was +his whole scheme of life. Though he might purr, politely enough, so long +as his fur was smoothed the right way, a single backward stroke set his +fangs gleaming and unsheathed every sabre-like claw. And now this woman, +his fiancée though she was, her beauty dear to him and her charm most +fascinating, her fortune much desired and most of all, an alliance with +her father—now this woman, despite all these considerations, had with a +few incisive words ruffled his temper beyond endurance.</p> + +<p>So great was his agitation that, despite his strongest instinct of +saving, he flung away the scarcely-tasted cigar.</p> + +<p>"Kate," he exclaimed, his very tongue thick with the rage he could not +quell, "Kate, I can't stand this! You're going too far. What do you know +of men's work and men's affairs? Who are you, to judge of their times of +coming and going, their obligations, their habits and man of life? What +do <i>you</i> understand—?"</p> + +<p>"It's obvious," she replied with glacial coldness, "that I don't +understand <i>you</i>, and never have. I have been living in a dream, Wally; +seeing you through the glass of illusion; not reality. After all, you're +like all men—just the same, no different. Idealism, self-sacrifice, con +true nobility of character, where are these, in you? What is there but +the same old selfishness, the same innate masculine conceit and—"</p> + +<p>"No more of this, Kate!" cried the financier, paling a little. "No more! +I can't have it! I won't—it's im<a name="Page_99"></a>possible! You—you don't understand, I +tell you. In your narrow, untrained, woman's way, you try to set up +standards for me; try to judge me, and dictate to me. Some old +puritanical streak in you is cropping out, some blue-law atavism, some I +know not what, that rebels against my taking a drink—like every other +man. That cries out against my letting slip a harmless oath—again, like +every other man that lives and breathes. Every man, that is, who <i>is</i> a +man, a real man, not a dummy! If you've been mistaken in me, how much +more have I, in you! And so—"</p> + +<p>"And so," she took the very words from his pale lips, "we've both been +mistaken, that's all. No, no," she forbade him with raised hand, as he +would have interrupted with protests. "No, you needn't try to convince +me otherwise, now. A thousand volumes of speeches, after this, couldn't +do it. An hour's insight into the true depths of a man's character—yes, +even a moment's—perfectly suffices to show the truth. You've just drawn +the veil aside, Wally, for me, and let me look at the true picture. All +that I've known and thought of you, so far, has been sham and illusion. +Now, I <i>know</i> you!"</p> + +<p>"You—you don't, Catherine!" he exclaimed, half in anger, half +contrition, terrified at last by the imminent break between them, by the +thought of losing this rich flower from the garden of womanhood, this +splendid financial and social prize. "I—I've done wrong, Kate. I admit +it. But, truly—"</p> + +<p>"No more," said she, and in her voice sounded a command he knew, at +last, was quite inexorable. "I'm not like other women of our set, +perhaps. I can't be bought and sold, Wally, with money and position. I +can't marry <a name="Page_100"></a>a man, and have to live with him, if he shows himself +petty, or small, or narrow in any way. I must be free, free as air, as +long as I live. Even in marriage, I must be free. Freedom can only come +with the union of two souls that understand and help and inspire each +other. Anything else is slavery—and worse!"</p> + +<p>She shuddered, and for a moment turned half away from him, as, now +contrite enough for the minute, he stood there looking at her with dazed +eyes. For a second the idea came to him that he must take her in his +arms, there in the edge of the woods, burn kisses on her ripe mouth, win +her back to him by force, as he had won all life's battles. He would +not, could not, let this prize escape him now. A wave of desire surged +through his being. He took a step toward her, his trembling arms open to +seize her lithe, seductive body. But she, retreating, held him away with +repellant palms.</p> + +<p>"No, no, no!" she cried. "Not now—never that, any more! I must be free, +Wally—free as air!"</p> + +<p>She raised her face toward the vast reaches of the sky, breathed deep +and for a moment closed her eyes, as though bathing her very soul in the +sweet freedom of the out-of-doors.</p> + +<p>"Free as air!" she whispered. "Let me go!"</p> + +<p>He started violently. Her simile had struck him like a lash.</p> + +<p>"Free—as what?" he exclaimed hoarsely. "As <i>air?</i> But—but there's no +such freedom, I tell you! Air isn't free any more—or won't be, soon! It +will be everything, anything but free, before another year is gone! Free +as air? You—you don't understand! Your father and I—<a name="Page_101"></a>we shall soon own +the air. Free as air? Yes, if you like! For that—that means you, too, +must belong to me!"</p> + +<p>Again he sought to take her, to hold her and overmaster her. But she, +now wide-eyed with a kind of sudden terror at this latest outbreak, this +seeming madness on his part, which she could nowise fathom or +comprehend, retreated ever more and more, away from him.</p> + +<p>Then suddenly with a quick effort, she stripped off the splendid, +blazing diamond from her finger, and held it out to him.</p> + +<p>"Wally," said she, calm now and quite herself again, "Wally, let's be +friends. Just that and nothing more. Dear, good, companionable friends, +as we used to be, long years ago, before this madness seized us—this +chimera of—of love!"</p> + +<p>As a bull charging, is struck to the heart by the sword of the matador, +and stops in his tracks, motionless and dazed before he falls, so +"Tiger" Waldron stopped, wholly stunned by this abrupt and crushing +denouement.</p> + +<p>For a moment, man and woman faced each other. Not a word was spoken. +Catherine had no word to say; and Waldron, though his lips worked, could +bring none to utterance. Then their eyes met; and his lowered.</p> + +<p>"Good-bye," said she quietly. "Good-bye forever, as my betrothed. When +we meet again, Wally, it will be as friends, and nothing more. And now, +let me go. Don't come with me. I prefer to be alone. I'd rather walk, a +bit, and think—and then go back quietly to the club-house, and so home, +in my car. Don't follow me. Here—take this, and—good-bye."</p> + +<p>Mechanically he accepted the gleaming jewel. Mechan<a name="Page_102"></a>ically, like a man +without sense or reason, he watched her walk away from him, upright and +strong and lithe, voluptuous and desirable in every motion of that +splendid body, now lost to him forever. Then all at once, entering a +woodland path that led by a short cut back to the club-house, she +vanished from his sight.</p> + +<p>Vanished, without having even so much as turned to look at him again, or +wave that firm brown hand.</p> + +<p>Then, seeming to waken from his daze, "Tiger" laughed, a terrible and +cruel laugh; and then he flung a frightful blasphemy upon the still June +air; and then he dashed the wondrous diamond to earth, and stamped and +dug it with a perfect frenzy of rage into the soft mold.</p> + +<p>And, last of all, with lowered head and lips that moved in fearful +curses, he crashed away into the woods, away from the path where the +girl was, away from the club-house, away, away, thirsting for solitude +and time to quell his passion, salve his wounded pride and ponder +measures of terrible revenge.</p> + +<p>The diamond ring, crushed into the earth, and the golf clubs, lying +where they had fallen from the disputants' hands, now remained there as +melancholy reminders of the double game—love and golf—which had so +suddenly ended in disaster.</p> + + + +<br /><hr style="width: 65%;" /><br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_XII"></a><h3><a name="Page_103"></a>CHAPTER XII.</h3> + +<h4>ON THE GREAT HIGHWAY.</h4> +<br /> + +<p>As violently rent from his job as Maxim Waldron had been torn from his +alliance with Catherine, Gabriel Armstrong met the sudden change in his +affairs with far more equanimity than the financier could muster. Once +the young electrician's first anger had subsided—and he had pretty well +mastered it before he had reached the Oakwood Heights station—he began +philosophically to turn the situation in his mind, and to rough out his +plans for the future.</p> + +<p>"Things might be worse, all round," he reflected, as he strode along at +a smart pace. "During the seven months I've been working for these +pirates, I've managed to pay off the debt I got into at the time of the +big E. W. strike, and I've got eighteen dollars or a little more in +my pocket. My clothes will do a while longer. Even though Flint +blacklists me all over the country, as he probably will, I can duck into +some job or other, somewhere. And most important of all, I know what's +due to happen in America—I've seen that note-book! Let them do what +they will, they can't take <i>that</i> knowledge away from me!"</p> + +<p>The outlook, on the whole, was cheering. Gabriel broke into a whistle, +as he swung along the highway, and slashed cheerfully with his heavy +stick at the dusty bushes by the roadside. A vigorous, pleasing figure +of a man <a name="Page_104"></a>he made, striding onward in his blue flannel shirt and +corduroys, stout boots making light of distance, somewhat rebellious +black hair clustering under his cap, blue eyes clear and steady as the +sunlight itself. There must have been a drop of Irish blood somewhere or +other in his veins, to have given him that ruddy cheek, those eyes, that +hair, that quick enthusiasm and that swiftness to anger—then, by +reaction, that quick buoyancy which so soon banished everything but +courageous optimism from his hot heart.</p> + +<p>Thus the man walked, all his few worldly belongings—most precious among +them his union card and his red Socialist card—packed in the knapsack +strapped to his broad shoulders. And as he walked, he formulated his +plans.</p> + +<p>"Niagara for mine," he decided. "It's there these hellions mean to start +their devilish work of enslaving the whole world. It's there I want to +be, and must be, to follow the infernal job from the beginning and to +nail it, when the right time comes. I'll put in a day or two with my old +friend, Sam Underwood, up in the Bronx, and maybe tell him what's doing +and frame out the line of action with him. But after that, I strike for +Niagara—yes, and on foot!"</p> + +<p>This decision came to him as strongly desirable. Not for some time, he +knew, could the actual work of building the Air Trust plant be started +at Niagara. Meanwhile, he wanted to keep out of sight, as much as +possible. He wanted, also to save every cent. Again, his usual mode of +travel had always been either to ride the rods or "hike" it on shanks' +mare. Bitterly opposed to swelling the railways' revenues by even a +penny, Arm<a name="Page_105"></a>strong in the past few years of his life had done some +thousands of miles, afoot, all over the country. His best means of +Socialist propaganda, he had found, was in just such meanderings along +the highways and hedges of existence—a casual job, here or there, for a +day, a week, a month—then, quick friendships; a little talk; a few +leaflets handed to the intelligent, if he could find any. He had laced +the continent with such peregrinations, always sowing the seed of +revolution wherever he had passed; getting in touch with the Movement +all over the republic; keeping his finger on the pulse of ever-growing, +always-strengthening Socialism.</p> + +<p>Such had his habits long been. And now, once more adrift and jobless, +but with the most tremendous secret of the ages in his possession, he +naturally turned to the comfort and the calming influence of the broad +highway, in his long journey towards the place where he was to meet, in +desperate opposition, the machinations of the Air Trust magnates.</p> + +<p>"It's the only way for me," he decided, as he turned into the road +leading toward Saint George and the Manhattan Ferry. "Flint and Herzog +will be sure to put Slade and the Cosmos people after me. Blacklisting +will be the least of what they'll try to do. They'll use slugging +tactics, sure, if they get a chance, or railroad me to some Pen or +other, if possible. My one best bet is to keep out of their way; and I +figure I'm ten times safer on the open road, with a few dollars to stave +off a vagrancy charge, and with two good fists and this stick to keep +'em at a distance, than I would be on the railroads or in cheap dumps +along the way.</p> + +<p>"<a name="Page_106"></a>The last place they'll ever think of looking for me will be the big +outdoors. <i>Their</i> idea of hunting for a workman is to dragnet the back +rooms of saloons—especially if they're after a Socialist. That's the +limit of their intelligence, to connect Socialism and beer. I'll beat +'em; I'll hike—and it's a hundred to one I land in Niagara with more +cash than when I started, with better health, more knowledge, and the +freedom that, alone, can save the world now from the most damnable +slavery that ever threatened its existence!"</p> + +<p>Thus reasoning, with perfect clarity and a long-headedness that proved +him a strategist at four-and-twenty, Gabriel Armstrong whistled a louder +note as he tramped away to northward, away from the hateful presence of +Herzog, away from the wage-slavery of the Oakwood Heights plant, +away—with that precious secret in his brain—toward the far scene of +destined warfare, where stranger things were to ensue than even he could +possibly conceive.</p> + +<p>Saturday morning found him, his visit with Underwood at an end, already +twenty miles or more from the Bronx River, marching along through +Haverstraw, up the magnificent road that fringes the Hudson—now hidden +from the mighty river behind a forest-screen, now curving on bold +abutments right above the sun-kissed expanses of Haverstraw Bay, here +more than two miles from wooded shore to shore.</p> + +<p>At eleven, he halted at a farm house, some miles north of the town, got +a job on the woodpile, and astonished the farmer by the amount of birch +he could saw in an hour. He took his pay in the shape of a bountiful +dinner, and—after half an hour's smoke and talk with the farmer, to +<a name="Page_107"></a>whom he gave a few pamphlets from the store in his knapsack—said +good-bye to all hands and once more set his face northward for the long +hike through much wilder country, to West Point, where he hoped to pass +the night.</p> + +<p>Thus we must leave him, for a while. For now the thread of our +narration, like the silken cord in the Labyrinth of Crete, leads us back +to the Country Club at Longmeadow, the scene, that very afternoon, of +the sudden and violent rupture between the financier and Catherine +Flint.</p> + +<p>Catherine, her first indignation somewhat abated, and now vastly +relieved at the realization that she indeed was free from her loveless +and long-since irksome alliance with Waldron, calmly enough returned to +the club-house. Head well up, and eyes defiant, she walked up the broad +steps and into the office. Little cared she whether the piazza +gossips—The Hammer and Anvil Club, in local slang—divined the quarrel +or not. The girl felt herself immeasurably indifferent to such +pettinesses as prying small talk and innuendo. Let people know, or not, +as might be, she cared not a whit. Her business was her own. No wagging +of tongues could one hair's breadth disturb that splendid calm of hers.</p> + +<p>The clerk, behind the desk, smiled and nodded at her approach.</p> + +<p>"Please have my car brought round to the porte-cochère, at once?" she +asked. "And tell Herrick to be sure there's plenty of gas for a long +run. I'm going through to New York."</p> + +<p>"So soon?" queried the clerk. "I'm sure your father will be +disappointed, Miss Flint. He's just wired that he's coming out tomorrow, +to spend Sunday here. He particularly asks to have you remain. See +here?"</p> + +<p><a name="Page_108"></a>He handed her a telegram. She glanced it over, then crumpled it and +tossed it into the office fire-place.</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry," she answered. "But I can't stay. I must get back, to-night. +I'll telegraph father not to come. A blank, please?"</p> + +<p>The clerk handed her one. She pondered a second, then wrote:</p> + +<div class="blkquot"><p><i>Dear Father: A change of plans makes me return home at once. + Please wait and see me there. I've something important to talk over + with you.</i></p> + +<p> <i>Affectionately</i>,</p> + +<p> <i>Kate</i>.</p></div> + +<p>Ordinarily people try to squeeze their message to ten words, and count +and prune and count again; but not so, Catherine. For her, a telegram +had never contained any space limit. It meant less to her than a +post-card to you or me. Not that the girl was consciously extravagant. +No, had you asked her, she would have claimed rigid economy—she rarely, +for instance, paid more than a hundred dollars for a morning gown, or +more than a thousand for a ball-dress. It was simply that the idea of +counting words had never yet occurred to her. And so now, she +complacently handed this verbose message to the clerk, who—thoroughly +well-trained—understood it was to be charged on her father's perfectly +staggering monthly bill.</p> + +<p>"Very well, Miss Flint," said he. "I'll send this at once. And your car +will be ready for you in ten minutes—or five, if you like?"</p> + +<p>"<a name="Page_109"></a>Ten will do, thank you," she answered. Then she crossed to the +elevator and went up to her own suite of rooms on the second floor, for +her motor-coat and veils.</p> + +<p>"Free, thank heaven!" she breathed, with infinite relief, as she stood +before the tall mirror, adjusting these for the long trip. "Free from +that man forever. What a narrow escape! If things hadn't happened just +as they did, and if I hadn't had that precious insight into Wally's +character—good Lord!—catastrophe! Oh, I haven't been so happy since +I—since—why, I've <i>never</i> been so happy in all my life!</p> + +<p>"Wally, dear boy," she added, turning toward the window as though +apostrophizing him in reality, "now we can be good friends. Now all the +sham and pretense are at an end, forever. As a friend, you may be +splendid. As a husband—oh, impossible!"</p> + +<p>Lighter of heart than she had been for years, was she, with the added +zest of the long spin through the beauty of the June country before +her—down among the hills and cliffs, among the forests and broad +valleys—down to New York again, back to the father and the home she +loved better than all else in the world.</p> + +<p>In this happy frame of mind she presently entered the low-hung, +swift-motored car, settled herself on the luxurious cushions and said +"Home, at once!" to Herrick.</p> + +<p>He nodded, but did not speak. He felt, in truth, somewhat incapable of +quite incoherent speech. Not having expected any service till next day, +he had foregathered with others of his ilk in the servants' bar, +below-stairs, and had with wassail and good cheer very effectively put +himself out of commission.</p> + +<p>But, somewhat sobered by this quick summons, he had <a name="Page_110"></a>managed to pull +together. Now, drunk though he was, he sat there at the wheel, steady +enough—so long as he held on to it—and only by the redness of his face +and a certain glassy look in his eye, betrayed the fact of his +intoxication. The girl, busy with her farewells as the car drew up for +her, had not observed him. At the last moment Van Slyke waved a foppish +hand at her, and smirked adieux. She acknowledged his good-bye with a +smile, so happy was she at the outcome of her golf-game; then cast a +quick glance up at the club windows, fearing to see the harsh face of +Wally peeping down at her in anger.</p> + +<p>But he was nowhere to be seen; and now, with a sudden acceleration of +the powerful six-cylinder engine, the big gray car moved smoothly +forward. Growling in its might, it swung in a wide circle round the +sweep of the drive, gathered speed and shot away down the grade toward +the stone gates of the entrance, a quarter mile distant.</p> + +<p>Presently it swerved through these, to southward. Club-house, waving +handkerchiefs and all vanished from Kate's view.</p> + +<p>"Faster, Herrick," she commanded, leaning forward, "I must be home by +half past five."</p> + +<p>Again he nodded, and notched spark and throttle down. The car, leaping +like a wild creature, began to hum at a swift clip along the smooth, +white road toward Newburgh on the Hudson.</p> + +<p>Thirty miles an hour the speedometer showed, then thirty-five and forty. +Again the drunken chauffeur, still master of his machine despite the +poison pulsing in his <a name="Page_111"></a>dazed brain, snicked the little levers further +down. Forty-five, fifty, fifty-five, the figures on the dial showed.</p> + +<p>Now the exhaust ripped in a crackling staccato, like a machine gun, as +the chauffeur threw out the muffler. Behind, a long trail of dust rose, +whirling in the air. Catherine, a sportswoman born, leaned back and +smiled with keen pleasure, while her yellow veil, whipping sharply on +the wind, let stray locks of that wonderful red-gold hair stream about +her flushed face.</p> + +<p>Thus she sped homeward, driven at a mad race by a man whose every sense +was numbed and stultified by alcohol—homeward, along a road up which, +far, far away, another man, keen, sober and alert, was trudging with a +knapsack on his broad back, swinging a stick and whistling cheerily as +he went.</p> + +<p>Fate, that strange moulder of human destinies, what had it in store for +these two, this woman and this man? This daughter of a billionaire, and +this young proletarian?</p> + +<p>Who could foresee, or, foreseeing, could believe what even now stood +written on the Book of Destiny?</p> + + + +<br /><hr style="width: 65%;" /><br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_XIII"></a><h3><a name="Page_112"></a>CHAPTER XIII.</h3> + +<h4>CATASTROPHE!</h4> +<br /> + +<p>For a time no danger seemed to threaten. Kate was not only fearless as a +passenger, but equally intrepid at the wheel. Many a time and oft she +had driven her father's highest-powered car at dizzying speeds along +worse roads than the one her machine was now following. Velocity was to +her a kind of stimulant, wonderfully pleasurable; and now, realizing +nothing of the truth that Herrick was badly the worse for liquor, she +leaned back in the tonneau, breathed the keen slashing air with delight, +and let her eyes wander over the swiftly-changing panorama of forest, +valley, lake and hill that, in ever new and more radiant beauty, sped +away, away, as the huge car leaped down the smooth and rushing road.</p> + +<p>Dust and pebbles flew in the wake of the machine, as it gathered +velocity. Beneath it, the highway sped like an endless white ribbon, +whirling back and away with smooth rapidity. No common road, this, but +one which the State authorities had very obligingly built especially for +the use of millionaires' motor cars, all through the region of +country-clubs, parks, bungalows and summer-resorts dotting the west +shore region of the Hudson. Let the farmer truck his produce through mud +and ruts, if he would. Let the country folk drive their ramshackle +buggies over rocks and stumps, if they so chose. Nothing of that sort +for millionaires! No, <i>they</i> must have ma<a name="Page_113"></a>cadam and smooth, long curves, +easy grades and—where the road swung high above the gleaming +river—retaining walls to guard them from plunging into the palisaded +abyss below.</p> + +<p>At just such a place it was, where the road made a sharper turn than any +the drunken chauffeur had reckoned on, that catastrophe leaped out to +shatter the rushing car.</p> + +<p>Only a minute before, Kate—a little uneasy now, at the truly reckless +speeding of the driver, and at the daredevil way in which he was taking +curves without either sounding his siren or reducing speed—had touched +him on the shoulder, with a command: "Not <i>quite</i> so fast, Herrick! Be +careful!"</p> + +<p>His only answer had been a drunken laugh.</p> + +<p>"Careful nothing!" he slobbered, to himself. "You wanted speed—an' +now—hc!—b'Jesus, you <i>get</i>—hc!—speed! <i>I</i> ain't +'fraid—are—hc!—<i>you?</i>"</p> + +<p>She had not heard the words, but had divined their meaning.</p> + +<p>"Herrick!" she commanded sharply, leaning forward. "What's the matter +with you? Obey me, do you hear? Not so fast!"</p> + +<p>A whiff of alcoholic breath suddenly told her the truth. For a second +she sat there, as though petrified, with fear now for the first time +clutching at her heart.</p> + +<p>"Stop at once!" she cried, gripping the man by the collar of his livery. +"You—you're drunk, Herrick! I—I'll have you discharged, at once, when +we get home. Stop, do you hear me? You're not fit to drive. I'll take +the wheel myself!"</p> + +<p><a name="Page_114"></a>But Herrick, hopelessly under the influence of the poison, which had +now produced its full effect, paid no heed.</p> + +<p>"Y'—can't dri' <i>thish</i> car!" he muttered, in maudlin accents. "Too +big—too heavy for—hc!—woman! I—<i>I</i> dri' it all right, drunk or +sober! Good chauffeur—good car—I know thish car! You won't fire +me—hc!—for takin' drink or two, huh? I drive you all ri'—drive you to +New York or to—hc!—Hell! Same thing, no difference, ha! ha!—I—"</p> + +<p>A sudden blaze of rage crimsoned the girl's face. In all her life she +never had been thus spoken to. For a second she clenched her fist, as +though to strike down this sodden brute there in the seat before her—a +feat she would have been quite capable of. But second thought convinced +her of the peril of such an act. Ahead of them a long down-grade +stretched away, away, to a turn half-hidden under the arching greenery. +As the car struck this slope, it leaped into ever greater speed; and +now, under the erratic guidance of the lolling wretch at the wheel, it +began to sway in long, unsteady curves, first toward one ditch, then the +other.</p> + +<p>Another woman would have screamed; might even have tried to jump out. +But Kate was not of the hysteric sort. More practical, she.</p> + +<p>"I've got to climb over into the front seat," she realized in a flash, +"and shut off the current—cut the power off—stop the car!"</p> + +<p>On the instant, she acted. But as she arose in the tonneau, Herrick, +sensing her purpose, turned toward her in the sudden rage of complete +intoxication.</p> + +<p>"Naw—naw y' don't!" he shouted, his face perfectly <a name="Page_115"></a>purple with fury +and drink. "No woman—he!—runs this old boat while I'm aboard, see? Go +on, fire me! <i>I</i> don't give—damn! But you don't run—car! Sit down! <i>I</i> +run car—New York or Hell—no matter which! <i>I</i>—"</p> + +<p>Hurtling down the slope like a runaway comet, now wholly out of control, +the powerful gray car leaped madly at the turn.</p> + +<p>Catherine, her heart sick at last with terror, caught a second's glimpse +of forest, on one hand; of a stone wall with tree-tops on some steep +abyss below, just grazing it, on the other. Through these trees she saw +a momentary flash of water, far beneath.</p> + +<p>Then the leaping front wheels struck a cluster of loose pebbles, at the +bend.</p> + +<p>Wrenched from the drunkard's grip, the steering wheel jerked sharply +round.</p> + +<p>A skidding—a crash—a cry!</p> + +<p>Over the roadway, vacant now, floated a tenuous cloud of dust and +gasoline-vapor, commingled.</p> + +<p>In the retaining-wall at the left, a jagged gap appeared. Suddenly, far +below, toward the river, a crashing detonation shattered harsh echoes +from shore to shore.</p> + +<p>Came a quick flash of light; then thick, black, greasy smoke arose, and, +wafting through the treetops, drifted away on the warm wind of that late +June afternoon.</p> + +<p>A man, some quarter of a mile to southward, on the great highway, paused +suddenly at sound of this explosion.</p> + +<p>For a moment he stood there listening acutely, a knotted stick in hand, +his flannel shirt, open at the throat, showing a brown and corded neck. +The heavy knapsack <a name="Page_116"></a>on his shoulders seemed no burden to that rugged +strength, as he stood, poised and eager, every sense centered in keen +attention.</p> + +<p>"Trouble ahead, there, by the Eternal!" he suddenly exclaimed. His eye +had just caught sight of the first trailing wreaths of smoke, from up +the cliff. "An auto's gone to smash, down there, or I'm a plute!"</p> + +<p>He needed no second thought to hurl him forward to the rescue. At a +smart pace he ran, halloo'ing loudly, to tell the victims—should they +still live—that help was at hand. At his right, extended the wall. At +his left, a grove of sugar-maples, sparsely set, climbed a long slope, +over the ridge of which the descending sun glowed warmly. Somewhat back +from the road, a rough shack which served as a sugar-house for the +spring sap-boiling, stood with gaping door, open to all the winds that +blew. These things he noted subconsciously, as he ran.</p> + +<p>Then, all at once, as he rounded a sharp turn, he drew up with a cry.</p> + +<p>"Down the cliff!" he exclaimed. "Knocked the wall clean out, and +plunged! Holy Mackinaw, what a smash!"</p> + +<p>In a moment he had reached the scene of the catastrophe. His quick eye +took in, almost at a glance, the skidding mark of the wheels, the ragged +rent in the wall, the broken limbs of trees below.</p> + +<p>"Some wreck!" he ejaculated, dropping his stick and throwing off his +knapsack. "<i>Hello, Hello, down there!</i>" he loudly hailed, scrambling +through the gap.</p> + +<p>From below, no answer.</p> + +<p>A silence, as of death, broken only by the echo of his own voice, was +all that greeted his wild cry.</p> + +<a name="Page_117"></a><a name="Image_3"></a><center> +<img src="images/image-3.jpg" height="75%" alt="He gathered her up as though she had been a child." title=""> +</center> +<div class="caption"><center><b>He gathered her up as though she had been a child.</b></center></div> + + +<br /><hr style="width: 65%;" /><br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_XIV"></a><h3><a name="Page_118"></a>CHAPTER XIV.</h3> + +<h4>THE RESCUE.</h4> +<br /> + +<p>Gabriel Armstrong leaped, rather than clambered, through the gap in the +wall, and, following the track of devastation through the trees, +scrambled down the steep slope that led toward the Hudson.</p> + +<p>The forest looked as though a car of Juggernaut had passed that way. +Limbs and saplings lay in confusion, larger trees showed long wounds +upon their bark, and here and there pieces of metal—a gray mud-guard, a +car door, a wind-shield frame, with shattered plate glass still clinging +to it—lay scattered on the precipitous declivity. Beside these, hanging +to a branch, Gabriel saw a gaily-striped auto robe; and, further down, a +heavy, fringed shawl.</p> + +<p>Again he shouted, holding to a tree-trunk at the very edge of a cliff of +limestone, and peering far down into the abyss where the car had taken +its final plunge. Still no answer. But, from below, the heavy smoke +still rose. And now, peering more keenly, Armstrong caught sight of the +wreck itself.</p> + +<p>"There it is, and burning like the pit of Hell!" he exclaimed. +"And—what's that, under it? A man?"</p> + +<p>He could not distinctly make out, so thick the foliage was. But it +seemed to him that, from under the jumbled wreckage of the blazing +machine, something protruded, <a name="Page_119"></a>something that suggested a human form, +horribly mangled.</p> + +<p>"Here's where I go down this cliff, whatever happens!" decided Gabriel. +And, acting on the instant, he began swinging himself down from tree to +bush, from shrub to tuft of grass, clinging wherever handhold or +foothold offered, digging his stout boots into every cleft and cranny of +the precipice.</p> + +<p>The height could not have been less than a hundred and fifty feet. By +dint of wonderful strength and agility, and at the momentary risk of +falling, himself, to almost certain death, Gabriel descended in less +than ten minutes. The last quarter of the distance he practically fell, +sliding at a tremendous rate, with boulders and loose earth cascading +all about him in a shower.</p> + +<p>He landed close by the flaming ruin.</p> + +<p>"Lucky this isn't in the autumn, in the dry season!" thought he, as he +approached. "If it were, this whole cliff-side, and the woods beyond, +would be a roaring furnace. Some forest-fire, all right, if the woods +weren't wet and full of sap!"</p> + +<p>Parting the brush, he made his way as close to the car as the intense +heat would let him. The gasoline-tank, he understood, had burst with the +shock, and, taking fire, had wrapped the car in an Inferno of +unquenchable flame. Now, the woodwork was entirely gone; and of the +wheels, as the long machine lay there on its back, only a few blazing +spokes were left. The steel chassis and the engine were red-hot, twisted +and broken as though a giant hammer had smitten them on some Vulcanic +anvil.</p> + +<p>"There's a few thousand dollars gone to the devil!" <a name="Page_120"></a>thought he. But his +mind did not dwell on this phase of the disaster. Still he was hoping, +against hope, that human life had not been dashed and roasted out, in +the wreck. And again he shouted, as he worked his way to the other side +of the machine—to the side which, seen from the cliff above, had seemed +to show him that inert and mangled body.</p> + +<p>All at once he stopped short, shielding his face with his hands, against +the blaze.</p> + +<p>"Good God!" he exclaimed; and involuntarily took off his cap, there in +the presence of death.</p> + +<p>That the man <i>was</i> dead, admitted of no question. Pinned under the +heavy, glowing mass of metal, his body must already have been roasted to +a char. The head could not be seen; but part of one shoulder and one arm +protruded, with the coat burned off and the flesh horribly crackled; +while, nearer Gabriel, a leg showed, with a regulation chauffeur's +legging, also burned to a crisp.</p> + +<p>"Nothing for me to do, here," said Gabriel aloud. "He's past all human +help, poor chap. I don't imagine there can be anybody else in this +wreck. I haven't seen anybody, and nobody has answered my shouts. What's +to be done next?"</p> + +<p>He pondered a moment, then, looking at the license plate of the +machine—its enamel now half cracked off, but the numbers still +legible—drew out his note-book and pencil and made a memo of the +figures.</p> + +<p>"Four-six-two-two, N.Y.," he read, again verifying his numbers. "That +will identify things. And now—the quicker I get back on the road again, +and reach a telephone at West Point, the better."</p> + +<p><a name="Page_121"></a>Accordingly, after a brief search through the bushes near at hand, for +any other victim—a search which brought no results—he set to work once +more to climb the cliff above him.</p> + +<p>The fire, though still raging, was obviously dying down. In half an +hour, he knew, it would be dead. There was no use in trying to +extinguish it, for gasoline defies water, and no sand was to be had +along that rocky river shore.</p> + +<p>"Let her burn herself out," judged Gabriel. "She can't do any harm, now. +The road for mine!"</p> + +<p>He found the upward path infinitely more difficult than the downward, +and was forced to make a long detour and do some hard climbing that left +him spent and sweating, before he again approached the gap in the wall. +Pausing here to breathe, a minute or two, he once more peered down at +the still-smoking ruin far below. And, as he stood there all at once he +thought he heard a sound not very far away to his right.</p> + +<p>A sound—a groan, a half-inchoate murmur—a cry!</p> + +<p>Instantly his every sense grew keen. Holding his breath he listened +intently. Was it a cry? Or had the breeze but swayed one tree limb +against another; or did some boatman's hail, from far across the river, +but drift upward to him on the cliff?</p> + +<p>"Hello! <i>Hello!</i>" he shouted again. "Anybody there?"</p> + +<p>Once more he listened; and now, once more, he heard the sound—this time +he knew it was a cry for help!</p> + +<p>"Where are you?" shouted he, plunging forward along the steep side of +the cliff. "Where?"</p> + +<p>No answer, save a groan.</p> + +<p>"Coming! Coming!" he hailed loudly. Then, guided <a name="Page_122"></a>as it seemed by +instinct, almost as much as by the vague direction of the moaning call, +he ploughed his way through brush and briar, on rescue bent.</p> + +<p>All at once he stopped short in his tracks, wild-eyed, a stammering +exclamation on his lips.</p> + +<p>"A woman!" he cried.</p> + +<p>True. There, lying as though violently flung, a woman was half-crouched, +half-prone behind the roots of a huge maple that leaned out far above a +sheer declivity.</p> + +<p>He saw torn clothing, through the foliage; a white hand, out-stretched +and bleeding; a mass of golden-coppery hair that lay dishevelled on the +bed of moss and last autumn's leaves.</p> + +<p>"A woman! Dying?" he thought, with a sudden stab of pity in his heart.</p> + +<p>Then, forcing his way along, he reached her, and fell upon his knees at +her side.</p> + +<p>"Not dead! Not dying! Thank God!" he exclaimed. One glance showed him +she would live. Though an ugly gash upon her forehead had bathed her +face in blood, and though he knew not but bones were broken, he +recognized the fact that she was now returning, fast, to consciousness.</p> + +<p>Already she had opened her eyes—wild eyes, understanding nothing—and +was staring up at him in dazed, blank terror. Then one hand came up to +her face; and, even as he lifted her in both his powerful arms, she +began to sob hysterically.</p> + +<p>He knew the value of that weeping, and made no attempt to stop it. The +overwrought nerves, he understood, must find some outlet. Asking no +question, speak<a name="Page_123"></a>ing no word—for Gabriel was a man of action, not +speech—he gathered her up as though she had been a child. A tall woman, +she; almost as tall as he himself, and proportioned like a Venus. Yet to +him her weight was nothing.</p> + +<p>Sure-footed, now, and bursting through the brambles with fine energy, he +carried her to the gap in the wall, up through it, and so to the roadway +itself.</p> + +<p>"Where—where am I?" the woman cried incoherently. "O—what—where—?"</p> + +<p>"You're all right!" he exclaimed. "Just a little accident, that's all. +Don't worry! I'll take care of you. Just keep quiet, now, and don't +think of anything. You'll be all right, in no time!"</p> + +<p>But she still wept and cried out to know where she might be and what had +happened. Obviously, Gabriel saw, her reason had not yet fully returned. +His first aim must be to bathe her wound, find out what damage had been +done, and keeping her quiet, try to get help.</p> + +<p>Swiftly he thought. Here he and the woman were, miles from any +settlement or house, nearly in the middle of a long stretch of road that +skirted the river through dense woods. At any time a motor might come +along; and then again, one might not arrive for hours. No dependence +could be put on this. There was no telephone for a long distance back; +and even had one been near he would not have ventured to leave the girl.</p> + +<p>Could he carry her back to Fort Clinton, the last settlement he had +passed through? Impossible! No man's strength could stand such a +tremendous task. And even had it been within Gabriel's means, he would +have chosen <a name="Page_124"></a>otherwise. For most of all the girl needed rest and quiet +and immediate care. To bear her all that distance in his arms might +produce serious, even fatal results.</p> + +<p>"No!" he decided. "I must do what I can for her, here and now, and trust +to luck to send help in an auto, down this road!"</p> + +<p>His next thought was that bandages and wraps would be needed for her cut +and to make her a bed. Instantly he remembered the shawl and the big +auto-robe that he had seen caught among the trees.</p> + +<p>"I must have those at once!" he realized. "When the machine went over +the edge, they were thrown out, just as the girl was. A miracle she +wasn't carried down, with the car, and crushed or burned to death down +there by the river, with that poor devil of a chauffeur!"</p> + +<p>Laying her down in the soft grass along the wall, he ran back to where +the wraps were, and, detaching them from the branches, quickly regained +the road once more.</p> + +<p>"Now for the old sugar-house in the maple-grove," said he. "Poor +shelter, but the best to be had. Thank heaven it's fair weather, and +warm!"</p> + +<p>The task was awkward, to carry both the girl and the bulky robes, but +Gabriel was equal to it She had by now regained some measure of +rationality; and though very pale and shaken, manifested her nerve and +courage by no longer weeping or asking questions.</p> + +<p>Instead, she lay in his arms, eyes closed, with the blood stiffening on +her face; and let him bear her whither he would. She seemed to sense his +strength and mastery, his tender care and complete command of the +situation. And, like a hurt and tired child, outworn and suffering, she +yielded herself, unquestioningly, to his ministrations.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_125"></a>Thus Gabriel, the discharged, blacklisted, outcast rebel and +proletarian, bore in his arms of mercy and compassion the only daughter +of old Isaac Flint, his enemy, Flint the would-be master of the world.</p> + +<p>Thus he bore the woman who had been betrothed to "Tiger" Waldron, +unscrupulous and cruel partner in that scheme of dominance and +enslavement.</p> + +<p>Such was the meeting of this woman and this man. Thus, in his arms, he +carried her to the old sugar-house.</p> + +<p>And far below, the mighty river gleamed, unheeding the tragedy that had +been enacted on its shores, unmindful of the threads of destiny even now +being spun by the swift shuttles of Fate.</p> + +<p>In the branches, above Gabriel and Catherine, birdsong and golden +sunlight seemed to prophesy. But what this message might be, neither the +woman nor the man had any thought or dream.</p> + + + +<br /><hr style="width: 65%;" /><br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_XV"></a><h3><a name="Page_126"></a>CHAPTER XV.</h3> + +<h4>AN HOUR AND A PARTING.</h4> +<br /> + +<p>Arriving at the sugar-house, tired yet strong, Gabriel put the wounded +girl down, quickly raked together a few armfuls of dead leaves, in the +most sheltered corner of the ramshackle structure, and laid the heavy +auto-robe upon this improvised bed. Then he helped his patient to lie +down, there, and bade her wait till he got water to wash and dress her +cut.</p> + +<p>"Don't worry about anything," he reassured her. "You're alive, and +that's the main thing, now. I'll see you through with this, whatever +happens. Just keep calm, and don't let anything distress you!"</p> + +<p>She looked at him with big, anxious eyes—eyes where still the full +light of understanding had not yet returned.</p> + +<p>"It—it all happened so suddenly!" she managed to articulate. "He was +drunk—the chauffeur. The car ran away. Where is it? Where is +Herrick—the man?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know," Gabriel lied promptly and with force. Not for worlds +would he have excited her with the truth. "Never you mind about that. +Just lie still, now, till I come back!"</p> + +<p>Already, among the rusty utensils that had served for the +"sugaring-off," the previous spring, he had routed out a tin pail. He +kicked a quantity of leaves in under the sheet-iron open stove, flung +some sticks atop of them, and started a little blaze. Warm water, he +reflected, <a name="Page_127"></a>would serve better than cold in removing that clotting blood +and dressing the hurt.</p> + +<p>Then, saying no further word, but filled with admiration for the girl's +pluck, he seized the pail and started for water.</p> + +<p>"Nerve?" he said to himself, as he ran down the road toward a little +brook he remembered having crossed, a few hundred yards to southward. +"Nerve, indeed! Not one complaint about her own injuries! Not a word of +lamentation! If this isn't a thoroughbred, whoever or whatever she is, I +never saw one!"</p> + +<p>He returned, presently, with the pail nearly full of cold and sparkling +water. Ignoring rust, he made her drink as deeply as she would, and then +set a dipperful of water on the now hot sheet-iron.</p> + +<p>Then, tearing a strip off the shawl, he made ready for his work as an +amateur physician.</p> + +<p>"Tell me," said he, kneeling there beside her in the hut which was +already beginning to grow dusk, "except for this cut on your forehead, +do you feel any injury? Think you've got any broken bones? See if you +can move your legs and arms, all right."</p> + +<p>She obeyed.</p> + +<p>"Nothing broken, I guess," she answered. "What a miracle! Please leave +me, now. I can wash my own hurt. Go—go find Herrick! He needs you worse +than I do!"</p> + +<p>"No he doesn't!" blurted Gabriel with such conviction that she +understood.</p> + +<p>"You mean?" she queried, as he brought the dipper of now tepid water to +her side. "He—he's dead?"</p> + +<p><a name="Page_128"></a>He hesitated to answer.</p> + +<p>"Dead! Yes, I understand!" she interpreted his silence. "You needn't +tell me. I know!"</p> + +<p>He nodded.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said he. "Your chauffeur has paid the penalty of trying to drive +a six-cylinder car with alcohol. Now, think no more of him! Here, let me +see how badly you're cut."</p> + +<p>"Let me sit up, first," she begged. "I—I'm not hurt enough to be lying +here like—like an invalid!"</p> + +<p>She tried to rise, but with a strong hand on her shoulder he forced her +back. She shuddered, with the horror of the chauffeur's death strong +upon her.</p> + +<p>"Please lie still," he begged. "You've had a terrific shock, and have +lived through it by a miracle, indeed. You're wounded and still +bleeding. You <i>must</i> be quiet!"</p> + +<p>The tone in his voice admitted no argument. Submissive now to his +greater strength, this daughter of wealth and power lay back, closed her +tired eyes and let the revolutionist, the proletarian, minister to her.</p> + +<p>Dipping the piece of shawl into the warm water, he deftly moistened the +dried blood on her brow and cheek, and washed it all away. He cleansed +her sullied hair, as well, and laid it back from the wound.</p> + +<p>"Tell me if I hurt you, now," he bade, gently as a woman. "I've got to +wash the cut itself."</p> + +<p>She answered nothing, but lay quite still. And so, hardly wincing, she +let him lave the jagged wound that stretched from her right temple up +into the first tendrils of the glorious red-gold hair.</p> + +<p>"H'm!" thought Gabriel, as he now observed the cut <a name="Page_129"></a>with close +attention. "I'm afraid there'll have to be some stitches taken here!" +But of this he said nothing. All he told her was: "Nothing to worry +over. You'll be as good as new in a few days. As a miracle, it's <i>some</i> +miracle!"</p> + +<p>Having completed the cleansing of the cut, he fetched his knapsack and +produced a clean handkerchief, which he folded and laid over the wound. +This pad he secured in place by a long bandage cut from the edge of the +shawl and tied securely round her shapely head.</p> + +<p>"There," said he, surveying his improvisation with considerable +satisfaction. "Now you'll do, till we can undertake the next thing. +Sorry I haven't any brandy to give you, or anything of that sort. The +fact is, I don't use it, and have none with me. How do you feel, now?"</p> + +<p>She opened her eyes and looked up at him with the ghost of a smile on +her pale lips.</p> + +<p>"Oh, much, much better, thank you!" she answered. "I don't need any +brandy. I'm—awfully strong, really. In a little while I'll be all +right. Just give me a little more water, and—and tell me—who are you?"</p> + +<p>"Who am I?" he queried, holding up her head while she drank from the tin +cup he had now taken from his knapsack. "I? Oh, just an out-of-work. +Nobody of any interest to you!"</p> + +<p>A certain tinge of bitterness crept into his voice. In health, he knew, +a woman of this class would not suffer him even to touch her hand.</p> + +<p>"<i>Don't</i> ask me who I am, please. And I—I won't ask <i>your</i> name. We're +of different worlds, I guess. But for <a name="Page_130"></a>the moment, Fate has levelled the +barriers. Just let it go at that. And now, if you can stay here, all +right; perhaps I can hike back to the next house, below here, and +telephone, and summon help."</p> + +<p>"How far is it?" she asked, looking at him with wonder in her lovely +eyes—wonder, and new thoughts, and a strange kind of longing to know +more of this extraordinary man, so strong, so gentle, so unwilling to +divulge himself or ask her name.</p> + +<p>"How far?" he repeated. "Oh, four or five miles. I can make it in no +time. And with luck, I can have an auto and a doctor here before dark. +Well, does that suit you?"</p> + +<p>"Don't go, please," she answered. "I—I may be still a little weak and +foolish, but—somehow, I don't want to be left alone. I want to be kept +from remembering, from thinking of those last, awful moments when the +car was running away; when it struck the wall, at the turn; when I was +thrown out, and—and knew no more. Don't go just yet," the girl +entreated, covering her eyes with both hands, as though to shut out the +horrible vision of the catastrophe.</p> + +<p>"All right," Gabriel answered. "Just as you please. Only, if I stay, you +must promise to stop thinking about the accident, and try to pull +together."</p> + +<p>"I promise," she agreed, looking at him with strange eyes. "Oh dear," +she added, with feminine inconsequentiality, "my hair's all down, and +Lord knows where the pins are!"</p> + +<p>He smiled to himself as she managed, with the aid of such few hairpins +as remained, to coil the coppery <a name="Page_131"></a>meshes once more round her head and +even somewhat over the bandage, and secure them in place.</p> + +<p>At sight of his face as he watched her, she too smiled wanly—the first +time he had seen a real smile on her mouth.</p> + +<p>"I'm only a woman, after all," she apologized. "You don't understand. +You can't. But no matter. Tell me—why need you go, at all?"</p> + +<p>"Why? For help, of course."</p> + +<p>"There's sure to be a motor, or something, along this road, before very +long," she answered. "Put up some signal or other, to stop it. That will +save you a long, long walk, and save me from—remembering! I need you +here with me," she added earnestly. "Don't go—please!"</p> + +<p>"All right, as you will," the man made reply. "I'll rig a danger-signal +on the road; and then all we can do will be to wait."</p> + +<p>This plan he immediately put into effect, setting his knapsack in the +middle of the road and piling up brush and limbs of trees about it.</p> + +<p>"There," he said to himself, as he surveyed the result, "no car will get +by <i>that</i>, without noticing it!"</p> + +<p>Then he returned to the sugar-house, some hundred yards back from the +highway in the grove, now already beginning to grow dim with the shadows +of approaching nightfall. The glowing coals of the fire gleamed redly, +through the rough place. The girl, still lying on her bed of leaves and +auto-robes, with the mutilated shawl drawn over her, looked up at him +with an expression of trust and gratitude. For a second, only one, +something quick and vital gripped at the wanderer's heart—<a name="Page_132"></a>some vague, +intangible longing for a home and a woman, a longing old as our race, +deep-planted in the inmost citadel of every man's soul. But, +half-impatiently, he drove the thought away, dismissed it, and, smiling +down at her with cheerful eyes and white, even teeth, said reassuringly:</p> + +<p>"Everything's all right now. The first machine that passes, will take +you to civilization."</p> + +<p>"And you?" she asked. "What of you, then?"</p> + +<p>"Me? Oh, I'll hike," he answered. "I'll plug along just as I was doing +when I found you."</p> + +<p>"Where to?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, north."</p> + +<p>"What for?"</p> + +<p>"Work. Please don't question me. I'd rather you wouldn't."</p> + +<p>She pondered a moment.</p> + +<p>"Are you—what they call a—workingman?" she presently resumed.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said he. "Why?"</p> + +<p>"And are you happy?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. In a way. Or shall be, when I've done what I mean to do."</p> + +<p>"But—forgive me—you're very poor?"</p> + +<p>"Not at all! I have, at this present moment, more than eighteen dollars +in my pocket, and I have <i>these!</i>"</p> + +<p>He showed her his two hands, big and sinewed, capable and strong.</p> + +<p>"Eighteen dollars," she mused, half to herself. "Why, I have spent that, +and more, for a single ounce of a new perfume—something very rare, you +know, from Japan."</p> + +<p>"<a name="Page_133"></a>Indeed? Well, don't tell <i>me</i>," he replied. "I'm not interested in how +you spend money, but how you get it."</p> + +<p>"Get it? Oh, father gives me my allowance, that's all."</p> + +<p>"And he squeezes it out of the common people?"</p> + +<p>She glanced at him quickly.</p> + +<p>"You—you aren't a Socialist, into the bargain, are you?" she inquired.</p> + +<p>"At your service," he bowed.</p> + +<p>"This is strange, strange indeed," she said. "Tell me your name."</p> + +<p>"No," he refused. "I'd still rather not. Nor shall I ask yours. Please +don't volunteer it."</p> + +<p>Came a moment's silence, there in the darkening hut, with the fire-glow +red upon their faces.</p> + +<p>"Happy," said the girl. "You say you're happy. While I—"</p> + +<p>"Are not unhappy, surely?" asked Gabriel, leaning forward as he sat +there beside her, and gazing keenly into her face.</p> + +<p>"How should I know?" she answered. "Unhappy? No, perhaps not. But +vacant—empty—futile!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I believe you," Gabriel judged. "You tell me no news. And as you +are, you will ever be. You will live so and die so. No, I won't preach. +I won't proselytize. I won't even explain. It would be useless. You are +one pole, I the other. And the world—the whole wide world—lies +between!"</p> + +<p>Suddenly she spoke.</p> + +<p>"You're a Socialist," said she. "What does it mean to be a Socialist?"</p> + +<p><a name="Page_134"></a>He shook his head.</p> + +<p>"You couldn't understand, if I told you," he answered.</p> + +<p>"Why not?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, because your ideas and environments and interests and everything +have been so different from mine—because you're what you are—because +you can never be anything else."</p> + +<p>"You mean Socialism is something beyond my understanding?" she demanded, +piqued. "Of course, that's nonsense. I'm a human being. I've got brains, +haven't I? I can understand a scheme of dividing up, or levelling down, +or whatever it is, even if I can't believe in it!"</p> + +<p>He smiled oddly.</p> + +<p>"You've just proved, by what you've said," he answered slowly, "that your +whole concepts are mistaken. Socialism isn't anything like what you think +it is, and if I should try to explain it, you'd raise ten thousand +futile objections, and beg the question, and defeat my object of +explanation by your very inability to get the point of view. So you +see—"</p> + +<p>"I see that I want to know more!" she exclaimed, with determination. "If +there's any branch of human knowledge that lies outside my reasoning +powers, it's time I found that fact out. I thought Socialists were wild, +crazy, erratic cranks; but if you're one, then I seem to have been +wrong. You look rational enough, and you talk in an eminently sane +manner."</p> + +<p>"Thank you," he replied, ironically.</p> + +<p>"Don't be sarcastic!" she retorted. "I only meant—"</p> + +<p>"It's all right, anyhow," said he. "You've simply got the old, stupid, +wornout ideas of your class. You can't grasp this new ideal, rising +through the ruck and waste <a name="Page_135"></a>and sin and misery of the present system. I +don't blame you. You're a product of your environment. You can't help +it. With that environment, how can you sense the newer and more vital +ideas of the day?"</p> + +<p>For a moment she fixed eager eyes on him, in silence. Then asked she:</p> + +<p>"Ideals? You mean that Socialism has ideals, and that it's not all a +matter of tearing down and dividing up, and destroying everything good +and noble and right—all the accumulated wisdom and resources of the +world?"</p> + +<p>He laughed heartily.</p> + +<p>"Who handed you that bunk?" he demanded.</p> + +<p>"Father told me Socialism was all that, and more,"</p> + +<p>"What's your father's business?"</p> + +<p>"Why, investments, stocks, bonds, industrial development and all that +sort of thing."</p> + +<p>"Hm!" he grunted. "I thought as much!"</p> + +<p>"You mean that father misinformed me?"</p> + +<p>"Rather!"</p> + +<p>"Well, if he did, what is Socialism?"</p> + +<p>"Socialism," answered the young man slowly, while he fixed his eyes on +the smouldering fire, "Socialism is a political movement, a concept of +life, a philosophy, an interpretation, a prophecy, an ideal. It embraces +history, economics, science, art, religion, literature and every phase +of human activity. It explains life, points the way to better things, +gives us hope, strengthens the weary and heavy-laden, bids us look +upward and onward, and constitutes the most sublime ideal ever conceived +by the soul of man!"</p> + +<p>"Can this be true?" the girl demanded, astonished.</p> + +<p>"<a name="Page_136"></a>Not only can, but is! Socialism would free the world from slavery and +slaves, from war, poverty, prostitution, vice and crime; would cleanse +the sores of our rotting capitalism, would loose the gyves from the +fettered hands of mankind, would bid the imprisoned soul of man awake to +nobler and to purer things! How? The answer to that would take me weeks. +You would have to read and study many books, to learn the entire truth. +But I am telling you the substance of the ideal—a realizable ideal, and +no chimera—when I say that Socialism sums up all that is good, and +banishes all that is evil! And do you wonder that I love and serve it, +all my life?"</p> + +<p>She peered at him in wonder.</p> + +<p>"You serve it? How?" she demanded.</p> + +<p>"By spreading it abroad; by speaking for it, working for it, fighting +for it! By the spoken and the printed word! By every act and through +every means whereby I can bring it nearer and nearer realization!"</p> + +<p>"You're a dreamer, a visionary, a fanatic!" she exclaimed.</p> + +<p>"You think so? No, I can't agree. Time will judge that matter. +Meanwhile, I travel up and down the earth, spreading Socialism."</p> + +<p>"And what do you get out of it, personally?"</p> + +<p>"I? What do you mean? I never thought of that question."</p> + +<p>"I mean, money. What do you make out of it?"</p> + +<p>He laughed heartily.</p> + +<p>"I get a few jail-sentences, once in a while; now and then a crack over +the head with a policeman's billy, or maybe a peek down the muzzle of a +rifle. I get—"</p> + +<p>"You mean that you're a martyr?"</p> + +<p>"<a name="Page_137"></a>By no means! I've never even thought of being called such. This is a +privilege, this propaganda of ours. It's the greatest privilege in the +world—bringing the word of life and hope and joy to a crushed, bleeding +and despairing world!"</p> + +<p>She thought a moment, in silence.</p> + +<p>"You're a poet, I believe!" said she.</p> + +<p>"No, not that. Only a worker in the ranks."</p> + +<p>"But do you write poetry?"</p> + +<p>"I write verses. You'd hardly call them poetry!"</p> + +<p>"Verses? About Socialism?"</p> + +<p>"Sometimes."</p> + +<p>"Will you give me some?"</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"Tell me some of them."</p> + +<p>"Of course not! I can't recite my verses! They aren't worth bothering +you with!"</p> + +<p>"That's for me to judge. Let me hear something of that kind. If you only +knew how terribly much you interest me!"</p> + +<p>"You mean that?"</p> + +<p>"Of course I do! Please let me hear something you've written!"</p> + +<p>He pondered a moment, then in his well-modulated, deep-toned voice +began:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span><i>HESPERIDES</i>.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span><i>I</i>.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span><i>My feet, used to pine-needles, moss and turf,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>And the gray boulders at the lip o' the sea,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Where the cold brine jets up its creamy surf,</i><br /></span> +<span><i><a name="Page_138"></a>Now tread once more these city ways, unloved by me,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Hateful and hot, gross with iniquity.</i><br /></span> +<span><i>And so I grieve,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Grieve when I wake, or at high blinding noon</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Or when the moon</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Mocks this sad Ninevah where the throngs weave</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Their jostling ways by day, their paths by night;</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Where darkness is not—where the streets burn bright</i><br /></span> +<span><i>With hectic fevers, eloquent of death!</i><br /></span> +<span><i>I gasp for breath....</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Visions have I, visions! So sweet they seem</i><br /></span> +<span><i>That from this welter of men and things I turn, to dream</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Of the dim Wood-world, calling out to me.</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Where forest-virgins I half glimpse, half see</i><br /></span> +<span><i>With cool mysterious fingers beckoning!</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Where vine-wreathed woodland altars sunlit burn,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Or Dryads dance their mystic rounds and sing,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Sing high, sing low, with magic cadences</i><br /></span> +<span><i>That once the wild oaks of Dodona heard;</i><br /></span> +<span><i>And every wood-note bids me burst asunder</i><br /></span> +<span><i>The bonds that hold me from the leaf-hid bird.</i><br /></span> +<span><i>I quaff thee, O Nepenthe! Ah, the wonder</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Grows, that there be who buy their wealth, their ease</i><br /></span> +<span><i>By damning serfs to cities, hot and blurred,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Far from thy golden quest, Hesperides!...</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span><i>II</i>.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span><i>I see this August sun again</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Sheer up high heaven wheel his angry way;</i><br /></span> +<span><i>And hordes of men</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Bleared with unrestful sleep rise up another day,</i><br /></span> +<span><i><a name="Page_139"></a>Their bodies racked with aftermaths of toil.</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Over the city, in each gasping street,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Shudders a haze of heat,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Reverberant from pillar, span and plinth.</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Once more, cribbed in this monstrous labyrinth</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Sacrificed to the Minotaur of Greed</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Men bear the turmoil, glare, sweat, brute inharmonies;</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Denial of each simplest human need,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Loss of life's meaning as day lags on day;</i><br /></span> +<span><i>And my rebellious spirit rises, flies</i><br /></span> +<span><i>In dreams to the green quiet wood away,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Away! Away!</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span><i>III</i>.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span><i>And now, and now...I feel the forest-moss...</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Come! On these moss-beds let me lie with Pan,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Twined with the ivy-vine in tendrill'd curls,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>And I will hold all gold, that hampers man,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Only the ashes of base, barren dross!</i><br /></span> +<span><i>On with the love-dance of the pagan girls!</i><br /></span> +<span><i>The pagan girls with lips all rosy-red,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>With breasts upgirt and foreheads garlanded,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>With fair white foreheads nobly garlanded!</i><br /></span> +<span><i>With sandalled feet that weave the magic ring!</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Now...let them sing,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>And I will pipe a tune that all may hear,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>To bid them mind the time of my wild rhyme;</i><br /></span> +<span><i>To warn profaning feet lest they draw near.</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Away! Away! Beware these mystic trees!</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Who dares to quest you now, Hesperides?</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span><a name="Page_140"></a><i>IV</i>.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span><i>Great men of song, what sing ye? Woodland meadows?</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Rocks, trees and rills where sunlight glints to gold?</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Sing ye the hills, adown whose sides blue shadows</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Creep when the westering day is growing old?</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Sing ye the brooks where in the purling shallows</i><br /></span> +<span><i>The small fish dart and gleam?</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Sing ye the pale green tresses of the willows</i><br /></span> +<span><i>That stoop to kiss the stream?</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Or sing ye burning streets, foul with the breath</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Of sweatshop, tenement, where endlessly</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Spawned swarms of folk serve tyrant masters twain—</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Profit, and his twin-brother, grinning Death?</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Where millions toil, hedged off from aught save pain?</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Far from thee ever, O mine Arcady?...</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>His voice ceased and silence fell between the man and woman in the old +sugar-house. Gabriel sat there by the dying fire, which cast its ruddy +light over his strongly virile face, and gazed into the coals. The girl, +lying on the rude bed, her face eager, her slim strong hands tightly +clasped, had almost forgotten to breathe.</p> + +<p>At last she spoke.</p> + +<p>"That—that is wonderful!" she cried, a tremor of enthusiasm in her +voice.</p> + +<p>He shook his head.</p> + +<p>"No compliments, please," said he.</p> + +<p>"I'm not complimenting you! I think it <i>is</i> wonderful. You're a true +poet!"</p> + +<p>"I wish I were—so I might use it all for Socialism!"</p> + +<p>"You could make a fortune, if you'd work for some <a name="Page_141"></a>paper or +magazine—some regular one, I mean, not Socialist."</p> + +<p>He shook his head.</p> + +<p>"Dead sea fruit," he answered. "Fairy gold, fading in the clutch, +worthless through and through. No, if my work has any merit, it's all +for Socialism, now and ever!"</p> + +<p>Silence again. Neither now found a word to say, but their eyes met and +read each other; and a kind of solemn hush seemed to lie over their +hearts.</p> + +<p>Then, as they sat there, looking each at each—for now the girl had +raised herself on the crude bed and was supporting herself with one +hand—a sudden sound of a motor, on the road, awakened them from their +musing.</p> + +<p>Came the raucous wail of a siren. Then the engine-exhaust ceased; and a +voice, raised in some annoyance, hailed loudly through the maple-grove:</p> + +<p>"Hello! Hello? What's wrong here?"</p> + +<p>Gabriel stepped to the sugar-house door:</p> + +<p>"Here! Come here!" he shouted in a ringing voice that echoed wildly from +between his hollowed palms.</p> + +<p>As the motorist still sat there, uncomprehending, Gabriel made his way +toward the road.</p> + +<p>"Accident here," said he. "Girl in here, injured. Can you take her to +the nearest town, at once? She needs a doctor."</p> + +<p>Instantly the man was out of his car, and hastening toward Gabriel.</p> + +<p>"Eh? What?" he asked. "Anything serious?"</p> + +<p>In a few words, Gabriel told him the outlines of the tale.</p> + +<p>"The quicker you get the girl to a town, and let her <a name="Page_142"></a>have a doctor and +communication with her family, the better," he concluded.</p> + +<p>"Right! I'll do all in my power," said the other, a rather stout, +well-to-do, vulgar-looking man.</p> + +<p>"Good! This way, then!"</p> + +<p>The man followed Gabriel to the sugar-house. They found the girl already +on her feet, standing there a bit unsteadily, but with determination to +be game, in every feature.</p> + +<p>Five minutes later she was in the new-comer's car, which had been turned +around and now was headed back toward Haverstraw. The shawl and robe +serving her as wraps, she was made comfortable in the tonneau.</p> + +<p>"Think you can stand it, all right?" asked Gabriel, as he took in his +the hand she extended. "In half an hour, you'll be under a doctor's +care, and your father will be on his way toward you."</p> + +<p>She nodded, and for a second tightened the grasp of her hand.</p> + +<p>"I—I'm not even going to know who you are?" she asked, a strange tone +in her voice.</p> + +<p>"No," he answered. "And now, good luck, and good-bye!"</p> + +<p>"Good-bye," she echoed, her voice almost inaudible. "I—I won't forget +you."</p> + +<p>He made no answer, but only smiled in a peculiar way.</p> + +<p>Then, as the car rolled slowly forward, their hands separated.</p> + +<p>Gabriel, bareheaded and with level gaze, stood there in the middle of +the great highway, looking after her. A minute, under the darkening +arches of the forest road, <a name="Page_143"></a>he saw her, still. Then the car swung round +a bend, and vanished.</p> + +<p>Had she waved her hand at him? He could not tell. Motionless he stood, a +while, then cleared away the barrier of branches that obstructed the +road, took up his knapsack, and with slow steps returned to the +sugar-house.</p> + +<p>Almost on the threshold, a white something caught his eye. He picked it +up. Her handkerchief! A moment he held the dainty, filmy thing in his +rough hand. A vague perfume reached his nostrils, disquieting and +seductive.</p> + +<p>"More than eighteen dollars an ounce, perhaps!" he exclaimed, with +sudden bitterness; but still he did not throw the handkerchief away. +Instead, he looked at it more keenly. In one corner, the fading light +just showed him some initials. He studied them, a moment.</p> + +<p>"C. J. F." he read. Then, yielding to a sudden impulse, he +folded the kerchief and put it in his pocket.</p> + +<p>He entered the sugar-house, to make sure, before departing, that he had +left no danger of fire behind him.</p> + +<p>Another impulse bade him sit down on a rough box, there, before the +dying embers. He gazed at the bed of leaves, a while, immersed in +thought, then filled his pipe and lighted it with a glowing brand, and +sat there—while the night came—smoking and musing, in a reverie.</p> + +<p>The overpowering lure of the woman who had lain in his arms, as he had +borne her thither; her breath upon his face; the perfume of her, even +her blood that he had washed away—all these were working on his senses, +still. But most of all he seemed to see her eyes, there in the +<a name="Page_144"></a>ember-lit gloom, and hear her voice, and feel her lithe young body and +her breast against his breast.</p> + +<p>For a long time he sat there, thinking, dreaming, smoking, till the last +shred of tobacco was burned out in the heel of his briar; till the last +ember had winked and died under the old sheet-iron stove.</p> + +<p>At last, with a peculiar laugh, he rose, slung the knapsack once more on +his shoulders, settled his cap upon his head, and made ready to depart.</p> + +<p>But still, one moment, he lingered in the doorway. Lingered and looked +back, as though in his mind's eye he would have borne the place away +with him forever.</p> + +<p>Suddenly he stooped, picked up a leaf from the bed where she had lain, +and put that, too, in his pocket where the kerchief was.</p> + +<p>Then, looking no more behind him, he strode off across the maple-grove, +through which, now, the first pale stars were glimmering. He reached the +road again, swung to the north, and, striking into his long marching +stride, pushed onward northward, away and away into the soft June +twilight.</p> + + + +<br /><hr style="width: 65%;" /><br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_XVI"></a><h3><a name="Page_145"></a>CHAPTER XVI.</h3> + +<h4>TIGER WALDRON "COMES BACK."</h4> +<br /> + +<p>Old Isaac Flint loved but two things in all this world—power, and his +daughter Catherine.</p> + +<p>I speak advisedly in putting "power" first. Much as he idolized the +girl, much as she reminded him of the long-dead wife of his youth, he +could have survived the loss of her. The loss of power would inevitably +have crushed and broken him, stunned him, killed him. Yet, so far as +human affection could still blossom in that withered heart, shrunk by +cold scheming and the cruel piracies of many decades, he loved the girl.</p> + +<p>And so it was that when the message came in, that evening, over the +telephone, the news that Kate had been injured in an auto-accident which +had entirely destroyed the machine and killed Herrick, he paled, +trembled, and clutched the receiver, hardly able to hold it to his ear +with his shaking hand.</p> + +<p>"Here! You!" he cried. "She—she's not badly hurt? She's living? She's +safe? No lies, now! The truth!"</p> + +<p>"Your daughter is very much alive, and perfectly safe," a voice +answered. "This is Doctor MacDougal, of Haverstraw, speaking. The +patient is now having a superficial scalp wound dressed by my assistant. +You can speak to her, in a few minutes, if you like."</p> + +<p>"Now! For God's sake, let me speak <i>now!</i>" entreated <a name="Page_146"></a>the Billionaire; +but the doctor refused. Not all Flint's urging or bribing would turn him +one hair's breadth.</p> + +<p>"No," he insisted. "In ten minutes she can talk to you. Not now. But +have no fear, sir. She is perfectly safe and—barring her wound, which +will probably heal almost without a scar—is as well as ever. A little +nervous and unstrung, of course, but that's to be expected."</p> + +<p>"What happened, and how?" demanded Flint, in terrible agitation.</p> + +<p>The doctor briefly gave him such facts as he knew, ending with the +statement that a passing automobilist had brought the girl to him, and +outlining the situation of the first-aid measures in the sugar-house. At +the thought that Herrick, the drunken cause of it all, was dead and +burned, Flint smiled with real satisfaction.</p> + +<p>"Damn him! It's too good for the scum!" he muttered. Then, aloud, he +asked over the wire:</p> + +<p>"And who was the rescuer?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know," MacDougal answered. "Your daughter didn't tell me. But +from what I've learned, he must have been a man of rare strength and +presence of mind. It may well be that you owe your daughter's life to +his prompt work."</p> + +<p>"I'll find him, yet. He'll be suitably rewarded," thought the +Billionaire. "No matter what my enemies have called me, I'm not +incapable of gratitude!"</p> + +<p>Some few minutes later, having paced the library floor meanwhile, in +great excitement, he called the doctor's house again by long-distance, +and this time succeeded in having speech with his daughter. Her voice, +though a little weak, vastly reassured him. Once more he asked <a name="Page_147"></a>for the +outline of the story. She told him all the essentials, and finished by:</p> + +<p>"Now, come and get me, won't you, father dear? I want to go home. And +the quicker you come for me, the happier I'll be."</p> + +<p>"Bless your heart, Kate!" he exclaimed, deeply moved. "Nothing like the +old man, after all, is there? Yes, I'll start at once. I've only been +waiting here, to talk with you and <i>know</i> you're safe. In five minutes +I'll be on my way, with the racing-car. And if I don't break a few +records between here and Haverstraw, my name's not Isaac Flint!"</p> + +<p>After an affectionate good-bye, the old man hung up, rang for Slawson, +his private valet, and ordered the swiftest car in his garage made ready +at once, for a quick run.</p> + +<p>Two hours later, Doctor MacDougal had pocketed the largest fee he ever +had received or ever would, again; and Kate was safe at home, in Idle +Hour.</p> + +<p>On the homeward journey, Flint learned every detail of the affair, from +start to finish; and again grimly consigned the soul of the dead +chauffeur to the nethermost pits of Hell. Yes, he realized, he must have +the body brought in and decently buried, after the coroner's verdict had +been rendered; but in his heart he knew that, save for the eye of public +opinion and the law, he would let those charred remnants lie and rot +there, by the river bank, under the twisted wreckage of the car—and +revel in the thought of that last, barbarous revenge.</p> + +<p>Arrived at home, Flint routed specialists out of their offices, and at a +large expense satisfied himself the girl had really taken no serious +harm. Next day, and the <a name="Page_148"></a>days following, all that money and science +could do to make the gash heal without a scar, was done. Waldron called, +greatly unnerved and not at all himself; and Kate received him with +amicable interest. She had not yet informed her father of the rupture +between Waldron and herself, nor did he suspect it. As for "Tiger," he +realized the time was inopportune for any statement of conditions, and +held his peace. But once she should be well, again, he had savagely +resolved this decision of hers should not stand.</p> + +<p>"Damn it, it can't! It mustn't!" he reflected, as on the third evening +he returned to his Fifth Avenue house. "Now that I'm really in danger of +losing her, I'm just beginning to realize what an extraordinary woman +she is! As a wife, the mistress of my establishment, a hostess, a social +leader, what a figure she would make! And too, the alliance between +Flint and myself simply must not be shattered. Kate is the only child. +The old man's billion, or more, will surely come to her, practically +every penny of it. Flint is more than sixty-three this very minute, he's +a dope-fiend, and his heart's damned weak. He's liable to drop off, any +moment. If I get Kate, and he dies, what a fortune! What a prize! Added +to my interests, it will make me master of the world!</p> + +<p>"Then, too, this new Air Trust scheme positively demands that Flint and +I should be bound together by something closer than mere financial +association. I've simply got to be one of the family. I've got to be his +son-in-law. That's a positive necessity! God, what a fool I was at +Longmeadow, to have taken those three drinks, and have been piqued at +her beating me—to have let my tongue and temper slip—in short, to have +acted like an ass!"</p> + +<p><a name="Page_149"></a>Ugly and grim, he puffed at his Londres. Vast schemes of finance and of +conquest wove through his busy, plotting brain. Visions of the girl +arose, too, tempting him still more, though his chill heart was +powerless to feel the urge of any real, self-sacrificing or devoted +love. Sensual passion he knew, and ambition, and the lust of power; +nothing else. But these all opened his eyes to the vast blunder he had +committed, and nerved him to reconquest of the ground that he had lost.</p> + +<p>"I can win her, yet," reflected he, as his car swung into the long and +brilliant night-vista of Fifth Avenue. "I know women, and I understand +the game. Flowers, letters, telephone calls, attention every day—every +hour, if need be—these are the artillery to batter down the strongest +fortresses of indifference, even of dislike. And she shall have them +all—all and more. Wally, old chap, you've never been beaten at any +game, whether in the Street or in the pursuit of woman. You'll win yet; +you're bound to win! And Kate shall yet open the door to you, toward +wealth and power and position such as never yet were seen on earth!"</p> + +<p>Thus fortified by his own determination, he slept more calmly that +night. And, on the morrow, his campaign began.</p> + +<p>It lasted but a week.</p> + +<p>At the end of that time, a friendly little note from Idle Hour told him, +frankly and in the kindest manner possible, that—much as she still +liked and respected him—Catherine could not, now or ever, think of him +in any other way than as a friend.</p> + +<p>Stunned by this body-blow, "Tiger" first swore with hideous blasphemies +that caused his valet to retreat pre<a name="Page_150"></a>cipitately from the famous, +nymph-frieze bedchamber; then ordered drink, then walked the floor a +while in a violent passion; and finally knit up his decision.</p> + +<p>"By God!" he swore, shaking his fist in the direction of Englewood. +"She's balky, eh? She won't, eh? But <i>I</i> say she <i>will!</i> And if I can't +make her, there's her father, who can. Together we can break this +stiff-necked spirit and bring her to time. Hm! Fancy anybody or anything +in this world setting up opposition to Flint and Waldron, combined! Just +fancy it, that's all!</p> + +<p>"So then, what's to do? This: See her father and have a heart-to-heart +talk with him. It's obvious she hasn't told him, yet, the real state of +affairs. I doubt if the old idiot has even noticed the absence of my +ring from her finger. And if he has, she's been able to fool him, easily +enough. But not much longer, so help me!</p> + +<p>"No, this very morning he shall hear from me, the whole infernal +story—he shall learn his daughter's unreasonable rebellion, the slight +she's put upon me and her opposition to his will. <i>Then</i> we shall +see—we shall see who's master in that family, he or the girl!"</p> + +<p>With this strong determination in his superheated mind, Waldron rang up +Flint, asked for a private talk, at eleven, in the Wall Street office, +and made ready the mustering of his arguments; his self-defense; his +appeals to Flint's every sense of interest and liking; his whole plea +for the resumption of the broken betrothal.</p> + +<p>And Catherine, all this time of convalescence—what were her thoughts, +and whither were they straying? Not thoughts of Waldron, that is sure, +despite his notes, his telephoning, his flowers, his visits. Not to him +did they wander, as she sat in her sunny bedroom bay-window, <a name="Page_151"></a>looking +out over the great, close cropped lawn, through the oaks and elms, to +the Palisades and the sparkling Hudson beneath.</p> + +<p>No, not to Waldron. Yet wander they did, despite her; and with +persistence they followed channels till then quite unknown to her.</p> + +<p>What might these channels be? And whither, I ask again, did the girl's +memories and fancies, her wondering thoughts, her vague, half-formulated +longings, lead?</p> + +<p>You, perhaps, can answer, as well as I, if you but remember +that—Billionaire's daughter though she was, and all unversed in the +hard realities of life—she was, at heart and soul, very much a woman +after all.</p> + + + +<br /><hr style="width: 65%;" /><br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_XVII"></a><h3><a name="Page_152"></a>CHAPTER XVII.</h3> + +<h4>THOUGHTS.</h4> +<br /> + +<p>During the long days, the June days, of her convalescence, Catherine +found herself involuntarily reverting, more often than she could +understand, to thoughts of the inscrutable and unknown man who had in +all probability saved her life.</p> + +<p>"Had it not been for him," she reflected, as she sat there gazing out +over the river, "I might not be here, this minute. Caught as I was, on +the very brink of the precipice, I should almost certainly have slipped +and fallen over, in my dazed condition, when I tried to get up. If I'd +been alone, if he hadn't found me just when he did—!"</p> + +<p>She shuddered at thought of what must almost inevitably have happened, +and covered her face with both hands. Her cheeks burned; she knew +emotion such as not once had Waldron's kiss ever been able to arouse in +her. The memory of how she, half-unconscious, had lain in that +stranger's arms, so powerful and tense; had been carried by him, as +though she had been a child; had felt his breath upon her face and the +quick, vigorous beating of his heart—all this, and more, dwelt in her +soul, nor could she banish it.</p> + +<p>Gratitude? Yes, and more. For the first time in her two-and-twenty +years, Catherine had sensed the power, the virility of a real man—not +of the make-be<a name="Page_153"></a>lieve, manicured and tailored parasites of her own +class—and something elemental in her, some urge of primitive womanhood, +grappled her to that memory and, all against her will, caused her to +live and re-live those moments, time and time again, as the most strange +and vital of her life.</p> + +<p>Yet, it was not this physical call alone, in her, that had awakened her +being. The man's eyes, and mouth and hair, true, all remained with her +as a subtly compelling lure; his strength and straight directness seemed +to conquer her and draw her to him; but beyond all this, something in +his speech, in his ideas and the strange reticence that had so puzzled +her, kept him even more constantly in her wondering thoughts.</p> + +<p>"A workingman," she murmured to herself, in uncomprehending revery, "he +said he was a workingman—and he knew that I was very, very rich. He +knew my father would have rewarded him magnificently, given him money, +work, anything he might have asked. And yet, and yet—he would not even +tell his name. And he refused to know mine! He didn't want to know! His +pride—why, in all my life, among all the proud, rich people that I've +known, I've never found such pride as that!"</p> + +<p>She reflected what would have happened had any man of the usual type +rescued her, even a man of wealth and position. Of course, thought she, +that man would have made himself known and would have called on her, +ostensibly to inquire after her condition, yet really to ingratiate +himself. At this reflection she shuddered again.</p> + +<p>"Ugh!" she whispered. "He'd have tried to take liberties, any other man +would. He'd have presumed on the <a name="Page_154"></a>accident—he'd have been—oh, +everything that <i>that</i> man was not, and could never be!"</p> + +<p>Now her thoughts wandered to the brief talk they two had had there in +the old sugar-house. Every word of it seemed graven on her memory. +Disconnected bits of what he had told her, seemed to float before her +mental vision—: "I? Oh, I'm just an out-of-work—don't ask me who I am; +and I won't ask who <i>you</i> are. We're of different worlds, I guess—don't +question me; I'd rather you wouldn't. Am I happy? Yes, in a way, or +shall be, when I've done what I mean to do!"</p> + +<p>Such were some of his phrases that kept coming back to her, as she sat +there in that luxurious and beautiful room, her book lying unread in her +lap, the scent of flowers everywhere, and, merely for her taking, all +the world's treasures hers to command. Strange man, indeed, and stranger +speech, to her! Never had she been thus spoken to. His every word and +thought and point of view, commonplace enough, perhaps, seemed +peculiarly stimulating to her, and wakened eager curiosity, and would +not let her live in peace, as heretofore.</p> + +<p>"He said he was a Socialist, too," she murmured, "whatever that may be. +But he—he didn't <i>look</i> it! On the contrary, he looked remarkably clean +and intelligent. And the words he used were the words of an educated +man. Far better vocabulary than Waldron's, for example; and as for poor +little Van Slyke, and that set, why this man's mind seems to have +towered above them as the Palisades tower above the river!</p> + +<p>"Happy? Rich? He said he was both—and all he had was eighteen dollars +and his two big hands! Just fancy that, will you? He might as well have +said eigh<a name="Page_155"></a>teen cents; it would have been about as much! And I—what did +I tell him? I told him I, with all my money and everything, was vacant, +empty, futile! Just those words. And—God help me, I—I am!"</p> + +<p>Suddenly, she felt her eyes were wet. What was the reason? Herself she +knew not. All she knew was that with her beautiful and queenly head +bowed on the arm of her Japanese silk morning gown, as its loose sleeves +lay along the edge of the Chippendale table, she was crying like a +child.</p> + +<p>Crying bitterly; and yet in a kind of new, strange joy. Crying with +tears so bitter-sweet that she, herself, could not half understand them; +could not fathom the deeper meaning that lay hidden there.</p> + +<p>"If!" she whispered to her heart. "If only I were of his class, or he of +mine!"</p> + +<p>And Gabriel, what of him?</p> + +<p>As he swung north and westward, day by day, on the long hike toward +Niagara, the memory of the girl went with him, and hour by hour bore him +company.</p> + +<p>He was not forgetting. Could he forget? Strive as he might, to thrust +her out of his heart and soul, she still indwelt there.</p> + +<p>Not all his philosophy, nor all his realization that this woman he had +saved, this woman who had lain in his two arms and mingled her breath +with his, belonged to another and an alien class, could banish her.</p> + +<p>And as he strode along, swinging his knotted stick at the daisies and +pondering on all that might have been and now could never be, a sudden, +passionate longing burst over him, as a long sea-roller, hurled against +a cliff, flings upward in vast tourbillions of spume.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_156"></a>Raising his face to the summer sky, his bare head high with emotion and +his eyes wide with the thought of strange possibilities that shook and +intoxicated him, he cried:</p> + +<p>"Oh—would God she were an orphan and an outcast! Would God she had no +penny in this world to call her own!"</p> + + + +<br /><hr style="width: 65%;" /><br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_XVIII"></a><h3><a name="Page_157"></a>CHAPTER XVIII.</h3> + +<h4>FLINT AND WALDRON PLAN.</h4> +<br /> + +<p>"Tiger" Waldron's interview with old man Flint, regarding Catherine's +breaking of the engagement, was particularly electric. Promptly at the +appointed hour, Waldron appeared, shook hands with the older man, sat +down and lighted a cigar, then proceeded to business.</p> + +<p>"Flint," said he, without any ado, "I've come here to tell you some very +unpleasant news and to ask your help. Can you stand the one, and give me +the other?"</p> + +<p>The Billionaire looked at him through his pince-nez, poised on that +vulture-beak, with some astonishment. Then he smiled nervously, showing +his gleaming tooth of gold, and answered:</p> + +<p>"Yes, I guess so. What's wrong?"</p> + +<p>"What's wrong? Everything! Catherine has broken our engagement!"</p> + +<p>For a moment old Flint sat there motionless and staring. Then, moving +his head forward with a peculiar, pecking twitch that still further +enhanced his likeness to a buzzard, he stammered:</p> + +<p>"You—you mean—?"</p> + +<p>"I mean just what I say. Your daughter has severed the betrothal. +Haven't you noticed my ring was gone from her finger?"</p> + +<p>"Gone? Bless my soul, no—that is, yes—maybe. I <a name="Page_158"></a>don't know. But—but +at any rate, I thought nothing of it. So then, you say—she's broken it +off? But, why? And when? And—and tell me, Wally, what's it all about?"</p> + +<p>"Listen, and I <i>will</i> tell you," Tiger answered. "And I'll give it to +you straight. I'm partly at fault. Mostly so, it may be. Let me assume +all the blame, at any rate. I'm not sparing myself and have no intention +of doing so. My conduct, I admit, was beastly. No excuses offered. All I +want to do, now, is to make the <i>amende honorable</i>, be forgiven, and +have the former status resumed."</p> + +<p>Thus spoke Waldron. But all the time his soul lay hot within him, at +having so to humble himself before Flint; at being thus obliged to eat +crow, and fawn and feign and creep.</p> + +<p>"If I didn't need your billion, old man," his secret thought was, as he +eyed Flint with pretended humility, "you might go to Hell, for all of +me—you and your daughter with you, damn you both!"</p> + +<p>The Billionaire sat blinking, for a moment. Then, picking up a pencil +and idly scrawling pothooks on the big clean sheet of blotting-paper +that covered his reference-book table, beside which the men were +sitting, he asked:</p> + +<p>"Well, what's the trouble all about? What are the facts? I must have +those, in full, before I can guarantee to do anything toward changing my +daughter's opinion. Much as I deplore her action, Wally, I don't know +whether she's right or wrong, till you tell me. Now, let's have it."</p> + +<p>"I will," the other answered; and he was as good as his word. Realizing +the prime futility of any subterfuge, <a name="Page_159"></a>or any misstatement of +fact—which Catherine would surely discover and tell her father, and +which would react against him—Waldron began at the beginning and +narrated the entire affair, with every detail precisely accurate. Nay, +he even exaggerated the offensiveness of his conduct, at the Longmeadow +Club, and in various ways gave the Billionaire to understand that he was +a more serious offender than in truth he really was. For, after all, the +only real offense was the lack of any compatibility between the girl and +himself—the total absence of love.</p> + +<p>Flint listened carefully and with a judicial expression. If he blamed +Waldron, he made no statement of that fact. A man himself, and one who +viewed man's weaknesses and woman's foibles with a cynic eye, he could +judge motives and weigh actions with considerable skill.</p> + +<p>"I see, I see," he commented, when Waldron had quite done, and had +poured forth a highly false declaration of his great love for the girl +and his determination that this rupture should not be permanent. "I +understand the case, I think. It all seems an unfortunate accident—just +one of those unavoidable incidents which strike into and upset human +calculations, against all expectation.</p> + +<p>"You're not terribly guilty, Waldron. You acted inconsiderably. +Irritatingly, perhaps, and not wholly like a gentleman—for which, blame +the rotten Scotch they <i>will</i> persist in selling, out there at +Longmeadow. But even that's not fatal. Many men have done worse and been +forgiven. I'll have a talk with Catherine, inside a day or two, when the +psychological moment offers. And you may be sure, if a father's advice +and good offices are of any avail, this little quarrel will be all +patched up <a name="Page_160"></a>between you two. Surely will be! I can almost positively +promise you that!"</p> + +<p>"Promise it?" asked Waldron, leaning eagerly forward, a strange light in +those close-set, greenish eyes.</p> + +<p>Flint nodded. "Yes," he answered. "I've never yet failed to bring Kate +to reason and good common-sense, when I've set out to. This will be no +exception. My word and my counsel possess the greatest weight with her. +She'll listen and be advised, I'm sure. So have no uneasiness," he +concluded, holding out his hand to his partner. "Leave everything to me. +You'll see, it will all come right, in the end."</p> + +<p>"Tiger" shook his hand, cordially.</p> + +<p>"I haven't words to thank you!" he exclaimed, with as much emotion as he +could simulate from a perfectly cold heart and calculating soul.</p> + +<p>"Don't try to," the Billionaire replied, with seeming benevolence. "All +the thanks I want, Wally, is to patch up this little difficulty and +reunite two—that is—two loving, sympathetic hearts!"</p> + +<p>"You old hypocrite!" Waldron thought, eyeing him. "All <i>you</i> want of me, +if anything, is to keep me as your partner, because you know you're +growing old and losing your grip, and I'm still in the game with all +four claws! Paternal philanthropist <i>you</i> are—I don't think!"</p> + +<p>Wally was dead right.</p> + +<p>"I can't lose this man," the Billionaire was thinking. "Whether or no, +Kate has got to marry him. This Air Trust business demands a strong, a +quick, a perfectly unscrupulous hand. And no outsider will do. My +partner has got to be my son-in-law. Love be damned! Roman<a name="Page_161"></a>tic slush can +go to Hell! Kate will marry him—she's <i>got</i> to—or I'll know the reason +why!</p> + +<p>"Though, after all," he soothed his conscience, as Waldron stood up, +walked to the window and stood gazing out as he smoked, "after all, +Wally will make her as happy, I fancy, as any man. He's a fine figure in +the world, commanding, heavily propertied, energetic and successful, +also of the finest family connections. Yes, a husband any woman might +admire and be proud of. Certainly, the only son-in-law for <i>me</i>. Even if +she can't idolize and worship him, as some fool women think they must, a +man, she can respect and be respected with him. And with him she can +take the highest position in the land, without a qualm as to his +competence and manner. Beside all that, what's love? Love? Bah!"</p> + +<p>With which philosophy, he too arose, went back into his own office, and +returned to the dictating of some very private letters to Slade, the +Cosmos Detective Agency manager, <i>in re</i> the ferreting-out and jailing +or deporting of all Socialists and labor leaders at Niagara. This +preparatory work on the ground of the huge new Air Trust plant, he +deemed most essential. The Cosmos people, scenting a big contract, had +fostered his belief, and now, already, the work was well under way. +Subterranean methods were still sufficing; but, should these fail, +others lay in the background.</p> + +<p>Flint smiled a grim, vulturine smile as he read over the finished +letters of instruction, a few minutes later.</p> + +<p>"And to think," he mused, as he finished them, "that these fanatics +believe—really believe—they can make headway anywhere in this country, +now! Ten years ago, yes, they might have. But that's not today. Then, +pub<a name="Page_162"></a>lie opinion—stupid and futile as it was—could still be aroused. +Then, there was a really effective labor and Socialist press. And the +Limited Franchise Bill hadn't gone through. Neither had the enlarged +Military Bill, the National Censorship nor even the Grays—the National +Mounted Police. While <i>now</i>—ah, thank Heaven, it's all so different and +so easy that I call myself a fool, at times, for even giving these +matters a single thought!</p> + +<p>"Well," he concluded, handing the letters back to his confidential +secretary, for mailing, "well, now <i>that's</i> done, at any rate. So then, +to the S. & S. committee meeting. And tonight my little +talk with Kate. I'll soon bring her to reason, I'm sure. There's nothing +can't be accomplished by a little patience and persuasion."</p> + +<p>The old Billionaire chose his time well, that night, for the vital +interview with his daughter, who had so far rebelled against his +authority as to break with the man most eminently acceptable to him. +After a simple but exquisite dinner in the Venetian room, he asked the +girl to play for him, which (he knew) always pleased her and put her in +a receptive mood.</p> + +<p>"Play for you, father?" she answered. "Of course I will, anything and as +much as you like! What shall it be, tonight? Chopin, or Grieg, or—?"</p> + +<p>"Anything that pleases you, suits me, my dear," he answered, smiling +with satisfaction at his ruse. Never had he felt more masterful. He had +allowed himself a trifle more morphia than usual that day, by reason of +the approaching interview; and now the subtle drug filled him with +well-being and seemed to enhance his self-control and power. Lighting a +cigar—rare treat for him—he offered Kate his arm; and together, +unattended <a name="Page_163"></a>by any valet or domestic, they walked along the high, +paneled hallway, hung with Gobelin tapestries, and so reached the +magnificent music-room which Kate claimed, in a way, as her own special +place at Idle Hour.</p> + +<p>Here everything suggested harmony. The mahogany wainscotted walls were +decked with fine portraits of the world's great masters of melody. +Handsome cabinets contained costly and elaborate collections and folios +of music, a complete library of the entire world's best productions. The +girl's harp—a masterpiece by Pestalozzi of Venice—stood at one side; +on the other, a five hundred dollar Victrola, with a wonderful +repertoire of records. But the grand piano itself dominated all, +especially made for Catherine by Durand Frères, in Paris, and imported +on the Billionaire's own yacht, the "Bandit." A wondrous instrument, +this, finer even than the pipe-organ in an alcove at the far end of the +room. It summed up all that the world's masters knew of +instrument-production; and its cost, from factory to its present place +at Idle Hour, represented twenty years' wages, and more, of any of +Flint's slaves in the West Virginia mines or the Glenn Pool oil-fields +of Oklahoma.</p> + +<p>At this magnificent piano the girl now seated herself, on a bench of +polished teak, from Mindanao. And, turning to her father, who had sunk +down in his favorite easy-chair of Russia leather, she asked with a +smile:</p> + +<p>"Well, daddy, what shall I play for you, to-night?"</p> + +<p>He looked at her a minute, before replying. Never had she seemed to +dear, so beautiful to him. The rose-tinted light that fell softly from a +Bohemian chandelier over her head, flooded her coiled hair, her face, +her hands, with soft warm color. The slight dressing that <a name="Page_164"></a>her wound now +required was covered by a deft arrangement of her hair. She had regained +her usual tint. Nothing now told of the accident, the close call she had +had, from death, so short a time before. And old Flint smiled, as he +answered her:</p> + +<p>"What shall you play? Anything you like, my dear. You know best—only, +don't make it too classical. Your old father isn't up to that ultra +music, you know, and never will be!"</p> + +<p>She smiled again with understanding, and turned to the keyboard. Then, +without notes, and with a delicate touch of perfectly modulated +interpretation, she began to render "Traümerei," as though she, too, had +been dreaming of something that might have been.</p> + +<p>Flint listened, with perfect content. The music soothed and quieted him. +Even the foreknowledge of the difficult task that lay before him, the +interview that he must have with his daughter, faded from his mind, a +little, and left him wholly calm. Eyes closed, every sense intent on the +delicious harmony, he followed the masterpiece to the end; and sighed +when the last notes had died away, and kept silence.</p> + +<p>Then Kate, still needing no music on the rack before her, played the +"Miserere" from "Il Trovatore," a Hungarian "Czardas," Mendelssohn's +"Frühlingslied" and the overture from "William Tell." She followed these +with the "Intermezzo" and the "Pizzicato" from "Sylvia," and then with +"Narcissus" and "Sans Souci." And at the end of this, she paused again; +for now her father had arisen and come close to her. With a hand on her +shoulder, looking down at her with stern yet kindly eyes, he said:</p> + +<p>"<a name="Page_165"></a>'Sans Souci'? That means 'Without Care,' doesn't it, Kate?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Daddy. Why?" she answered.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I was just thinking, that's all," said he. "It made me wish <i>I</i> had +no cares, no troubles, no sorrows."</p> + +<p>"Sorrows, father? Why should you have sorrows?" she queried, turning to +him and taking both his shriveled hands in her warm, strong ones.</p> + +<p>"Sorrows? Why shouldn't I?" said he. "Every man of large affairs has +them. Every father has them, too." And he bent over her and kissed her, +with unusual emotion.</p> + +<p>"Every father?" asked she. "What do you mean? Am <i>I</i> a sorrow to you?"</p> + +<p>"A joy in many ways," he answered. "In some, a sorrow."</p> + +<p>"In what ways?" she asked quickly, her eyes widening.</p> + +<p>"In this way, most of all," he told her, as he took her left hand up, +and pointed at the finger where Waldron's ring had been and now no +longer was.</p> + +<p>She looked at him a moment, hardly understanding; then bowed her head.</p> + +<p>"Father," she whispered. "Forgive me—but I couldn't! I—I couldn't! No, +not for the world!"</p> + +<p>Flint's drug-contracted eyes hardened as he stood there gazing down at +her. Once, twice he essayed to speak, but found no words. At last, +however, blinking nervously, he said:</p> + +<p>"This, Kate, is what I want to talk with you about, to-night. Will you +hear me?"</p> + + + +<br /><hr style="width: 65%;" /><br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_XIX"></a><h3><a name="Page_166"></a>CHAPTER XIX.</h3> + +<h4>CATHERINE'S DEFIANCE.</h4> +<br /> + +<p>"Hear you, best and dearest father in the world?" she cried, looking +quickly up at him again. "Of course I will! Only, I beg you, +don't—don't ask me to—"</p> + +<p>"I will ask you nothing, Kate, my girl, save this—to consider +everything well, and to act like a reasoning, thinking creature, not +like an impetuous and romantic school-girl!"</p> + +<p>Releasing her hands, he once more sat down in the easy-chair, crossed +his legs and peered keenly at her, to fathom if he could the inner +workings of that other brain and heart.</p> + +<p>"Well, father," she said, "I'll admit, right away, that I've done wrong +to keep this from you, or to try to. We—I—broke the engagement, that +day of the accident, out at Longmeadow. I <i>meant</i> to tell you, tell you +everything and explain it all, but somehow—"</p> + +<p>"You needn't explain, my dear," said Flint, judicially. "Wally has +already done so."</p> + +<p>"And does he blame me, father?" cried the girl, eagerly, clasping her +hands on her knees.</p> + +<p>"No, not at all. On the contrary, he claims the fault is all his own. +And he's most contrite and repentant, Kate. Absolutely so. All he asks +in the world is to make amends and—well, resume the old relation, +whenever you are willing."</p> + +<p>Kate shook her head.</p> + +<p>"<a name="Page_167"></a>That's noble and big of him, father," said she, "to assume all the +blame. Really, half of it is mine. But he's acted like a true man, in +taking it. However, that can't change my decision. I want him for a +friend, in every way. But for a husband, no, no, never in this world!"</p> + +<p>The Billionaire frowned darkly. Already a stronger opposition was +developing than he had expected; and opposition was the one thing in all +the world that he could neither tolerate nor endure.</p> + +<p>"Listen, Kate," said he. "You don't grasp the situation at all. Waldron +is an extraordinary man in many ways. In refusing him, you seriously +injure yourself. Of course, he has never done any spectacular, heroic +thing for you, like—for instance—that young man who rescued you, and +whom I shall suitably reward as soon as I find him—"</p> + +<p>"What!" she exclaimed, peering eagerly at her father. "What do you mean? +Find him? Reward him?"</p> + +<p>"Eh? Why, naturally," the Billionaire replied, scowling at the +interruption. "His game of refusing his identity was, of course, just a +clever dodge on his part. He certainly must expect something out of it. +I have—er—set certain forces at work to discover him; and, as I say, +when I've done so, I will reward him liberally, and—"</p> + +<p>"You'd better <i>not!</i>" ejaculated Kate, with animation. "He isn't the +sort of man you can take liberties with!"</p> + +<p>"Hm? What now?" said Flint, with vexation. "What do <i>you</i> know about +him?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, nothing, nothing, father," the girl answered quickly. "Only, I +think you're making a mistake to try and <a name="Page_168"></a>force a reward on a man who +doesn't want it. But no matter," she added, her face tinged by a warmer +glow—which Flint was quick to see. "Forgive my interruption. Now, about +Wally?"</p> + +<p>The old man peered intently at his daughter, a full minute, then with a +peculiar sinking at his heart, made shift to say:</p> + +<p>"About Wally, yes; you simply don't understand. That's all. Listen now, +Kate, and be reasonable."</p> + +<p>"I will, daddy. Only don't ask me to marry a man I don't and can't love, +ever, ever, so long as I live!"</p> + +<p>"That isn't anything, my girl. Love isn't all."</p> + +<p>"It is, to <i>me!</i> Without it, marriage is only—" She shuddered. "No, +daddy; a thousand times better for me to be an old maid, and—and all +that, than give myself to <i>him!</i>"</p> + +<p>Flint set his teeth hard together.</p> + +<p>"Kate," said he, his voice like wire, "now hear what I have to say! I +want you fully to understand the character and desirability of Maxim +Waldron!"</p> + +<p>Then in a cold, analytic voice, carefully, point by point, he analyzed +the suitor, told of his wealth and power, his connections and his +prospects, his culture, travel, political influence and world-wide +reputation.</p> + +<p>"Furthermore," he added, while Kate listened with an expression as cold +as her father's tone itself, "he is my partner. We are allied, in +business. I hope we may be, too, in family. This man is one that any +woman in the world might be proud to call her husband—proud, and glad! +Love flies away, in a few brief months or years. Wealth and power and +respect remain. And, with these, love too may come. Be strong, Kate! Be +sensible! You <a name="Page_169"></a>are no child, but a grown woman. I shall not try to force +you. All I want to do is show you your own best interest. Think this all +over. Sleep on it. Tomorrow, let us talk of it again. For your own sake, +and mine, do as you should, and let folly be averted. Renew the +engagement. Hush the breath of gossip and scandal. Conform. Play the +game! Do right—be strong!"</p> + +<p>She only shook her head; and now he saw the glister of tear-drops in +those beautiful gray eyes.</p> + +<p>"Father," cried she, standing up and holding out both hands to him. +"Have mercy on me! I can't—I can't! My heart refuses and I cannot force +it. All this—what is it to me?" She swept her hand at the glowing +luxury around her. "Without love, what would such another home be to me? +Worse than a prison-cell, I swear! A living death, to one like me! +Barter and sale—cold calculation—oh, horrible prostitution, horrible, +unspeakable!</p> + +<p>"Poverty, with love—yes, I would choose it. Without love, I never, +never can give myself! Never, as long as I live!"</p> + +<p>The Billionaire, too, stood up. He was shaking, now, as in a palsy, +striving to control his rage. His fingers twitched spasmodically, and +his eyes burned like firecoals behind those gleaming lenses.</p> + +<p>Then, as he peered at her, he suddenly went even paler than before. +Through his heart a stab of understanding had all at once gone home. The +veils were lifted, and he knew the truth.</p> + +<p>Her manner in speaking of that unknown, wandering rescuer; the blush +that had burned from breast to brow, when he had mentioned the fellow; +her aversion for Wal<a name="Page_170"></a>dron and her reticence in talking of the +accident—all this, and more, now surged on Flint's comprehension, +flooding his mind with light—with light and with terrible anger.</p> + +<p>And, losing all control, he took a step or two, and raised his shaking +hand. His big-knuckled finger, shaken in denunciation, was raised almost +in her face. Choking, stammering, he cried:</p> + +<p>"Ah! Now I know! Now, now I understand you!"</p> + +<p>Terrified, she retreated toward the door of the music-room.</p> + +<p>"Father, father! What makes you look so?" she gasped. "Oh, you have +never looked or spoken to me this way! What—what can it be?"</p> + +<p>"What can it be?" he mouthed at her. "You ask me, you hypocrite, when +you well know?"</p> + +<p>Suddenly she faced him, stiffening into pride and hard rebellion.</p> + +<p>"No more of that, father!" she exclaimed, her eyes blazing. "I am your +daughter, but you can't talk to me thus. You must not!"</p> + +<p>"Who—who are <i>you</i> to say 'must not?'" he gibed, now wholly beside +himself. "You—you, who love a vagabond, a tramp, scum and off-scouring +of the gutter?"</p> + +<p>A strange, half-choking sound was his only answer. Then, with no word, +she turned away from him, biting her lip lest she answer and betray +herself.</p> + +<p>"Go!" he commanded, bloodless and quivering. "Go to your room. No more +of this! We shall see, soon, who's master of this house!"</p> + +<p>She was already gone.</p> + +<p>Old Flint stood there a moment, listening to her retreating footfalls on +the parquetry of the vast hall. Then, <a name="Page_171"></a>as these died he turned and +groped his way, as though blind, back to his chair, and fell in it, and +covered his eyes with both his shaking hands.</p> + +<p>For a long time he sat there, anguished and crucified amid all that +unmeaning luxury and splendor.</p> + +<p>At last he rose and with uncertain steps sought his own suite, +above-stairs.</p> + +<p>Billionaire and world-master though he was, that night he knew his heart +lay dead within him. He realized that all the fruits of life were Dead +Sea fruits, withered to dust and ashes on his pale and quivering lips.</p> + + + +<br /><hr style="width: 65%;" /><br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_XX"></a><h3><a name="Page_172"></a>CHAPTER XX.</h3> + +<h4>THE BILLIONAIRE'S PLOT.</h4> +<br /> + +<p>He was aroused from this bitter revery by a rapping at the door. +Opening, he admitted Slawson, his valet. The servile one handed him a +letter with a special-delivery stamp on it.</p> + +<p>"Excuse me for intruding, sir," said Slawson, meekly smiling, "but I +knew this was urgent."</p> + +<p>"All right. Get out!" growled Flint. When the man was gone, he fortified +himself with a couple of morphine tablets, and ripped the long envelope. +It was from Slade, he knew, of the Cosmos Agency.</p> + +<p>With a rapid eye he glanced it over. Then uttering a sudden oath, he +studied it carefully, under the electric bulb beside his dressing-table.</p> + +<p>"Gods and devils!" he ejaculated. "What next?"</p> + +<p>The letter read:</p> + +<div class="blkquot"><p><i>142A Park Row, New York City, June 28, 1921.</i> + +<p> <i>Isaac L. Flint, Esq.,</i></p> + +<p> <i>Idle Hour, Englewood, N. J.</i></p> + +<p> <i>Dear Sir:</i></p> + +<p> <i> Reporting in the matter of the young man who rescued your + daughter, in the recent accident, let me say I have discovered his + identity and some important facts concerning him. I take the + liberty of thinking that your intention of rewarding him, when + found, will be somewhat modified by this information.</i></p> + +<p> <i>This man's name is Gabriel Armstrong, age 24. Occupation, expert + electrical and chemical worker. A Socialist and labor agitator, of + the most dangerous type, because intellectual and well-read. A man + of considerable power and <a name="Page_173"></a>influence in Socialist and labor + circles. Has been something of a wanderer. Is well known to union + men and Socialists, all over the country. A powerful speaker, and + resourceful.</i></p> + +<p> <i>He was last employed at your testing-works on Staten Island. + Discharged by your Mr. Herzog, about two weeks ago for having, I + understand, been in possession of a certain red-covered note-book, + which Mr. Herzog found in his pocket. This book is the same which + you commissioned me to find, but which Mr. Herzog returned to you + before I undertook the search for it. The inference is that this + Armstrong is in possession of some private information about your + work, which may make him even more dangerous. Herzog informs me + that you and Mr. Waldron have had Armstrong blacklisted. But this + seems of no importance to the man, as he is clever and can live + anywhere, by casual labor and by working with the Socialists.</i></p> + +<p> <i>Armstrong is now at Syracuse. He has been tramping the roads. Have + had two of my operators enter his room at the Excelsior Lodging + House and search, his effects, while he was taking a bath. Can find + nothing to give me any legal means of proceeding against him. He + has some ready money, so a vagrancy-charge will not hold. If you + wish me to resort to extreme measures to "get" him, kindly give me + carte blanche, and guarantee me protection in case of trouble. The + job can be done, but it may be risky, in view of his influence and + backing among the Socialists and labor people. Before proceeding + further I want to know how far you will support me.</i></p> + +<p> <i>Am having him shadowed. He cannot get away. As yet he suspects + nothing. On receipt of your next, will take measures to put him + away for a few months. I know that, once he lands behind bars, his + finish can be easily arranged.</i></p> + +<p> <i>Trusting this information will prove satisfactory to you, and + awaiting your further instructions, I am,</i></p> + +<p> <i>Very truly yours</i>,</p> + +<p> THE COSMOS AGENCY,</p> + +<p> <i>Dillon F. Slade, Mgr.</i></p></div> + +<p>Old Flint read this extraordinary communication twice through, then, +raising his head, growled in his shrunken throat, for all the world like +a wild beast. His gold tooth, gleaming in the light, made his rictus of +passion more venomous, more malevolent still.</p> + +<p>"The—the Hell-hound!" he stammered, his eyes narrowed with hate and +rage. "Oh, wait! Wait till we <a name="Page_174"></a>land him! And this—<i>this</i> is the devil, +the scum, that Kate, my daughter—"</p> + +<p>He could not finish; but, clutching at his sparse gray hair, fell to +pacing the floor and mouthing execrations. Had he been of the sanguine +manner of body, he must inevitably have suffered an apoplexy. Only his +spare frame and bloodless type, due to the drug, saved his life, at that +first shock of rage and hate.</p> + +<p>Grown calmer, presently, he took quick action. Seating himself at a desk +in the corner of his bed-chamber—a desk where some of his most +important private matters had been put through—he chose a sheet of +blank paper, with no monogram, and wrote:</p> + +<div class="blkquot"><p><i>Take immediate action. Will back you to the limit, and beyond. Ten + thousand bonus if you land him behind bars inside a week. Stop at + nothing, but get results. F.</i></p></div> + +<p>This he folded and put in an envelope which he addressed to Slade, and +was about to seal, when another idea struck him.</p> + +<p>"By God!" he exclaimed, smiting the desk. "It won't do to have this just +some ordinary charge. The thing has got to be disgraceful, unpardonable, +hideous!</p> + +<p>"There are two things to be considered now. One is to 'get' him, in +connection with that red book of my plans—to head him off from making +any possible trouble in the development of the Air Trust.</p> + +<p>"The other is—Kate! Nothing catches a woman, like martyrdom. If +anything happens to this cur, and she suspects that I've done it, out of +spite, all Hell can't <a name="Page_175"></a>hold her. I know her well enough for <i>that</i>. No, +this fellow has got to be put away on some charge that will absolutely +and utterly ruin him, in her eyes, for good and all—that will blast and +wreck him, forever, with her. Something that, when I tell her, will fill +her with loathing and horror. Something that will cause a terrible and +complete revulsion of feeling in her, and bring her back to Waldron, as +to a strong refuge in time of trouble. Something that will crush and +quell her, utterly cure her of those idiotic, school-girl notions of +hers, and make her—as she should be—submissive to my will and my +demands!"</p> + +<p>He pondered a moment, an ugly, crafty smile on those old lips of his; +then, struck by sudden inspiration, laughed a dry, harsh laugh.</p> + +<p>"The very thing!" he exulted, with the mirth of a vulture that has just +found a peculiarly revolting mass of carrion. "Fool that I was, not to +have thought of it before!"</p> + +<p>Hastily he withdrew the letter from the envelope, opened it, and with +eager hand wrote three short sentences. He read these over, nodded +approval, and this time sealed and addressed the letter. Then he pushed +an electric button over the desk.</p> + +<p>"Have this letter carried to this address at once," he commanded +Slawson. "Mr. Dillon Slade, 432 Highland Avenue, Rutherford, N. J. +See? Special delivery won't do. Have Sanders take it at once, in the +racer. No answer required. And after you've seen it start on its way, +come back here. I want to go to bed."</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir. All right, sir," the valet bowed as he took the letter and +departed.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_176"></a>Ten minutes later, he was back again, helping old Flint undress.</p> + +<p>Long after the Billionaire was in bed, in the big, luxurious room, with +its windows open toward the river—the room guarded all night by armed +men in the house and on the lawn outside—he lay there thinking of his +plot, chuckling to himself over its infernal cunning, and filled with +joy at the prospects now opening out ahead of him.</p> + +<p>"Two birds with one stone, this time, for sure," he pondered. "Ha! +They'll try to beat old Isaac Flint at this or any other game, will +they? Man or woman, I don't care which, they'll never get away with +it—never, so long as life and breath remain in me!"</p> + +<p>Then, soothed by these happy thoughts, and by a somewhat increased +dosage of his drug, the Billionaire gradually and contentedly fell +asleep, to dream of victory, and vengeance, and power.</p> + +<p>Not in weeks had he slumbered so peacefully.</p> + +<p>But for many hours after her father was asleep, Catherine sat at her +window, in a silk kimono, and with fevered pulses and dry eyes, with +throbbing heart and leaping pulses, thought long thoughts.</p> + +<p>Sleepless she sat there, counting the hours tolled from the church-spire +in the town, below.</p> + +<p>Morning still found her at the window, her brain afire, her heart laid +desolate and waste by the consuming struggle which, that night, had +swept and ravaged it.</p> + + + +<br /><hr style="width: 65%;" /><br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_XXI"></a><h3><a name="Page_177"></a>CHAPTER XXI.</h3> + +<h4>GABRIEL, GOOD SAMARITAN.</h4> +<br /> + +<p>On the evening of July third, a week later, Gabriel Armstrong found +himself at Rochester, having tramped the hundred miles from Syracuse, by +easy stages. During this week, old Flint took good care not to reopen +the subject of the break with Waldron; and his daughter, too, avoided +it. They two were apparently at an impasse regarding it. But Flint +inwardly rejoiced, knowing full well the plot now under way. And though +Waldron urged him to take some further action and force the issue, Flint +bade him hold his peace, and wait, telling him all would yet be well.</p> + +<p>Outwardly calmer, the old man was raging, within, more and ever more +bitterly, against Armstrong. On July first, Slade had reported in person +that his operators who were trailing the quarry had—in the +night—discovered in one of his pockets a maple leaf wrapped in a fine +linen handkerchief marked "C. J. F." Flint, recognizing his +daughter's initials, well-nigh burst a blood-vessel for wrath. But he +instructed Slade not to have the handkerchief abstracted from +Armstrong's possession. By no sign or hint must the victim be made aware +that he was being spied upon. When the final blow should fall, then +(reflected the Billionaire, with devilish satisfaction) all scores would +be paid in full, and more than paid.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_178"></a>July third, then, found Gabriel at Rochester, now seventy-five or +eighty miles from Niagara Falls, his goal, where—he had already +heard—ground was being actually broken for the huge new power plant of +which he alone, of all outsiders, understood the meaning. Gabriel +counted on spending the Fourth at Rochester where a Socialist picnic and +celebration had been arranged. Ordinarily, he would have taken part in +the work and volunteered as a speaker, but now, anxious to keep out of +sight, he counted merely on forming one of the crowd. There could be +little danger, thought he, in such a mass. Despite the recent stringent +censorship and military rule of the district by the new Mounted Police, +a huge gathering was expected. The big railway and lake-traffic strikes, +both recently lost, had produced keen resentment, and, as political and +economic power had been narrowed here, as all over the country, in these +last few months of on-sweeping capitalist domination, the Socialist +movement had been growing ever more and more swiftly.</p> + +<p>"It will be worth seeing," thought Gabriel, as he stood outside the +lodging-house where he had taken a room for the night. The workers are +surely awakening, at last. The spirit I've been meeting, lately, is +uglier and more determined than anything I ever used to find, a year or +two ago. It seems to me, if conditions are like this all over the +country, the safety-valve is about ready to pop, and the masters had +better look out, or some of them are going to land in Hell!</p> + +<p>"Yes, I'll stop over here, one day, and look and listen. Sorry I can't +take part, but I mustn't. My game, now, <a name="Page_179"></a>is to travel underground as it +were. I've got a bigger job in view than soap-boxing, just <i>now!</i>"</p> + +<p>He ate a simple supper at an "Owl" lunch-cart, totally unaware that, +across the street, a couple of Cosmos men were waiting for him to come +out. And, after this, buying a Socialist paper, he strolled into Evans +Park to sit and read, a while, by the red light of the descending sun.</p> + +<p>Here he remained till dark, smoking his briar, watching the dirty, +ragged children of the wretched wage-slaves at play; observing the +exploited men and women on the park-benches, as they sought a little +fresh air and respite from toil; and pondering the problems that still +lay before him. At times—often indeed—his thoughts wandered to the +maple-grove and the old sugar-house, far away on the Hudson. Memories of +the girl would not be banished, nor longings for her. Who she might be, +he still knew not. Unwilling to learn, he had refrained from looking up +the number he had copied from the plate of the wrecked machine. He had +even abstained from reading the papers, a few days, lest he might see +some account of the accident. A strange kind of unwillingness to know +the woman's name possessed him—a feeling that, if he positively +identified her as one of some famous clan of robbers and exploiters, he +could no longer cherish her memory or love the thought of how they two +had, for an hour, sat together and talked and been good, honest friends.</p> + +<p>"No," he murmured to himself, "it's better this way—just to recall her +as a girl in need, a girl who let me help her, a girl I can always +remember with kind thoughts, as long as I live!"</p> + +<p><a name="Page_180"></a>From his pocket he took the little handkerchief, which wrapped the +leaf, once part of her bed. A faint, elusive scent still hung about +it—something of her, still it seemed. He closed his eyes, there on the +hard park bench, and let his fancies rove whither they would; and for a +time it seemed to him a wondrous peace possessed him.</p> + +<p>"If it could only have been," he murmured, at last. "If only it could +be!"</p> + +<p>Then suddenly urged by a realization of the hopelessness of it all, he +stood up, pocketed the souvenirs of her again, and walked away in the +dusk; away, through the park; away, at random, through squalid, ugly +streets, where the first electric-lights were just beginning to flare; +where children swarmed in the close heat, wallowing along the gutters, +dodging teams and cars, as they essayed to play, setting off a few +premature firecrackers and mocking the police—all in all, leading the +ugly, unnatural, destructive life of all children of the city +proletariat.</p> + +<p>"Poor little devils!" thought Gabriel, stopping to observe a dirty group +clustered about an ice-cream cart, where cheap, adulterated, +high-colored stuff was being sold for a penny a square—aniline poison, +no doubt, and God knows what else. "Poor little kids! Not much like the +children of the masters, eh? with their lawns and playgrounds, their +beaches and flowery fields, their gardens and fine schools, their dogs, +ponies, autos and all the rest! Some difference, all right—and it takes +a thousand of <i>these</i>, yes, ten thousand, to keep one of <i>those</i>. +And—and <i>she</i> was one of the rich and dainty children! Her beauty, +health and grace were bought at the <a name="Page_181"></a>price of ten thousand other +children's health, and joy and lives! Ah, God, what a price! What a +cruel, awful, barbarous price to pay!"</p> + +<p>Saddened and pensive, he passed on, still thinking of the woman he could +not banish from his mind, despite his bitterness against her class.</p> + +<p>So he walked on and on, now through better streets and now through +worse, up and down the city.</p> + +<p>Here and there, detonations and red fire marked the impatience of some +demonstrator who could not wait till midnight to show his ardent +patriotism and his public spirit by risking life and property. The +saloons were all doing a land-office business, with the holiday +impending and the thermometer at 97. Now and then, slattern women, in +foul clothes and with huge, gelatinous breasts, could be seen rushing +the growler, at the "family entrance" of some low dive. Even little +girls bore tin pails, for the evening's "scuttle o' suds" to be consumed +on roof, or in back yard of stinking tenement, or on some fire-escape. +The city, in fine, was relaxing from its toil; and, as the workers for +the most part knew no other way, nor could afford any, they were trying +to snatch some brief moment of respite from the Hell of their slavery, +by recourse to rough ribaldry and alcohol.</p> + +<p>Nine o'clock had just struck from the church-spires which mocked the +slums with their appeal to an impassive Heaven, when, passing a foul and +narrow alley that led down to the Genesee River, Gabriel saw a woman +sitting on a doorstep, weeping bitterly.</p> + +<p>This woman—hardly more than a girl—was holding a little bundle in one +hand. The other covered her face. Her sobs were audible. Grief of the +most intense, he saw <a name="Page_182"></a>at once, convulsed her. Two or three by-standers, +watching with a kind of pleased curiosity, completed the scene, most +sordid in its setting, there under the flicker of a gas-light on the +corner.</p> + +<p>"Hm! What now?" thought Gabriel, stopping to watch the little tragedy. +"More trouble, eh? It's trouble all up and down the line, for these poor +devils! Nothing but trouble for the slave-class. Well, well, let's see +what's wrong <i>now!</i>"</p> + +<p>Gabriel turned down the alley, drew near the little group, and halted.</p> + +<p>"What's wrong?" he asked, in the tone of authority he knew how to use; +the tone which always overbore his outward aspect, even though he might +have been clad in rags; the tone which made men yield to him, and women +look at him with trustful eyes, even as the Billionaire's daughter had +looked.</p> + +<p>"Search <i>me!</i>" murmured one of the men, shrugging his shoulders. "<i>I</i> +can't git nothin' out o' her. She's been sittin' here, cryin', a few +minutes, that's all I know; an' she won't say nothin' to nobody.</p> + +<p>"Any of you men know anything about it?" demanded Gabriel, looking at +the rest.</p> + +<p>A murmur of negation was his only answer. One or two others, scenting +some excitement, even though only that of a distressed woman—common +sight, indeed!—lingered near. The little group was growing.</p> + +<p>Gabriel bent and touched the woman's shoulder.</p> + +<p>"What's the matter?" asked he, in a gentle voice. "If you're in trouble, +let me help you."</p> + +<p>Renewed sobs were her only answer.</p> + +<p>"<a name="Page_183"></a>If you'll only tell me what's the matter," Gabriel went on, "I'm sure +I can do something for you."</p> + +<p>"You—you can't!" choked the woman, without raising her head from the +corner of the ragged shawl that she was holding over her eyes. "Nobody +can't! Bill, he's gone, and Eddy's gone, and Mr. Micolo says he won't +let me in. So there ain't nothin' to do. Let me alone—oh dear, oh dear, +dear!"</p> + +<p>Fresh tears and grief. The little knot of spectators, still growing, +nodded with approval, and figuratively licked its lips, in satisfaction. +Somewhere a boy snickered.</p> + +<p>"Come, come," said Gabriel, bending close over the grief-stricken woman, +"pull together, and let's hear what the trouble is! Who's Bill, and +who's Eddy—and what about Mr. Micolo? Come, tell me. I'm sure I can do +something to straighten things out."</p> + +<p>No answer. Gabriel turned to the increasing crowd, again.</p> + +<p>"Any of you people know what about it?" he asked.</p> + +<p>Again no answer, save that one elderly man, standing on the steps beside +the woman, remarked casually:</p> + +<p>"I guess she's got fired out of her room. That's all I know."</p> + +<p>Gabriel took her by the arm, and drew her up.</p> + +<p>"Come, now!" said he, a sterner note in his voice. "This won't do! You +mustn't sit here, and draw a crowd. First thing you know an officer will +be along, and you may get into trouble. Tell me what's wrong, and I +promise to see you through it, as far as I can."</p> + +<p>She raised her face, now, and looked at him, a moment. Tear-stained and +dishevelled though she was, and <a name="Page_184"></a>soiled by marks of drink and +debauchery, Gabriel saw she must once have been very beautiful and still +was comely.</p> + +<p>"Well," he asked. "Aren't you going to tell me?"</p> + +<p>"Tell you?" she repeated. "I—oh, I can't! Not in front of all them +men!"</p> + +<p>"Very well!" said he, "walk with me, and give me your story. Will you do +that? At all events, you mustn't stay here, making a disturbance on the +highway. If you knew the police as well as I do, you'd understand that!"</p> + +<p>"You're right, friend," said she, hoarsely. "I'm on, now. Come along +then—I'll tell you. It ain't much to tell; but it's a lot to me!"</p> + +<p>She glanced at the curious faces of the watchers, then turned and +followed Gabriel, who was already walking up the alley, toward the +brighter lights of Stuart Street. For a moment, one or two of the men +hesitated as though undecided whether or not to follow after; but one +backward look by Gabriel instantly dispelled any desire to intrude. And +as Gabriel and the woman turned into the street, the little knot of +curiosity-seekers dissolved into its component atoms, and vanished.</p> + + + +<br /><hr style="width: 65%;" /><br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_XXII"></a><h3><a name="Page_185"></a>CHAPTER XXII.</h3> + +<h4>THE TRAP IS SPRUNG.</h4> +<br /> + +<p>"It—it's all along o' that there Mr. Micolo!" the woman suddenly +exclaimed, "Him an' his rent-bill! If he'd ha' let me in, there, +tonight, I could ha' got Ed's things an' then started to my sister's, +out to Scottsville. But he wouldn't. He claimed they was +two-seventy-five still owin', and I didn't have but about fifty cents, +so I couldn't pay it. So he wouldn't let me in. Natchally, anybody'd +feel bad, like that, 'specially when a man told 'em he'd hold their +kid's clothes an' things till they paid—which they couldn't!"</p> + +<p>"Naturally, of course," answered Gabriel, rather dazed by this sudden +burst of details, with which she seemed to think he should already be +quite familiar—details all sordid and commonplace, through which he +seemed to perceive, dimly as in a dark glass, some mean and ugly tragedy +of poverty and ignorance and sin.</p> + +<p>"Are you hungry?" he asked, all at once. "If so, come in here, where we +can talk quietly and get things straight." He pointed at a cheap +restaurant, across the street.</p> + +<p>"Hungry? Gord, yes!" she exclaimed. Only I—I wouldn't ask, if I fell on +the sidewalk! Fifty cents—yes, I got that much, but I been tryin' to +get enough to pay Mr. Micolo, an' get hold of Ed's things, an'—"</p> + +<p>"All right, forget that, now," commanded Gabriel. He <a name="Page_186"></a>took her by the +arm and piloted her across the thoroughfare, then into the dingy +hash-house and to a table in a far corner. A few minutes later, pretty +much everything on the bill of fare was before them on the greasy table.</p> + +<p>"Not a word till you're satisfied," directed Armstrong. "I'll just take +a little bread and coffee, to keep you company."</p> + +<p>The woman adequately proved her statement that she was hungry. Rarely +had Gabriel seen anybody eat with such ravenous appetite. He watched her +with satisfaction, and when she could consume no more, smiled as he +asked:</p> + +<p>"Now, then, feel better? If so, let's tackle the next problem. What's +your grief?"</p> + +<p>The woman stared at him a long moment before she made reply. Then she +exclaimed suddenly:</p> + +<p>"You ain't no kind of 'bull,' are you? Nor plain-clothes man?"</p> + +<p>Gabriel shook his head.</p> + +<p>"No," said he, "nothing of that kind. You can trust me. Let's have the +story."</p> + +<p>"Hm! It ain't much, I s'pose," she answered still half-suspiciously. +"Bill and me was livin' together, that's all. No, not married, nor +nothin'—but—"</p> + +<p>"All right. Go on."</p> + +<p>"That was last winter. When the kid happened—Ed, you know—Bill, he got +sore, an' beat it. Then I—I went on the street, to keep Ed. Nothin' +else to do, Mister, so help me, an'—"</p> + +<p>"Never mind, I understand," said Gabriel. "What next?"</p> + +<p>"<a name="Page_187"></a>And after that, I gets sick. <i>You</i> know. Almost right away. So I has +to go to St. Luke's hospital. I leaves Ed with Mrs. McCane, at the same +house. That place in the alley, you know. Well, when I gets out, the +boy's dead. <i>An</i>' they never even tells me, till I goes back! An' I +can't even get his things. Because why? Mrs. McCane's gone, Gord knows +where, an' Mr. Micolo says I still owe two-seventy-five. I want to get +down there to Scottsville, to my sister's; but curse <i>me</i> if I'll go +till I pay that devil an' get them clothes!"</p> + +<p>A sudden savage light in her blurred eyes betrayed the passion of the +mother-love, through all the filth and soilure of her degradation. +Gabriel felt his heart deeply moved. He bent toward her, across the +table, touched her hand and asked:</p> + +<p>"Will you accept five dollars, to pay this man and get you down to +Scottsville?"</p> + +<p>"Huh?" she queried, gazing at him with vacant, uncomprehending eyes.</p> + +<p>He repeated his query. Then, as he saw the slow tears start and roll +down her wan cheeks, he felt a greater joy within his breast than if the +world and all its treasures had been his.</p> + +<p>"Will I take it?" she whispered. "Gord, <i>will</i> I? You bet I will! That +is, if I can have your name, an' pay it back some time?"</p> + +<p>He promised, and wrote it down for her, giving as his address Socialist +Headquarters in Chicago. Then, without publicity, he slipped a V into +her trembling hand.</p> + +<p>"Come on," said he. "<i>That's</i> all settled!"</p> + +<p>He paid the check, and they went out, together. For a moment they stood +together, undecided, on the sidewalk.</p> + +<p>"<a name="Page_188"></a>Couldn't I get them things to-night, an' start?" asked she, eagerly. +"There's a train at 11:08, on the B. R. & P."</p> + +<p>"All right," he assented. "Can you see this Micolo, now? It's after +ten."</p> + +<p>"Oh, <i>that</i> don't make no difference," she answered. "He runs a pawnshop +over here on Dexter Street, two blocks east. He'll be open till +midnight, easy, tomorrow bein' the Fourth."</p> + +<p>"Come on, then," said Gabriel. "I'll see you through the whole business, +and onto the train. Maybe I can help you, all along."</p> + +<p>Without another word she started, with Gabriel at her side. They +traversed the main street, two blocks, then turned to the left down a +narrower, darker one.</p> + +<p>"Here's Micolo's," said she, pausing at a doorway. Gabriel nodded. "All +right," he answered. He had not noted, nor did he dream, that, at the +corner behind them, two slinking, sneaking figures were now watching his +every move.</p> + +<p>The woman turned the knob, and entered. Gabriel followed.</p> + +<p>"It's on the second floor," said she. Gabriel saw a sign, on the +landing: "S. L. Micolo, Pawn Broker," and motioned her to precede +him.</p> + +<p>In a minute they had reached the upper hallway. The woman opened another +door. The room, inside, was dark.</p> + +<p>"This way," said she. "He's in the inside office, I guess. The light +must ha' gone out here, some way or other."</p> + +<p>Gabriel hesitated. Some inkling, some vague intui<a name="Page_189"></a>tion all at once had +come upon him, that all was not well. At his elbow some invisible force +seemed plucking. "Come away! Come back, before it is too late!" some +ghostly voice seemed calling in his ear.</p> + +<p>But still, he did not fully understand. Still he remained there, his +mind obsessed by the plausibility of the woman's story and by the pity +he so keenly felt.</p> + +<p>And now he heard her voice again:</p> + +<p>"Mr. Micolo! Oh, Mr. Micolo! Where are you?"</p> + +<p>Striking a match, he advanced into the room.</p> + +<p>"Any gas here?" he asked, peering about for a burner.</p> + +<p>Suddenly he started with violent emotion. Behind him, in some +unaccountable way, the door had been closed. He heard a key turn, +softly.</p> + +<p>"What—what's this?" he exclaimed. He heard the woman moving about, +somewhere in the gloom. "See here!" he cried. "What kind of a—?"</p> + +<p>The match burned brightly, all at once. He peered about him, wide-eyed.</p> + +<p>"This is no office!" shouted he. "Here, you! What's the meaning of this? +This is a bed-room!"</p> + +<p>Sudden realization of the trap stunned and sickened him.</p> + +<p>"God! They've got me! Flint and Waldron—they've landed me, at last!" he +choked. "But—but not till I've broken a few heads, by God!"</p> + +<p>The match fell from his burnt fingers. Whirling toward the door, he +rained powerful kicks upon it. He would get out, he must get out, at all +hazards!</p> + +<p>Suddenly the woman began to scream, with harsh and piercing cries that +seemed to rip the very atmosphere.</p> + +<br /> + +<a name="Page_190"></a><a name="Image_4"></a><center> +<img src="images/image-4.jpg" height="75%" alt="Aiming at the base of the skull she struck." title=""> +</center> +<div class="caption"><center><b>Aiming at the base of the skull she struck.</b></center></div> + +<br /> + +<p><a name="Page_191"></a>At the third scream, or the fourth, the key was turned and the door +jerked open.</p> + +<p>In its aperture, three men stood—the two who had been so long trailing +Gabriel, and a policeman, burly, red-jowled, big-paunched.</p> + +<p>Gabriel stared at them. His mouth opened, then closed again without a +word. As well for a trapped animal to make explanations to the Indian +hunter, as for him to tell these men the truth. The truth? <i>They</i> knew +the truth; and they were there to crucify him. He read it in their +cruel, eager eyes.</p> + +<p>The woman had stopped screaming now, and was weeping with abandon, +pouring forth a tale of insults and abuse and robbery, with hysterical +sobs.</p> + +<p>Full in the faces of the three men Gabriel sneered.</p> + +<p>"You've done a good job of it, this time, you skunks!" he gibed. "I'm +on. You'll get me, in the end; but not just yet. The first man through +this door gets his head broken—and that goes, too!"</p> + +<p>With a snarl of "You damned white slaver!" the officer raised his +night-stick and hurled himself at Gabriel.</p> + +<p>Gabriel ducked and planted a terrific left-hander on the "bull's" ear. +Roaring, the majesty of the law careened against the bed, crashed the +flimsy thing to wreckage and went down.</p> + +<p>Then, fighting back into the gloom of the trap, Gabriel engaged the two +detectives. For a moment he held them. One went to the floor with an +uppercut under the chin; but came back. The other landed hard on +Gabriel's jaw.</p> + +<p>He turned to strike down, again, the first of the two. He heard the bed +creaking, and saw the policeman struggling to arise. In a whirlwind of +blows, the second detec<a name="Page_192"></a>tive flailed at him, striving to beat down his +guard and floor him with a vicious rib-jolt.</p> + +<p>"All's fair, here!" thought Gabriel, snatching up a chair. For a moment +he brandished it on high. With this weapon, he knew—though final defeat +was inevitable, when reinforcements should arrive—he could sweep a +clear space.</p> + +<p>Perhaps he might even yet escape! He heard feet trampling on the stairs, +and his heart died within him. Well, even though escape were impossible, +he would fight to a finish and die game, if die he must!</p> + +<p>Down swung the chair, and round, crashing to ruin as it struck the +policeman who was just getting to his feet again. Oaths, cries, screams +made the place hideous. Dust rose, and blood began to flow.</p> + +<p>Armed now with one leg of the chair, Gabriel retreated; and as he went, +he hurled the bitterness of all his scorn and hate upon these vile +conspirators.</p> + +<p>And as he flayed them with his tongue, he struck; and like Samson +against the Philistines, he did great execution.</p> + +<p>Like Samson, too, he lost his power through a woman's treachery. For, +even as the attackers seemed to fall back, shattered and at a loss +before such fury and tremendous strength, behind Gabriel the woman rose, +a laugh of malice on her lips, the policeman's long and heavy +night-stick in her hand.</p> + +<p>A moment she poised it, crouching as he—seeing her not—swung his +weapon and hurled his defiance at the baffled men in front.</p> + +<p>Then, aiming at the base of the skull, she struck.</p> + +<p>Sudden bright lights spangled the darkness, for Gab<a name="Page_193"></a>riel. Everything +whirled about, in dizzying confusion. A strange, far roaring sounded in +his ears.</p> + +<p>Then he fell; and oblivion took him to its blessed peace and rest; and +all grew still and black.</p> + + + +<br /><hr style="width: 65%;" /><br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_XXIII"></a><h3><a name="Page_194"></a>CHAPTER XXIII.</h3> + +<h4>THE BEAST GLOATS.</h4> +<br /> + +<p>"Fer Gawd's sake, let's have a light here, somebody!" panted the +dishevelled policeman. Outside, the ringing of a gong became audible. +Then came a clattering of hoofs, as the police-patrol, nicely-timed by +the conspirators, and summoned by a confederate, drew up at the box on +the corner.</p> + +<p>Somebody struck another match, and a raw gas-light flared. From the +hallway, two or three others crowded into the wrecked room. Disjointed +exclamations, oaths and curses intermingled with harsh laughter.</p> + +<p>The woman—Lillian Rafter, probably the finest actress and stool-pigeon +in the whole detective world of graft and crookedness—lighted a +cigarette at the gas-burner, and laughed with triumph.</p> + +<p>"Some make-up, eh kid?" she demanded of the taller detective, who was +now nursing a bad "shiner," as a black eye is known in the under-world, +and whose face was battered to a bleeding pulp. "Believe me, as a job, +this is some job! From start to finish, a pippin. He was bound to fall +for it though. No help for him. Even if he hadn't butted into the +'plant' we fixed for him in the alley, there, I could have braced him in +the street with my tale of woe. He was just bound to be 'it,' this time. +We had him going, all ways for Sunday!"</p> + +<p>Scornfully the woman Gabriel had befriended in her <a name="Page_195"></a>seeming misery, spat +at him as he lay there stunned and scarcely breathing on the dirty +floor.</p> + +<p>"And just pipe this, will you, too?" she exulted, holding up the +five-dollar bill he had given her. "And this?" She exhibited his name +and address, written on a card. "In his own writing, boys. As evidence +to hold him on a white slave charge, is this some evidence or isn't it?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, we'll hold him, all right!" growled the other detective, whose +right arm dangled limp, where the chair had struck him. "The —— —— +of a ——! He'll go up for a finif, a five-spot, or I'm a liar! And once +we get him behind bars, good-night!"</p> + +<p>He deliberately drew back his heavy boot and kicked Gabriel full in the +face.</p> + +<p>"You —— ——!" he cursed. "Try to bean <i>me</i>, will you? Damn you! +You've made <i>your</i> last soap-box spiel!"</p> + +<p>"Come on, now, boys, out with him, an' no more rag-chewin'!" the +policeman exclaimed. "Git him in the wagon, an' away, before a gang +piles in here! You, Caffery, take his feet. I'll manage his head. Jesus, +but he's some big guy, though, the —— —— of a ——!"</p> + +<p>Together, the battered policeman and the detective who still had some +strength left in him, raised Gabriel's limp body and carried it from the +room. The woman, meanwhile, stood there inhaling cigarette-smoke and +laughing viciously to herself.</p> + +<p>"You easy mutt!" she exclaimed. "Dead baby, room-rent due, wanted to get +home to sister—and you fell for that old gag with whiskers on it! +You're some wise guy all right, all right, I don't think. Well, as a +stall it was a beaut. And I must say I never screamed better in all <a name="Page_196"></a>my +life. And that wallop I handed out, was a peach. If I don't pull down +five hundred for this night's work—"</p> + +<p>"Shut up, you ——!" snarled Caffery, as he turned into the stairway. +"Keep that lip o' yours quiet, will you, or—"</p> + +<p>The woman stared at him a moment, then laughed insolently and snapped +her smoke-yellowed fingers at him in defiance.</p> + +<p>"Mind you show up in court, in the mornin'!" panted the officer, +staggering downstairs under the weight of Gabriel's huge shoulders.</p> + +<p>"Better arrest her now," suggested Caffery, "an' hold her."</p> + +<p>"You will, like Hell!" retorted the woman.</p> + +<p>"Shhh! In one door an' out the other," the second detective whispered in +her ear, as she stood there in the doorway. "I'll see to it you get +fifty extra for <i>that!</i>"</p> + +<p>"Oh, if that's the game, fine business!" she smiled. "Go to it—I'm your +huckleberry!"</p> + +<p>Thus it befell that, while a large and growing crowd observed, under the +arc-light on the corner—a crowd where no fewer than six reporters, all +duly tipped off in advance, were taking notes—Gabriel Armstrong, the +Socialist speaker and leader, was bundled, unconscious, into a patrol +wagon of the City of Rochester; and with him, a drunken-acting harlot, +babbling charges of white-slave extortion and violence against him; and +with them both, several witnesses, who would have sworn that Heaven was +Hell, for five dollars cash in hand.</p> + +<p>Thus was the stage set, for the next session of the honorable court. +Thus were the wires pulled. Thus, the prison doors were swung wide open, +and, above all, the <a name="Page_197"></a>honor and the reputation of a man swept to the +garbage-heaps of life.</p> + +<p>True, at the morrow's great mass-meeting, there were destined to be +protests and calls for investigation. The Socialist press was destined +to take it up, defend him and demand the truth. But, swamped by a +perfectly overwhelming capitalist press, not only naturally hostile but +in this case already heavily subsidized; shattered by the close-knit, +circumstantial evidence; hamstrung and hampered in every way by the +power of unlimited money and Tammany pull, the Socialists might as well +have tried to sweep back the sea with a broom as save this man from +legal crucifixion. Worse still, they themselves, and the beaten strikers +with whom they had been fraternizing, got a black eye in the affair; and +many an editorial column, many a pulpit, unctuously discoursed thereon. +Many an anti-Socialist thug and grafter, loud-mouthed and blatant, +bellowed revamped platitudes of "immorality" and "breaking up the home," +and the "nation of fatherless children," pointing at Gabriel Armstrong +as a shining example of Socialist hypocrisy and filth.</p> + +<p>Press, law, church, capitalism itself nailed this man and the movement +he stood for, to the cross. And the pimps and parasites of the private +detective agency chuckled in their well-paid glee. The woman, Gabriel's +betrayer, counted her "thirty pieces of silver" and laughed in the foul +dark. The police cut a fine melon secretly handed them by Flint; and so, +too, did the local papers and more than one local pulpit.</p> + +<p>So, in Gabriel's grief and woe and desolation, as he sat in his grim +cell with aching head, bruised face and bleeding heart, with all his +plans now broken, with the very <a name="Page_198"></a>soul within him dead—in this grief and +anguish, I say, the foul harpy-brood of Capitalism revelled and rioted +like maggots in carrion.</p> + +<p>None more viciously than old Flint, himself. None with more brutal joy, +more savage satisfaction. One of the culminant moments of his life, he +felt, was on the evening after the dastardly plot had been carried to +its putrid conclusion.</p> + +<p>Opening the Rochester "News-Intelligencer" which Slade had sent him, his +glittering eyes seemed to sparkle joy as a blue-penciled column met his +gaze.</p> + +<p>Eagerly he read it all, every word, and weighed it, and re-read it, as +men do when news is dear to their souls. Already, through the New York +papers he had got the essentials of the affair. Already, by long +distance 'phone he had received the outlines of the news from Slade, as +well as a code telegram of more than 500 words, giving him additional +details. But this paper especially pleased him. The other Rochester +sheets, which Slade would send as fast as they appeared, he already was +looking forward to, with keenest pleasure.</p> + +<p>"Ah! <i>This</i> is what I call efficiency!" he exclaimed, settling himself +in his big chair, adjusting the pince-nez on his hawk-bill and preparing +to read the column for the third time. "The way this thing was planned +and carried out, and the manner in which Slade has managed to get it +played up in the papers, proves to me he's a general in his line, a true +Napoleon. I may safely intrust any affair of this sort to him and his +agency. No fee of his shall ever be questioned; and as for +bonuses—well, he shall have no reason to complain. An admirable man, in +every way—a wonderful organization! With men and agencies like <a name="Page_199"></a><i>these</i> +at work in our interests, what have we, really, to be uneasy about?"</p> + +<p>Smacking his mental lips, if I may be pardoned the phrase, he once more +slowly read the delightful, gratifying news:</p> + +<div class="blkquot"><p><i>SOCIALIST WHITE-SLAVER!</i> + +<p> <i>Rotten Affair Unearthed by Police!</i></p> + +<p> <i>Gabriel Armstrong, Socialist Leader, Caught With the Goods!!!</i></p> + +<p> Rochester, July 4.</p> + +<p> "In one of the most sensational raids ever made in this city, by + the vice squad, under the auspices of the Purity League, what is + believed to be a well-organized white-slave business was unearthed + last night. The leader and brains of the association, Gabriel + Armstrong, a Socialist speaker and worker of national prominence, + was arrested, and is now lodged in Police Headquarters, with + serious charges pending.</p> + +<p> "The arrest was made as a result of the keen work of Officer + Michael P. Duffey, sergeant of the vice squad. Hearing screams in + the assignation house at 42A Belding street, he made his way up + stairs, accompanied by two or three citizens. The screams were + coming from a room on the second floor. Duffey promptly battered + the door down only to be met by a furious assault from Armstrong, + who was intoxicated and extremely violent.</p> + +<p> "A savage hand-to-hand struggle took place, in which furniture was + broken, the policeman badly injured and two of the volunteers + knocked out. Armstrong was finally subdued, however, by the + jiu-jitsu method, in which Duffey is an expert, and was lodged in + the Central Station, together with the woman.</p> + +<p> "According to her statement, the man, Armstrong, had not only been + guilty of grossly immoral practices with her, but had also been + trying to force her to share with him the proceeds of her life of + shame, thus making out against him a clear case under the Mann + White-Slave Traffic law. She has material evidence of this + fact—money which he had given her, to finance her till she could + begin bringing in revenue to him, and also his name and address, + written by his own hand. A significant fact is that the address + given by this white slaver is Socialist headquarters, in Chicago. + The police are now working on the theory that the entire Socialist + organization is honeycombed with this traffic, and that the + Socialist movement is only a blind to cover a wholesale + distribution of women for immoral purposes.<a name="Page_200"></a> Drastic Federal action + against the Socialist Party is now being considered.</p> + +<p> "Still further and more sensational facts are expected to develop + at the preliminary hearing, which will take place tomorrow morning. + In case Armstrong is bound over to the Grand Jury, and convicted, + he may get a heavy fine and as much as five years in a Federal + penitentiary. He is described as being a surly, low type, reticent + and vindictive, of vicious characteristics and mentally defective. + The local Socialists have already taken up arms in his defense, as + was to be expected.</p> + +<p> "Interest is added to the case by the fact that Armstrong is known + to be the man who, at the time of the recent automobile accident to + Miss Catherine Flint—daughter of Isaac Flint, of Englewood, + N. J.—gave the alarm. A theory is now being formed that he + was, in some way, involved in a plot with Miss Flint's chauffeur to + wreck the machine and share a big reward for rescuing the girl. The + plot, however, evidently miscarried, for the chauffeur was killed, + and Armstrong, after giving the alarm, feared to divulge his + identity but fled in disguise.</p> + +<p> "Public interest is greatly aroused in this matter. And if, as now + seems positively certain, this arrest and forthcoming conviction + break up the vicious white-slave gang for some time operating in + Rochester and Ontario Beach, the public will have a still greater + debt of gratitude toward the Purity League, the Vice Squad and the + untiring efforts and bravery of Sergeant Duffey."</p></div> + +<p>"That, ah that," remarked old Flint, as he finished his last reading, +"is what I call literature! It may not be Scott or Shelley or Dickens, +but it's got far more than <i>they</i> ever had—tremendous value to—er—to +the rightful masters of society. I dare say that this article and also +others like it that are bound to be printed during the trial and after, +will do more to secure our position in society than a whole army with +machine guns. Socialism, eh? After this campaign gets through, by God, +we'll sweep up the leavings in a dustpan and throw them out the window!"</p> + +<p>Again he surveyed the article, smiling thinly.</p> + +<p>"Literature, yes," he repeated. "The writer of those <a name="Page_201"></a>lines, and the +master-minds who engineered the whole affair, must and shall be +liberally rewarded. Editors, preachers, writers, they're all on our +side. All safe and sane—that is, nearly all—enough, at any event, to +assure our safety. I rejoice that I have lived to see this day!"</p> + +<p>He turned the sheets of the paper, to see if any other notice of the +affair was printed; and as he looked, he pondered.</p> + +<p>"Imagine the effect of this, on Kate!" thought he. "It will be just as I +planned it. Nothing will be left in her mind now, but loathing, hate and +rage against this man. In two days, she and Waldron will have patched up +their little difference, and all will be well. A master-stroke on my +part, eh? Yes, yes indeed, a master-stroke!"</p> + +<p>His eye caught another blue-pencilling.</p> + +<p>"Editorial, eh?" said he, adjusting his glasses. "Better and better! +This affair will sweep those troublemakers off the map, or I'm a +beggar!"</p> + +<p>Then, with the keenest of satisfaction, he focussed his attention on the +sapient editorial:</p> + +<div class="blkquot"><p><i>SOCIALISM UNVEILED</i>. + +<p> The arrest and impending conviction of Gabriel Armstrong, the noted + Socialist leader, on a white-slave traffic charge, will do much to + set all sane thinkers right in regard to this whole matter of + Socialist ethics. Socialists, as we have all heard, contend that + their system of thought teaches a high and pure form of morality. + How will they square this assertion with the hard, cold facts, as + brought to light in this most revolting case?</p> + +<p> Much more seems to lie beneath the surface than at first sight + appears. Though we desire to suspend judgment until all the data + are known, it appears conclusively proved that Armstrong is but one + of a band of white-slavers<a name="Page_202"></a> operating through the organization of, + and with the consent of the Socialist party, or at least of its + responsible officials.</p> + +<p> If this prove to be the case, it will substantiate the suspicion + long felt in many quarters that this whole movement, ostensibly + political, is really a menace to the moral and social welfare of + the nation. A foreign importation, openly standing against the + home, the family and religion, may well be expected to foster such + crimes and to be a "culture-medium" for the growth of such vile + microbes as this man Armstrong, and others of his kind.</p> + +<p> Turn on the light! Bring the social antiseptics! Let all the facts + be established; and when known, if—as we anticipate—they prove + this nasty conspiracy, let us make an end, now and forever, to this + un-American, immoral and filthy thing, Socialism! To this object + this paper now and henceforth pledges its policy; and all decent + publications, all citizens who love their country, their God, their + homes, their flag, will join with it in a nation-wide crusade to + choke this slimy monster of Anarchy and Free-love, and fling it + back into the Pit where it belongs.</p> + +<p> Long live religion, purity and the flag! Down with Socialism!</p></div> + +<p>Flint regarded this masterpiece with an approving eye. Then, chuckling +to himself, he arose and with slow steps advanced toward the dining-room +where already Catherine was awaiting him.</p> + +<p>"Now," he murmured to himself, and smiled thinly, "now for a little +scene with Kate!"</p> + + + +<br /><hr style="width: 65%;" /><br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_XXIV"></a><h3><a name="Page_203"></a>CHAPTER XXIV.</h3> + +<h4>CATHERINE'S SUPREME DECISION.</h4> +<br /> + +<p>The meal was almost at an end—silently, like all their hours spent +together, now—before the old man sprang his <i>coup</i>. It was +characteristic of him to wait thus, to hold his fire till what he +conceived to be the opportune moment; never to act prematurely, under +any circumstances whatever.</p> + +<p>"By the way, Kate," he remarked, casually, when coffee had been served +and he had motioned the butlers out of the room, "by the way, I've been +rather badly disappointed, today. Did you know that?"</p> + +<p>"No, father," she answered. She never called him "daddy," now. "No, I'm +sorry to hear it. What's gone wrong?"</p> + +<p>He looked at her a moment before replying, as though to gauge her mind +and the effect his announcement might have. Very charming she looked, +that evening, in a crêpe de Chine gown with three-quarter lace sleeves +and an Oriental girdle—a wonderful Nile-green creation, very simple +(she had told herself) yet of staggering cost. A single white rose +graced her hair. The low-cut neck of the gown revealed a full, strong +bosom. Around her throat she wore a fine gold chain, with a French +20-franc piece and her Vassar Phi Beta Kappa key attached—the only +pendants she cared for. The gold coin spoke to her of the land of her +far ancestry, a land oft visited by <a name="Page_204"></a>her and greatly loved; the gold key +reminded her of college, and high rank taken in studies there.</p> + +<p>Old Flint noted some of these details as he sat looking at her across +the white and gleaming table, where silver and gold plate, cut glass and +flowers and fine Sèvres china all combined to make a picture of splendor +such as the average workingman or his wife has never even dreamed of or +imagined; a picture the merest commonplace, however, to Flint and +Catherine.</p> + +<p>"A devilish fine-looking girl!" thought he, eyeing his daughter with +approval. "She'd grace any board in the world, whether billionaire's or +prince's! Waldron, old man, you'll never be able to thank me +sufficiently for what I'm going to do for you tonight—never, that is, +unless you help me make the Air Trust the staggering success I think you +can, and give me the boost I need to land the whole damned world as my +own private property!"</p> + +<p>He chuckled dryly to himself, then drew the paper from his pocket.</p> + +<p>"Well, father, what's gone wrong?" asked Kale, again. "Your +disappointment—what was it?"</p> + +<p>She spoke without animation, tonelessly, in a flat, even voice. Since +that night when her father had tried to force Waldron upon her, and had +taunted her with loving the vagabond (as he said) who had rescued her, +something seemed to have been broken, in her manner; some spring of +action had snapped; some force was lacking now.</p> + +<p>"What's wrong with me?" asked Flint, trying to veil the secret malice +and keen satisfaction that underlay his speech. "Oh, just this. You +remember about a week <a name="Page_205"></a>ago, when we—ah—had that little talk in the +music room—?"</p> + +<p>"Don't, father, please!" she begged, raising one strong, brown hand. +"Don't bring that up again. It's all over and done with, that matter is. +I beg you, don't re-open it!"</p> + +<p>"I—you misunderstand me, my dear child," said Flint, trying to smile, +but only flashing his gold tooth. "At that time I told you I was looking +for, and would reward, if found, the—er—man who had been so brave and +quick-witted as to rescue you. You remember?"</p> + +<p>"Really, father, I beg you not to—"</p> + +<p>"Why not, pray?" requested Flint, gazing at her through his pince-nez. +"My intentions, I assure you, were most honest and philanthropic. If I +had found him—<i>then</i>—I'd have given him—"</p> + +<p>"Oh, but he wouldn't have taken anything, you see!" the girl +interrupted, with some spirit. "I told you that, at the time. It's just +as true, now. So please, father, let's drop the question altogether."</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry not to be able to grant your request, my dear," said the old +man, with hidden malice. "But really, this time, you must hear me. My +disappointment arises from the fact that I've just discovered the young +man's identity, and—"</p> + +<p>"You—you have?" Kate exclaimed, grasping the edge of the table with a +nervous hand. Her father smiled again, bitterly.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I have," said he, with slow emphasis, "and I regret to say, my +dear child, that my diagnosis of his character is precisely what I first +thought. Any interest you may feel in that quarter is being applied to a +very <a name="Page_206"></a>unworthy object. The man is one of my discharged employees, a +thorough rascal and hard ticket in every way—one of the lowest-bred and +most villainous persons yet unhung, I grieve to state. The fact that he +carried you in his arms, and that I owe your preservation to him, is one +of the bitterest facts in my life. Had it been any other man, no matter +of what humble birth—"</p> + +<p>"Father!" she cried, bending forward and gazing at him with strange +eyes. "Father! By what right and on what authority do you make these +accusations? That man, I know, was all that innate gentleness and +upright manhood could make any man. His nobility was not of wealth or +title, but of—"</p> + +<p>"Nonsense!" Flint interrupted. "Nobility, eh? Read <i>that</i>, will you?"</p> + +<p>Leering, despite himself, he handed the paper across the table to his +daughter.</p> + +<p>"Those marked passages," said he. "And remember, this is only the +beginning. Wait till all the facts are known, the whole conspiracy laid +bare and everything exposed to public view! <i>Then</i> tell me, if you can, +that he is poor but noble! Bah! Sunday-school dope, that! Noble, yes!"</p> + +<p>Catherine sat there staring at the paper, a minute, as though quite +unable to decipher a word. Through a kind of wavering mist that seemed +to swim before her eyes, she vaguely saw the words: "Socialist White +Slaver!" but that these bore any relation to the man she remembered, +back there at the sugar-house, had not yet occurred to her mind. She +simply could not grasp the significance of the glaring headlines. And, +turning a blank gaze on her father's face, she stammered:</p> + +<p>"<a name="Page_207"></a>Why—why do you give me this? What has this got to do with—<i>me?</i> With +<i>him?</i>"</p> + +<p>"Everything!" snarled the Billionaire, violently irritated by his +daughter's seeming obtuseness. "Everything, I tell you! That man, that +strong and noble hero of yours, is this man! This white slaver! This +wild beast—this Socialist—this Anarchist! Do you understand now, or +don't you? Do you grasp the truth at last, or is your mind incapable of +apprehending it?"</p> + +<p>He had risen, and now was standing there at his side of the table, +shaking with violent emotion, his glasses awry, face wrinkled and drawn, +hands twitching. His daughter, making no answer to his taunts, sat with +the paper spread before her on the table. A wine glass, overset, had +spilled a red stain—for all the world like the workers' blood, spilled +in war and industry for the greater wealth and glory of the masters—out +across the costly damask, but neither she nor Flint paid any heed.</p> + +<p>For he was staring only at her; and she, now having mastered herself a +little, though her full breast still rose and fell too quickly, was +struggling to read the slanderous lies and foul libels of the +blue-penciled article.</p> + +<p>Silently she read, paling a little but otherwise giving no sign to show +her father how the tide of her thought was setting. Twice over she read +the article; then, pushing the paper back, looked at old Flint with eyes +that seemed to question his very soul—eyes that saw the living truth, +below.</p> + +<p>"It is a lie!" said she, at last, in a grave, quiet voice.</p> + +<p>"What?" blurted the old man. "A—a lie?"</p> + +<p>She nodded.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said she. "A lie."</p> + +<p><a name="Page_208"></a>Furious, he ripped open the paper, and once more shoved it at her.</p> + +<p>"Fool!" cried he. "Read <i>that!</i>" And his shaking, big-knuckled finger +tapped the editorial on "Socialism Unveiled."</p> + +<p>"No," she answered, "I need read no more. I know; I understand!"</p> + +<p>"You—you know <i>what?</i>" choked Flint. "This is an editorial, I tell you! +It represents the best thought and the most careful opinion of the +paper. And it condemns this man, absolutely, as a criminal and a menace +to society. It denounces him and his whole gang of Socialists or +Anarchists or White-slavers—they're all the same thing—as a plague to +the world. That's the editor's opinion; and remember, he's on the +ground, there. He has all the facts. You—<i>you</i> are at a distance, and +have none! Yet you set up your futile, childish opinion—"</p> + +<p>"No more, father! No more!" cried Catherine, also standing up. She faced +him calmly, coldly, magnificently. "You can't talk to me this way, any +more. Cannot, and must not! As I see this thing—and my woman's +intuition tells me more in a minute than you can explain away in an +hour—this fabrication here has all, or nearly all, been invented and +carried out by you. For what reason? This—to discredit this man! To +make me hate and loathe him! To force me back to Waldron. To—"</p> + +<p>"Stop!" shouted the old man, in a well-assumed passion. "No daughter of +mine shall talk to me this way! Silence! It is monstrous and +unthinkable. It—it is horrible beyond belief! Silence, I tell +you—and—"</p> + +<p>"No, father, not silence," she replied, with perfect <a name="Page_209"></a>poise. "Not +silence now, but speech. Either this thing is true or it is false. In +either case, I must know the facts. The papers? No truth in <i>those!</i> The +finding of the courts? today, they are a by-word and a mockery! All I +can trust is the evidence of my own senses; what I hear, and feel, and +see. So then—"</p> + +<p>"Then?" gulped the Billionaire, holding the back of his chair in a +trembling grasp.</p> + +<p>"Just this, father. I'm going to Rochester, myself, to investigate this +thing, to see this man, to hear his side of the story, to know—"</p> + +<p>"Do that," cried Flint in a terrible voice, "and you never enter these +doors again! From the minute you leave Idle Hour on that fool's errand, +my daughter is dead to me, forever!"</p> + +<p>Swept clean off his feet by rage, as well as by the deadly fear of what +might happen if his daughter really were to learn the truth, he had lost +his head completely.</p> + +<p>With quiet attention, the girl regarded him, then smiled inscrutably.</p> + +<p>"So it be," she replied. "Even though you disinherit me or turn me off +with a penny, my mind is made up, and my duty's clear.</p> + +<p>"While things like these are going on in the world, outside, I have no +right to linger and to idle here. I am no child, now; I have been +thinking of late, reading, learning. Though I can't see it all clearly, +yet, I know that every bite we eat, means deprivation to some other +people, somewhere. This light and luxury mean poverty and darkness +elsewhere. This fruit, this wine, this very bread is ours because some +obscure and unknown men have toiled and sweat and given them to us. Even +<a name="Page_210"></a>this cut glass on our table—see! What tragedies it could reveal, could +it but speak! What tales of coughing, consumptive glass-cutters, bending +over wheels, their lungs cut to pieces by the myriad spicules of sharp +glass, so that we, we of our class, may enjoy beauty of design and +coloring! And the silken gown I wear—that too has cost—"</p> + +<p>"No more! No more of this!" gurgled old Flint, now nearly in apoplexy. +"I deny you! I repudiate you, Anarchist that you are! Go! Never come +back—never, never—!"</p> + +<p>Stumbling blindly, he turned and staggered out of the room. She watched +him go, nor tried to steady his uncertain steps. In the hallway, +outside, she heard him ring for Slawson, heard the valet come, and both +of them ascend the stairs.</p> + +<p>"Father," she whispered to herself, a look of great and pure spiritual +beauty on her noble face, "father, this had to come. Sooner or later, it +was inevitable. Whatever you have done, I forgive you, for you <i>are</i> my +father, and have surely acted for what you think my interest.</p> + +<p>"But none the less, the end is here and now. Between you and me, a great +gulf is fixed. And from tonight I face the world, to battle with it, +learn from it, and know the truth in every way. Enough of this false, +easy, unnatural life. I cannot live it any longer; it would crush and +stifle me! Enough! I must be free, I shall be free, to know, and dare, +and do!"</p> + +<p>That night, having had no further speech with old Flint, Kate left Idle +Hour, taking just a few necessities in a suit-case, and a few dollars +for her immediate needs.</p> + +<p>Giving no explanation to maid, valet or anyone, she let <a name="Page_211"></a>herself out, +walked through the great estate and down Englewood Avenue, to the +station, where she caught a train for Jersey City.</p> + +<p>The midnight special for Chicago bore her swiftly westward. No sleeping +car she took, but passed the night in a seat of an ordinary coach. Her +ticket read "Rochester."</p> + +<p>The old page of her Book of Life was closed forever. A new and better +page was open wide.</p> + + + +<br /><hr style="width: 65%;" /><br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_XXV"></a><h3><a name="Page_212"></a>CHAPTER XXV.</h3> + +<h4>THROUGH STEEL BARS.</h4> +<br /> + +<p>True to her plan, Catherine ended her journey at Rochester. She engaged +a room at a second-rate hotel—marvelling greatly at the meanness of the +accommodations, the like of which she had never seen—and, at ten +o'clock of the morning, appeared at the Central Police Station. The +bundle of papers in her hand indicated that she had read the latest lies +and venom poured out on Gabriel's defenseless head.</p> + +<p>The haughty, full-fed sergeant in charge of the station made some +objections, at first, to letting her see Gabriel; but the tone of her +voice and the level look of her gray eye presently convinced him he was +playing with fire, and he gave in. Summoning an officer, he bade the man +conduct her. Iron doors opened and closed for her. She was conscious of +long, ill-smelling, concrete-floored corridors, with little steel cages +at either side—cages where hopeless, sodden wrecks of men were +standing, or sitting in attitudes of brutal despair, or lying on foul +bunks, motionless and inert as logs.</p> + +<p>For a moment her heart failed her.</p> + +<p>"Good Lord! Can such things be?" she whispered to herself. "So +this—this is a police station? And real jails and penitentiaries are +worse? Oh, horrible! I never dreamed of anything like this, or any men +like these!"</p> + +<p><a name="Page_213"></a>The officer, stopping at a cell-door and banging thereon with some +keys, startled her.</p> + +<p>"Here, youse," he addressed the man within, "lady to see youse!"</p> + +<p>Catherine was conscious that her heart was pounding hard and her breath +coming fast, as she peered in through those cold, harsh metal bars. For +a minute she could find no thought, no word. Within, her eyes—still +unaccustomed to the gloom—vaguely perceived a man's figure, big and +powerful, and different in its bearing from those other cringing +wretches she had glimpsed.</p> + +<p>Then the man came toward her, stopped, peered and for a second drew +back. And then—then she heard his voice, in a kind of startled joy:</p> + +<p>"Oh—is it—is it <i>you?</i>"</p> + +<p>"Yes," she answered. "I must see you! I must talk with you, again, and +know the truth!"</p> + +<p>The officer edged nearer.</p> + +<p>"Youse can talk all y' want to," he dictated, hoarsely, "but don't you +pass nothin' in. No dope, nor nothin', see? I'll stick around an' watch, +anyhow; but don't try to slip him no dream powders or no 'snow.' 'Cause +if you do—"</p> + +<p>"What—what <i>on</i> earth are you talking about?" the girl demanded, +turning on the officer with absolute astonishment. But he, only winking +wisely, repeated:</p> + +<p>"You heard me, didn't you? No dope. I'm wise to this whole game."</p> + +<p>At a loss for his meaning, yet without any real desire to fathom it, +Kate turned back toward Gabriel.</p> + +<p>A moment they two looked at each other, each noting any change that +might have taken place since that won<a name="Page_214"></a>derful hour in the sugar-house, +each hungering and thirsting for a sight of the other's face. In her +heart, already Kate knew as well as she knew she was alive, that this +man was totally innocent of the foul charges heaped upon him. And so she +looked at him with eyes wherein lay no reproach, no doubt and no +suspicion. And, as she looked, tears started, and her heart swelled +hotly in her breast; for he was bruised and battered and a helpless +captive.</p> + +<p>"He, caged like a trapped animal!" her thought was. "He, so strong, and +free, and brave! Oh, horrible, horrible!"</p> + +<p>He must have read something of this feeling, in her face; for now, +coming close to the bars, he said in a low tone:</p> + +<p>"Girl—your name I don't know, even yet—girl, you mustn't pity me! +That's <i>one</i> thing I can't have. I'm here because the master class is +stronger than my class, the working class. Here, because I'm dangerous +to that master class. This isn't said to make myself out a martyr. It's +only to make you see things right. I'm not complaining at this plight. +I've richly earned it—under Capitalism. So, then, <i>that's</i> settled.</p> + +<p>"And now, what's more important, tell me how <i>you</i> are! And did your +wound cause you much trouble? I confess I've passed many an anxious +hour, thinking of your narrow escape and of your injury. It wasn't too +bad, was it? Tell me!"</p> + +<p>"No," she answered, still holding to the bars, for she somehow felt +quite unaccountably weak. "It wasn't very bad. There's hardly any scar +at all—or won't be, when it's fully healed. But all this is trifling, +compared to what <a name="Page_215"></a><i>you've</i> suffered and are suffering. Oh, what a +horrible affair! What frightful accusations! Tell me the truth, +Boy—how, why could—?"</p> + +<p>He looked at her a moment, in silence, noting her splendid hair and eyes +and mouth, the firm, well-moulded chin, the confident and self-reliant +poise of the shapely head; and as he looked, he knew he loved this +woman. He understood, at last, how dear she was to him—dearer than +anything else in all the world save just his principles and stern life +work. He comprehended the meaning of all, his dreams and visions and +long thoughts. And, caring nothing for consequences, unskilled in the +finesse of dealing with women, acting wholly on the irresistible +impulses of a heart that overflowed, he looked deep into those gray eyes +and said in a tone that set her heart-strings vibrating:</p> + +<p>"Listen! The truth? How could I tell you anything else? I know not who +you are, and care not. That you are rich and powerful and free, while I +am poor and in captivity, means nothing. Love cares not for such +trifles. It dares all, hopes all, trusts all, believes all—and is +patient in adversity."</p> + +<p>"Love?" she whispered, her face paling. "How do you dare to—?"</p> + +<p>"Dare? Because my heart bids me. And where it bids, I care not for +conventions or consequences!" He flung his hand out with a splendid +gesture, his head high, his eyes lustrous in the half-light of the cell. +"Where it leads, I have to follow. That is why I am a Socialist! That is +why I am here, today, outcast and execrated, a prisoner, in danger of +long years of living death in the pestilential tomb of some foul +penitentiary!"</p> + +<p>"<a name="Page_216"></a>You're here because—because you are a Socialist?" she asked.</p> + +<p>He nodded.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said he. "I tried to help a suffering, outcast woman—or one who +posed as such. And she betrayed me to my enemies. And so—"</p> + +<p>"There <i>was</i> a woman in this affair, then?" Catherine queried with +sudden pain. "The newspapers haven't made the story <i>all</i> up out of +whole cloth?"</p> + +<p>"No. There <i>was</i> a woman. A Delilah, who delivered me into the hands of +the Philistines, when I tried to help her in what she lied in telling me +was her need. Will you hear the story?"</p> + +<p>Still very pale, she formed a half-inarticulate "Yes!" with her full +lips. Then, seeming to brace herself by a tighter clasp on the hard +steel grating, she listened while he spoke.</p> + +<p>Earnestly, honestly and with perfect straightforwardness, omitting +nothing, adding nothing, he gave her the narrative of that fatal night's +events, from the first moment he had laid eyes on the +wonderfully-disguised woman, till her cudgel-blow had laid him senseless +on the floor.</p> + +<p>He told her the part that every actor therein had played; how the whole +drama had been staged, to dishonor and convict him, to railroad him to +the Pen for a long term, perhaps to kill him. He spoke in a low voice, +to prevent the watching officer from overhearing; and as he talked, he +thanked his stars that in all this network of conspiracy and crime +against the Party and against himself, his captors had not yet placed +him incommunicado. For some reason—perhaps because they thought <a name="Page_217"></a>their +case against him absolutely secure and wanted to avoid any appearance of +unfairness or of martyrizing him—this restriction had not yet been laid +upon him. So now his message of the truth could reach the ears of her +who, more than all the world beside, had grown dear to him and precious +beyond words.</p> + +<p>He told her, then, not only the story of that night, but also all that +had since happened—the newspaper attacks on him and on the Party; the +deliberate attempt to poison the community and the nation against him; +the struggle to fix a foul and lasting blot upon his name, and ruin him +beyond redemption.</p> + +<p>"And why, all this?" he added, while she—listening so intently that she +hardly breathed—knew that he spoke the living, vital truth. "Why this +persecution, this plotting, this labor and expense to 'get' me. Do you +want to know?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, tell me!" she whispered. "I don't understand. I can't! It—it all +seems so horrible, so unreal, so—so different from what I've always +believed about the majesty and purity of the law! Can these things be, +indeed?"</p> + +<p>He laughed bitterly.</p> + +<p>"Can they?" he repeated. "When you see that they <i>are</i>, isn't that +answer enough? And the reason of it all is that I'm a Socialist and know +certain secrets of certain men, which—if I should tell the +world—might, nay, surely would precipitate a revolution. So, these men, +and the System behind them, have tried to discredit me by this foul +charge. After this, if the charge sticks, I may shout my head off, +exposing what I know; and who will listen? You know the answer as well +as I! Do I complain? No, not once! What I must suffer, for this +<a name="Page_218"></a>wondrous Cause, is not a tenth what thousands suffer every day, in +silence and high courage. What has happened to me, personally, is but +the merest trifle beside what has already happened to thousands, +fighting for life and liberty, for wife and home and children; for the +right to work and live like men, not beasts!"</p> + +<p>"You mean the—the working class?" she ventured, wonderingly. "Is this +outrage really a minor one, compared with what they, who feed and warm +and carry the whole world, have to suffer? Tell me, for I—God help me, +I am ignorant! I am beginning to see, to half-see, awful, dim, ghostly +shapes of huge, unspeakable wrongs. Tell me the truth about all this, as +you have told it about yourself—and let me know!"</p> + +<p>Then Gabriel talked as never he had talked before. To this, his audience +of one, there in the dirty and ill-smelling police station, he unfolded +the sad tale of the disinherited, the enslaved, the wretched, as never +to a huge, and spell-bound audience in hall or park or city street. His +eloquence, always convincing, now became sublime.</p> + +<p>With master strokes he painted vast outlines of the whole sad +picture—the System based on robbery and fraud and exploitation; its +natural results in millionaire and tramp and harlot and degenerate; the +crime of armies of unemployed and starving men, of millions of women +forced into the factories and shops, there to compete with men and lower +wages and lose their finest feminine attributes in the sordid and +heartless drudging for a pittance.</p> + +<p>He told her of child slavery, and brought before her eyes the pictures +he himself had seen, of the pale, stunted little victims of Mammon's +greed, toiling by day and night in stifling, dangerous mines; in the +Hell-glare of <a name="Page_219"></a>the glass-factories; in the hand-bruising, +soul-obliterating Inferno of the coal-breakers; in the hot, linty, +sickening atmosphere of the southern cotton-mills. And as he talked, she +saw for the first time the figures of these bowed and bloodless little +boys and girls, giving their lives drop by drop, and cough by cough, +that <i>she</i> might have purple and fine linen and the rich, soft, easy +paths of life.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Then, pausing not, he spoke to her of white slavery, of girls and women +by the uncounted thousand forced to barter their own bodies for a +mockery of life; and, stinging as a nagaika, he laid the lash of blame +on Capitalism, evil cause of an evil and rotten fruit, of disease and +crime, and misery, and death. He told her of political corruption beyond +belief; of cheating, lying, trickery and greed, for power. Of war, he +told her, and made all its inner, hideous motives clear. She seemed +verily to see the trenches, the "red rampart's slippery edge," the +spattered blood and brains and all the horror of Hell's nethermost +infamy—and then the blasted, wrecked and wasted homes, the long trail +of mourning and of hopeless ruin—the horror of this crime of crimes, +all for profit, all for gold and markets, all for Capitalism!</p> + +<p>And then, while the girl stood there listening, spell-bound by her first +insight, her first understanding of the true character of this, our +striving, slaving world, held by a few for their own inordinate pride +and power, the man's voice changed.</p> + +<p>With new intonations and a deeper tone, he launched into some outlines +of the great hope, the splendid vision, the Wondrous Ideal—Socialism, +the world-salvation.</p> + +<p>Sentence by sentence, imagery of this vast, noble <a name="Page_220"></a>thought flowed from +his inspired lips. Clearly he showed this woman all the causes of the +world's travail and pain; and clearly made her see that only in one way, +only through the ownership of the world by the world's children as a +whole, could peace and justice, life and joy and plenty and the New Time +come to pass, dreamed of and yearned for by many sages and prophets, and +now close at hand on the very threshold of reality!</p> + +<p>Socialism! It leaped from his spirit like a living flame, consuming +dross and waste and evil, lighting up the future with its shining +beacon, its message of hope to the hopeless, of rest and cheer and peace +to all who labored and were heavy laden.</p> + +<p>Socialism! The glory of the vision seemed to blind and dazzle Catherine. +In its supernal light, things grievous to be understood and borne were +now made clear. For the first time in all her life, the woman saw, and +knew, and grasped the truths of this strange nexus of conflict, pain and +sorrow, that we know as our existence.</p> + +<p>"Socialism! The Hope of the World!" Gabriel finished. "And for this, and +for what I know about its enemies, I stand here in this cell and may yet +go to a living death. This is my crime, and nothing else—this battle +for the freedom and the joy of the world—this struggle against the +powers of ignorance and darkness, priestcraft and greed, lust, treachery +and foulness, cruelty and hate and war! This, and this only. You have +heard me. I have spoken!"</p> + +<p>He fell silent, crossed his arms upon the bars of the <a name="Page_221"></a>cage that pent +him, and laid his head upon them with a motion of weariness.</p> + +<p>Something strangely stirred the heart of the woman. Her hand went out +and touched his thick, black hair.</p> + +<p>"Be of good cheer," she whispered. "Though I am ignorant and do not +fully understand, as yet, some glimmer of the light has reached my eyes. +I can learn, and I <i>will</i> learn, and dare, and do! All my life I have +eaten the bread of this bitter slavery, taken the thing I had no right +to take, unknowingly wielded the lash on bleeding backs of men and women +and children.</p> + +<p>"All my life have I, in ignorance and idleness, done these things. But +never shall I do them again. That is all past and gone, an evil dream +that is no more. From now, if you will be patient and forgive and teach +me, I will stand with you and yours, and glory in the new-found strength +and majesty of this supreme ideal!"</p> + +<p>He made no answer, save to reach one hand to her, through the bars. +Their hands met in a long, clinging tension. The policeman, somewhat +down the corridor, moved officiously in their direction.</p> + +<p>"Here, now, none o' that!" he blurted. "Break away! An' say, time's up. +Yuh stayed too long, miss, as it is!"</p> + +<p>Their hands parted. Still Gabriel did not look up.</p> + +<p>"Are—are you coming back again?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes, Gabriel. Tomorrow."</p> + +<p>"And will you tell me then who you are?"</p> + +<p>"I'll tell you now, if you want to know."</p> + +<p>"I do," he answered, and raised his head. Their eyes met, steadily. "I +do, now that you too have seen the light, and that you understand. Tell +me, who are you?"</p> + +<p><a name="Page_222"></a>A moment's pause.</p> + +<p>Then, facing him, she answered:</p> + +<p>"I am Catherine Flint, only daughter of Isaac Flint, the Billionaire!"</p> + + + +<br /><hr style="width: 65%;" /><br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_XXVI"></a><h3><a name="Page_223"></a>CHAPTER XXVI.</h3> + +<h4>"GUILTY."</h4> +<br /> + +<p>Speechless and dazed, Gabriel stared at her as though at some strange +apparition.</p> + +<p>"Daughter of—of Isaac Flint?" he stammered, clinging to the bars.</p> + +<p>"Come, come, lady, yuh can't stay no longer!" the officer again +insisted, tapping her on the shoulder. "Yuh'd oughta been out o' here +ten minutes ago! No, nuthin' doin'!" he concluded, as she turned to him +appealingly. "Not today! Time's up an' more than up!"</p> + +<p>Catherine stretched out her hand to Gabriel, in farewell. He took it, +silently.</p> + +<p>"Good-bye!" said she. "Until I come again, good-bye. Keep up a stout +heart, for I am with you. We—we <i>can't</i> lose. We shall win—we <i>must</i> +win! Don't condemn me for being what I am and who I am, Gabriel. Only +think what—with your help—I may yet be! And now again, good-bye!"</p> + +<p>Their hands parted. Gabriel, still silent, stood there in his cell, +watching her till she vanished from his sight down the long corridor of +grief and tears. The officer, winking wisely to himself, thrust his +tongue into his cheek.</p> + +<p>"Daughter of Isaac Flint, th' Billionaire!" he was thinking, with +derision. "Oh, yes, billionaires' daughters would be visitin' Socialists +an' bums an' red-light con-<a name="Page_224"></a>workers like this geezer. Oh yes, sure, sure +they would—I should worry!"</p> + +<p>Which mental attitude was fortunate, indeed; for it, and it alone, +preserved the girl from a wild blare of newspaper notoriety. Had the +truth been known, who could have imagined the results?</p> + +<p>For a long time after the girl had departed, Gabriel sat there in his +cell, motionless and sunk in deepest thought. His emotions passed +recording. That this woman, his ideal, his best-beloved, the cherished, +inmost treasure of his heart and soul—she whom he had rescued, she who +had lain in his arms and shared with him that unforgettable hour in the +old sugar-house—should now prove to be the daughter of his bitterest +enemy, surpassed belief and stunned all clear understanding.</p> + +<p>Flint! The very name connoted, for Gabriel, all that was cruel and +rapacious, hateful, vicious and greedy; all that meant pain and woe and +death to him and his class. Visions of West Virginia and Colorado rose +before his mind. He heard again the whistle of the "Bull Moose Death +Special" as it sped on its swift errand of barbarism up Cabin Creek, +hurling its sprays of leaden death among the slaves of this man and his +vulturine associates.</p> + +<p>Flint! He whispered the name; and now he seemed to see the burning tents +at Ludlow; the fleeing women and children, shot down by barbarous thugs +and gunmen, ghouls in human form! He saw the pits of death, where the +charred bodies of innocent victims of greed and heartless rapacity lay +in mute protest under the far Colorado sky. And more he saw, east and +west, north and south, of this man's inhuman work; and his thoughts, +projected <a name="Page_225"></a>into the future, dwelt bitterly on the Air Trust now already +under way—the terrible, coming slavery which he, Gabriel, had struggled +to checkmate, only to find himself locked like a rat in a steel trap!</p> + +<p>"And this woman," he groaned in agony of soul, "this woman, all in all +to me, is—is <i>his</i> daughter!"</p> + +<p>Flinging himself upon his hard and narrow bunk, he buried his head in +his powerful arms, and tried to blot out thought from his fevered brain; +but still the current ran on and on and on, endlessly, maddeningly. And +to the problem, no answer seemed to come.</p> + +<p>"She must know who I am," he pondered. "Even if her father has not told +her, the papers have. True, she doesn't believe the infamous charge +against me; but what then? Can she, on the other hand, believe the +truth, that her father has conspired with Slade and those Cosmos thugs, +and with the press and courts and the whole damnable prostituted system, +to suppress and kill me?</p> + +<p>"Can she believe her father guilty of all that? And of all the horrors +of this capitalist Hell, that I have told her about? No! Human nature is +incapable of such vast turnings from all the habits and environments of +a lifetime. In her veins flows the blood of that arch-criminal, Flint. +Her thoughts must be, to some extent, his thoughts. She must share his +viewpoint, and be loyal to him. After this first flush of reaction +against her father, she will go back to him. It is inevitable. Betwixt +her and me is fixed a boundless space, wider than Heaven and earth. She +is one pole, and I the other. If I have any strength or resolution or +philosophy, now is the hour for its trial.</p> + +<p>"This woman must be, shall be put away from every <a name="Page_226"></a>thought and wish and +hope. And the word FINIS must be written at the end of the one brief +chapter where our life-stories seem to have run along together in a +false harmony and a fictitious peace!"</p> + +<p>Thus pondered Gabriel, in the gloom of his harsh cell, branded with +crime and writhing in the agony of soul that only those who love +hopelessly can ever know.</p> + +<p>And Catherine, what of her? What were her thoughts, emotions, +inspirations as—seeming to live in a dream, with Gabriel's eloquence +and the new vision of a better, saner, kindlier world shining through +her soul—she made her way back to the dingy hotel where now, shabby as +it was, she felt she had no right to stay, while others, homeless, +walked the brutal streets?</p> + +<p>Who shall know them? Who shall tell? A blind man, suddenly made to see, +can find no words to express the wonder and bright glory of that sudden +sight. A deaf man, regaining his lost sense, cannot describe the sudden +burst of sound that fills the new, strange world wherein he finds +himself. So, now, this cultured, gently bred woman, for the first time +in her life understanding the facts, glimpsing the tragedy and grasping +the answer to it all, felt that no words could compass her strange +exultation and enlargement.</p> + +<p>"It—it's like a chrysalis emerging into the form of a light, swift +butterfly!" she pondered, as, back in her room once more, she prepared +to write two letters. "Just for the present, I can't understand it all. +I don't know, yet, whether I'm worthy to be a Socialist, to be one of +that company of earnest, noble men and women striving for life and +liberty and joy for all the world. But with the help of the man I trust +and honor and believe in, <a name="Page_227"></a>and—and love—perhaps I may yet be. God +grant it may be so!"</p> + +<p>She thought, a few minutes more, her face lighted by an inner radiance +that made its beauty spiritual and pure and calm. Then, having somewhat +composed her thoughts, she wrote this letter to Maxim Waldron:</p> + +<div class="blkquot"><p><i>My Dear Wally</i>: + +<p> <i>I am writing you without date or place, just as I shall write my + father, because whatever happens, I insist that you two let me go + my way in peace, without trying to find, or hamper, or importune + me. My mind is fully made up. Nothing can change it. We have come + to the parting of the ways, forever.</i></p> + +<p> <i>Though I may feel bitterly toward you for what I now understand as + your harsh and cruel attitude toward the world, and the rôle you + play as an exploiter of human labor, I shall not reproach you. You + simply cannot see these things as I have come to see them since my + feet have been set upon the road toward Socialism. Don't start, + Wally—that's the truth. Perhaps I'm not much of a Socialist yet, + because I don't know much about it. But I am learning, and shall + learn. My teacher is the best one in the world, I'm sure; and added + to this, all my natural energy and innate radicalism have flamed + into activity with this new thought. So, you see, the past is even + more effectively buried than ever. How could anything ever be + possible, now, between you and me?</i></p> + +<p> <i>Cease to think of me, Wally. I am gone out of your life, for all + time, as out of that whole circle of false, <a name="Page_228"></a>insincere, wicked and + parasitic existence that we call "society." That other world, where + you still are, shall see me no more. I have found a better and a + nobler kind of life; and to this, and to all it implies, I mean to + be forever faithful. I beg you, never try to find me or to answer + this.</i></p> + +<p> <i>Good-bye, then, forever.</i></p> + +<p> <i>Catherine</i>.</p></div> + +<p>After having read this over and sealed it, she wrote still another:</p> + +<div class="blkquot"><p><i>Dear Father</i>: + +<p> <i>It is hard to write these words to you. I owe you a debt of + gratitude and love, in many ways; yet, after all, your will and + mine conflict. You have tried to force me to a union abhorrent and + impossible to me. My only course is this—independence to think, + and act, and live as I, no longer a child but a grown woman, now + see fit.</i></p> + +<p> <i>I shall never return to you, father. Life means one thing to you, + another to me. You cannot change; I would not, now, for all the + world. I must go my way, thinking my own thoughts, doing my own + work, living up to my own ideals, whatever these may be. Your money + cannot lure me back to you, back to that old, false, sheltered, + horrible life of ease and idleness and veiled robbery! The skill + you have given me as a musician will open out a way for me to earn + my own living and be free. For this I thank you, and for much else, + even as I say good-bye to you for all time.</i></p> + +<p> <a name="Page_229"></a><i>I have written Wally. He will tell you more about me, and about + the change in my views and ambitions, which has taken place. Do not + think harshly of me, father, and I will try to forgive you for the + burden I now know you have laid upon the aching shoulders of this + sad, old world.</i></p> + +<p> <i>And now, good-bye. Though you have lost a daughter, you may still + rejoice to know that that daughter has found peace and joy and vast + outlets for the energies of her whole heart and soul and being, in + working for Socialism, the noblest ideal ever conceived by the mind + of man.</i></p> + +<p> <i>Farewell, father; and think sometimes, not too unkindly, of</i></p> + +<p> <i>Your</i></p> + +<p> <i>Kate</i>.</p></div> + +<p>One week after these letters were mailed, "Tiger" Waldron, fanning the +fires of the old man's terrible rage, had decided Flint to disinherit +Catherine and to name him, Waldron, as his executor. Gabriel's fervent +wish that she might be penniless, was granted.</p> + +<p>On the very day this business was put through, practically delivering +the Flint interests into Waldron's hands in the case of the old man's +death, a verdict was reached in Gabriel's case, at Rochester.</p> + +<p>This case, crammed through the calendar, ahead of a large jam of other +business, proved how well unlimited funds can grease the wheels of Law. +It proved, also, that in the face of infinitely-subsidized witnesses, +lawyers, judge and jurymen, black becomes white, and a good deed is +written down a crime.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_230"></a>Catherine, working incognito, co-operated with the Socialist defense, +and did all that could be humanely done to have the truth made known, to +overset the mass of perjury and fraud enmeshing Gabriel, and to force +his acquittal.</p> + +<p>As easily might she have bidden the sea rise from its bed and flood the +dry and arid wastes of old Sahara. Her voice and that of the Socialists, +their lawyers and their press, sounded in vain. A solid battery of +capitalist papers, legal lights, private detectives and other +means—particularly including the majority of the priests and +clergy—swamped the man and damned him and doomed him from the first +word of the trial.</p> + +<p>Money flowed in floods. Perjury overran the banks of the River of +Corruption. Herzog branded the man a thief and fire-eater. Dope-fiends +and harlots from the Red-Light district, "madames" and pimps and +hangers-on, swore to the white-slave activities of this man, who never +yet in all his four and twenty years had so much as entered a brothel.</p> + +<p>Forged papers fixed past crimes and sentences on him. By innuendo and +direct statement, dynamitings, arsons, violence and rioting in many +strikes were laid at his door. His Socialist activities were dragged in +the slime of every gutter; and his Party made to suffer for evil deeds +existing only in the foul imagination of the prosecuting attorneys. The +finest "kept" brains in the legal profession conducted the case from +start to finish; and not a juryman was drawn on the panel who was not, +from the first, sworn to convict, and bought and paid for in hard cash.</p> + +<p>After three days—days in which Gabriel plumbed the <a name="Page_231"></a>bitterest depths of +Hell and drank full draughts of gall and wormwood—the verdict came. +Came, and was flashed from sea to sea by an exulting press; and preached +on, and editorialized on, and gloated over by Flint and Waldron and +many, many others of that ilk—while Catherine wept tears that seemed to +drain her very heart of its last drops of blood.</p> + +<p>At last she knew the meaning of the Class Struggle and her terrible +father's part in it all. At last she understood what Gabriel had so long +understood and now was paying for—the fact that Hell hath no fury like +Capitalism when endangered or opposed.</p> + +<p>The Price! Gabriel now must pay it, to the full. For that foul verdict, +bought with gold wrung from the very blood and marrow of countless +toilers, opened the way to the sentence which Judge Harpies regretted +only that he could not make more severe—the sentence which the +detectives and the prison authorities, well "fixed," counted on making a +death-sentence, too.</p> + +<p>"Gabriel Armstrong, stand up!"</p> + +<p>He arose and faced the court. A deathlike stillness hushed the room, +crowded with Socialists, reporters, emissaries of Flint, private +detectives and hangers-on of the System. Heavily veiled, lest some of +her father's people recognize her, Catherine herself sat in a back seat, +very pale yet calm.</p> + +<p>"Prisoner at the bar, have you anything to say, why sentence should not +be pronounced upon you?"</p> + +<p>Gabriel, also a little pale, but with a steadfast and fearless gaze, +looked at the legal prostitute upon the bench, and shook his head in +negation. He deigned not, even, to answer this kept puppet of the ruling +class.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_232"></a>Judge Harpies frowned a trifle, cleared his throat, glanced about him +with pompous dignity; and then, in a sonorous and impressive tone—his +best asset on the bench, for legal knowledge and probity were not +his—announced:</p> + +<p>"<i>It is the judgment of this court that you do stand committed to pay a +fine of three thousand dollars into the treasury of the United States, +and to serve five years at hard labor in the Federal Penitentiary at +Atlanta!</i>"</p> + + + +<br /><hr style="width: 65%;" /><br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_XXVII"></a><h3><a name="Page_233"></a>CHAPTER XXVII.</h3> + +<h4>BACK IN THE SUNLIGHT.</h4> +<br /> + +<p>Four years and two months from the day when this iniquitous verdict fell +from the lips of the "bought and paid for" judge, a sturdily built and +square jawed man stood on the steps of the Atlanta Penitentiary and, for +the first time in all these weary months and years, faced the sun.</p> + +<p>Pale with the prison-pallor that never fails to set its seal on the +victims of a diseased society, which that society retaliates upon by +shutting away from God's own light and air, this man stood there on the +steps, a moment, then advanced to meet a woman who was coming toward him +in the August glare. As he removed his cheap, convict-made cap, one saw +his finely shaped head, close cropped with the infamous prison badge of +servitude. Despite the shoddy miserable prison-suit that the prostituted +government had given him—a suit that would have made Apollo grotesque +and would have marked any man as an ex-convict, thus heavily +handicapping him from the start—Gabriel Armstrong's poise and strength +still made themselves manifest.</p> + +<p>And the smile as they two, the woman and he, came together and their +hands clasped, lighted his pale features with a ray brighter than that +of the blistering Southern sunshine flooding down upon them both.</p> + +<p>"I knew you'd come, Catherine," said he, simply, his <a name="Page_234"></a>voice still the +same deep, vibrant, earnest voice which, all that time ago, had thrilled +and inspired her at the hour of her great conversion. Still were his +eyes clear, level and commanding; and through his splendid body, despite +all his jailers had been able to do, coursed an abundant life and strong +vitality.</p> + +<p>Gabriel had served his time with consummate skill, courage and +intelligence. Like all wise men, he had recognized <i>force majeure</i>, and +had submitted. He had made practically no infractions of the prison +rules, during his whole "bit." He had been quiet, obedient and +industrious. His work, in the brush factory, had always been well done; +and though he had consistently refused to bear tales, to spy, to inform +or be a stool-pigeon—the quickest means of winning favor in any +prison—yet he had given no opportunity for savagery and violence to be +applied to him. Not even Flint's eager wish to have his jailers force +him into rebellion had succeeded. Realizing to the full the sort of +tactics that would be used to break, and if possible to kill him, +Gabriel had met them all with calm self-reliance and with a generalship +that showed his brain and nerves were still unshaken. On their own +ground he had met these brutes, and he had beaten them at their own +game.</p> + +<p>Their attempt to make a "dope" out of him had ignominiously failed. He +had detected the morphine they had cleverly mixed with his water; and, +after his drowsiness and weird dreams had convinced him of the plot, had +turned the trick on it by secretly emptying this water out and by +drinking only while in the shop, where he could draw water from the +faucet. The cell guards' intelligence had been too limited to make them +inquire of <a name="Page_235"></a>the brush shop guards about his habits. Also, Gabriel, had +feigned stupefaction while in the cell. Thus he had simulated the +effects of the drug, and had really thrown his tormentors off the track. +For months and months they were convinced that they were weakening his +will and destroying his mentality, while as a matter of fact his +reasoning powers and determination never had been more keen.</p> + +<p>By bathing as often as possible, by taking regular and carefully planned +calisthenics, by reading the best books in the prison library, by +attention to every rule of health within his means, and by allowing +himself no vices, not even his pipe, Gabriel now was emerging from the +Bastile of Capitalism in a condition of mind and body so little impaired +that he knew a few weeks would entirely restore him. The good conduct +allowance, or "copper," which they had been forced to allow him for +exemplary conduct, had cut ten months off his sentence. And now in +mid-August of 1925, there he stood, a free man again, with purpose still +unshaken and with a woman by his side who shared his high ambition and +asked no better lot than to work with him toward the one great +aim—Socialism!</p> + +<p>Now, as these two walked side by side along the sunbaked street of the +sweltering Southern town, Gabriel was saying:</p> + +<p>"So I haven't changed as much as you expected? I'm glad of that, Kate. +Only superficial changes, at most. Just give me a little time to pull +together and get my legs under me again, and—forward march! Charge the +forts! Eh, Catherine?"</p> + +<p>She nodded, smiling. Smiles were rare with her, now. <a name="Page_236"></a>She had grown +sober and serious, in these years of work and battle and stern endeavor. +The Catherine Flint of the old times had vanished—the Catherine of +country club days, and golf and tennis, and the opera—the Catherine of +Newport, of the horse show, of Paris, of "society." In her place now +lived another and a nobler woman, a woman known and loved the length and +breadth of the land, a woman exalted and strengthened by new, high and +splendid race-aspirations; by a vision of supernal beauty—the vision of +the world for the workers, each for all and all for each!</p> + +<p>She had grown more mature and beautiful, with the passing years. No mark +of time had yet laid its hand upon her face or figure. Young, still—she +was now but five-and-twenty, and Gabriel only twenty-eight—she walked +like a goddess, lithe, strong and filled with overflowing vigor. Her +eyes glowed with noble enthusiasms; and every thought, every impulse and +endeavor now was upward, onward, filled with stimulus and hope and +courage.</p> + +<p>Thus, a braver, broader and more splendid woman than Gabriel had known +in the other days of his first love for her—the days when he had wished +her penniless, the days when her prospective millions stood between +them—she walked beside him now. And they two, comrades, understood each +other; spoke the same language, shared the same aspirations, dreamed the +same wondrous dreams. Their smile, as their eyes met, was in itself a +benediction and a warm caress.</p> + +<p>"Charge the forts!" Gabriel repeated. "Yes, Kate, the battle still goes +on, no matter what happens. Here and there, soldiers fall and die. Even +battalions perish; but <a name="Page_237"></a>the war continues. When I think of all the +fights you've been in, since I was put away, I'm unspeakably envious. +You've been through the Tawana Valley strike, the big Consolidated +Western lockout and the Imperial Mills massacre. You were a delegate to +the 1923 Revolution Congress, in Berlin, and saw the slaughter in Unter +den Linden—helped nurse the wounded comrades, inside the Treptow Park +barricades. Then, out in California—"</p> + +<p>She checked him, with a hand on his arm.</p> + +<p>"Please don't, Gabriel," she entreated. "What I have done has been so +little, so terribly, pitiably little, compared to what <i>needs</i> to be +done! And then remember, too, that in and through all, this thought has +run, like the red thread through every cable of the British navy—the +thought that in my every activity, I am working against my own father, +combatting him, being as it were a traitor and—"</p> + +<p>"Traitor?" exclaimed the man. "Never! The bond between you two is +forever broken. You recognize in him, now, an enemy of all mankind. +Waldron is another. So is every one of the Air Trust group—that is to +say, the small handful of men who today own the whole world and +everything in it.</p> + +<p>"Your father, as President of that world-corporation which potentially +controls two thousand millions of human beings—and which will, +tomorrow, absolutely control them, is no longer any father of yours.</p> + +<p>"He is a world-emperor, and his few associates are princes of the royal +house. Your life and thought have forever broken with him. No more can +bonds and ties of blood hold you. Your larger duty calls to battle +<a name="Page_238"></a>against this man. Treachery? A thousand times, no! Treason to tyrants +is obedience to God! Or, if not God, then to mankind!"</p> + +<p>He paused and looked at her. They had now reached a little park, some +half mile from the grim and dour old walls of the Federal Pen. Trees and +grass and playing children seemed to invite them to stop and rest. +Though strong, moreover, Gabriel had for so long been unused to walking, +that even this short distance had tired him a little. And the oppressive +heat had them both by the throat.</p> + +<p>"Shall we sit down here and wait a little?" asked he. "Plan a little, +see where we are and what's to be done next?"</p> + +<p>She nodded assent.</p> + +<p>"Of course," she said, "even if I could have got word in to you, I +wouldn't have given you our real plans."</p> + +<p>"Hardly!" he exclaimed. Then, coming to a fountain, they sat down on a +bench close by. Nobody, they made sure, was within ear-shot.</p> + +<p>"Thank God," he breathed, "that you, Kate, and only you, met me as I +came out! It was a grand good idea, wasn't it, to keep my time of +liberation a secret from the comrades? Otherwise there might have been a +crowd on hand, and various kinds of foolishness; and time and energy +would have been used that might have been better spent in working for +the Revolution!"</p> + +<p>She looked at him a trifle curiously.</p> + +<p>"You forget," said she, "that all public meetings have been prohibited, +ever since last April. Federal statute—the new Penfield Bill—'The +Muzzler' as we call it."</p> + +<p>"That's so!" he murmured. "I forgot. Fact is, Kate, <a name="Page_239"></a>I <i>am</i> out of touch +with things. While you've been fighting, I've been buried alive. Now, I +must learn much, before I can jump back into the war again. And above +all, I must lose my identity. That's the first and most essential thing +of all!"</p> + +<p>"Of course," she assented. "They—the Air Trust World-corporation—will +trail you, everywhere you go. All this, as you know, has been provided +for. You must vanish a while."</p> + +<p>"Indeed I must. If they 'jobbed' me like that, in 1921, what won't they +do now in 1925?"</p> + +<p>"They won't ever get you, again, Gabriel," she answered, "if your wits +and ours combined, can beat them. True, the Movement has been badly shot +to pieces. That is, its visible organization has suffered, and it's +outlawed. But under the surface, Gabriel, you haven't an idea of its +spread and power. It's tremendous—it's a volcano waiting to burst! Let +the moment come, the leader rise, the fire burst forth, and God knows +what may not happen!"</p> + +<p>"Splendid!" exclaimed Gabriel. "The battle calls me, like a +clarion-call! But we must act with circumspection. The Plutes, powerful +as they now are, won't need even the shadow of an excuse to plant me for +life, or slug or shoot me. Things were rotten enough, then; but today +they're worse. The hand of this Air Trust monopoly, grasping every line +of work and product in the world, has got the lid nailed fast. We're all +slaves, every man and woman of us. Even our Socialists in Congress can +do nothing, with all these muzzling and sedition and treason bills, and +with this conscription law just through. Now that the government—the +Air Trust, that is to say—<a name="Page_240"></a>is running the railways and telegraphs and +telephones, a strike is treason—and treason is death! Kate, this year +of grace, 1925, is worse than ever I dreamed it would be. Oh, infinitely +worse! No wonder our movement has been driven largely underground. No +wonder that the war of mass and class is drawing near—the actual, +physical war between the Air Trust few and the vast, toiling, suffering, +stifling world!"</p> + +<p>She nodded.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said she, "it's coming, and soon. Things are as you say, and even +worse than you say, Gabriel. I know more of them, now, than you can +know. Remember London's 'Iron Heel?' When I first read it I thought it +fanciful and wild. God knows I was mistaken! London didn't put it half +strongly enough. The beginning was made when the National Mounted Police +came in. All the rest has swiftly followed. If you and I live five years +longer, Gabriel, we'll see a harsher, sterner and more murderous +trampling of that Heel than ever Comrade Jack imagined!"</p> + +<p>"Right!" said he. "And for that very reason, Kate, I've got to go into +hiding till my beard and hair grow and I can reappear as a different +man. Don't look, just now, but in a minute take a peek. Over on that +third bench, on the other side of the park, see that man? Well, he's a +'shadow.' There were three waiting for me, at the prison gates. You +couldn't spot them, but I could. One was that Italian banana-seller that +stood at the curb, on the first corner. Another was a taxi driver. And +this one, over there, is the third. From now till they 'get' me again, +they'll follow me like bloodhounds. I can't go free, to do my work and +take part in the impend<a name="Page_241"></a>ing war, till I shake them. Look, now, do you +see the one I mean?"</p> + +<p>Cautiously the girl looked round, with casual glance as though to see a +little boy playing by the fountain.</p> + +<p>"Yes," she murmured. "Who is he? Do you know his name?"</p> + +<p>"No," answered Gabriel. "His name, no. But I remember him, well enough. +He's the larger of the two detectives I knocked out, in that room in +Rochester. Beside his pay, he's got a personal motive in landing me back +in 'stir,' or sending me 'up the escape,' as prison slang names a +penitentiary and a death. So then," he added, "what's the first thing? +Where shall I go, and how, to hide and metamorphose? I'm in your hands, +now, Kate. More than four years out of the world, remember, makes a +fellow want a little lift when he comes back!"</p> + +<p>She smiled and nodded comprehension.</p> + +<p>"Don't explain, Gabriel," said she. "I understand. And I've got just the +place in mind for you. Also, the way to get there. You see, comrade, +we've been planning on this release. When can you go?"</p> + +<p>"When? Right now!" exclaimed Gabriel, standing up. "The quicker, the +better. Every minute I lose in getting myself ready to jump back into +the fight, is a precious treasure that can never be regained!"</p> + +<p>"Go, then," said she, with pride in her eyes. "I will wait here. Don't +think of me; leave me here; I am self-reliant in every way. Go to the +Cuthbert House, on Desplaines Street. Everything has been arranged for +your escape. Every link in the chain is complete. Remember, we are +working more underground, now, than when you <a name="Page_242"></a>were sentenced. And our +machinery is almost perfect. Register at the hotel and take a room for a +week. Then—"</p> + +<p>"Register, under my own name?" asked he.</p> + +<p>"Under your own name. Stay there two days. You won't be molested so +soon, and things won't be ready for you till the third day. On that +day—"</p> + +<p>"Well, what then?"</p> + +<p>"A message will come for you, that's all. Obey it. You have nothing more +to do."</p> + +<p>He nodded.</p> + +<p>"I understand," said he. "But, Kate—who's paying for all this? Not +<i>you?</i> I—I can't have <i>you</i> paying, now that every dollar you have must +be earned by your own labor!"</p> + +<p>She smiled a smile of wonderful beauty.</p> + +<p>"Foolish, rebellious boy!" said she. "Have no fear! All expense will be +borne by the Party, just as the Party paid your fine. It needs you and +must have you; and were the cost ten times as great, would bear it to +get you back! Remember, Gabriel, the Party is far larger than when you +were buried alive in a cell. Even though in some ways outlawed and +suppressed, its potential power is tremendous. All it needs is the +electric spark to cause the world-shaking explosion. All that keeps us +from power now is the Iron Heel—that, and the clutch of the Air Trust +already crushing and mangling us!</p> + +<p>"Go, now," she concluded. "Go, and rest a while, and wait. All shall be +well. But first, you must get back your strength completely, and find +yourself, and take your place again in the ranks of the great, +subterranean army!"</p> + +<p>"<a name="Page_243"></a>And shall I see you soon, again?" he asked, his voice trembling just a +little as their hands clasped once more, and once more parted.</p> + +<p>"You will see me soon," she answered.</p> + +<p>"Where?"</p> + +<p>"In a safe place, where we can plan, and work, and organize for the +final blow! Now, you shall know no more. Good-bye!"</p> + +<p>One last look each gave the other. Their eyes met, more caressingly than +many a kiss; and, turning, Gabriel took his way, alone, toward +Desplaines Street.</p> + +<p>At the exit of the park, he looked around.</p> + +<p>There Catherine sat, on the bench. But, seemingly quite oblivious to +everything, she was now reading a little book. Though he lingered a +moment, hoping to get some signal from her, she never stirred or looked +up from the page.</p> + +<p>Sighing, with a strange feeling of sudden loneliness and a vast, empty +yearning in his heart, Gabriel continued on his way, toward what? He +knew not.</p> + +<p>The detective on the other side of the park, no longer sat there. +Somehow, somewhere, he had disappeared.</p> + +<br /> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<br /> + +<a name="CHAPTER_XXVIII"></a><h3><a name="Page_244"></a>CHAPTER XXVIII.</h3> + +<h4>IN THE REFUGE.</h4> +<br /> + +<p>Far on the western slopes of Clingman Dome in the great Smoky Mountains +of North Carolina, a broad, low-built bungalow stood facing the setting +sun. Vast stretches of pine forest shut it off from civilization and the +prying activities of Plutocracy. The nearest settlement was Ravens, +twenty miles away to eastward, across inaccessible ridges and ravines. +Running far to southward, the railway left this wilderness untouched. +High overhead, an eagle soared among the "thunder-heads" that presaged a +storm up Sevier Pass. And, red through the haze to westward, the great +huge sunball slid down the heavens toward the tumbled, jagged mass of +peaks that rimmed the far horizon.</p> + +<p>Within the bungalow, a murmur of voices sounded; and from the huge stone +chimney a curl of smoke, arising, told of the evening meal, within, now +being made ready. On the wide piazza sat a man, writing at a table of +plain boards roughly pegged together. Still a trifle pale, yet with a +look of health and vigor, he sat there hard at work, writing as fast as +pen could travel. Hardly a word he changed. Sheet by sheet he wrote, and +pushed them aside and still worked on. Some of the pages slid to the +porch-floor, but he gave no heed. His brow was wrinkled with the +intensity of his thought; and over his face, where now a disguising +beard was beginning to be <a name="Page_245"></a>visible, the light of the sinking sun cast as +it were a kind of glowing radiance.</p> + +<p>At last the man looked up, and smiled, and eyed the golden mountain-tops +far off across the valley.</p> + +<p>"Wonderful aerie in the hills!" he murmured. "Wonderful retreat and +hiding-place—wonderful care and forethought to have made this possible +for me! How shall I ever repay all this? How, save by giving my last +drop of blood, if need be, for the final victory?"</p> + +<p>He pondered a moment, still half-thinking of the poem he had just +finished, half-reflecting on the strange events of the past week—the +secret ways, by swift auto, by boat, by monoplane which had brought him +hither to this still undiscovered refuge. How had it all been arranged, +he wondered; and who had made it possible? He could not tell, as yet. No +information was forthcoming. But in his heart he understood, and his +lips, murmuring the name of Catherine, blessed that name and tenderly +revered it.</p> + +<p>At last Gabriel bent, picked up the pages that had fallen, and arranged +them all in order.</p> + +<p>"Tomorrow this shall go out to the world," said he, "and to our +press—such of it as still remains. It may inspire some fainting heart +and thrill some lagging mind. Now, that the final struggle is at hand, +more than guns we need inspiration. More than force, to meet the force +that has ravished our every right and crushed Constitution and Law, +alike, we need spiritual insight and integrity. Only through these, and +by these, come what may, can a true, lasting victory be attained!"</p> + +<p>In the doorway of the bungalow a woman appeared, her smile illumined by +the sunset warmth.</p> + +<p>"<a name="Page_246"></a>Come, Gabriel," said she. "We're waiting—the Granthams, Craig, and +Brevard. Supper's ready. Not one of them will sit down, till you come."</p> + +<p>"Have I been delaying you?" asked Gabriel, turning toward the woman, +with a smile that matched her own.</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid so, just a little," she answered. "But no matter; I'm glad. +When you get to writing, you know, nothing else matters. One line of +your verse is worth all the suppers in the world."</p> + +<p>"Nonsense!" he retorted. "I'm a mere scribbler!"</p> + +<p>"We won't argue that point," she answered. "But at any rate, you're +done, now. So come along, boy—or the comrades will begin 'dividing up' +without us; for this mountain air won't brook delay."</p> + +<p>Gabriel took a long breath, stretched his powerful arms out toward the +mountains, and raised his face to the last light of day.</p> + +<p>"Nature!" he whispered. "Ever beautiful and ever young! Ah, could man +but learn thy lessons and live close to thy great heart!"</p> + +<p>Then, turning, he followed Catherine into the bungalow.</p> + +<p>Beautiful and restful though the outside was, the interior was more +restful and more charming still.</p> + +<p>In the vast fireplace, to left, a fire of pine roots was crackling. The +room was filled with their pitchy, wholesome perfume, with the dancing +light of their blaze and with the warmth made grateful by that mountain +height.</p> + +<p>Simple and comfortable all the furnishings were, hand-wrought for use +and pleasure. Big chairs invited. Broad couches offered rest. No +hunting-trophies, no heads of slaughtered wild things disfigured the +walls, as in most <a name="Page_247"></a>bungalows; but the flickering firelight showed +pictures that inspired thought and carried lessons home—pictures of +toil and of repose, pictures of life, and love, and simple joy—pictures +of tragedy, of reality and deep significance. Here one saw Millet's +"Sower," and "Gleaners" and "The Man with the Hoe." There, Fritel's "The +Conquerors," and Stuck's "War." A large copy of Bernard's "Labor,"—the +sensation of the 1922 Paris Salon—hung above the mantelpiece, on which +stood Rodin's "Miner" in bronze. Portraits of Marx, Engels, LaSalle and +Debs, with others loved and honored in the Movement, showed between +original sketches by Walter Crane, Balfour Kerr, Art Young and Ryan +Walker. And in the well-filled bookshelves at the right, Socialist books +in abundance all told the same tale to the observer—that this was a +Socialist nest high up there among the mountains, and that every thought +and word and deed was inspired by one great ideal and one alone—the +Revolution!</p> + +<p>At a plain but well-covered table near the western windows, where fading +sunlight helped firelight to illumine the little company, sat three +men—two of them armed with heavy automatics—and a woman. Another +woman, Catherine, was standing by her chair and beckoning Gabriel to +his.</p> + +<p>"Come, Comrade!" she exclaimed. "If you delay much longer, everything +will be stone cold, and <i>then</i> beg forgiveness if you dare!"</p> + +<p>Gabriel laughed.</p> + +<p>"Your own fault, if you wait for me," he answered, seating himself. "You +know how it is when you get to scribbling—you never know when to stop. +And the scenery, up here, won't let you go. Positively fascinating, +<a name="Page_248"></a>that view is! If the Plutes knew of it, they'd put a summer resort +here, and coin millions!"</p> + +<p>"Yes," answered Craig, once Congressman Craig, but now hiding from the +Air Trust spies. "And what's more, they'd mighty soon confiscate this +resting-up place of the Comrades, and have us back behind bars, or +worse. But they <i>don't</i> know about it, and aren't likely to. Thank +Heaven for at least one place the Party can maintain as an asylum for +our people when too hard-pressed! Not a road within ten miles of here. +No way to reach this place, masked here in the cliffs and mountains, +except by aeroplane. Not one chance in a thousand, fellows, that they'll +ever find it. Confusion take them all!"</p> + +<p>The meal progressed, with plenty of serious and earnest discussion of +the pressing problems now close at hand. Brevard, a short, spare man, +editor of the recently-suppressed "San Francisco Revolutionist" and now +in hiding, made a few trenchant remarks, from time to time. Grantham and +his wife, both active speakers on the "Underground Circuit" and both +under sentence of long imprisonment, said little. Most of the +conversation was between Catherine, Craig and Gabriel. Long before the +supper was done, lamps had to be brought and curtains lowered. At last +the meal was over.</p> + +<p>"Dessert, now, Gabriel!" exclaimed Grantham. "Your turn!"</p> + +<p>"Eh? What?" asked Armstrong. "My turn for what?"</p> + +<p>"Your turn to do your part! Don't think that you're going to write a +poem and then put it in your pocket, that way. Come, out with it!"</p> + +<p>Gabriel's protests availed nothing. The others over<a name="Page_249"></a>bore him. And at +last, unwillingly, he drew out the manuscript and spread it open on his +knee.</p> + +<p>"You really want to hear this?" he demanded. "If you can possibly spare +me, I wish you would!"</p> + +<p>For all answer, Craig pushed a lamp over toward him. The warm light on +Gabriel's face, now slightly bearded, and on his strong, corded throat, +made a striking picture as he cast his eyes on the manuscript and in +vibrant and harmonious voice, read:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span><i>I SAW THE SOCIALIST</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span><i>I saw the Socialist sitting at a great Banquet of Men,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Sitting with honored leaders of the blind, unwitting Multitude;</i><br /></span> +<span><i>I saw him there with the writers, editors, painters, men of letters,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Legislators and judges, the Leaders of the People,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Leaders flushed with the wines of price, eating costly and rare foods,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Making loud talk, and boastful, of that marvel, American Liberty!</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Thinking were they no thought of hunger and pinching cold;</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Of the blue-lipped, skinny children, the thin-chested, coughing men,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>The dry-breasted mothers, the dirt, disease and ignorance,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>The mangled workmen, the tramps, drunkards, pickpockets, prostitutes, thieves,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>The mad-houses, jails, asylums and hospitals, the sores, the blood of war,</i><br /></span> +<span><a name="Page_250"></a><i>And all the other wondrous blessings that attend our civilization—</i><br /></span> +<span><i>That civilization through which the wines and foods were given them.</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span><i>I saw the Socialist there, calm, unmoved, unsmiling, thoughtful,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Sober, serious, full of dispassionate and prophetic vision,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Not like the other men, the all-wise Leaders of the People.</i><br /></span> +<span><i>The political economists, the professors, the militarists, heroes and statisticians;</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Not like the kings and presidents and emperors, the nobles and gold-crammed bankers,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>But mindful, more than they, of the cellars under the House of Life</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Where blind things crawl in the dark, things men and yet not human,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Things whose toil makes possible the Banquets of the Leaders of Men,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Things that live and yet are not alive; things that never taste of Life;</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Things that make the rich foods, themselves snatching filthy crumbs;</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Things that produce the wines of price, and must be content with lees;</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Things that shiver and cringe and whine, that snarl sometimes,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>That are men and women and children, and yet that know not Life!</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span><i>I saw the Socialist there; I sat at the banquet; beside him,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Listened to the surging music, saw all the lights and flowers,</i><br /></span><a name="Page_251"></a> +<span><i>Flowers and lights and crystal cups, whereof the price for each</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Might have brought back from Potter's Field some bloodless, starving baby.</i><br /></span> +<span><i>I heard the Leaders' speeches, the turgid oratory,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>The well-turned phrases of the Captains, the rotund babble of prosperity,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>(Prosperity for whom? Nay, ask not troublesome questions!)</i><br /></span> +<span><i>The Captains' vaunting I heard, their boasts of glory and victory,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>While red, red, red their hands dripped red with the blood of the butchered workers.</i><br /></span> +<span><i>I heard the Judges' self-glorification, Quixotic fighting of windmills,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Heard also the unclean jests that those respected Leaders told.</i><br /></span> +<span><i>And as I looked and listened, I still observed the Socialist,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Unmoved and patient and serious, calm, full of sober reflections.</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span><i>Then there spake (among many others) an honored and full-paunched Bishop.</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Rubicund he was, and of portly habit of body,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Shepherd of a well-pastured flock, mightily content with God,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Out of whose omnipotent Hand (no doubt) the blessings of his life descended.</i><br /></span> +<span><i>I heard this exponent of Christ the Crucified, Christ the Carpenter,</i><br /></span> +<span><a name="Page_252"></a><i>Christ the Leader of Workingmen, the Agitator, the Disturber,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Christ the Labor-organizer, Christ the Archetypal Socialist,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Friend of the dwellers in the pits of Life, Consoler of earth's exploited,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Who once with the lash scourged from the Temple the unclean graft-brood of usurers.</i><br /></span> +<span><i>And the rotund Bishop's words were as the crackling of dry thorns</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Under a pot, bubbling without use in the desert of dreary platitudes.</i><br /></span> +<span><i>The story he told was spiced and garnished with profane words,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Whereat the Leaders laughed in their cups, making great show of merriment,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>So that the banquet-hall rang, and wine was spilt on the linen.</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Wine as red as blood—the blood of the shattered miner,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Blood of the boy in the rifle-pits, blood of the coughing child-slave,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Blood of the mangled trainman, blood that the Carpenter shed.</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span><i>And still I watched the Socialist. Sober, judicial, observant</i><br /></span> +<span><i>And full of greater wisdom he was than to laugh with the tipsy Leaders.</i><br /></span> +<span><i>His eyes were fixed on the Bishop, vice-regent of God upon earth.</i><br /></span> +<span><i>And as I watched the Socialist, the unmoved, the contemplative one,</i><br /></span><a name="Page_253"></a> +<span><i>He thoughtfully took his pencil, he took the fine and large card</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Whereon the names of the rich foods and all the costly wines were printed,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>And made a few notes of the feast, notes of the Bishop's speech,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Notes to remind him to search the slums for the great, God-given prosperity,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Which all the Judges, Lawmakers, Captains and Leaders knew to be "our" portion;</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Notes of the flowers, the wine, the lights, the music, the splendor,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Notes of the Leaders' oratory, notes of the Bishop's deep-voiced unctiousness,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Notes he made; and as I looked at the notes he was carefully writing,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>The words ran red like wine and blood, they blazed like the blazing lights!</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Words they were of blood and fire, that spread, that filled the banquet-hall.</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Words of old, I read them—"MENE, MENE, TEKEL, UPHARSHIN!—</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Weighed in the Balance you are, ye Leaders respected of men,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>You Statesmen, Lawmakers, Judges, Captains, Bishops, vice-regents of God!</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Weighed and tried and found wanting. Give way, now, to what shall come after!</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Make ye way for the Men who shall do what ye have but neglected and shirked!</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Make ye way for a Time which hath more than Power and Greed for its watchwords!</i><br /></span><a name="Page_254"></a> +<span><i>Soon your day shall decline forever, your sun shall sink and shall vanish.</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Then from the Cellars of Life the darkness-dwellers shall issue,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Greeting another daunt which shall have more than pain for its portion.</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Then no more shall the humble, the lowly, the friends of the Nazarene Carpenter</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Be starved, be mangled for gold, be crucified, slaughtered, bled.</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Make ye way!...Make ye way!..."</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span><i>Such was the message I read, the words of that fire-writ warning.</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Then peace came back to my spirit, calm peace, and hope and patience:</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Then, through my anger and heat, I thought of the Retribution.</i><br /></span> +<span><i>But even more clearly I saw the New Birth of this weary world,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>This world now groaning in chains, with the bloody sweat of oppression.</i><br /></span> +<span><i>These things and many more, such as were hard to write of,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>I read in the words of the Socialist, patient, peaceful and sober,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Full of prophetic vision, above all things hopeful and patient,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Written in living flame at the Feast of the Leaders of Men....</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<br /><hr style="width: 65%;" /><br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_XXIX"></a><h3><a name="Page_255"></a>CHAPTER XXIX.</h3> + +<h4>"APRÈS NOUS LE DÉLUGE!"</h4> +<br /> + +<p>As Gabriel's voice fell to silence, after the last words, a stillness +came upon the lamp-lit room, a hush broken only by the snapping of the +pine-root fire on the hearth and by the busy ticking of the clock upon +the chimneypiece. Then, after a minute's pause, Craig reached over and +took Gabriel by the hand.</p> + +<p>"I salute you, O poet of the Revolution now impending!" he cried, while +Catherine's eyes gleamed bright with tears. "Would God that <i>I</i> could +write like that, old man!"</p> + +<p>"And would God that my paper was still being issued!" Brevard added, +making a gesture with the pipe that, in his eagerness to hear, he had +allowed to die. "If it were I'd give that poem my front page, and fling +its message full in the faces of Plutocracy!"</p> + +<p>Gabriel smiled a bit nervously.</p> + +<p>"Don't, please don't," he begged. "If you really do like it help me +spread it. Don't waste words on praise, but plan with me, tonight, how +we can get this to the people—how we can perfect our final +arrangements—what we must do, now, at once, to meet the Air Trust and +defeat it before its terrible and unrelenting grip closes on the throat +of the world!"</p> + +<p>"Right!" said Craig. "We must act at once, while there's yet time. +today, all seems safe. The Air Trust spies haven't ferreted this place +out. A week from now, <a name="Page_256"></a>they may have, and one of the most secure and +useful Socialist refuges in the country may be only a heap of +ashes—like the ones at Kenwyck, Hampden, Mount Desert and Loftiss. +Every day is precious. Every one helps to perfect Gabriel's disguise and +adds materially to his strength."</p> + +<p>"True," assented Gabriel. "We mustn't wait too long, now. That last +report we got yesterday, by our wireless, ought to stimulate us. +Brainard says, in it, that the Air Trust people are now putting the +finishing touches on the Niagara plant. That will give them condensing +machinery for over 90,000,000 horsepower, all told. As I see the thing, +it looks absolutely as though, when <i>that</i> is done, the whole Capitalist +system of the world will center right there—focus there, as at a point. +Let kings and emperors continue to strut and mouth vain phrases; let our +own President and Congress make the motions of governing; even let Wall +Street play at finance and power. All, all are empty and meaningless!</p> + +<p>"Power has been sucked dry, out of them all, comrades. You know as well +as I know—better, perhaps—that all real power in the world, today, +whether economic or political—nay, even the power of life and death, +the power of breath or strangulation, has clotted at Niagara, in the +central offices of the Air Trust; nay, right in Flint and Waldron's own +inner office!"</p> + +<p>Gabriel had stood up, while speaking; and now, pacing the floor of the +big living-room, glanced first at one eager and familiar face, then at +another.</p> + +<p>"Comrades," said he, "we should not sleep, tonight. We should get out +all our plans and data, all the dispatches that have come to us here, +all the information at <a name="Page_257"></a>hand about our organization, whether open or +subterranean. We should make this room and this time, in fact, the place +and the hour for the planning of the last great blow on which hangs the +fate of the world. If it succeed, the human race goes free again. If it +fail—and God forbid!—then the whole world will lie in the grip of +Flint and Waldron! With our other centers broken up and under espionage, +our press forced into impotence—save our underground press—and +political action now rendered farcical as ever it was in Mexico, when +Diaz ruled, we have but one recourse!"</p> + +<p>"And that is?" asked Catherine. "The general strike?"</p> + +<p>"A final, general, paralyzing strike; and with it, the actual, physical +destruction of the colossal crime of crimes, the Air Trust works at +Niagara!"</p> + +<p>A little silence followed. They all drew round the reading-table, now, +near the fireplace. Mrs. Grantham brought a lamp; and Brevard, opening a +chest near the book-case, fetched a portfolio of papers, dispatches, +plans, reports and data of all kinds.</p> + +<p>"Gabriel's right," said he. "The time is ripe, now, or will be in a week +or so. Nothing can be gained by delaying any longer. Every day adds to +their power and may weaken ours. Our organization, for the strike and +the attack on the works, is as complete as we can make it. We must come +to extreme measures, at once, or world-strangulation will set in, and we +shall be eternally too late!"</p> + +<p>"Extreme measures, yes," said Gabriel, while Brevard spread the papers +out and sorted them, and Craig drew contemplatively at his pipe. "The +masters would have it so. Our one-time academic discussion about ways +and <a name="Page_258"></a>means has become absurd, in the face of plutocratic savagery. We're +up against facts, now, not theories. God knows it's against the dictates +of my heart to do what must be done; but it's that or stand back and see +the world be murdered, together with our own selves! And in a case of +self-defense, no measures are unjustifiable.</p> + +<p>"Whatever happens our hands are clean. The plutocrats are the attacking +force. They have chosen, and must take the consequences; they have sown, +and must reap. One by one, they have limited and withdrawn every +political right. They have taken away free speech and free assemblage, +free press and universal suffrage. They have limited the right to vote, +by property qualifications that have deprived the proletariat of every +chance to make their will felt. They have put through this National +Censorship outrage and—still worse—the National Mounted Police Bill, +making Cossack rule supreme in the United States of America, as they +have made it in the United States of Europe.</p> + +<p>"Before they elected that tool of tools, President Supple, in 1920, on +the Anti-Socialist ticket, we still had some constitutional rights +left—a few. But now, all are gone. With the absorption and annexation +of Canada, Mexico and Central America, slavery full and absolute settled +down upon us. The unions simply crumbled to dust as you know, in face of +all those millions of Mexican peons swamping the labor-market with +starvation-wage labor. Then, as we all remember, came the terrible +series of strikes in 1921 and 1922, and the massacres at Hopedale and +Boulder, at Los Angeles and Pittsburg, and, worst of all, Gary. That +finished what few rights were left, that killing did. And then came the +army of <a name="Page_259"></a>spies, and the proscriptions, and the electrocution of those +hundred and eleven editors, speakers and organizers—why bring up all +these things that we all know so well? <i>We</i> were willing to play the +game fair and square, and <i>they</i> refused. Say that, and you say all.</p> + +<p>"No need to dwell on details, comrades. The Air Trust has had its will +with the world, so far. It has crushed all opposition as relentlessly as +the car of Juggernaut used to crush its blind, fanatical devotees. True, +our Party still exists and has some standing and some representatives; +but we all know what <i>power</i> it has—in the open! Not <i>that</i> much!" And +he snapped his fingers in the air.</p> + +<p>"In the open, none!" said Craig, blowing a cloud of smoke. "I admit +that, Gabriel. But, underground—ah!"</p> + +<p>"Underground," Gabriel took up the word, "forces are now at work that +can shatter the whole infernal slavery to dust! This way of working is +not our choice; it is theirs. They would have it so—now let them take +their medicine!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes," eagerly exclaimed Catherine, her face flushed and intense. +"I'm with you, Gabriel. To work!"</p> + +<p>"To work, yes," put in Craig, "but with system, order and method. My +experience in Congress has taught me some valuable lessons. The +universal, all-embracing Trust made marionettes of us, every one. Our +strength was, to them, no more than that of a mouse to a lion. Their +system is perfect, their lines of supply and communication are without a +flaw. The Prussian army machine of other days was but a bungling +experiment by comparison with the efficiency of this new mechanism. I +tell you, Gabriel, we've got to give these tyrants credit for being +infernally efficient tyrants! All that science has <a name="Page_260"></a>been able to devise, +or press and church and university teach, or political subservience make +possible, is theirs. And back of that, military power, and the courts +and the prisons and the electric chair! And back of all <i>those</i>, the +power to choke the whole world to submission, in a week!"</p> + +<p>Gabriel thought, a moment, before replying. Then said he:</p> + +<p>"I know it, Craig. All the more reason why we must hit them at once, and +hit hard! These reports here," and he gestured at the papers that +Brevard had spread out under the lamp-light, "prove that, at the proper +signal, every chance indicates that we can paralyze transportation—the +keynote of the whole situation.</p> + +<p>"True, the government—that is to say, the Air Trust, and <i>that</i> is to +say, Flint and Waldron—can keep men in every engine-cab in the country. +They can keep them at every switch and junction. But this isn't France, +remember, nor is it any small, compact European country. Conditions are +wholly different here. Everywhere, vast stretches of track exist. No +power on earth—not even Flint and Waldron's—can guard all those +hundreds of thousands of miles. And so I tell you, taking our data +simply from these reports and not counting on any more organized +strength than they show, we have today got the means of cutting and +crippling, for a week at least, the movements of troops to Niagara. And +that, just that, is all we need!"</p> + +<p>A little silence. Then said Catherine:</p> + +<p>"You mean, Gabriel, that if we can keep the troops back for a little +while, and annihilate the Air Trust plant itself, the great revolution +will follow?"</p> + +<p><a name="Page_261"></a>He nodded, with a smouldering fire in his eyes.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said he. "If we can loosen the grip of this monster for only +forty-eight hours, and flash the news to this bleeding, sweating, +choking land that the grip <i>is</i> loosened—after that we need do no more. +<i>Après nous, le déluge;</i> only not now in the sense of wreck and ruin, +but meaning that this deluge shall forever wash away the tyranny and +crime of Capitalism! Forever and a day, to leave us free once more, free +men and women, standing erect and facing God's own sunlight, our +heritage and birthplace in this world!"</p> + +<p>Catherine made no answer, but her hand clasped his. The light on her +magnificent masses of copper-golden hair, braided about her head, +enhanced her beauty. And so for a moment, the little group sat there +about the table—the group on which now so infinitely much depended; and +the lamp-glow shone upon their precious plans, reports and diagrams.</p> + +<p>Into each others' eyes they looked, and knew the moment of final +conflict was drawn very near, at last. The moment which, in failure or +success, should for long years, for decades, for centuries perhaps, +determine whether the world and all its teeming millions were to be +slave or free.</p> + +<p>They spoke no word and took no oath of life-and-death fidelity, those +men and women who now had been entrusted with the fate of the world. But +in their eyes one read unshakable devotion to the Cause of Man, +unswerving loyalty to the Great Ideal, and a calm, holy faith that would +make light of death itself, could death but pave the way to victory!</p> + + + +<br /><hr style="width: 65%;" /><br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_XXX"></a><h3><a name="Page_262"></a>CHAPTER XXX.</h3> + +<h4>TRAPPED!</h4> +<br /> + +<p>Brevard was the first to speak. "Gabriel," said he, "we have agreed that +you must be the leader in this whole affair. The actual, personal +leader. To begin with, you're younger and physically stronger than any +of us men. Your executive ability is, without any question whatever, far +and away ahead of ours—for we are more in the analytical, compiling, +organizing, preparing line. To cap all, your personality carries more, +far more, with the mass of the comrades than any of ours. Your career, +in the past, your conflict with Flint and Waldron, and your long +imprisonment, have given you the necessary following. You, and you +alone, must issue the final call, lead the last, supreme attack, and +carry the old flag, the Crimson Banner of Brotherhood, to the topmost +battlement of an annihilated Capitalism!"</p> + +<p>Gabriel demurred, but they overruled him. So, presently, he consented; +and pledged his life to it; and thrilled with pride and joy at thought +of what now lay written in the Book of Fate, for him to read.</p> + +<p>Catherine's eyes shone with a strange light, as she looked upon him +there, so modest yet so strong. And he, smiling a little as his gaze met +hers, foresaw other things than war, and was glad. His heart sang within +him, that memorable and wondrous night, up there in the hiding-place +among the Great Smokies—there with Cath<a name="Page_263"></a>erine and the other +comrades—there planning the last great blow to strike away forever the +shackles from the bleeding limbs of all the human race!</p> + +<p>But serious and urgent things were to be thought of, and at once, for on +the morrow Brevard was going down, disguised, to Louisville, in one of +the two monoplanes, to attend a final secret meeting of the North-middle +Section Committee. From this he would proceed to the refuge near Port +Colborne, Ontario.</p> + +<p>"Let us make that our meeting-place, one week from tonight," said +Gabriel, "in case anything happens. Should we be detected, or should any +accident befall, we must have some time and place to rally by. Is my +suggestion taken?"</p> + +<p>They all agreed, after some discussion.</p> + +<p>"But," added Mrs. Grantham, "let's hope we're still secure here, for a +while. It doesn't seem possible they could find us <i>here</i>, in this broad +mountain wilderness!"</p> + +<p>Brevard, meanwhile, was spreading out diagrams and plans.</p> + +<p>"The plant at Niagara," said he. "Gabriel, study this, now, as you never +yet have studied anything! For on your intimate knowledge of these +plans—which, by the way, have been obtained only at the cost of eight +lives of our comrades, and through adventures which alone would make a +wonderful book—depends everything. With all communications cut, and +troops kept away, and our own people storming the works, you will yet +fail, Gabriel, unless you know every building, every courtyard, wall and +passage, every door and window, almost, I might say. For the place is +more than a manufacturing plant. <a name="Page_264"></a>It's a fortress, a city in itself, a +wonderful, gigantic center to the whole web of world-domination!</p> + +<p>"So now, to the plans!"</p> + +<p>For hours, while Gabriel took notes and listened keenly, asked questions +and made minute memoranda, Brevard explained the situation at the great +Air Trust works. The others looked on, listened, and from time to time +made suggestions; but for the most part they kept silent, unwilling to +disturb this most important work.</p> + +<p>Carefully and with painstaking accuracy he showed Gabriel how the plant +now embraced more than two square miles of territory around the Falls, +all guarded by tremendous barricades mounting machine-guns and +search-lights. On both sides of the river this huge monster had +squatted, effectually shutting out all sight of the Falls and depriving +the people of their birthright of beauty, at the same time that it had +harnessed the vast waterpower to the task of enslaving the world.</p> + +<p>"From the Grand Trunk steel arch bridge up to and including the former +plant of the Niagara Falls Power Company," said Brevard, "you see the +plant extends. And, on the Canadian side—or what was the Canadian, +before 'we' absorbed Canada—it stretches from the Ontario Power +Company's works to those of the Toronto-Niagara Power Company, including +both. In addition to having absorbed these, it has taken over the +Niagara Falls Hydraulic Power and Manufacturing Company, the Canadian +Power Company and half a dozen others, and has, as you see, established +its central offices and plant on Goat Island.</p> + +<p>"Here Flint and Waldron have what may be called a citadel within a +citadel—twelve acres of administration <a name="Page_265"></a>buildings, laboratories (in +charge of your old friend Herzog, by the way!) and experimental works, +including also the big steel chambers, vacuum-lined, where they are +already storing their liquid oxygen to be turned into their pipe-lines +and tank-cars. This Goat Island central plant will be the real kernel in +the nut, Gabriel. Once <i>that</i> is gone, you'll have ripped the heart out +of the beast, smashed the vital ganglia, and given the world the +respite, the breathing-space it must have, to free itself!"</p> + +<p>"And if I don't?" asked Gabriel. "If anything happens to upset our +blockading tactics, or if our attacking forces are defeated or our +aeroplanes shot down, what then?"</p> + +<p>"Then," said Brevard, slowly, "then the world had better die than +survive under the abominable slavery now impending. Already the +pipe-lines have been laid to Buffalo, Cleveland, Albany and Scranton. +Already they're under way to New York City itself, and to Cincinnati. +Already other plants have been projected for Chicago, Denver, San +Francisco and New Orleans, to say nothing of half a dozen in the Old +World. At this present moment, as we all sit here in this quiet room on +this remote mountain-slope, the world's air is being cornered! All the +atmospheric nitrogen is planned for, by Flint and Waldron, to pass under +their control—and with it, every crop that grows. All the oxygen will +follow. They're already having their domestic-service apparatus +manufactured—their cold-pipe radiators, meters, evaporators and +respirators. I tell you, comrades, this thing is close upon us, not as a +theory, now, but as a terrible, an inconceivably ghastly reality!</p> + +<p>"Even as we talk this thing over, those devils in human <a name="Page_266"></a>form are at +work impoverishing the atmosphere, the very basis of all life. My +oxymeter, today, showed a diminution of .047 per cent. in the amount of +free oxygen in the air right on this mountain. And their plant is hardly +running yet! Wait till they get it under full swing—wait till their +pipe-lines and tanks and instruments and all their vast, infernal +apparatus of exploitation and enslavement are in operation! Even in a +week from now, or less, by the time you issue the call, Gabriel, you may +see wretches gasping in vain for breath, in some dark alley of Niagara +where the air is being drained!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, devilish and infernal plot against the world!" said Gabriel, +bitterly. "Yet in essence, after all, no different from the system of +ten years ago, which kept food and shelter, light and fuel, under lock +and key—and made the dollar the only key to fit the lock! Yet this +seems worse, somehow; and though I die for it, my last supreme blow +shall be against such unutterable, such murderous villainy! So then, +comrades—"</p> + +<p>He paused, suddenly, as Kate laid a hand on his arm.</p> + +<p>"Hark! What's that?" she whispered.</p> + +<p>Outside, somewhere, a sound had made itself heard. Then on the porch, a +loose board creaked.</p> + +<p>Gabriel sprang to his feet. The others stood up and faced the door.</p> + +<p>"In heaven's name, what's that outside?" demanded Craig.</p> + +<p>On the instant, a heavy foot crashed through the panels of their door. +The door, burst open, flew back.</p> + +<p>In the aperture, stood a man, in aviator's dress, with another dimly +visible behind him. Both these men held <a name="Page_267"></a>long, blue-nosed, +oxygen-bullet-shooting revolvers levelled at the little group around the +table.</p> + +<p>"My God! Air Trust spies!" cried Grantham, pale as death.</p> + +<p>"Hands up, you!" shouted the man in the doorway, with a wild triumph in +his voice. "You're caught, all of you! Not a move, you —— —— ——! +Hands up!"</p> + + + +<br /><hr style="width: 65%;" /><br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_XXXI"></a><h3><a name="Page_268"></a>CHAPTER XXXI.</h3> + +<h4>ESCAPE!</h4> +<br /> + +<p>Quick as thought, at sound of the imperative summons and sight of the +levelled weapons, Gabriel swept up most of the papers and crammed them +into the breast of his loose flannel shirt, then dashed the lamp to the +floor, extinguishing it. The room grew dark, for now the fire had burned +down to hardly more than glowing coals.</p> + +<p>There was no panic; the men did not curse, neither did the women scream. +As though the tactic had already been agreed on, Craig tipped the table +up, making a kind of barricade; and over it Grantham's revolver, +snatched from his belt, spat viciously.</p> + +<p>It all happened in a moment.</p> + +<p>The foremost spy grunted, coughed and plunged forward. As he fell, he +fired his terrible weapon.</p> + +<p>The bullet—a small, thin metal shell, filled with a secret chemical and +liquid oxygen—went wild. It struck the wall, some feet to the left of +the fireplace, and instantly the wood burst into vivid flame. Flesh +would crisp to nothing, solid stone would crumble, metal would gutter +and run down, under that awful incandescence.</p> + +<p>Again Grantham's revolver barked, while Bevard tugged at his own, which +had unaccountably got stuck in its holster. But this second shot missed. +And even <a name="Page_269"></a>as Grantham's bullet snicked a long splinter from the +door-jamb, the second spy fired.</p> + +<p>Brevard's choking cry died as the gushing flame enveloped him. He +staggered, flung up both arms and fell stone dead, the life seared clean +out of him, as a lamp sears a moth.</p> + +<p>Gasping, blinded, the others scattered; and for the third time—while +the room now glowed with this unquenchable blossoming of flame—Grantham +shot.</p> + +<p>The spy's body burst into a sheaf of fire. Up past the lintel streamed +the burning swirl. Mute and annihilated, his charred body dropped beside +that of his mate.</p> + +<p>The total time from challenge to complete victory had not exceeded ten +seconds.</p> + +<p>"I exploded some of his cartridges!" choked Grantham. shielding his wife +from the glare, while Gabriel protected Catherine.</p> + +<p>"His—his cartridge belt!" gasped Craig.</p> + +<p>"Yes! And now, out—out of here!"</p> + +<p>"Brevard? We must save his body!" cried Gabriel, pointing.</p> + +<p>"Impossible!" shouted Grantham. "That hellish compound will burn for +hours! And in three minutes this whole place will be a roaring furnace! +Out of here—out—away! We must save the hangar, at all hazards!"</p> + +<p>Against their will, but absolutely unable to approach the now +wildly-roaring fire on the floor that marked the spot where Brevard had +fallen in the Battle with Plutocracy, the comrades quickly retreated.</p> + +<p>Raging fire now hemmed them on three sides. Their only avenue of escape +was through the eastern windows, eight or ten feet above the ground. +Hastily snatching up <a name="Page_270"></a>such of the plans and papers as he had not already +secured—and some of these already were beginning to smoke and turn +brown, in the infernal heat—Gabriel shielded Catherine's retreat. The +others followed.</p> + +<p>Craig and Grantham first jumped from the windows, then caught Mrs. +Grantham and Catherine as Gabriel helped them to escape. He himself was +the last to leave the room, now a raging furnace. Together they all ran +from the building, and none too soon; for suddenly the roof collapsed, a +tremendous burst of crackling flames and sheaved sparks leaped high +above the tree-tops, and the walls came crashing in.</p> + +<p>In the welter of incandescence, where now only the stone chimney +stood—and this, too, was already cracking and swaying—Brevard had +found his tomb, together with the two Air Trust spies. All that +pleasant, necessary place was now a mass of white-hot ruin; all those +books and pictures now had turned to ash.</p> + +<p>The five remaining comrades paused by the hangar, and looked mournfully +back at the still-leaping volcano of destruction.</p> + +<p>"Poor Brevard! Poor old chap!" said Craig. He peered at the women. +Neither one was crying—they were not that type—but both were pale.</p> + +<p>"I don't feel that way," said Gabriel. "Brevard is not to be pitied. +He's to be envied! He died in the noblest war we can conceive—the war +for the human race! And his last act was to take part in a battle that +stamped out two vipers, Air Trust spies, who would have joyed to burn us +all alive!"</p> + +<br /> + +<a name="Image_5"></a><center> +<img src="images/image-5.jpg" height="75%" alt="The spy's body burst into a sheaf of fire." title=""> +</center> +<div class="caption"><center><b>The spy's body burst into a sheaf of fire.</b></center></div> + +<br /> + +<p>"Thank God, I got the Hell-hounds!" muttered Craig. "Two less of Slade's +infamous army, anyhow." Though <a name="Page_271"></a><a name="Page_272"></a>Gabriel knew it not, the first one to +fall was the same who had battled with him in the trap at Rochester, the +same who had trailed him when he, Gabriel, had left the Federal pen. So +one score, at least, was settled.</p> + +<p>"They're gone, anyhow," said Gabriel, "and five of us still live—and +I've still got the plans and all. Moreover, the monoplanes are safe. The +quicker we get away from here, now, the better. Away, and to our last +remaining refuge near Port Colborne, on the shores of Lake Erie. Other +Air Trust forces may be here, before morning. We must get away!"</p> + +<p>A frightful shock awaited them when, entering the hangar—eager now to +escape at once from the scene of the tragedy—they beheld their +aeroplanes.</p> + +<p>By the ruddy light which shone in through the wide doors, from the fire, +they saw long strips and tatters of canvas hanging from the 'planes.</p> + +<p>"Smashed! Broken! Wrecked!" cried Gabriel, starting back aghast.</p> + +<p>The others stared. Only too true; the monoplanes were practically +destroyed. Not only had the spies, before attacking the refuge, slashed +the 'planes to rags, but they had also partly dismantled the motors. +Bits of machinery lay scattered on the floor of the hangar.</p> + +<p>Stunned and unable to gather speech or coherent thought, the five +Socialists stood staring. Then, after a moment, Craig made shift to +exclaim bitterly:</p> + +<p>"A good job, all right! The curs must have got in at the window, and +spent an hour in this work. Whatever happened, they didn't intend we +should have any means of retreat—for of course it's out of the question +for any<a name="Page_273"></a>body to get away from here through the forest over the ridges +and down the cliffs!"</p> + +<p>"They meant to trap us, this way, that's certain," added Gabriel. "There +surely will be others of the same breed, here before morning. They must +not find us here!"</p> + +<p>"But Gabriel, how shall we escape?" asked Catherine, her face illumined +by the leaping flames of the bungalow.</p> + +<p>"How! In their own machine! The machine that Slade and the Air Trust +secret-service gave them, to come here and catch or murder us!"</p> + +<p>"By the Almighty! So we will!" cried Grantham. "Come on, let's find it!"</p> + +<p>The little party hurried off toward the landing-ground, a cleared and +levelled space further up the mountainside. The light of the burning +bungalow helped show them their path; and Craig had also taken an +electric flash-lamp from the hangar. With this he led the way.</p> + +<p>"Right! There it is!" suddenly exclaimed Gabriel, pointing. Craig +painted a brush of electric light over the vague outlines of the Air +Trust machine, a steel racer of the latest kind.</p> + +<p>"A Floriot biplane," said he. "Will hold two and a passenger. Familiar +type. I guess all of us, here, can operate it."</p> + +<p>They all—even the women—could. For you must understand that after the +Great Massacres had foreshown the only possible trend the Movement could +take, practically all the leaders in the work had studied aeronautics, +also chemistry, as most essential branches of knowledge in the +inevitable war.</p> + +<p>"Two, and a passenger," repeated Gabriel, as though echoing Craig's +words. "Who goes first?"</p> + +<p>"<a name="Page_274"></a>You!" said Grantham. "You and Catherine, with Craig to bring the +machine back. You're needed, now, at the front—imperatively needed. +Freda and I," gesturing at his wife, "will hold the fort, here—will +keep watch over our dead, over poor old Brevard, the first to fall in +this great, final battle!"</p> + +<p>A spirited argument followed. Gabriel insisted on being left for the +second trip. A compromise was made by having him get the two women out +of danger, at once, leaving Craig and Grantham on the mountain.</p> + +<p>"I'll send Hazen or Keyes back with the 'plane, for you," said he, as he +climbed into the driving seat, after the passengers had been stowed. +"That will be tomorrow night. Of course, we daren't fly by day. And +mind," he added, adjusting his spark and throttle, "mind you meet me +with this very same machine, safe and sound, at the Lake Erie refuge!"</p> + +<p>"Why this same machine?" inquired Craig.</p> + +<p>"Why? Because I intend to use this, and no other, in the final attack. +Could poetic justice be finer than that the Air Trust works be destroyed +with the help of one of their own 'planes?"</p> + +<p>No more was said, save brief good-byes. Those were times when +demonstrativeness, whether in life or death, was at a discount. A +hand-clasp and a few last instructions as to the time and place of +meeting, sufficed. Then Gabriel pressed the button of the self-starter +and opened the throttle.</p> + +<p>With a sudden gusty chatter, the engine caught. A great wind sprang up, +from the roaring, whirling blades. The Floriot rolled easily forward, +speeded up, and gathered headway.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_275"></a>Gabriel suddenly rotated the rising-plane. The great gull soared, +careened and took the air with majestic power. The watchers on the +mountain-side saw its hooded lights, that glowed upon its compass and +barometric-gauge, slowly spiralling upward, ever upward, as Gabriel +climbed with his two passengers.</p> + +<p>Then the lights sped forward, northward, in a long tangent, and, as they +swiftly diminished to mere specks, the echo of a farewell hail drifted +downward from the black and star-dusted emptiness above.</p> + +<p>Craig turned to Grantham, when the last gleam of light had faded in a +swift trajectory.</p> + +<p>"God grant they reach the last remaining refuge safely!" said he, with +deep emotion. "And may their flight be quick and sure! For the fate of +the world, its hope and its salvation from infinite enslavement, are +whirling through the trackless wastes of air, to-night!"</p> + + + +<br /><hr style="width: 65%;" /><br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_XXXII"></a><h3><a name="Page_276"></a>CHAPTER XXXII.</h3> + +<h4>OMINOUS DEVELOPMENTS.</h4> +<br /> + +<p>The first intimation that Flint and Waldron had of any opposition to +their plans, of any revolt, of any danger, was at quarter past three on +the afternoon of October 8th, 1925. All that afternoon, busy with their +final plans for the immediate extension of their system, they had been +going over certain data with Herzog, receiving reports from branch +managers and conferring with the Congressional committee that—together +with Dillon Slade, their secret-service tool, now also President +Supple's private secretary—they had peremptorily summoned from +Washington to receive instructions.</p> + +<p>In the more than four years that had passed since they had put Gabriel +behind bars—years fruitful in strikes and lockouts, in prostitutions of +justice, in sluggings and crude massacres—both men had altered notably.</p> + +<p>Though the National Censorship now no longer permitted any cartooning of +a "seditious" nature, i.e., representing any of the Air Trust notables, +old Flint's features tempted the artist's pencil more than ever. Save +for a little white fringe of hair at the back of his head, he had become +almost bald, thus adding greatly to his strong suggestion of a vulture. +His face was now more yellow and shrunken than ever, due to a rather +heavier consumption of his favorite drug, morphine; his nose had hooked +more strongly, and his one gold tooth of other <a name="Page_277"></a>days now had two more to +bear it company. His eyes, too, behind his thick pince-nez, had grown +more shifty, cold and cruelly calculating. If it be possible to conceive +a fox, a buzzard and a jackal merged in one, old Isaac Flint today +represented that unnatural and hideous hybrid.</p> + +<p>Now, as he stood facing "Tiger" Waldron, in the inner and sancrosanct +office of the Air Trust plant at Niagara—the office that even the +President of these United States approached with deference and due +humility—the snarl on his face revealed the beast-soul of the man.</p> + +<p>"Damnation!" he was saying, as he shook a newly-received aerogram at his +partner. "What's this, I'd like to know? What does this mean? All +telegraphic communication west of Chicago has suddenly stopped, and from +half a dozen points in the Southern States news is coming in that +railway service is being interrupted! See here, Waldron, this won't do! +Your part of the business has always been to carry on the publicity end, +the newspaper end, the moulding of public opinion and political thought, +<i>and</i> the maintenance of free, clear rail and aero communication +everywhere, all over the world. But now, all at once, see here?"</p> + +<p>Waldron raised red, bleared eyes at his irate partner. He, too, was more +the beast than four years ago. No less the tiger, now, but more the pig. +High, evil living had done its work on him. An unhealthy purple suffused +his heavily-jowled face. Beneath his eyes, sodden bags of flesh hung +pendant. His lips, loose and lascivious, now sucked indolently at the +costly cigar he was smoking as he sat leaning far back in his +desk-chair. And so those two, angry accuser and indifferent accused, +faced each other for a moment; while, incessant, dull, mighty, the +<a name="Page_278"></a>thunders of the giant cataract mingled with the trembling diapason of +the stupendous turbines in the rock-hewn caverns where old Niagara now +toiled in fetters, to swell their power and fling gold into their +bottomless coffers.</p> + +<p>"See here!" Flint repeated angrily, once more shaking the dispatches at +his mate. "Even our wireless system, all over the west and southwest, +has quit working! And you sit there staring at me like—like—"</p> + +<p>"That'll do, Flint!" the younger man retorted in a rough, hoarse voice. +"If there's any trouble, I'll find it and repair it. Very well. But I'll +not be talked to in any such way. Damn it, you can't speak to me Flint, +as if I were one of the people! If you own half the earth, I'll have you +understand I own the other half. So go easy, Flint—go damned easy!"</p> + +<p>Malevolently he eyed the old man's beast-like face. The scorn and +dislike he had conceived for Flint, years ago, when Flint had failed to +win back Catherine to him, had long grown keener and more bitter. +Waldron took it as a personal affront that Flint, apparently so worn and +feeble, could still hang on to life and brains enough to dominate the +enterprise. A thousand times, if once, he had wished Flint well dead and +buried and out of the way, so that he, Waldron, could grasp the whole +circle of the stupendous Air Trust. This, his supreme ambition, had been +constantly curbed by Flint's survival; and as the months and years had +passed, his hate had grown more deep, more ugly, more venomous.</p> + +<p>"Why, curse it," Waldron often thought, "the old dope has taken enough +morphine in his lifetime to have killed a hundred ordinary men! And yet +he still clings on, and withers, and grows yellow like an old dead leaf +that will <a name="Page_279"></a>not drop from the tree! When <i>will</i> he drop? When <i>will</i> +Father Time pick the despicable antique? My God, is the man immortal?"</p> + +<p>Such being the usual tenor of his thoughts, concerning Flint, small +wonder that he took the old man's chiding with an ill grace, and warned +him pointedly not to continue it. Now, facing the Billionaire, he fairly +stared him out of countenance. An awkward silence followed. Both heard, +with relief, a rapping at the office door.</p> + +<p>"Come!" snapped Flint.</p> + +<p>A clerk appeared, with a yellow envelope in hand.</p> + +<p>"Another wireless, sir," said he.</p> + +<p>Flint snatched it from him.</p> + +<p>"Send Herzog and Slade, at once," he commanded, as he ripped the +envelope.</p> + +<p>"Well, more trouble?" insolently drawled "Tiger" happy in the paling of +the old man's face and the sudden look of apprehension there.</p> + +<p>For all answer, Flint handed him the message. Waldron read:</p> + +<div class="blkquot"><p><i>Southern and Gulf States all seemingly cut off from every kind of + communication this P.M. Can get no news. Is this according to your + orders? If not, can you inform me probable cause? I ask + instructions. "K."</i></p></div> + +<p>Silence, a minute, then Waldron whistled, and began pulling at his thick +lower lip, a sure sign of perturbation.</p> + +<p>"By the Almighty, Flint" said he. "I—maybe I was wrong just now, to be +so confoundedly touchy about—about what you said. This—certainly looks +odd, doesn't <a name="Page_280"></a>it? It <i>can't</i> be a series of coincidences! There must be +something back of it, all. But—but <i>what?</i> Rebellion is out of the +question, now, and has been for a long time. Revolution? The way we're +organized, the very idea's an absurdity! But, if not these, what?"</p> + +<p>Flint stared at him with drug-contracted eyes.</p> + +<p>"Yes, that's the question," he rapped out. "What can it mean? Ah, +perhaps Slade can tell us," he added, as the secret-service man quietly +entered through a private door at the rear of the office.</p> + +<p>"Tell you what, gentlemen?" asked Slade, smirking and rubbing his hands.</p> + +<p>"The meaning of that, and that, and <i>that!</i>" snapped old Flint, +thrusting the telegrams at the newcomer.</p> + +<p>"Hm!" grunted the secret-service man, as he glanced them over. "That's +damned odd! But it's of no real moment. If—if there's really any +trouble, any outbreak or what not, of course it can't amount to +anything. All you have to do is order the President to call out the +troops, and—"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I can order him, all right," snarled Flint, "but in case all our +wires are down and all our wireless plants put out of commission, to say +nothing of our transport service interrupted, what then? There's no +doubt in <i>my</i> mind, Slade, that another upheaval is upon us. The fact +that we stamped out the 1918 and 1922 uprisings, and that rivers ran red +and city streets were flushed with blood, apparently hasn't made any +impression on the cattle! Damn it all, I say, <i>can't</i> you keep things +quiet? <i>Can't</i> you?"</p> + +<p>In a very frenzy he paced the office, his face twitching, <a name="Page_281"></a>his bony +fingers snapping with the extremity of his agitation. Suddenly he faced +Slade.</p> + +<p>"See here, you!" he exclaimed. "This certainly means another uprising. +It can't mean anything else! And you've allowed it, you hear? No, no, +don't deny the fact!" he cried, as the detective tried to oppose a word +of self-defense. "It's your fault, at last analysis; and if anything +happens, you and the President, Supple, have got to answer to me, +personally, do you hear? You've got to pay!"</p> + +<p>"Pay, and with devilish big interest, too!" growled "Tiger," fixing his +bleared, savage eyes on Slade.</p> + +<p>"What did I make that man President for, anyhow?" snarled Flint, "if not +to do my bidding and keep things still? Why did I put you in as his +private secretary, if not to have you watch him and see that he <i>did</i> do +my bidding? Why did I have Congress pass all those bills and things, +except to give you the weapons and tools to hold the lid on?</p> + +<p>"You've had a huge army and a conscripted militia given you; and +hundreds of wireless plants, and military roads and war-equipment beyond +all calculating. You've had thousands of spies organized and put under +your control. At your suggestion I've had all political power taken away +from the dogs—and everything done that you've asked for—and this, +<i>this</i> is the kind of work you do!"</p> + +<p>Livid with rage, the old Billionaire stood there shaking by his desk, +his face a fearful mask of passions and evil lusts for vengeance and +power. Slade, recognizing his master, even as President Supple on more +than one occasion had been forced in terrible personal interviews to +<a name="Page_282"></a>recognize him, said no word; but in the secret-service man's eyes a +brutal gleam flashed its message of hate and loathing. Foul as Slade +was, he balked at times, in face of this man's cruel and naked savagery.</p> + +<p>"I tell you," continued Flint, now having recovered his breath, "I tell +you, you're worse than useless, you and your President, ha! +ha!—President Puppet, indeed! Take that great Smoky Mountain clue, for +instance! On the rumor that the ring-leaders of the swine were up there, +somewhere, in the North Carolina mountains, you sent your two best men. +And what's the latest news? What have you to tell me? <i>You</i> know! Other +airmen of yours have just reported that nothing can be found but ruins +of the Socialist refuge, there—nothing but those, and the half-melted +vanadium steel identification-tags of your best scouts! <i>And</i> their +machine is gone—and with it, the birds we wanted! Then, close on the +heels of this, all wires go flat, all wireless breaks down, all rails +are interrupted, and—and Hell's to pay!" Fair in Slade's face he shook +his trembling first.</p> + +<p>"Urrh! You devilish, impotent faker! You four-flusher! You toy +detective! You and your President, too, aren't worth the liquid oxygen +to blow you to Hades! See here, Slade, you get out on this job, now, and +do it damned quick, you understand, or there'll be <i>some</i> shake-up in +your office and in the White House, too. When I buy and pay for tools, I +insist that the tools work. If they don't—!"</p> + +<p>He snatched up a pencil from the desk, broke it in half and threw the +pieces on the floor.</p> + +<p>"Like that!" said he, and stamped on them.</p> + +<p>Waldron nodded approval.</p> + +<p>"<a name="Page_283"></a>Just like that," he echoed, "and then some!"</p> + +<p>"Go, now!" Flint commanded, pointing at the door. "Inside an hour, I +want some reports, and I want them to be satisfactory. If you and Supple +can't get things open again, and start the troops and machine-guns +before then, look out! That's all I've got to say. Now, <i>go!</i>"</p> + + + +<br /><hr style="width: 65%;" /><br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_XXXIII"></a><h3><a name="Page_284"></a>CHAPTER XXXIII.</h3> + +<h4>"NOW COMES THE HOUR SUPREME."</h4> +<br /> + +<p>Hardly had the secret-service man taken his leave, slinking away like a +whipped cur, yet with an ugly snarl that presaged evil, when Herzog +appeared.</p> + +<p>"Come here," said Flint, curtly, heated with his burst of passion.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir," the scientist replied, approaching. "What is it, sir?"</p> + +<p>Still shifty and cringing was he, in presence of the masters; though +with the men beneath him, at the vast plant—and now his importance had +grown till he controlled more than eight thousand—rumor declared him an +intolerable tyrant.</p> + +<p>"Tell me, Herzog, what's the condition of the plant, at this present +moment?"</p> + +<p>"Just how do you mean, sir?"</p> + +<p>"Suppose there were to be trouble, of any kind, how are we fixed for it? +How's the oxygen supply, and—and everything? Good God, man, unlimber! +You're paid to know things and tell 'em. Now, talk."</p> + +<p>Thus adjured, Herzog washed his hands with imaginary soap and in a +deprecating voice began:</p> + +<p>"Trouble, sir? What trouble could there be? There's not the faintest +sign of any organization among the men. They're submissive as so many +rabbits, sir, and—"</p> + +<p>"Damn you, shut up!" roared Flint. "I didn't sum<a name="Page_285"></a>mon you to come up here +and give me a lecture on labor conditions at the works! The trouble I +refer to is possible outside interference. Maybe some kind of wild-eyed +Socialist upheaval, or attack, or what not. In case it comes, what's our +condition? Tell me, in a few words, and for God's sake keep to the +point! The way you wander, and always have, gives me the creeps!"</p> + +<p>Herzog ventured nothing in reply to this outburst, save a conciliatory +leer. Then, collecting his thoughts, he began:</p> + +<p>"Well, sir, in a general way, our condition is perfect. We've got two +regiments of rifle and machine gunmen, half of them equipped with the +oxygen bullets. I guarantee that I could have them away from their +benches and machines, and on the fortifications, inside of fifteen +minutes. Slade's armed guards, 2,500 or so, are all ready, too.</p> + +<p>"Then, beside that, there are eight 'planes in the hangars, and plenty +of men to take them up. If you wish, sir, I can have others brought in. +The aerial-bomb guns are ready. As for the oxygen supply, Tanks F and L +are full, K is half filled, and N and Q each have about 6,000 gallons, +making a total of—let's see, sir—a total of just about 755,000 +gallons."</p> + +<p>"How protected? Have you got those bomb-proof overhead nets on, yet?"</p> + +<p>"Not yet, sir. That is, not over all the lines of tanks. We ran short of +steel wire, last week, and have only got eight of the tanks under +netting. But the work is going on fast, sir, and—"</p> + +<p>"Rush it! At all hazards, get nets over the rest of the tanks. If +anything happens, through this delay, rememb<a name="Page_286"></a>er, Herzog, I shall hold +you personally responsible, and it will go hard with you!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir; thank you, sir," murmured the servile wretch. "Anything else, +sir?"</p> + +<p>Flint thought a moment, glaring at Herzog with angry eyes, then shook +his head in negation.</p> + +<p>"Very well, sir," said Herzog, withdrawing. "I'll go to work at once. By +tomorrow, everything will be safe, I guarantee."</p> + +<p>He closed the door softly—as softly as he had spoken—as softly as he +always did everything.</p> + +<p>Flint glared at the door.</p> + +<p>"The sneaking whelp!" he murmured. "He makes my very flesh crawl. I wish +to heaven he weren't so essential to us; we'd let him go, damned quick!"</p> + +<p>"You forget," put in Tiger, "that he knows too much to be let go, ever. +No, he's a fixture. And now, dismiss him from your mind, and let's go +over those telegrams and radiograms again. If there <i>is</i> a new Socialist +revolt under way—and I admit it certainly begins to look like it—we've +got to understand the situation. Slade will have some more reports for +us, in an hour or so. Till then, these must suffice."</p> + +<p>Flint, curbing his agitation, sat down at the big table and turned on +the vacuum-glow light, for the October afternoon was foggy—a fog that +mingled with the spray of the vast Falls and hung heavy over the +world—and already daylight was beginning to fail.</p> + +<p>"Fools!" he muttered to himself. "Fools, to think they can rebel against +<i>us!</i> Ants would have just as much show of success, charging elephants, +as <i>they</i> have against the Air Trust! By tomorrow they'll be wiped out, +smeared <a name="Page_287"></a>out, shattered and annihilated, whoever and wherever they are. +By tomorrow, at the latest. Again I say, blind, suicidal fools!"</p> + +<p>"Right you are," assented Waldron, drawing up his chair. "They don't +seem to realize, even yet, that we own the whole round earth and all +that is in it. They don't understand that their rebelling is like a +tribe of naked savages going against a modern army with explosive +bullets. Ah, well, let them learn, let them learn! It takes a whip to +teach a cur. Let them feel the lash, and learn!..."</p> +<br /> + +<p>At this same hour, in the last retreat, near Port Colborne, in the State +of Ontario—once a province of Canada—half a dozen grim and determined +men were gathered together. We already recognize Craig, Grantham and +Gabriel. The other three, like them, all wore the Socialist button and +the little tab of red ribbon that marked them as members of the Fighting +Sections.</p> + +<p>"Tonight," Gabriel was saying, as he stood there in the gathering +dusk—they dared not show a light, even behind the drawn curtains of +their refuge—"tonight, comrades, the final die is cast. Everything is +ready, or as nearly ready as we shall ever be able to make it. Our +reports already show that every line of communication has been broken by +one swift, sharp blow. True, in a few hours all these avenues can be +opened up again. By morning, the Niagara works will be in receipt of +messages; trains will be running; the troop-planes will be carrying +their hordes at the command of Flint. By morning, yes. But in the +meantime—"</p> + +<p><a name="Page_288"></a>He spread his fingers, upward, with an expressive gesture.</p> + +<p>"By morning," Craig mumbled, "what will there be left to protect?"</p> + +<p>A little silence followed. Each was busy with his own thoughts.</p> + +<p>All at once, one of the three newcomers spoke—a tall, light-haired +fellow, he seemed, in that dim light, with a strong Southern accent.</p> + +<p>"Pardon me for asking, Gabriel," said he, removing a pipe from his +mouth, "or for discussing details familiar to you all. But, coming as I +<i>have</i> come direct from the New Orleans refuge—they blew it up, last +week, you know—of course I haven't got things as clearly in mind yet, +as you-all have. Now, as I understand it, while we manoeuvre over the +plant, blow up the barricades and, if possible, 'get' the oxygen-tanks, +our men on the ground will pour in through the gaps and storm the place, +under the command of Edward Hargreaves. Is that the idea?"</p> + +<p>"Exactly, Comrade Marion," answered Gabriel. "You've hit it to a T."</p> + +<p>Craig laughed grimly, as he drew at his pipe.</p> + +<p>"Just as we're going to hit those big tanks!" said he. "It's tonight or +never, comrades. They're putting steel nets over them, already. By +tomorrow the whole place will be protected by huge grill-work fully a +hundred feet above the tops of the tanks. Oh, they seem to have thought +of everything, those plutes! But they'll be just a shade too late, this +time; just a shade too late!"</p> + +<p>Another silence, broken again by the tall Southerner.</p> + +<p>"Just let me get this thing quite clear," said he. "We're to start at +5:30, you say, walk past the Welland Canal <a name="Page_289"></a>Feeder out to the Monck +Aviation Grounds, and find everything ready there?"</p> + +<p>"Correct," said Gabriel. "All six of us. That's our part of the program. +Comrades you don't know, out there—comrades in the employ of the Air +Trust itself—will have six machines ready. One of them will be the very +machine that they tried to get us with, in the Great Smokies! So you +see, we're going to use the Air Trust equipment, their field and even +their own telenite, to put them out of business forever and to free the +world!"</p> + +<p>"Poetic justice, all right enough!" laughed Marion. "At the same time +that we're attacking from an elevation of perhaps three thousand feet, +the lateral attack will be delivered. About how many men do you count, +on, for that?"</p> + +<p>"Well," judged Gabriel, "within a ten-mile radius of the plant, at least +a hundred thousand men are waiting, this very instant, with every nerve +keyed up to fighting tension. Scattered in a vast variety of ingenious +and cleverly-devised hiding places, with their chlorine grenades and +their revolvers shooting little hydrocyanic acid gas bullets, they're +waiting the signal—a rocket in mid-heaven."</p> + +<p>"Hydrocyanic acid gas!" exclaimed Marion, forgetting to smoke. "Why, one +whiff of that is death!"</p> + +<p>"It is," agreed Gabriel. "Remember, this is a war of extermination. It's +a case of <i>them</i> or <i>us!</i> And if we're worsted, the whole world loses; +while if they are, then liberty is born! That's why this gas is +justifiable. They'll try to use oxygen-bullets on us, never fear. But +where they can kill ten, with those, we can annihilate a hundred with +our kind. Swine, they have called us, and f<a name="Page_290"></a>ools and apes. Well, we +shall see, we shall see, when it comes to an out-and-out fight between +Plutocrat and Proletarian, who is the better man!"</p> + +<p>Again came silence. And this time it was Grantham who broke it.</p> + +<p>"Comrades," said he, "after you've seen as many Socialists shot down as +<i>I</i> have—shot down and burned, as Brevard was—you'll lose any +lingering ideas of civilized warfare you may still retain. They hunt us +like beasts, prison us in foul traps, ride us down, crush us, break and +tear us, and burn us alive, because we struggle to be free men and +women, not slaves. Now that our hour has struck, now that their lines of +communication and defense are breached, and they—though they still +don't fully understand it—are penned there in their heaven-offending, +monstrous, horrible plant at the Falls, no true man can hesitate to +smash them down with no more compunction than as though they were so +many rattlesnakes or scorpions!</p> + +<p>"This isn't 1915, when political and civil rights still existed, and we +weren't hunted outlaws. This is 1925, and conditions are all different. +It's war, war, war to the death, now; and if war is Hell, then <i>they</i> +are going to get Hell this time, not we."</p> + +<p>Nobody spoke, for a little while; but Marion and Craig smoked +contemplatively, and the others sat there in the dusk, sunk in thought.</p> + +<p>All at once a door opened, and the vague form of a woman became visible.</p> + +<p>"Comrades, you must go," said she. "It's nearly half past five. By the +time you've got everything in readiness, you'll have no time to lose."</p> + +<p>"<a name="Page_291"></a>Right, Catherine," answered Gabriel. "Come, comrades! Up and at it!"</p> + +<p>Ten minutes later they all issued forth into the soft gloom. All were in +aviator's dress, and each carried a parcel by a handle held with stout +straps. Had you seen them, you would have noticed they took particular +pains not to jar or shake these parcels, or approach unduly near each +other.</p> + +<p>At the door of the refuge, Catherine said good-bye to each, and added +some brave word of cheer. Her farewell to Gabriel was longer than to the +others; and for a moment their hands met and clung.</p> + +<p>"Go," she whispered, "go, and God bless you! Go even though it be to +death! Their airmen will take toll of some of the attackers, Gabriel. +Not all the Comrades will return. Oh, may <i>you</i>—may <i>you!</i>"</p> + +<p>"What is written on the Book of Fate, will be," he answered. "Our petty +hopes and fears are nothing, Catherine. If death awaits me, it will be +sweet; for it will come, tonight, in the supreme service of the human +race! Good-bye!"</p> + +<p>With a sudden motion, the girl took his face between her hands, and +kissed his forehead. For all her courage and strength, he sensed her +heart wildly beating and he felt her tears.</p> + +<p>"Good-bye, Gabriel," she breathed. "Would I might go with you! Would +that my duty did not hold me here! Good-bye!"</p> + +<p>Then he was gone, gone with the others, into the thickening obscurity of +the fog-shrouded evening. Now Catherine stood there alone, head bowed +and wet face hidden in both hands.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_292"></a>As the little fighting band disappeared, back to the girl drifted a few +words of song, soft-hummed through the dusk—the deathless chorus of the +International:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>"<i>Now comes the hour supreme!</i><br /></span> +<span><i>To arms, each in his place!</i><br /></span> +<span><i>The new dawn's International</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Shall be the human race!...</i>"<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<br /><hr style="width: 65%;" /><br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_XXXIV"></a><h3><a name="Page_293"></a>CHAPTER XXXIV.</h3> + +<h4>THE ATTACK.</h4> +<br /> + +<p>"Halt! Who goes there?"</p> + +<p>The challenge rang sharply on the night air, outside a small gate in the +barricade of the Monck Aviation Grounds.</p> + +<p>"Liberty!" answered Gabriel, pausing as he gave the password.</p> + +<p>"All right, come on," said a vague figure at the gate. The little group +approached. The gate opened. Silently they entered the enclosure.</p> + +<p>Another man stepped from a hangar. In his hand he held an electric +flash, which he threw upon the newcomers, one by one.</p> + +<p>"Right!" he commented, and took Gabriel by the hand. "This way!"</p> + +<p>Ten minutes later, all of them were in the air, save only Gabriel, who +insisted on staying till his entire squad had made a clean getaway. Then +he too rose; and now in a long, swift line, the fighting squadron +straightened away to north-eastward, on the twenty-mile run to Niagara.</p> + +<p>The night was foggy, chill and dark. All the aviators had instructions +to fly not less than 2,500 feet high, to keep a careful lookout lest +they collide, and to steer by the lights of the great Air Trust plant. +For, misty though the heavens were, still Gabriel could see the dim glow +of the tremendous aerial search-lights dominating Goat Is<a name="Page_294"></a>land—lights +of 5,000,000 candle-power, maintained by current from the Falls, +incessantly sweeping the sky on the lookout for just such perils as now, +indeed, were drawing near.</p> + +<p>Momently, as he flew, Gabriel perceived these huge lights growing +brighter, through the mist, and apprehension won upon him.</p> + +<p>"Incredibly strong!" he muttered to himself, as he glanced from his +barometer to the shining fog ahead. "Even though the mist will be +thicker over the Falls than anywhere else, there's a good possibility +they may pierce it and pick us up—and <i>then</i>, look out for their +'planes and swift, fighting dirigibles!"</p> + +<p>He rotated the rising-plane, and now soared to 2,800 feet. Below and on +either side of him, nothing but tenuous fog. Ahead, the +swiftly-approaching fan of radiance, white, dazzling, beautiful, that +seemed to gush from earth so far below and to the eastward. Already the +thunders of the Falls were audible.</p> + +<p>"Where are the others?" Gabriel wondered, his thoughts seeming to hum +and roar in his head, in harmony with the shuddering diapason of the +muffler-deadened exhaust. "No way of telling, now. Each man for +himself—and each to do his best!"</p> + +<p>And then his thoughts reverted to Catherine; and round his heart a +sudden yearning seemed to strengthen his stern, indomitable +resolve—"Victory or death!"</p> + +<p>But now there was scant time for thought. The moment of action was +already close at hand. Far below there, hidden by night and dark and +mist, Gabriel knew a hundred thousand comrades, of the Fighting +Sections, were lying hidden, waiting for the signal to advance.</p> + +<p>"<a name="Page_295"></a>And it's time, now!" he said aloud, thrilled by a wondrous sense of +vast responsibility—a sense that on this moment hung the fate of the +world. "It's time for the signal. Now then, up and at them!"</p> + +<p>Taking the rocket—a powerful affair, capable of casting an intense, +calcium light—he touched the fuse to a bit of smouldering punk fastened +in a metal cup at his right hand. Then, as it flared, he launched the +rocket far into the void.</p> + +<p>Below, came a quick spurt of radiance, in a long, vivid streak that shot +away with incredible rapidity. Gabriel followed it a moment, with his +gaze, then smiled.</p> + +<p>"The Rubicon is crossed," said he. "The gates of the Temple of Janus are +open wide—and now comes War!"</p> + +<p>He rose again, skimming to a still higher altitude as the glare of the +great Works drew closer and closer underneath. The wind roared in his +ears, louder than the whirling propellers. The whole fabric of the +aeroplane quivered as it climbed, up, up above the rushing, bellowing +cataract.</p> + +<p>"Where are the others?" thought he, and reached for a thanatos +projectile, in the rack near the metal cup where the punk still +glowered.</p> + +<p>All at once, a glare of light burst upward through the white-glowing +mist; and the 'plane reeled with the air-wave, as now a thunderous +concussion boomed across the empty spaces of the sky.</p> + +<p>At the same moment, a faint, ripping noise mounted to Gabriel—a sound +for all the world like the tearing of stout canvas. Then followed a +chattering racket, something like distant mowing-machines at work; and +now all blent to a steady, determined uproar. Gabriel almost <a name="Page_296"></a>thought to +hear, as he launched his own projectile, far sounds as of the shouts and +cries of men; but of this he could not make sure.</p> + +<p>"They're at it, anyhow!" he exulted. "At it, at last! By the way our men +have launched the attack, the first explosion must have breached a wall! +God! What wouldn't I give to be down there, in the thick of it, rather +than here! I—"</p> + +<p><i>Crash!</i></p> + +<p>Again a spouting geyser of light and uproar burst into mid-air.</p> + +<p>"That was <i>my</i> thanatos speaking!" cried Gabriel. "Now for another!"</p> + +<p>Before he could drop it, as he circled round and round, directly over +the great, flailing beams of the Air Trust search-lights, a third +detonation shattered the heavens, nearly unseating him. Up sprang the +roar, with wonderful intensity, reflected from the earth as from a giant +sounding-board. And Gabriel noted, with keen satisfaction, that one of +the huge light-beams had gone dark.</p> + +<p>"Put out <i>one</i> of them, anyway, so far!" thought he, and swung again to +westward, and once more dropped a messenger of death to tyranny.</p> + +<p>Now the bombardment became general. Trust aerial-gun projectiles began +bursting all about. Every second or two, terrible concussions leaped +toward the zenith; and the earth, hidden somewhere down there below the +fog-blanket, seemed flaming upward like a huge volcano. One by one the +search-lights, whipping the sky, went black; and now the glow of them +was fast diminishing, only to be replaced by a ruddier and more +intermittent glare.</p> + +<p>"<a name="Page_297"></a>The plant's burning, at last," thought Gabriel. "Heaven grant the fire +may spread to the oxygen-tanks! If we can only get <i>those</i>—!"</p> + +<p>Again he launched a projectile, and again he circled over the doomed +plant.</p> + +<p>A swift black shape swooped by him. He had just time to exchange a yell +of warning, when it was gone. The near peril gripped his heart, but did +not shake it.</p> + +<p>"Close call!" said he.</p> + +<p>If that machine and his had met, good-bye forever! But after all, the +danger of collision in mid-air, or of being struck by a projectile from +some other machine, above, was no greater than his comrades on the +ground were facing. Not so great, perhaps. Many a one would meet his +death from the aerial attack. In a war like this, a thousand perils +threatened. Gabriel only hoped that Hargreaves, down below there, could +hold them back, away, till the walls should have been destroyed.</p> + +<p>Circling, ever circling, now hearing some echoes of the earth-battle, +some grenade-volleys and rapid-fire clattering, now deafened and all but +blinded by the vast, up-belching explosions of the thanatos projectiles, +Gabriel flew among the drifting mists and vapors. Still was he guided by +one or two search-lights; but most of these were gone, now. Yet the +glare of the conflagration, below, was luridly shuddering through the +fog, painting it all a dull and awful red.</p> + +<p>Red! Suddenly words came into Gabriel's mind—the words of his own poem:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>... <i>Red as blood, red as blood! The blood of the shattered miner,</i><br /></span> +<span><a name="Page_298"></a><i>Blood of the boy in the rifle pits, blood of the coughing child-slave,</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Blood of the mangled trainman, blood that the Carpenter shed!</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>"For your sake! For the world's sake, this!" he cried, and hurled +another thanatos. "If ever war of liberation was holy, this is that +war!"</p> + +<p>Suddenly, through all the turmoil of shattering explosions, tossing +air-currents and drifting, acrid smoke, he became conscious of a sudden, +swift-flying pursuer.</p> + +<p>By the light of the burning Plant, down there somewhere in the vapors of +the thunderous Falls, he saw a hawk-like 'plane that swooped toward him +with incredible velocity, savage and lean and black.</p> + +<p>Off to the right, a sudden spattering of shots in mid-air told him the +battle in the sky was likewise being engaged. He saw vague, veiled +explosions, there, then a swift, falling trail of flame. A pang shot +through his heart. Had one of his companions fallen and been dashed to +death? He could not tell—he had no time to wonder, even, for already +the attacker was upon him, the swift Air Trust <i>épervier,</i> one of the +dreaded air-fleet of the world-monopoly!</p> + +<p>Gabriel had just time to swerve from the attack, and swoop +aloft—dropping his next to last projectile as he did so—when the +whirling shape zoomed past, swung round and once more charged. He saw, +vaguely, two men sat in it. One was the pilot, a "Gray" or Cosmos +mercenary. The other—could it be? Yes, there was no mistaking! The +other was Slade himself, commander of the hireling army of Plutocracy!</p> + +<p><a name="Page_299"></a>Out from the attacking 'plane jetted sadden spurts of fire. Gabriel +heard the zip-zip-zip of bullets; heard a ripping tear, as one of his +canvas wings was punctured—God help him, had that explosive bullet +struck a wire or a stay!</p> + +<p>Then, maddened to despair; and burning with fierce rage against this +monster of the upper air that now was hurling death at him, he once more +"banked," brought his machine sharp round, and charged, full drive, at +the attacker!</p> + +<p>This tactic for a second must have disconcerted the Air Trust +mercenaries. Gabriel's speed was terrific. With stupefying suddenness, +the <i>épervier</i> loomed up ahead of him.</p> + +<p>"Now!" he shouted. "Take this, from me!"</p> + +<p>Half rising from his seat, he hurled his last remaining projectile full +at Slade, then wrenched his own 'plane off sharply to the left.</p> + +<p>A thunderous concussion and a dazzling burst of light told him his +chance shot had been effective.</p> + +<p>He got a second's vision of a shattered black mass, a tangle of girders, +wires, collapsed planes, that seemed to hang a moment in midair—of +whirling bodies—of wreckage indescribable. Then the broken debris +plunged with awful speed and vanished through the red-glowing mist.</p> + +<p>Even as he shuddered, sickened at the terrible, though necessary deed, +the deed which alone could save him from swift death, an overwhelming +air-wave from the terrible explosion struck his speeding machine, the +machine captured in the Great Smokies from the Air Trust itself.</p> + +<p>It heeled over like an unballasted yacht under the lash <a name="Page_300"></a>of a hurricane. +Vainly Gabriel jerked at wheel and levers; he could not right it.</p> + +<p>As it seemed to come under control, a stay snapped. The 'plane swooped, +yawned forward and stuck its nose into an air-hole, caused by the vast, +uprising smoke and heat of the huge conflagration beneath.</p> + +<p>Then, lost and beyond all guidance, it somersaulted, slid away down a +long drop and, whirling wildly over and over, plunged with Gabriel into +the glowing, smoking, detonating void!</p> + + + +<br /><hr style="width: 65%;" /><br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_XXXV"></a><h3><a name="Page_301"></a>CHAPTER XXXV.</h3> + +<h4>TERROR AND RETREAT.</h4> +<br /> + +<p>When, despite Flint's imperative orders, Slade failed to reopen the +lines of communication for him, before nightfall, and when President +Supple wired in code for a little more time in obeying Air Trust orders, +the Billionaire recognized that something of terrible menace now had +suddenly broken in upon his dream of universal power.</p> + +<p>He summoned Waldron and Herzog for another conference and together they +feverishly planned to put the works under defense, until such time as +troops could be got through to them.</p> + +<p>The plant regiment was mustered and the Cosmos mercenaries and scabs +were made ready. The machine-guns were unlimbered for action and large +quantities of ammunition were delivered to them and to the aerial-bomb +guns, as nightfall lowered. Herzog set eight hundred men to work +covering all the tanks possible, with wire netting of heavy steel. The +search-lights were all ordered into use; steam and electrical +connections were made, the air-fleet was manned, and everything was done +that unlimited wealth and bitter hate of the Workers could suggest.</p> + +<p>With curses on the fog, which hid the upper air from view, the old man +now stood at one of the west windows of his inner office—the office on +the top floor of the main <a name="Page_302"></a>Administration Building, overlooking nearly +the whole Plant.</p> + +<p>"Damn the weather!" he snarled, his gold teeth glinting. "In addition to +all this mist from the Falls, there's a regular cloud-bank settling +down, tonight! Under cover of it, what may not happen? Nothing could +have been worse, Waldron. Though we shall soon control the air, that +won't be enough, so long as fogs and mists escape us. Our next +problem—hello! Now what the devil's <i>that?</i>"</p> + +<p>"What's what?" retorted Waldron, testily. He had been drinking rather +more heavily than usual, that day, both because of the dull weather and +because the Falls invariably got on his nerves, during his brief +sojourns there. Away from New York and his favorite haunts, Waldron was +lost. "What's what?" he repeated with an ugly look. "This roaring, +glaring, trembling place gives me—"</p> + +<p>"That! That light in the sky!" cried Flint, excitedly pointing. "See? +No—it's gone now! But it looked like—like a rocket! A signal, of some +kind, thrown from an aeroplane! A—"</p> + +<p>Waldron laughed harshly.</p> + +<p>"Seeing things, eh?" he sneered, coming across to the window, himself, +and peering out. "<i>I</i> don't see anything! Nothing here to worry about, +Flint. With all these walls and guns, and netting, and air-ships and a +private army and all, what more do you want? Not getting nervous in your +old age, are you, eh?" he gibed bitterly. "Or is your conscience +beginning to wake up, as the graveyard becomes more a probability +than—"</p> + +<p>"Enough!" Flint snapped at him. "When you drink, <a name="Page_303"></a>Waldron, you're an +idiot! Now, forget all this, and let's get down to work. I tell you, I +just now saw a signal-light up there in the mist. There's trouble coming +tonight, as sure as we own the earth. Trouble, maybe big trouble. +Merciful God, I—I rather think we oughtn't to be here, in person, eh? +We'd be much better off out of here. If there—there should be any +fighting, you know—"</p> + +<p>His voice broke in a falsetto pipe. Waldron laughed brutally.</p> + +<p>"Bravo!" cried he, with flushed and mottled face. "You'll do, Flint! I +see, right now, the firing-line is the life for you! Well, let the row +come, and devil take it, say I. Better anything than—"</p> + +<p>The sentence was never finished, For suddenly a shattering explosion +hurled a vast section of the western encircling wall outward, out into +the River, and, where but a moment before, the partners had been gazing +at a high concrete-and-steel barrier, with electric lights on top, now +only a huge gap appeared, through which the foam-tossed current could be +seen leaping swiftly onward toward the Falls.</p> + +<p>Hurled back from the window by the force of the explosion, both men were +struck dumb with terror and amaze. Flint rallied first, and with a cry +of rage, inarticulate as a beast's howl, sprang to the window again.</p> + +<p>Outside, a scene of desolation and wild activity was visible. The great, +paved courtyard, flanked by the turbine houses and the wall, on one +hand, and on the other by the oxygen tanks' huge bulk that loomed +vaguely through the electric-lighted mist, now had begun to swarm with +men.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_304"></a>Flint saw a few forms lying prone under the hard glare of the arcs and +vacuum lights. Others were crawling, writhing, making strange +contortions. Here, there, men with rifles were running to take their +posts. Hoarse orders were shouted, and shrill replies rang back.</p> + +<p>Then, all at once, a kind of sputtering series of small explosions began +to rip along the edge of the south wall. And now, machine-guns began to +talk, with a dry, hard metallic clatter. And—though whence these came, +Flint could not see—grenades began flying over the wall and bursting in +the court. Though unwounded, men fell everywhere these gas-projectiles +exploded—fell, stone dead and stiffening at once—fell, in strange, +monstrous, awful attitudes of death.</p> + +<p>Steam began billowing up; and crackling electrical discharges leaped +along the naked wires of the outer barricades.</p> + +<p>The whole Plant shook and rattled with the violent concussions of the +aerial-bomb guns, already searching the upper air with shrapnel.</p> + +<p>Somewhere, out of the range of vision, another terrible shock made the +building tremble to its nethermost foundation; and wild yells and cries, +as of a charge, a repulse, a savage and determined rush, echoed through +the vast enclosure. Came a third detonation—and, blinding in its +intensity, a globe of fire burst almost beneath the window, five stories +below.</p> + +<p>The partners, shaking and pale, retreated hastily. A swift, +upward-rising shape swept over the courtyard and was gone—one of the +air-fleet now launched to meet the attackers.</p> + +<p>Far below a sudden crumbling shudder of masonry told <a name="Page_305"></a>the Billionaire +not a moment was to be lost, for already one wing of the Administration +Building was swaying to its fall.</p> + +<p>"Quick, Waldron! Quick!" he shouted, in the shrill treble of senility, +and ran into the corridor that led to the north wing. Waldron, suddenly +sobered, followed; and from the offices, where the night-shift of clerks +were laboring (or had been, till the first explosion), came crowding +pale and frightened men. Not the fighting cast of Air Trust slaves, +these, but the anaemic chemists and experimenters and clerical workers, +scabs, to a man. Now, in the common sentiment of fear, they jostled +Flint and Waldron, as though these plutocrats had been but common clay. +And in the corridor a babel rose, through which fresh volleys and ever +more and more violent explosions ripped and thundered.</p> + +<p>Flint struck savagely at some who barred his way; and Waldron elbowed +through, with curses.</p> + +<p>"Get out of the way, you swine!" shrilled the old Billionaire. "Make +way, there! Way!"</p> + +<p>The two men reached a door that led by a private passage, through to the +steel-and-concrete laboratories.</p> + +<p>"Here, this way, Flint!" shouted Waldron. "If those Hell-devils drop a +bomb on us, this building will cave in like jackstraws! Our only safety +is here, <i>here!</i>"</p> + +<p>Thoroughly cowed now, with all the brutal bluster and half-drunken +swagger gone, Waldron whipped out a bunch of keys, tremblingly unlocked +the door and blundered through. Flint followed. Behind them, others +tried to press, on toward the armored laboratories; but with vile +blasphemies the plutocrats beat them back and slammed the door.</p> + +<p>"<a name="Page_306"></a>To Hell with <i>them!</i>" shouted Flint, perfectly ashen now and shaking +like a leaf, the fear of death strong on his withered soul. "We've got +all we can do to look after ourselves! Quick, Waldron, quick!"</p> + +<p>Both men, sick with panic, with fear of the unknown terror from above, +stumbled rather than ran along the passage, and presently reached the +laboratory.</p> + +<p>Here Waldron unlocked another door, this time a steel one, and—as they +both crowded through—pressed a hand to his dizzy head.</p> + +<p>"Safe!" he gulped, slamming the door again. "They can't get us <i>here</i>, +at any rate, no matter what happens! This place is like a fort, and—"</p> + +<p>His speech was interrupted by a dazing, deafening tumult of sound. The +earth trembled, and the laboratory, steel though it was, with concrete +facing, rocked on its foundation. A glare through the windows, quickly +fading, told them the building they had just quitted was now but a +smoking pile of ruin.</p> + +<p>Flint gasped, unable to speak. Waldron, shaking and cowed, tried to +moisten his dry lips with a thick tongue.</p> + +<p>"We—we weren't any too soon!" he gulped, without one thought of the +doomed scabs in the Administration Building. Stern justice was now +overtaking these wretches. False to the working-class, and eager to +serve the Air Trust—not only eager to serve, but zealous in any attack +on the proletariat, and by their very employment serving to rivet the +shackles on the world—now they were abandoned by their masters.</p> + +<p>Between upper and nether millstone, moving with neither, they were +caught and crushed. And as the great <a name="Page_307"></a>building quivered, gaped wide +open, swayed and came thundering down in a vast pile of flame-lit ruin, +whence a volcanic burst of fire, smoke and dust arose, they perished +miserably, time-servers, cowards and self-seekers to the last.</p> + +<p>But Flint and Waldron still survived. Though the very earth shook and +trembled with the roar of bombs, the crumbling of massive walls, the +rattle of volley-fire and the crashing of the terrible grenades that +mowed down hundreds as they spread their poisonous gas abroad—though +the shriek of projectiles, the thunder of the air-ship guns now sweeping +the sky in blind endeavor to shatter the attackers all swelled the +tumult to a frightful storm of terror and of death; they still lived, +cowered and cringed there in the bomb-proof steel-and-concrete of the +inner laboratories.</p> + +<p>"Come, come!" Flint quavered, peering about him at the deserted room, +still glaring with electric light—the room now abandoned by all its +workers, who, members of Herzog's regiment, had run to take their posts +at the first signal of attack. "Come—this isn't safe enough, even here. +In—in there!"</p> + +<p>He pointed toward a vault-like door, leading to the subterranean steel +chambers where Herzog eventually counted on storing some hundreds of +thousands of tons of liquid oxygen—the reserve-chambers, impregnable to +lightning, fire, frost or storm, to man's attacks or nature's—the +chambers blasted from the living rock, deep as the Falls themselves, +vacuum-lined, wondrous achievement of the highest engineering skill the +world could boast.</p> + +<p>"<a name="Page_308"></a>There! There!" repeated Flint, plucking at the dazed Waldron's sleeve. +"Tool-steel and concrete, twenty-five feet thick—and vacuum chambers +all about—<i>there</i> we can hide! There's safety! Come, come quick!"</p> + +<p>Staring, white-faced (he who had been so red!) and dumb, Waldron +yielded. Together, furtive as the criminals they were, these two +world-masters slunk toward the steel door, while without, their empire +was crashing down in smoke, and flame, and blood!</p> + +<p>They had almost reached it when a smash of glass at the far end of the +laboratory whipped them round, in keener terror.</p> + +<p>Staring, wild-eyed, they beheld the crouching figure of Herzog. Running, +even as he cringed, he had upset a glass retort, which had shattered on +the concrete floor. And as he ran, he screamed:</p> + +<p>"<i>They're in! They're coming! Quick—the steel vaults! Let me in, there! +Let me in!</i>"</p> + +<p>The coward was now a maniac with terror, his face perfectly white, +writhen with panic, and with staring eyes that gleamed horribly under +the greenish vacuum-lights.</p> + +<p>"Back, you! Get out!" roared Waldron, raising a fist. "We—"</p> + +<p>A sudden belch of flame, outside, split the night with terrible +virescence. The whole steel building trembled and swayed. Some of its +girders buckled; and the east wall, nearest the oxygen-tanks, caved +inward as a mass of many tons was hurled against it.</p> + +<p>A stunning concussion flung all three men to the floor; <a name="Page_309"></a>and, as they +fell, a withering heat-wave quivered through the place.</p> + +<p>"The oxygen-tanks!" gasped Flint. "They're blown up—they're +burning—God help us!"</p> + +<p>Scorching, yet still eager to live, he crawled on hands and knees toward +the steel door. Waldron dragged himself along, half-dead with terror. +Now, dripping gouts of inextinguishable fire were raining on the roof of +the building. A whirlwind of flame was sweeping all its eastern side; +and a glare like that of Hell itself seared the eyes of the fugitives.</p> + +<p>Quivering, trembling, slavering, the old man and Waldron wrenched the +steel door open.</p> + +<p>"<i>Me! Me! Let me in! Me! Save me!</i>" howled Herzog, dragging himself +toward them.</p> + +<p>They only laughed derisively, with howls of demoniacal scorn.</p> + +<p>"You slave! You cur!" shouted Waldron, and spat at him as he drew the +vault door shut. "You cringing dog—stay there, now, and face it!"</p> + +<p>The great door boomed shut. In the cool of the winding stairway of steel +which led, lighted by electricity, to the trap-door and the ladder down +into the tremendous vaults, the world-masters breathed deeply once more, +respited from death.</p> + +<p>Herzog, screaming like a fiend in torment, clawed at the impenetrable +steel door, raved, begged, entreated, and tore his fingers on the lock.</p> + +<p>No answer, save the muffled echo of a jeer, from within.</p> + +<p><i>Boom!</i></p> + +<p><a name="Page_310"></a>What was that?</p> + +<p>Mad with terror though he was, he whirled about, and faced the room now +quivering with heat.</p> + +<p>Even as he looked, a great gap yawned in the western wall, farthest from +the flame-belching oxygen-tank that had been struck.</p> + +<p>Through this gap, pouring irresistibly as the sea, swept a tide of +attackers, storming the inner citadel of the infernal, world-strangling +Air Trust.</p> + +<p>At the head of this victorious army, this flood triumphant of the +embattled proletaire, Herzog's staring eyes caught a moment's glimpse of +a dreaded face—the face of Gabriel Armstrong.</p> + +<p>Gasping, the coward and tool of the world-masters made one supreme +decision. Close by, a rack of vials stood. He whirled to it, snatched +out a tiny bottle and waiting not even to draw the cork—craunched the +bottle, glass and all, in his fang-like, uneven teeth.</p> + +<p>An instant change swept over him. His staring eyes closed, his head fell +forward, his whole body collapsed like an empty sack. He fell, twitched +once or twice, and was dead—dead ere the attackers could reach the door +of steel where his bestial masters had betrayed him.</p> + +<p>Thus perished Herzog, coward and tool, a victim of the very forces he +himself had helped create.</p> + +<p>And at the moment of his death, the masters he had cringed to and had +served, sneering with scorn at him even in their mortal terror, were +tremblingly descending the long metal ladder to the impregnable vaults +of steel below.</p> + + + +<br /><hr style="width: 65%;" /><br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_XXXVI"></a><h3><a name="Page_311"></a>CHAPTER XXXVI.</h3> + +<h4>THE STORMING OF THE WORKS.</h4> +<br /> + +<p>Plunged into the abyss of mist and flame by the attack of the Air Trust +<i>épervier</i>, Gabriel had abandoned himself for lost. Death, mercifully +swift, he had felt could be his only fate; and with this thought had +come no fear, but only a wild joy that he had shared this glorious +battle, sure to end in victory! This was his only thought—this, and a +quick vision of Catherine.</p> + +<p>Then, as he hurtled down and over, whirling drunkenly in the void, all +clear perception left him. Everything became a swift blur, a rushing +confusion of terrible wind, and lurid light, and the wild roar of myriad +explosions.</p> + +<p>Came a shock, a sudden checking of the plunge, a long and rapid glide, +as the DeVreeland stabilizer of the machine, asserting its automatic +action, brought it to a level keel once more.</p> + +<p>But now the engine was stopped. Gabriel, realizing that some chance +still existed to save his life, wrenched madly at his levers.</p> + +<p>"If I can volplane down!" he panted, sick and dizzy, "there may yet be +hope!"</p> + +<p>Hope! Yes, but how tenuous! What chance had he, coasting to earth at +that low level, to avoid the detonating bombs, the aerial shrapnel being +hurled aloft, the poisonous gas, the surface-fire?</p> + +<p><a name="Page_312"></a>Here, there and yonder, terrific explosions were shattering the echoes, +as the Air Trust batteries swept the fog with their aeroplane-destroying +missiles. Whither should he steer? He knew not. All sense of direction +was lost, nor could the compass tell him anything. A glance at the +barometric gauge showed him an altitude of but 850 feet, and this was +decreasing with terrible rapidity.</p> + +<p>Strive as he might, he could not check the swift descent.</p> + +<p>"God send me a soft place to fall on!" he thought, grimly, still +clinging to his machine and laboring to jockey it under control.</p> + +<p>Close by, a thunderous detonation crashed through the mist. His machine +reeled and swerved, then plunged more swiftly still. All became vague, +to Gabriel—a dream—a nightmare!</p> + +<p><i>Crash!</i></p> + +<p>Flung from the seat, he sprawled through treetops, caught himself, fell +to a lower limb, slid off and landed among thick bushes; and through +these came to earth.</p> + +<p>The wrecked 'plane, whirling away and down, fell crashing into the river +that rushed cascading by, and vanished in the firelit mist.</p> + +<p>Stunned, yet half-conscious, Gabriel presently sat up and pressed his +right hand to his head. His left arm felt numb and useless; and when he +tried to raise it, he found it refused his will.</p> + +<p>"Where am I, now, I'd like to know?" he muttered. "Not dead, anyhow—not +<i>yet!</i>"</p> + +<p>A continuous roar of explosions shuddered the air, mingled with the +booming of the mighty Falls. Shouts <a name="Page_313"></a>and cheers and the rattle of +machine-guns assailed his ear. The glare of the search-lights, through +the mist and steam, was darkened momentarily by thick, greasy coils of +smoke, shot through by violent flashes of light as explosions took +place.</p> + +<p>Gabriel struggled to his feet, and peered about him,</p> + +<p>"Still alive!" said he. "And I must get back into the fight! That's all +that matters, now—the fight!"</p> + +<p>He knew not, yet, where he was; but this mattered nothing. His machine +had, in fact, fallen near the river bank, in the eastern section of +Prospect Park, beyond the Goat Island bridge—this region of the Park +having been left outside the fortifications, in the extension of the Air +Trust plant.</p> + +<p>The trees, here, had saved his life. Had he smashed to earth a hundred +yards further north, he would have been shattered against high walls and +roofs.</p> + +<p>Still giddy, but sensing no pain from his injured left arm, Gabriel made +way toward the scene of conflict. He knew nothing of how the tide of +battle was going; nothing of his position; nothing as to what men he +would first meet, his comrades or the enemy.</p> + +<p>But for these considerations he had no thought. His only idea, fixed and +grim, was "The fight!" Dazed though he still was, he nerved himself for +action.</p> + +<p>And so, pressing onward through the livid glare, through the night +shattered by stupendous detonations, he drew his revolver and broke into +a run.</p> + +<p>Strange evidences of the battle now became evident. He saw an unexploded +grenade lying beside a wounded man who grasped at him and moaned with +pain. Over a wrecked motor-car, greasy smoke was rising, as it <a name="Page_314"></a>burned. +Louder shouting drew him down a path to the left. Masses of moving +figures became dimly visible, through the mist. And now, stabs of fire +pierced the confusion and clamorous night.</p> + +<p>Gabriel jerked up his revolver, as he ran, the terrible weapon shooting +bullets charged with hydrocyanic-acid gas.</p> + +<p>A man rose before him, shouting.</p> + +<p>Gabriel levelled the weapon; but a glimpse of red ribbon in the other's +coat brought it down again.</p> + +<p>"Comrade!" cried he. "Where's the attack?"</p> + +<p>The other pointed.</p> + +<p>"Gabriel! Is that you?" he gasped, staring.</p> + +<p>"Yes! I fell—machine smashed—come on!"</p> + +<p>"Hurt?"</p> + +<p>"No! Arm, maybe. No matter! God! What's this?"</p> + +<p>Toward them a sudden swirl of men came sweeping, stumbling, shouting, in +pandemonium.</p> + +<p>"Our men!" cried Gabriel, starting forward again. "We're being driven! +Rally, here! Rally!"</p> + +<p>Beyond, a louder crackling sounded. Here, there, men plunged down. The +retreat was becoming a rout!</p> + +<p>Yelling, Gabriel flung himself upon the men.</p> + +<p>"Back there!" he vociferated. "Back, and at the walls! Come on, boys, +now! Come on!"</p> + +<p>His voice, well known to nearly all, thrilled them again with new +determination. A shout rose up; it swelled, deepened, roared to majestic +volume.</p> + +<p>Then the tide turned.</p> + +<p>Back went the fighting men of the great Revolution. <a name="Page_315"></a>back at the +machine-guns, mounted in the breached walls.</p> + +<p>Gabriel was caught and whirled along in that living tide. He found +himself at its crest, its foremost wave. Behind him, a roaring, rushing +river of men. Before the Inner Citadel.</p> + +<p>Gathering speed and weight as it rolled up, the wave broke like an ocean +surge over a crumbling dyke.</p> + +<p>Down went the Air Trust gunners and the guns, down, down to +annihilation!</p> + +<p>Through the breach, foaming and swelling with irresistible power burst +the tides of victory.</p> + +<p>Silenced now were the Trust guns. The steam-jets had none to man them. +Far aloft, a last explosion told the death story of the final +<i>épervier</i>.</p> + +<p>Here and there, from windows and corners of the wrecked and blazing +plant, a little intermittent firing still continued; but now the hearts +of these Air Trust defenders—scabs, thugs and scourings of the +slum—had turned to water, in face of the triumphant army of the working +class.</p> + +<p>They fled, those mercenaries, and all the ways and inner +strongholds—such as still were left—now lay open to Gabriel and his +comrades.</p> + +<p>Lighted by the blazing buildings and the vast fire torch of an +oxygen-tank off to eastward, they stormed the final citadel, the steel +and concrete laboratories, heart and soul and center of the hellish +world-conspiracy.</p> + +<p>Stormed it, as it began to blaze and crumble; stormed it, in search of +Flint and Waldron, would-be murderers of the world.</p> + +<p>Stormed it, only to see Herzog gnash his teeth upon <a name="Page_316"></a>the flask, and +fall, and die; only to know that there, within the rock-hewn, +steel-lined tanks, below, their enemies had still outwitted them!</p> + +<p>The swift onrush of the fire drove the victors back.</p> + +<p>"<i>Out, comrades! Out of here!</i>" shouted Gabriel, facing the attackers.</p> + +<p>None too soon. Hardly had they beaten a retreat, back into the vast +courtyard again, strewn with the dead, when a second oxygen tank +exploded, overwhelming the laboratory building with tons of flying +steel.</p> + +<p>Leaping toward the zenith, a giant tongue of flame roared heavenward. So +intense the heat had now become, that the solid brick and concrete +walls, exposed to the direct verberation of the flame, began to crack +and crumble.</p> + +<p>Gabriel ordered a general retreat of the attacking army. Victory was +won; and to stay near that gushing tornado of flame, with new explosions +bound to occur as the other oxygen tanks let go, must mean annihilation.</p> + +<p>So the triumphant Army of the Proletaire fell back and back still +further, out into the wrecked and trampled Park, and all through the +city, where shattered buildings, many of them ablaze, and broken trees, +dead bodies, smashed ordnance and chaos absolute told something of the +story of that brief but terrible war.</p> + +<p>Ringed round the perishing ruins of the Air Trust they stood, these +mute, thrilled thousands. Silence fell, now, as they watched the +roaring, ever-mounting flames that, whipped by the breeze, crashed +upward in long and cadenced tourbillions of white, of awful +incandescence.</p> + +<p>And the river, ever-hurrying, always foaming on and <a name="Page_317"></a>downward to its +titanic plunge, sparkled with eerie lights in that vast glow. Its voice +of thunder seemed to chant the passing and the requiem of the Curse of +the World, Capitalism.</p> + + + +<br /><hr style="width: 65%;" /><br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_XXXVII"></a><h3><a name="Page_318"></a>CHAPTER XXXVII.</h3> + +<h4>DEATH IN THE PIT OF STEEL.</h4> +<br /> + +<p>And Flint, now, what of him! And Waldron?</p> + +<p>While the Air Trust plant was burning, crumbling, smashing down, what of +its masters, the masters of the world?</p> + +<p>A sense of vast relief possessed them both, at first, as the steel door +clanged after them.</p> + +<p>Now, for a time at least, they realized that they were safe, safe from +the People, safe from the awakened and triumphant Proletariat. Even now, +had they surrendered, they would have been spared; but nothing was +further from their thoughts than any treating with the despised and +hated enemy.</p> + +<p>Foremost in the mind of each, now, was the thought that if they could +but stand siege, a day or so, the troops of the government—their +government and their troops, their own personal property—would +inevitably rescue them.</p> + +<p>With this comforting belief, together they descended the long steel +staircase to the trap-door, passed through this, and climbed down the +metal ladder to the vast storage-vaults.</p> + +<p>Here, everything was cool and quiet and well-lighted. Not yet had the +electric-generating plant been put out of action. Though all its workers +had either been drafted into the ranks of the Cosmos mercenaries, or +Herzog's <a name="Page_319"></a>regiments, or else had fled to hiding, still the huge turbines +and enormous dynamos were whirling, unattended. Thus, for the first few +minutes, in their living tomb, down over which the ruins of the now +white-hot laboratory-building had crashed, the world-masters had +electric light.</p> + +<p>Reassured a little, they descended to the very bottom of the first huge +tank.</p> + +<p>"God!" snarled Flint, as he breathed deeply and glared about him. "The +curs! The swine! To think of this, <i>this</i> really happening! And to think +that if we hadn't got here just in time, they'd actually have—have used +violence on <i>us</i>—"</p> + +<p>Waldron laughed brutally, his body still trembling and his face chalky. +His laugh echoed, hollowly, from the metal walls.</p> + +<p>"You old fool!" he spat. "Canting old hypocrite to the last, eh? +Violence? What the devil do you expect? Rosewater and confetti? Violence +was all that ever held 'em, wasn't it? And when they slipped the leash, +naturally they retorted—that's all! Violence? You make me sick! Damned +lucky for us if we get through this yet, without violence, you whining +cur!"</p> + +<p>Flint, for the first time hearing Waldron's honest opinion of him, +failed even to note it. All his panic-stricken ear had caught was the +note of hope, of survival.</p> + +<p>Clutching eagerly at Waldron's sleeve, he cackled:</p> + +<p>"If we get through? If we get through, you say? Then, in your opinion, +there <i>is</i> a chance to get through? They can't get us here? We surely +shall be rescued?"</p> + +<p>"Bah!" Waldron flung at him, some latent spark of courage still +smouldering in his sodden breast, whereas <a name="Page_320"></a>old Flint was craven to the +marrow. "You nauseate me! Afraid to die, eh? Well, so am I; but not so +damned paralyzed and sick with panic as all that! If you'd taken less +dope, the last twenty years, you'd have more nerve now, to face the +music! World-master, you? Eh? Playing the biggest game on earth—and +now, when things break bad, you squeal! Arrrh! You called me a quitter +once, you mealy-mouthed old Pecksniff! We'll see, now, who quits! We'll +see, at a show-down, who can face it, you or I!"</p> + +<br /> +<a name="Page_321"></a> +<a name="Image_6"></a> +<center> +<img src="images/image-6.jpg" height="75%" alt="His fingers lost their hold—he dropped like a Plummet." title=""> +</center> +<div class="caption"><center><b>His fingers lost their hold—he dropped like a Plummet.</b></center></div> + +<br /> + +<p>Waldron's brutality, the hard, savage quality that all his life had made +him "Tiger" Waldron, now was beginning to reassert itself. His first +sheer panic over, a little manhood was returning. But as for Flint, no +manhood dwelt in him to be awakened. Instead, each moment found him more +abject and more pitiable. Like an old woman he now wrung his hands and +groaned, hysterically; and now he paced the steel floor of the vault +that was destined to be his tomb; and now he stopped again and stared +about him with wild eyes.</p> + +<p>On all sides, sheer up a hundred feet or more, the smooth steel sides of +the vast oxygen tank rose, studded with long lines of rivets.</p> + +<p>Near the top a dark aperture showed where the six-inch pipe joined the +tank; the pipe destined to fill it, when Herzog's last process—never, +now, to be completed—should have been done.</p> + +<p>The huge floor, 150 feet in diameter, sloped gently downward toward the +center; and here yawned another pipe, covered by a grating—the pipe to +drain the liquid oxygen out to the pumping station.</p> + +<p>So deeply set in the rock of the Niagara cliff was this <a name="Page_322"></a>stupendous +tank, and so cunningly surrounded by vacuum-chambers, that now no +faintest sound of the Falls was audible. All that betrayed the nearness +of the cataract was a faint, incessant trembling of the metal walls, as +though the solid ribs of Earth herself were shuddering with the impact +of the plunge.</p> + +<p>Old Flint surveyed this extraordinary chamber with mingled feelings. It +surely offered absolute protection, for the present—or seemed to—but +his distressed mind conjured alarming pictures of the future, in case no +rescue came. Death by starvation, thirst and madness loomed before him. +Nervously he recommenced his pacing. Another terribly serious factor was +to be considered. He had now been three hours without his dose of +morphia, and his nerves were calling, tugging insistently for it.</p> + +<p>"Rotten luck," he grumbled, "that I've got none with me!" Even there, in +the imminent presence of disaster and death, his mind reverted to the +poison, more necessary to him than food.</p> + +<p>Waldron now had grown fairly calm. He stood leaning against the steel +ladder, down which they had descended. Choosing a cigar, he proceeded to +light up.</p> + +<p>"Might as well be comfortable while we wait," said he. "I only wish we +had a couple of chairs, down here. Oversight on our part that we didn't +have some steel ones put in, and a line of canned goods and a few quarts +of Scotch. The floor's a bit damp and cold to sit on, and I want a drink +damn bad!"</p> + +<p>Flint swung about and faced him, pale and shaking, tortured with fear +and with longing for his dope.</p> + +<p>"<a name="Page_323"></a>You—you don't think it <i>will</i> be long, eh, do you?" he demanded. "Not +long before we're taken out?"</p> + +<p>Waldron shrugged his shoulders and blew a long, thin arrow of smoke +athwart the brightly-lighted air.</p> + +<p>"Search me!" he exclaimed. "To judge by what was happening when we made +our exit, the Plant must be a mess, by this time. We seem to have been +checked, even if not mated, Flint. I must admit they caught us by +surprise. Caught us napping, damn them, after all! They were stronger +than we thought, Flint, and cleverer, and better organized. And so—"</p> + +<p>"Don't say 'we,' curse you!" snarled Flint. "Blame yourself, if you want +to, but leave me out! <i>I</i> knew there was trouble due, I tell you. <i>I</i> +saw it coming! Who's been trying to crush the swine completely, if not +I? Who's worked night and day to have those bills put through, and who +had the army increased, and conscription started? Who's driven the +President to back all sorts of things? Who's forced them? Who made the +National Mounted Police a reality, if not I? Damn you, don't include +<i>me</i> in your blame!"</p> + +<p>Waldron shrugged his shoulders, and smoked contemplatively.</p> + +<p>"Suit yourself," he answered. "If we both die, down here, it won't +matter much either way."</p> + +<p>"Die?" quavered the old jackal, suddenly forgetting his rage and peering +about with furtive eyes. "Did you say die, Wally? No, no! You didn't say +that! You didn't mean that, surely!"</p> + +<p>Waldron smiled, evilly, joying in this abject fear of his hated partner.</p> + +<p>"<a name="Page_324"></a>Oh, yes, I did, though," he retorted. "It's quite possible, you know. +In case our government—yours, if you prefer—can't get troops through, +here, or a big general revolution sweeps things, inside a day or two, +we're done. We'll starve and stifle, here, sure as shooting!"</p> + +<p>"No, no, no! Not that, not <i>that!</i>" whimpered Flint, shuddering. "I +can't die, yet. I—I'm not ready for it! There's all that missionary +work of mine not yet done, and my huge international Sunday School +League to perfect; and there's the tremendous ten-million-dollar +Cathedral of Saint Luke the Pious that I'm having built on Riverside +Drive, and there's—"</p> + +<p>"Cut it!" gibed Waldron, spitting with very disgust. "If your time's +come, Flint, you'll die, cathedrals or no cathedrals. Your Sunday +schools won't save you any more than my investments will—which have +largely been wine, women and song. As a matter of fact, if it comes to +starvation, if we aren't rescued and taken out from under the red-hot +wreckage that's on top of us, I'll outlive <i>you!</i> I can exist on my +surplus adipose tissue, for a while; but you—<i>you're</i> nothing but skin +and bone. You'll starve far quicker than I will, old man."</p> + +<p>"Don't! Don't!" implored the shaking wretch, covering his eyes with both +trembling hands.</p> + +<p>"Moral, you oughtn't to have been a dope-fiend, all these years," +continued Waldron, cuttingly, determined that now, once for all, his +despised partner should hear the truth. "How you've lived so long, as it +is, I don't understand. When I tried to marry Kate, and failed, I +reckoned you'd pass over in almost no time—and, by the way, that's why +I was so insistent. But you've disappointed me, Flint. Disappointed me +sorely. You still <a name="Page_325"></a>live. It won't be long, however. Down here, you know, +you simply can't get any dope. In a little while you'll begin to suffer +the torments of Hell. You'll die of starvation and drug 'yen,' Flint, +and you'll die mad, mad, <i>mad!</i> Understand me! Mad, for morphine! And I, +I shall watch you, and exult!"</p> + +<p>Flint cringed, shuddering and stopped his ears. His partner, gloating +over him, smoked faster now. A strange light shone in his eyes. His +pulse beat faster than usual, and a certain extravagance of thought and +speech had become manifest in him.</p> + +<p>He tried to compose himself, feeling that he must not push the cowardly +Flint too far, but his ideas refused to flow in orderly sequence. +Wonderingly he stared at his cigar, the tip of which was now glowing +more brightly than before.</p> + +<p>And then, suddenly sniffing the air he understood. His eyes widened with +horror absolute. He started forward, gasped and cried:</p> + +<p>"<i>Flint! Flint! The oxygen is coming in!</i>"</p> + +<p>Uncomprehending, the old man still stood there, mumbling to himself. His +face was now tinged with unusual color, and his heart, too, was thumping +strangely.</p> + +<p>"<i>Oxygen!</i>" shouted Waldron, shaking him by the shoulder. "It—it's +leaking in, here, somewhere! If we can't stop it—<i>we're dead men!</i>"</p> + +<p>"Eh? <i>What?</i>" stammered the Billionaire, staring at him with eyes of +half-intoxicated fear. "What d'you mean, the oxygen? In—in here?"</p> + +<p>"<i>In here!</i>" cried "Tiger," casting a wild and terrible gaze about him +at the vast, empty trap of steel. "Can't <a name="Page_326"></a>you smell it? That ozone +smell? My God, we're lost! We're lost!"</p> + +<p>"You're crazy!" retorted Flint, with vigor. "Nothing of the sort could +happen!" His head was held high, now, and new life seemed surging +through that spent and drug-wrecked body. "There's no way those curs +could have turned on any gas, here. You're crazy, ha! ha! ha! Insane, +eh? A good joke—capital joke, that! I must tell it at the Union League +Club! 'Tiger' Waldron, suddenly insane, and—ha! ha! ha!"</p> + +<p>He burst into a long, shrill cacchination. Already his face was scarlet +and his mind a whirl. Though neither man understood the reason, yet the +fact remained that one of the last great explosions had ruptured a +subterranean check-valve closing the six-inch pipe that was to feed the +storage-tanks; and now a swift, huge stream of pure oxygen gas was +rushing at tremendous velocity into the vast chamber of steel.</p> + +<p>Waldron, his heart leaping as though it would burst his ribs, raised a +fist to strike down his insulter; then, with drunken indecision, joined +in the maniacal laughter of the staggering old man.</p> + +<p>In their ears a strange, wild humming now became audible. Lights danced +before their eyes; their senses reeled, and violent, extravagant ideas +surged through their drunken brains.</p> + +<p>"<i>Ha! Ha! Ha!</i>" rang Waldron's crazy laughter, echoing the old man's. +All at once, his cigar broke into flame. Cursing, he hurled it away, +staggering back against the ladder and stood there swaying, clutching it +to hold himself from falling.</p> + +<p>There he stood, and stared at Flint, with eyes that <a name="Page_327"></a>started from his +head, with panting breath and crimson face.</p> + +<p>The old man, in a sudden revulsion of terror, was now grovelling along +the floor, by one of the massive walls, clawing at the steel with +impotent hands and screaming mingled prayers and oaths. His ravings, +horrible to hear, echoed through the great tank, now swiftly filling +with gas.</p> + +<p>"Help! Help!" he screamed. "Save me—my God—save me—. Let me out, let +me out! A million, if you let me out! A billion—<i>the whole world!</i> The +world, ha! ha! ha! Damn it to Hell—the world, I say! I'll give the +world to be let out! It's mine—I own it—<i>all, all mine!</i> Ha! Dogs! You +would rise up against your master and your God, would you? But it's no +use—we'll beat you yet—out! <i>out!</i>—the world—I own it! All this +plant—this gas, all mine! My oxygen—ah! it chokes me! <i>Help! +Help!</i>—Swine! I'll scourge you yet—<i>absolute power</i>—<i>the world</i>—!"</p> + +<p>With one final spark of energy, panting, his heart flailing itself to +death under the pitiless urge of the oxygen, old Flint sprang up, ran +wildly, blindly straight across the steel floor, and, screaming +blasphemies like a soul in Hell, dashed into the opposite wall.</p> + +<p>He recoiled, staggered, spun round and fell sprawling most +horribly—stone dead.</p> + +<p>Waldron, at sight of this awful end, felt an uncontrollable terror sweep +over his drunk and maddened senses. Though all his blood was leaping in +his arteries, and his breath coming so fast it choked him, yet a +moment's seeming sanity possessed his reeling brain.</p> + +<p>"<a name="Page_328"></a>The door! The door, up there!" he screamed, with a wild, terrible +curse.</p> + +<p>Then, turning toward the ladder, in spite of his fat and flabby muscles +quivering in terrible spasms, he ran up the long steel structure with a +supreme and ape-like agility.</p> + +<p>Fifty feet he made, seventy-five, ninety—</p> + +<p>But, all at once, something seemed to break in his overtaxed heart.</p> + +<p>A blackness swam before his dazzled eyes. His head fell back. Unnerved, +his fingers lost their hold. And, whirling over and over in midair, he +dropped like a plummet.</p> + +<p>By one wall lay Flint's body. At the foot of the ladder, like a crushed +sack of bones, sprawled the corpse of "Tiger" Waldron.</p> + +<p>And still the rushing oxygen, with which they two had hoped to dominate +the world, poured through the six-inch main, far, far above—senseless +matter, blindly avenging itself upon the rash and evil men who impiously +had sought to cage and master it!</p> + + + +<br /><hr style="width: 65%;" /><br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_XXXVIII"></a><h3><a name="Page_329"></a>CHAPTER XXXVIII.</h3> + +<h4>VISIONS.</h4> +<br /> + +<p>Thus perished Flint and Waldron, scourges of the earth. Thus they died, +slain by the very force which they had planned would betray mankind and +deliver it into their chains. Thus vanished, forever, the most sinister +and cruel minds ever evolved upon this planet; the greatest menace the +human race had ever known; the evil Masters of the World.</p> + +<p>And as they died, massed around their perished Air Trust plant, a throng +of silent, earnest watchers stood, with faces illumined by the symbolic, +sacrificial flames—a throng of emancipated workers, of toilers from +whose bowed shoulders now forever had been lifted the frightful menace +of a universal bondage.</p> + +<p>Explosion after explosion burst from the tortured Inferno of the vast +plant. Buildings came crashing, reeling, thundering down; walls fell, +amid vast, belching clouds of dust and smoke; a white, consuming sheet +of flame crackled across the sinister and evil place; and in its wake +glowed incandescent ruins.</p> + +<p>Then, in one final burst of thunderous tumult, the hugest tank of all, +exploding with a roar like that of Doom itself, hurled belching flames +on high.</p> + +<p>For many miles—in Buffalo, Rochester, Toronto and scores of cities on +both sides of the Great Lakes—silent multitudes watched the glare +against the midnight sky; <a name="Page_330"></a>and many wept for joy; and many prayed. All +understood the meaning of that sight. The light upon the heavens seemed +a signal and a beacon—a promise that the Old Times had passed away +forever—a covenant of the New.</p> + +<p>And, as the final explosion shattered the Temple of Bondage to wreckage, +flung it far into the rushing river and swept it over the leaping, +thundering Falls, the news flashed on a thousand wires, to all cities +and all lands; and though the mercenaries of the two dead world-masters +still might struggle and might strive to beat the toilers back to +slavery again, their days were numbered and their powers forever broken.</p> + +<p>Together in the doorway of the refuge at Port Colborne, Catherine stood +with Gabriel, watching the beacon of liberty upon the heavens. The +light, a halo round her eager face, showed his powerful figure and the +smile of triumph in his eyes. His left arm, broken by the fall in the +aeroplane, now rested in a sling. His right, protecting in its strength, +was round the girl. And as her head found shelter and rest, at length, +upon his shoulder, she, too, smiled; and her eyes seemed to see visions +in the glory of the sky.</p> + +<p>"Visions!" said she, softly, as though voicing a universal thought. "Do +you behold them, too?"</p> + +<p>He nodded.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he answered, "and they are beautiful and sweet and pure!"</p> + +<p>"Visions that we now shall surely see?"</p> + +<p>"Shall surely see!" he echoed; and a little silence fell. Far off, they +seemed to hear a vast and thousand-throated <a name="Page_331"></a>cheering, that the +night-wind brought to them in long and heart-inspiring cadences.</p> + +<p>"Gabriel," she said, at last.</p> + +<p>"Well?"</p> + +<p>"I wish <i>he</i> might have seen them, and have understood! In spite of all +he did, and was, he was my father!"</p> + +<p>"Yes," answered Gabriel, sensing her grief. "But would you have had him +live through this? Live, with the whole world out of his grasp, again? +Live, with all his plans wrecked and broken? Live on in this new time, +where he could have comprehended nothing? Live on, in misery and rage +and impotence?</p> + +<p>"Your father was an old man, Catherine. You know as well as I +do—better, perhaps—the whole trend of his life's thought and ambition. +Even if he'd lived, he couldn't have changed, now, at his age. It would +have been an utter impossibility. Why say more?"</p> + +<p>Catherine made no reply; but in her very attitude of trust and +confidence, Gabriel knew he read the comfort he had given her.</p> + +<p>Silence, a while. At last she spoke.</p> + +<p>"Visions!" she whispered. "Wonderful visions of the glad, new time! How +do you see them, Gabriel?"</p> + +<p>"How do I see them?" His face seemed to glow with inspiration under the +shining light in the far heavens. "I see them as the realization of a +time, now really close at hand, when this old world of ours shall be, as +it never yet has been, in truth civilized, emancipated, free. When the +night of ignorance, kingcraft, priestcraft, servility and prejudice, +bigotry and superstition shall be forever swept away by the dawn of +intelligence and universal education, <a name="Page_332"></a>by scientific truth and light—by +understanding and by fearlessness.</p> + +<p>"When Science shall no longer be 'the mystery of a class,' but shall +become the heritage of all mankind. When, because much is known by all, +nothing shall be dreaded by any. When all mankind shall be absolutely +its own master, strong, and brave, and free!"</p> + +<p>"Like you, Gabriel!" the girl exclaimed, from her heart.</p> + +<p>"Don't say that!" he disclaimed. "Don't—"</p> + +<p>She put her hand over his mouth.</p> + +<p>"Shhhh!" she forbade him. "You mustn't argue, now, because your arm's +just been set and we don't want any fever. If my dreams include you, +too, Gabriel, don't try to tell me I'm mistaken—because I'm not, to +begin with, and I <i>know</i> I'm not!"</p> + +<p>He laughed, and shook his head.</p> + +<p>"Do you realize," said he, "that when it comes to bravery, and strength, +and the splendid freedom of an emancipated soul, I must look to <i>you</i> +for light and leading?"</p> + +<p>"Don't!" she whispered. "Look only to the future—to the newer, better +world now coming to birth! The time which is to know no poverty, no +crime, no children's blood wrung out for dividends!</p> + +<p>"The future when no longer Idleness can enslave Labor to its tasks. When +every man who will, may labor freely, whether with hand or brain, and +receive the full value of his toil, undiminished by any theft or +purloining whatsoever!"</p> + +<p>"The future," he continued, as she paused, "when crowns, titles, swords, +rifles and dreadnaughts shall be <a name="Page_333"></a>known only by history. When the earth +and the fulness thereof shall belong to all Earth's people; and when its +soil need be no longer fertilized with human blood, its crops no longer +be brought forth watered by sweat and tears.</p> + +<p>"Such have been my visions and my dreams, Catherine—a few of them. Now +they are coming true! And other dreams and other visions—dreams of you +and visions of our life together—what of them?"</p> + +<p>"Why need you ask, Gabriel?" she answered, raising her lips to his.</p> + +<p>The sound of singing, a triumphal chorus of the accomplished Revolution, +a vast and million-throated song, seemed wafted to them on the wings of +night.</p> + +<p>And the pure stars, witnessing their love and troth, looked down upon +them from the heavens where shone the fire-glow of the Great +Emancipation.</p> +<br /> + +<p>THE END.</p> + +<br /> + +<p>[Transcriber's note: In the following paragraph, I corrected the second +"Flint" to "Waldron":</p> + +<p>"Very likely," answered Flint, who had now at last entirely recovered +his sang-froid. "But in that event, our work would be at a standstill. +No, Flint, we mustn't oppose this fellow. Better let the check go +through, if he has nerve enough to fill it out and cash it. He won't +dare gouge very deep; and no matter what he takes, it won't be a drop in +the ocean, compared to the golden flood now almost within our grasp!"]</p> + + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Air Trust, by George Allan England + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE AIR TRUST *** + +***** This file should be named 12826-h.htm or 12826-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/2/8/2/12826/ + +Produced by Steven desJardins and Distributed Proofreaders + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Air Trust + +Author: George Allan England + +Release Date: July 5, 2004 [EBook #12826] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE AIR TRUST *** + + + + +Produced by Steven desJardins and Distributed Proofreaders + + + + + +[Illustration: "Visions!" She said softly, "Do you behold them too?"] + + + + +THE AIR TRUST + +By George Allan England + +Author of +"Darkness and Dawn," "Beyond the Great Oblivion," +"The Afterglow," etc., etc. + +Illustrations by +John Sloan + +1915 + + + + +TO EUGENE V. DEBS + +"Comrade 'Gene," + +Lover of All Mankind and +Apostle of the World's Emancipation, + +I dedicate +THIS BOOK + + + + +FOREWORD + + +This book is the result of an attempt to carry the monopolistic +principle to its logical conclusion. For many years I have entertained +the idea that if a monopoly be right in oil, coal, beef, steel or what +not, it would also be right in larger ways involving, for example, the +use of the ocean and the air itself. I believe that, had capitalists +been able to bring the seas and the atmosphere under physical control, +they would long ago have monopolized them. Capitalism has not refrained +from laying its hand on these things through any sense of decency, but +merely because the task has hitherto proved impossible. + +Granting, then, the premise that some process might be discovered +whereby the air-supply of the world could be controlled, the Air Trust +logically follows. I have endeavored to show how such a Trust would +inevitably lead to the utter enslavement of the human race, unless +overthrown by the only means then possible, i.e., violence. This book is +not a brief for "direct action." Doubtless the capitalist press (if it +indeed notice the work at all) will denounce it as a plea for +"bomb-throwing" and apply the epithet of "Anarchist" to me; but at this +the judicious and the intelligent will only smile; and as for our +friends the enemy, we esteem their opinion at its precise real value, +zero. + +Given the conditions supposed in this book, I repeat--a complete +monopoly of the air, with an absolute suppression of all political +rights--no other outcomes are possible than slavery or violent, physical +revolution. As I have made Gabriel Armstrong say: "The masters would +have it so. Academic discussion becomes absurd, in the face of +plutocratic savagery. And in a case of self-defense, no measures are +unjustifiable." + +I believe in political action. I hope for a peaceful and bloodless +revolution. But if that be impossible, then by all means let us have +revolution in its other sense. And with the hope that this book may +perhaps revive some fainting spirit or renew the vision of emancipation +in some soul where it has dimmed, I give "The Air Trust" to the workers +of America and of the world. + +GEORGE ALLAN ENGLAND. + +Boston, Mass., November 1, 1915. + + + + +TABLE OF CONTENTS + + +I. THE BIRTH OF AN IDEA +II. THE PARTNERS +III. THE BAITING OF HERZOG +IV. AN INTERLOPER +V. IN THE LABORATORY +VI. OXYGEN, KING OF INTOXICATORS +VII. A FREAK OF FATE +VIII. ONE UNBIDDEN, SHARES GREAT SECRETS +IX. DISCHARGED +X. A GLIMPSE OF THE PARASITES +XI. THE END OF TWO GAMES +XII. ON THE GREAT HIGHWAY +XIII. CATASTROPHE +XIV. THE RESCUE +XV. AN HOUR AND A PARTING +XVI. TIGER WALDRON "COMES BACK" +XVII. THOUGHTS +XVIII. FLINT AND WALDRON PLAN +XIX. CATHERINE'S DEFIANCE +XX. THE BILLIONAIRE'S PLOT +XXI. GABRIEL, GOOD SAMARITAN +XXII. THE TRAP IS SPRUNG +XXIII. THE BEAST GLOATS +XXIV. CATHERINE'S SUPREME DECISION +XXV. THROUGH STEEL BARS +XXVI. "GUILTY" +XXVII. BACK IN THE SUNLIGHT +XXVIII. IN THE REFUGE +XXIX. "APRES NOUS LE DELUGE!" +XXX. TRAPPED! +XXXI. ESCAPE! +XXXII. OMINOUS DEVELOPMENTS +XXXIII. "NOW COMES THE HOUR SUPREME" +XXXIV. THE ATTACK +XXXV. TERROR AND RETREAT +XXXVI. THE STORMING OF THE WORKS +XXXVII. DEATH IN THE PIT OF STEEL +XXXVIII. VISIONS + + + + +LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS + +"VISIONS!" SHE SAID SOFTLY, "DO YOU BEHOLD THEM TOO?" + +"CAN'T BE DONE, EH?" SAID FLINT + +HE GATHERED HER UP AS THOUGH SHE HAD BEEN A CHILD + +AIMING AT THE BASE OF THE SKULL SHE STRUCK + +THE SPY'S BODY BURST INTO A SHEAF OF FIRE + +HIS FINGERS LOST THEIR HOLD--HE DROPPED LIKE A PLUMMET + + + + +THE AIR TRUST + + + +CHAPTER I. + +THE BIRTH OF AN IDEA. + + +Sunk far back in the huge leather cushions of his morris chair, old +Isaac Flint was thinking, thinking hard. Between narrowed lids, his +hard, gray eyes were blinking at the morning sunlight that poured into +his private office, high up in the great building he had reared on Wall +Street. From his thin lips now and then issued a coil of smoke from the +costly cigar he was consuming. His bony legs were crossed, and one foot +twitched impatiently. Now and again he tugged at his white mustache. A +frown creased his hard brow; and, as he pondered, something of the +glitter of a snake seemed reflected in his pupils. + +"Not enough," he muttered, harshly. "It's not enough--there must be +more, more, more! Some way must be found. Must be, and shall be!" + +The sunlight of early spring, glad and warm over Manhattan, brought no +message of cheer to the Billionaire. It bore no news of peace and joy to +him. Its very brightness, as it flooded the metropolis and mellowed his +luxurious inner office, seemed to offend the master of the world. And +presently he arose, walked to the window and made as though to lower +the shade. But for a moment he delayed this action. Standing there at +the window, he peered out. Far below him, the restless, swarming life of +the huge city crept and grovelled. Insects that were men and women +crowded the clefts that were streets. Long lines of cars, toy-like, +crept along the "L" structures. As far as the eye could reach, tufted +plumes of smoke and steam wafted away on the April breeze. The East +River glistened in the sunlight, its bosom vexed by myriad craft, by +ocean liners, by tugs and barges, by grim warships, by sailing-vessels, +whose canvas gleamed, by snow-white fruitboats from the tropics, by +hulls from every port. Over the bridges, long slow lines of traffic +crawled. And, far beyond to the dim horizon, stretched out the hives of +men, till the blue depths of distance swallowed all in haze. + +And as Flint gazed on this marvel, all created and maintained by human +toil, by sweat and skill and tireless patience of the workers, a hard +smile curved his lips. + +"All mine, more or less," said he to himself, puffing deep on his cigar. +"All yielding tribute to me, even as the mines and mills and factories I +cannot see yield tribute! Even as the oil-wells, the pipe-lines, the +railroads and the subways yield--even as the whole world yields it. All +this labor, all this busy strife, I have a hand in. The millions eat and +drink and buy and sell; and I take toll of it--yet it is not enough. I +hold them in my hand, yet the hand cannot close, completely. And until +it does, it is not enough! No, not enough for me!" + +He pondered a moment, standing there musing at the window, surveying +"all the wonders of the earth" that in its fulness, in that year of +grace, 1921, bore tribute to him who toiled not, neither spun; and +though he smiled, the smile was bitter. + +"Not enough, yet," he reflected. "And how--how shall I close my grip? +How shall I master all this, absolutely and completely, till it be mine +in truth? Through light? The mob can do with less, if I squeeze too +hard! Through food? They can economize! Transportation? No, the traffic +will bear only a certain load! How, then? What is it they all must have, +or die, that I can control? What universal need, vital to rich and poor +alike? To great and small? What absolute necessity which shall make my +rivals in the Game as much my vassals as the meanest slave in my steel +mills? What can it be? For power I must have! Like Caesar, who preferred +to be first in the smallest village, rather than be second at Rome, I +can and will have no competitor. I must rule _all_, or the game is +worthless! But how?" + +Almost as in answer to his mental question, a sudden gust of air swayed +the curtain and brushed it against his face. And, on the moment, +inspiration struck him. + +"What?" he exclaimed suddenly, his brows wrinkling, a strange and eager +light burning in his hard eyes. "Eh, what? Can it--could it be possible? +My God! If so--if it might be--the world would be my toy, to play with +as I like! + +"If _that_ could happen, kings and emperors would have to cringe and +crawl to me, like my hordes of serfs all over this broad land. Statesmen +and diplomats, president and judges, lawmakers and captains of industry, +all would fall into bondage; and for the first time in history one man +would rule the earth, completely and absolutely--_and that man would be +Isaac Flint_!" + +Staggered by the very immensity of the bold thought, so vast that for a +moment he could not realize it in its entirety, the Billionaire fell to +pacing the floor of his office. + +His cigar now hung dead and unnoticed between his thinly cruel lips. His +hands were gripped behind his bent back, as he paced the priceless +Shiraz rug, itself having cost the wage of a hundred workmen for a +year's hard, grinding toil. And as he trod, up and down, up and down the +rich apartments, a slow, grim smile curved his mouth. + +"What editor could withstand me, then?" he was thinking. "What clergyman +could raise his voice against my rule? Ah! Their 'high principles' they +prate of so eloquently, their crack-brained economics, their rebellions +and their strikes--the dogs!--would soon bow down before _that_ power! +Men have starved for stiff-necked opposition's sake, and still may do +so--but with my hand at the throat of the world, with the world's very +life-breath in my grip, what then? Submission, or--ha! well, we shall +see, we shall see!" + +A subtle change came over his face, which had been growing paler for +some minutes. Impatiently he flung away his cigar, and, turning to his +desk, opened a drawer, took out a little vial and uncorked it. He shook +out two small white tablets, on the big sheet of plate-glass that +covered the desk, swallowed them eagerly, and replaced the vial in the +desk again. For be it known that, master of the world though Flint was, +he too had a master--morphine. Long years he had bowed beneath its whip, +the veriest slave of the insidious drug. No three hours could pass, +without that dosage. His immense native will power still managed to +control the dose and not increase it; but years ago he had abandoned +hope of ever diminishing or ceasing it. And now he thought no more of it +than of--well, of breathing. + +Breathing! As he stood up again and drew a deep breath, under the +reviving influence of the drug, his inspiration once more recurred to +him. + +"Breath!" said he. "Breath is life. Without food and drink and shelter, +men can live a while. Even without water, for some days. But without +_air_--they die inevitably and at once. And if I make the air my own, +then I am master of all life!" + +And suddenly he burst into a harsh, jangling laugh. + +"Air!" he cried exultantly, "An Air Trust! By God in Heaven, it can be! +It shall be!--it must!" + +His mind, somewhat sluggish before he had taken the morphine, now was +working clearly and accurately again, with that fateful and undeviating +precision which had made him master of billions of dollars and uncounted +millions of human lives; which had woven his network of possession all +over the United States, Europe and Asia and even Africa; which had +drawn, as into a spider's web, the world's railroads and steamship +lines, its coal and copper and steel, its oil and grain and beef, its +every need--save air! + +And now, keen on the track of this last great inspiration, the +Billionaire strode to his revolving book-case, whirled it round and from +its shelves jerked a thick volume, a smaller book and some pamphlets. + +"Let's have some facts!" said he, flinging them upon his desk, and +seating himself before it in a costly chair of teak. "Once I get an +outline of the facts and what I want to do, then my subordinates can +carry out my plans. Before all, I must have facts!" + +For half an hour he thumbed his references, noting all the salient +points mentally, without taking a single note; for, so long as the drug +still acted, his brain was an instrument of unsurpassed keenness and +accuracy. + +A sinister figure he made, as he sat there poring intently over the +technical books before him, contrasting strangely with the beauty and +the luxury of the office. On the mantel, over the fireplace of Carrara +marble, ticked a Louis XIV clock, the price of which might have saved +the lives of a thousand workingmen's children during the last summer's +torment. Gold-woven tapestries from Rouen covered the walls, whereon +hung etchings and rare prints. Old Flint's office, indeed, had more the +air of an art gallery than a place where grim plots and deals +innumerable had been put through, lawmakers corrupted past counting, and +the destinies of nations bent beneath his corded, lean and nervous hand. +And now, as the Billionaire sat there thinking, smiling a smile that +boded no good to the world, the soft spring air that had inspired his +great plan still swayed the silken curtains. + +Of a sudden, he slammed the big book shut, that he was studying, and +rose to his feet with a hard laugh--the laugh that had presaged more +than one calamity to mankind. Beneath the sweep of his mustache one +caught the glint of a gold tooth, sharp and unpleasant. + +A moment he stood there, keen, eager, dominant, his hands gripping the +edge of the desk till the big knuckles whitened. He seemed the +embodiment of harsh and unrelenting Power--power over men and things, +over their laws and institutions; power which, like Alexander's, sought +only new worlds to conquer; power which found all metes and bounds too +narrow. + +"Power!" he whispered, as though to voice the inner inclining of the +picture. "Life, air, breath--the very breath of the world in my +hands--power absolutely, at last!" + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +THE PARTNERS. + + +Then, as was his habit, translating ideas into immediate action, he +strode to a door at the far end of the office, flung it open and said: + +"See here a minute, Wally!" + +"Busy!" came an answering voice, from behind a huge roll-top desk. + +"Of course! But drop it, drop it. I've got news for you." + +"Urgent?" asked the voice, coldly. + +"Very. Come in here, a minute. I've got to unload!" + +From behind the big desk rose the figure of a man about five and forty, +sandy-haired, long-faced and sallow, with a pair of the coldest, +fishiest eyes--eyes set too close together--that ever looked out of a +flat and ugly face. A man precisely dressed, something of a fop, with +just a note of the "sport" in his get-up; a man to fear, a man cool, +wary and dangerous--Maxim Waldron, in fact, the Billionaire's right-hand +man and confidant. Waldron, for some time affianced to his eldest +daughter. Waldron the arch-corruptionist; Waldron, who never yet had +been "caught with the goods," but who had financed scores of industrial +and political campaigns, with Flint's money and his own; Waldron, the +smooth, the suave, the perilous. + +"What now?" asked he, fixing his pale blue eyes on the Billionaire's +face. + +"Come in here, and I'll tell you." + +"Right!" And Waldron, brushing an invisible speck of dust from the +sleeve of his checked coat, strolled rather casually into the +Billionaire's office. + +Flint closed the door. + +"Well?" asked Waldron, with something of a drawl. "What's the +excitement?" + +"See here," began the great financier, stimulated by the drug. "We've +been wasting our time, all these years, with our petty monopolies of +beef and coal and transportation and all such trifles!" + +"So?" And Waldron drew from his pocket a gold cigar-case, monogrammed +with diamonds. "Trifles, eh?" He carefully chose a perfecto. "Perhaps; +but we've managed to rub along, eh? Well, if these are trifles, what's +on?" + +"Air!" + +"Air?" Waldron's match poised a moment, as with a slight widening of the +pale blue eyes he surveyed his partner. "Why--er--what do you mean, +Flint?" + +"The Air Trust!" + +"Eh?" And Waldron lighted his cigar. + +"A monopoly of breathing privileges!" + +"Ha! Ha!" Waldron's laugh was as mirthful as a grave-yard raven's croak. +"Nothing to it, old man. Forget it, and stick to--" + +"Of course! I might have expected as much from you!" retorted the +Billionaire tartly. "You've got neither imagination nor--" + +"Nor any fancy for wild-goose chases," said Waldron, easily, as he sat +down in the big leather chair. "Air? Hot air, Flint! No, no, it won't +do! Nothing to it nothing at all." + +For a moment the Billionaire regarded him with a look of intense +irritation. His thin lips moved, as though to emit some caustic answer; +but he managed to keep silence. The two men looked at each other, a long +minute; then Flint began again: + +"Listen, now, and keep still! The idea came to me not an hour ago, this +morning, looking over the city, here. We've got a finger on everything +but the atmosphere, the most important thing of all. If we could control +_that_--" + +"Of course, I understand," interrupted the other, blowing a ring of +smoke. "Unlimited power and so on. Looks very nice, and all. Only, it +can't be done. Air's too big, too fluid, too universal. Human powers +can't control it, any more than the ocean. Talk about monopolizing the +Atlantic, if you will, Flint. But for heaven's sake, drop--" + +"Can't be done, eh?" exclaimed Flint, warmly, sitting down on the +desk-top and levelling a big-jointed forefinger at his partner. "That's +what every new idea has had to meet. It's no argument! People scoffed at +the idea of gas lighting when it was new. Called it 'burning smoke,' and +made merry over it. That was as recently as 1832. But ten years later, +gas-illumination was in full sway. + +"Electric lighting met the same objection. And remember the objection to +the telephone? When Congress, in 1843, granted Morse an appropriation of +$30,000 to run the first telegraph line from Baltimore to Washington, +one would-be humorist in that supremely intelligent body tried to +introduce an amendment that part of the sum should be spent in surveying +a railroad to the moon! And--" + +[Illustration: "Can't be done, Eh?" said Flint.] + +"Granted," put in Waldron, "that my objection is futile, just what's +your idea?" + +"This!" And Flint stabbed at him with his forefinger, while the other +financier regarded him with a fishily amused eye. "Every human being in +this world--and there are 1,900,000,000 of them now!--is breathing, on +the average, 16 cubic feet of air every hour, or about 400 a day. The +total amount of oxygen actually absorbed in the 24 hours by each person, +is about 17 cubic feet, or _over 30 billions of cubic feet of oxygen_, +each day, in the entire world. Get that?" + +"Well?" drawled the other. + +"Don't you see?" snapped Flint, irritably. "Imagine that we extract +oxygen from the air. Then--" + +"You might as well try to dip up the ocean with a spoon," said Waldron, +"as try to vitiate the atmosphere of the whole world, by any means +whatsoever! But even if you could, what then?" + +"Look here!" exclaimed the Billionaire. "It only needs a reduction of 10 +per cent. in the atmospheric oxygen to make the air so bad that nobody +can breathe it without discomfort and pain. Take out any more and people +will die! We don't have to monopolize _all_ the oxygen, but only a very +small fraction, and the world will come gasping to us, like so many fish +out of water, falling over each other to buy!" + +"Possibly. But the details?" + +"I haven't worked them out yet, naturally. I needn't. Herzog will take +care of those. He and his staff. That's what they're for. Shall we put +it up to him? What? My God, man! Think of the millions in it--the +billions! The power! The--" + +"Of course, of course!" interposed Waldron, calmly, eyeing his smoke. +"Don't get excited, Flint. Rome wasn't built in a day. There may be +something in this; possibly there may be the germ of an idea. I don't +say it's impossible. It looks visionary to me; but then, as you well +say, so has every new idea always looked. Let me think, now; let me +think." + +"Go ahead and think!" growled the Billionaire. "Think and be hanged to +you! _I'm_ going to act!" + +Waldron vouchsafed no reply, but merely eyed his partner with cold +interest, as though he were some biological specimen under a lens, and +smoked the while. + +Flint, however, turned to his telephone and pulled it toward him, over +the big sheet of plate glass. Impatiently he took off the receiver and +held it up to his ear. + +"Hello, hello! 2438 John!" he exclaimed, in answer to the query of +"Number, please?" + +Silence, a moment, while Waldron slowly drew at his cigar and while the +Billionaire tugged with impatience at his gray mustache. + +"Hello! That you, Herzog?" + + * * * * * + +"All right. I want to see you at once. Immediately, understand?" + + * * * * * + +"Very well. And say, Herzog!" + +"Bring whatever literature you have on liquid air, nitrogen extraction +from the atmosphere, and so on. Understand? And come at once!" + + * * * * * + +"That's all! Good-bye!" + +Smiling dourly, with satisfaction, he hung up and shoved the telephone +away again, then turned to his still reflecting partner, who had now +hoisted his patent leather boots to the window sill and seemed absorbed +in regarding their gloss through a blue veil of nicotine. + +"Herzog," announced the Billionaire, "will be here in ten minutes, and +we'll get down to business." + +"So?" languidly commented the immaculate Waldron. "Well, much as I'd +like to flatter your astuteness, Flint, I'm bound to say you're barking +up a false trail, this time! Beef, yes. Steel, yes. Railroads, +steamships, coal, iron, wheat, yes. All tangible, all concrete, all +susceptible of being weighed, measured, put in figures, fenced and +bounded, legislated about and so on and so forth. But _air_--!" + +He snapped his manicured fingers, to show his well-considered contempt +for the Billionaire's scheme, and, throwing away his smoked-out cigar, +chose a fresh one. + +Flint made no reply, but with an angry grunt flung a look of scorn at +the calm and placid one. Then, furtively opening his desk drawer, he +once more sought the little vial and took two more pellets--an action +which Waldron, without moving his head, complacently observed in a +heavily-bevelled mirror that hung between the windows. + +"Air," murmured Waldron, suavely. "Hot air, Flint?" + +No answer, save another grunt and the slamming of the desk-drawer. + +And thus, in silence, the two men, masters of the world, awaited the +coming of the practical scientist, the proletarian, on whom they both, +at last analysis, had to rely for most of their results. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +THE BAITING OF HERZOG. + + +Herzog was not long in arriving. To be summoned in haste by Isaac Flint, +and to delay, was unthinkable. For eighteen years the chemist had +lickspittled to the Billionaire. Keen though his mind was, his character +and stamina were those of a jellyfish; and when the Master took snuff, +as the saying is, Herzog never failed to sneeze. + +He therefore appeared, now, in some ten minutes--a fat, rubicund, +spectacled man, with a cast in his left eye and two fingers missing, to +remind him of early days in experimental work on explosives. Under his +arm he carried several tomes and pamphlets; and so, bowing first to one +financier, then to the other, he stood there on the threshold, awaiting +his masters' pleasure. + +"Come in, Herzog," directed Flint. "Got some material there on liquid +air, and nitrogen, and so on?" + +"Yes, sir. Just what is it you want, sir?" + +"Sit down, and I'll tell you,"--for the chemist, hat in hand, ventured +not to seat himself unbidden in presence of these plutocrats. + +Herzog, murmuring thanks for Flint's gracious permission, deposited his +derby on top of the revolving book-case, sat down tentatively on the edge +of a chair and clutched his books as though they had been so many +shields against the redoubted power of his masters. + +"See here, Herzog," Flint fired at him, without any preliminaries or +beating around the bush, "what do you know about the practical side of +extracting nitrogen from atmospheric air? Or extracting oxygen, in +liquid form? Can it be done--that is, on a commercial basis?" + +"Why, no, sir--yes, that is--perhaps. I mean--" + +"What the devil _do_ you mean?" snapped Flint, while Waldron smiled +maliciously as he smoked. "Yes, or no? I don't pay you to muddle things. +I pay you to _know_, and to tell me! Get that? Now, how about it?" + +"Well, sir--hm!--the fact is," and the unfortunate chemist blinked +through his glasses with extreme uneasiness, "the fact of the matter is +that the processes involved haven't been really perfected, as yet. +Beginnings have been made, but no large-scale work has been done, so +far. Still, the principle--" + +"Is sound?" + +"Yes, sir. I imagine--" + +"Cut that! You aren't paid for imagining!" interrupted the Billionaire, +stabbing at him with that characteristic gesture. "Just what do you know +about it? No technicalities, mind! Essentials, that's all, and in a few +words!" + +"Well, sir," answered Herzog, plucking up a little courage under this +pointed goading, "so far as the fixation of atmospheric nitrogen goes, +more progress has been made in England and Scandinavia, than here. +They're working on it, over there, to obtain cheap and plentiful +fertilizer from the air. Nitrogen _can_ be obtained from the air, even +now, and made into fertilizers even cheaper than the Chili saltpeter. +Oxygen is liberated as a by-product, and--" + +"Oh, it is, eh? And could it be saved? In liquid form for instance?" + +"I think so, sir. The Siemens & Halske interests, in Germany, are doing +it already, on a limited scale. In Norway and Austria, nitrogen has been +manufactured from air, for some years." + +"On a paying, commercial basis?" demanded Flint, while Waldron, now a +trifle less scornful, seemed to listen with more interest as his eyes +rested on the rotund form of the scientist. + +"Yes, sir, quite so," answered Herzog. "It's commercially feasible, +though not a very profitable business at best. The gas is utilized in +chemical combination with a substantial base, and--" + +"No matter about that, just yet," interrupted Flint. "We can have +details later. Do you know of any such business as yet, in the United +States?" + +"Well, sir, there's a plant building at Great Falls, South Carolina, for +the purpose. It is to run by waterpower and will develop 5000 H.P." + +"Hear that, Waldron?" demanded the Billionaire. "It's already beginning +even here! But not one of these plants is working for what I see as the +prime possibility. No imagination, no grasp on the subject! No wonder +most inventors and scientists die poor! They incubate ideas and then +lack the warmth to hatch them into general application. It takes men +like us, Wally--practical men--to turn the trick!" He spoke a bit +rapidly, almost feverishly, under the influence of the subtle drug. "Now +if _we_ take hold of this game, why, we can shake the world as it has +never yet been shaken! Eh, Waldron? What do you think now?" + +Waldron only grunted, non-committally. Flint with a hard glance at his +unresponsive partner, once more turned to Herzog. + +"See here, now," directed he. "What's the best process now in use?" + +"For what, sir?" ventured the timid chemist. + +"For the simultaneous production of nitrogen and oxygen, from the +atmosphere!" + +"Well, sir," he answered, deprecatingly, as though taking a great +liberty even in informing his master on a point the master had expressly +asked about, "there are three processes. But all operate only on a small +scale." + +"Who ever told you I wanted to work on a large scale?" demanded Flint, +savagely. + +"I--er--inferred--beg pardon, sir--I--" And Herzog quite lost himself +and floundered hopelessly, while his mismated eyes wandered about the +room as though seeking the assurance he so sadly lacked. + +"Confine yourself to answering what I ask you," directed Flint, crisply. +"You're not paid to infer. You're paid to answer questions on chemistry, +and to get results. Remember _that_!" + +"Yes, sir," meekly answered the chemist, while Waldron smiled with +cynical amusement. He enjoyed nothing so delightedly as any grilling of +an employee, whether miner, railroad man, clerk, ship's captain or +what-not. This baiting, by Flint, was a rare treat to him. + +"Go on," commanded the Billionaire, in a badgering tone. "What are the +processes?" He eyed Herzog as though the man had been an ox, a dog or +even some inanimate object, coldly and with narrow-lidded condescension. +To him, in truth, men were no more than Shelley's "plow or sword or +spade" for his own purpose--things to serve him and to be ruled--or +broken--as best served his ends. "Go on! Tell me what you know; and no +more!" + +"Yes, sir," ventured Herzog. "There are three processes to extract +nitrogen and oxygen from air. One is by means of what the German +scientists call _Kalkstickstoff_, between calcium carbide and nitrogen, +and the reaction-symbols are--" + +"No matter," Flint waived him, promptly. "I don't care for formulas or +details. What I want is results and general principles. Any other way to +extract these substances, in commercial quantities, from the air we +breathe?" + +"Two others. But one of these operates at a prohibitive cost. The +other--" + +"Yes, yes. What is it?" Flint slid off the edge of the table and walked +over to Herzog; stood there in front of him, and bored down at him with +eager eyes, the pupils contracted by morphine, but very bright. "What's +the best way?" + +"With the electric arc, sir," answered the chemist, mopping his brow. +This grilling method reminded him of what he had heard of "Third Degree" +torments. "That's the best method, sir." + +"Now in use, anywhere?" + +"In Notodden, Norway. They have firebrick furnaces, you understand, sir, +with an alternating current of 5000 volts between water-cooled copper +electrodes. The resulting arc is spread by powerful electro-magnets, +so." And he illustrated with his eight acid-stained fingers. "Spread +out like a disk or sphere of flame, of electric fire, you see." + +"Yes, and what then?" demanded Flint, while his partner, forgetting now +to smile, sat there by the window scrutinizing him. One saw, now, the +terribly keen and prehensile intellect at work under the mask of assumed +foppishness and jesting indifference--the quality, for the most part +masked, which had earned Waldron the nickname of "Tiger" in Wall Street. + +"What then?" repeated Flint, once more levelling that potent forefinger +at the sweating Herzog. + +"Well, sir, that gives a large reactive surface, through which the air +is driven by powerful rotary fans. At the high temperature of the +electric arc in air, the molecules of nitrogen and oxygen dissociate +into their atoms. The air comes out of the arc, charged with about one +per cent. of nitric oxide, and after that--" + +"Jump the details, idiot! Can't you move faster than a paralytic snail? +What's the final result?" + +"The result is, sir," answered Herzog, meek and cowed under this +harrying, "that calcium nitrate is produced, a very excellent +fertilizer. It's a form of nitrogen, you see, directly obtained from +air." + +"At what cost?" + +"One ton of fixed nitrogen in that form costs about $150 or $160." + +"Indeed?" commented Flint. "The same amount, combined in Chile +saltpeter, comes to--?" + +"A little over $300, sir." + +"Hear that, Wally?" exclaimed the Billionaire, turning to his now +interested associate. "Even if this idea never goes a step farther, +there's a gold mine in just the production of fertilizer from air! But, +after all, that will only be a by-product. It's the oxygen we're after, +and must have!" + +He faced Herzog again. + +"Is any oxygen liberated, during the process?" he demanded. + +"At one stage, yes, sir. But in the present process, it is absorbed, +also." + +Flint's eyebrows contracted nervously. For a moment he stood thinking, +while Herzog eyed him with trepidation, and Waldron, almost forgetting +to smoke, waited developments with interest. The Billionaire, however, +wasted but scant time in consideration. It was not money now, he lusted +for, but power. Money was, to him, no longer any great desideratum. At +most, it could now mean no more to him than a figure on a check-book or +a page of statistics in his private memoranda. But power, unlimited, +indisputable power over the whole earth and the fulness thereof, power +which none might dispute, power before which all humanity must bow--God! +the lust of it now gripped and shook his soul. + +Paling a little, but with eyes ablaze, he faced the anxious scientist. + +"Herzog! See here!" + +"Yes, sir?" + +"I've got a job for you, understand?" + +"Yes, sir. What is it?" + +"A big job, and one on which your entire future depends. Put it through, +and I'll do well by you. Fail, and by the Eternal, I'll break you! I +can, and will, mark that! Do you get me?" + +"I--yes, sir--that is, I'll do my best, and--" + +"Listen! You go to work at once, immediately, understand? Work out for +me some process, some practicable method by which the nitrogen and +oxygen can both be collected in large quantities from the air. +Everything in my laboratories at Oakwood Heights is at your disposal. +Money's no object. Nothing counts, now, but _results_! + +"I want the process all mapped out and ready for me, in its essential +outlines, two weeks from today. If it isn't--" His gesture was a menace. +"If it is--well, you'll be suitably rewarded. And no leaks, now. Not a +word of this to any one, understand? If it gets out, you know what I can +do to you, and will! Remember Roswell; remember Parker Hayes. _They_ let +news get to the Dillingham-Saunders people, about the new Tezzoni +radio-electric system--and one's dead, now, a suicide; the other's in +Sing-Sing for eighteen years. Remember that--and keep your mouth shut!" + +"Yes, sir. I understand." + +"All right, then. A fortnight from today, report to me here. And mind +you, have something to report, or--!" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Very well! Now, go!" + +Thus dismissed, Herzog gathered together his books and papers, blinked a +moment with those peculiar wall-eyes of his, arose and, bowing first to +Flint and then to the keenly-watching Waldron, backed out of the office. + +When the door had closed behind him, Flint turned to his partner with a +nervous laugh. + +"That's the way to get results, eh?" he exclaimed. "No dilly-dallying +and no soft soap; but just lay the lash right on, hard--they jump then, +the vermin! Results! That fellow will work his head off, the next two +weeks; and there'll be something doing when he comes again. You'll see!" + +Waldron laughed nonchalantly. Once more the mask of indifference had +fallen over him, veiling the keen, incisive interest he had shown during +the interview. + +"Something doing, yes," he drawled, puffing his cigar to a glow. "Only I +advise you to choose your men. Some day you'll try that on a real +man--one of the rough-necks you know, and--" + +Flint snapped his fingers contemptuously, gazed at Waldron a moment with +unwinking eyes and tugged at his mustache. + +"When I need advice on handling men, I'll ask for it," he rapped out. +Then, glancing at the Louis XIV clock: "Past the time for that C.P.S. +board-meeting, Wally. No more of this, now. We'll talk it over at the +Country Club, tonight; but for the present, let's dismiss it from our +minds." + +"Right!" answered the other, and arose, yawning, as though the whole +subject were of but indifferent interest to him. "It's all moonshine, +Flint. All a pipe-dream. Defoe's philosophers, who spent their lives +trying to extract sunshine from cucumbers, never entertained any more +fantastic notion than this of yours. However, it's your funeral, not +mine. You're paying for it. I decline to put in any funds for any such +purpose. Amuse yourself; you've got to settle the bill." + +Flint smiled sourly, his gold tooth glinting, but made no answer. + +"Come along," said his partner, moving toward the door. "They're waiting +for us, already, at the board meeting. And there's big business coming +up, today--that strike situation, you remember. Slade's going to be on +deck. We've got to decide, at once, whether or not we're going to turn +him loose on the miners, to smash that gang of union thugs and Socialist +fanatics, and do it right. _That's_ a game worth playing, Flint; but +this Air Trust vagary of yours--stuff and nonsense!" + +Flint, for all reply, merely cast a strange look at his partner, with +those strongly-contracted pupils of his; and so the two vultures of prey +betook themselves to the board room where already, round the long +rosewood table, Walter Slade of the Cosmos Detective Company was laying +out his strike-breaking plans to the attentive captains of industry. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +AN INTERLOPER. + + +On the eleventh day after this interview between the two men who, +between them, practically held the whole world in their grasp, Herzog +telephoned up from Oakwood Heights and took the liberty of informing +Flint that his experiments had reached a point of such success that he +prayed Flint would condescend to visit the laboratories in person. + +Flint, after some reflection, decided he would so condescend; and +forthwith ordered his limousine from his private garage on William +Street. Thereafter he called Waldron on the 'phone, at his Fifth Avenue +address. + +"Mr. Waldron is not up, yet, sir," a carefully-modulated voice answered +over the wire. "Any message I can give him, sir?" + +"Oh, hello! That you, Edwards?" Flint demanded, recognizing the suave +tones of his partner's valet. + +"Yes, sir." + +"All right. Tell Waldron I'll call for him in half an hour with the +limousine. And mind, now, I want him to be up and dressed! We're going +down to Staten Island. Got that?" + +"Yes, sir. Any other message, sir?" + +"No. But be sure you get him up, for me! Good-bye!" + +Thirty minutes later, Flint's chauffeur opened the door of the big +limousine, in front of the huge Renaissance pile that Waldron's +millions had raised on land which had cost him more than as though he +had covered it with double eagles; and Flint himself ascended the steps +of Pentelican marble. The limousine, its varnish and silver-plate +flashing in the bright spring sun, stood by the curb, purring softly to +itself with all six cylinders, a thing of matchless beauty and rare +cost. The chauffeur, on the driver's seat, did not even bother to shut +off the gas, but let the engine run, regardless. To have stopped it +would have meant some trifling exertion, in starting again; and since +Flint never considered such details as a few gallons of gasoline, why +should _he_ care? Lighting a Turkish cigarette, this aristocrat of labor +lolled on the padded leather and indifferently--with more of contempt +than of interest--regarded a swarm of iron-workers, masons and laborers +at work on a new building across the avenue. + +Flint, meanwhile, had entered the great mansion, its bronze +doors--ravished from the Palazzo Guelfo at Venice--having swung inward +to admit him, with noiseless majesty. Ignoring the doorman, he addressed +himself to Edwards, who stood in the spacious, mahogany-panelled hall, +washing both hands with imaginary soap. + +"Waldron up, yet, Edwards?" + +"No, sir. He--er--I have been unable--" + +"The devil! Where is he?" + +"In his apartments, sir." + +"Take me up!" + +"He said, sir," ventured Edwards, in his smoothest voice. "He said--" + +"I don't give a damn what he said! Take me up, at once!" + +"Yes, sir. Immediately, sir!" And he gestured suavely toward the +elevator. + +Flint strode down the hall, indifferent to the Kirmanshah rugs, the rare +mosaic floor and stained-glass windows, the Parian fountain and the +Azeglio tapestries that hung suspended up along the stairway--all old +stories to him and as commonplace as rickety odds and ends of furniture +might be to any toiler "cribbed, cabin'd and confined" in fetid East +Side tenement or squalid room on Hester Street. + +The elevator boy bowed before his presence. Edwards hesitated to enter +the private elevator, with this world-master; but Flint beckoned him to +come along. And so, borne aloft by the smooth force of the electric +motor, they presently reached the upper floor where "Tiger" Waldron +laired in stately splendor, like the nabob that he was. + +Without ceremony, Flint pushed forward into the bed-chamber of the +mighty one--a chamber richly finished in panels of the rare sea-grape +tree, brought from Pacific isles at great cost of money and some +expenditure of human lives; but this latter item was, of course, beneath +consideration. + +By the softened light which entered through rich curtains, one saw the +famous frieze of De Lussac, that banded the apartment, over the +panelling--the frieze of Bacchantes, naked and unashamed, revelling with +Satyrs in an abandon that bespoke the age when the world was young. +Their voluptuous forms entwined with clustering grapes and leaves, they +poured tipsy libations of red wine from golden chalices; while old +Silenus, god of drink, astride a donkey, applauded with maudlin joy. + +Flint, however, had no eyes for this scene which would have gladdened a +voluptuary's heart--and which, for that reason was dear to Waldron--but +walked toward the huge, four-posted bed where Wally himself, now rather +paler than usual, with bloodshot eyes, was lying. This bed, despite the +fact that it had been transported all the way from Tours, France, and +that it once had belonged to an archbishop, had only too often witnessed +its owner's insomnia. + +"Hm! You're a devil of a man to keep an appointment, aren't you?" Flint +sneered at the master of the house. "Eleven o'clock, and not up, yet!" + +"Pardon me for remarking, my dear Flint," replied Waldron, stretching +himself between the silken sheets and reaching for a cigarette, "that +the appointment was not of my making. Also that I was up, last +night--this morning, rather--till three-thirty. And in the next place, +that scoundrel Hazeltine, trimmed me out of eighty-six thousand in four +hours--" + +"Roulette again, you idiot?" demanded Flint. + +"And in conclusion," said Wally, "that the bigness of my head and the +brown taste in my mouth are such as no 'soda and sermons, the morning +after' can possibly alleviate. So you understand my dalliance. + +"Damn those workmen!" he exclaimed, with sudden irritation, as a louder +chattering of pneumatic riveters from the new building all at once +clattered in at the window. "A free country, eh? And men are permitted +to make _that_ kind of a racket when a fellow wants to sleep! By God, if +I--" + +"Drop that, Wally, and get up!" commanded Flint. "There's no time for +this kind of thing today. Herzog has just informed me his experiments +have brought results. We're going down to Oakwood Heights to sea a few +things for ourselves. And the quicker you get dressed and in your right +mind, the better. Come along, I tell you!" + +"Still chasing sunbeams from cucumbers, eh?" drawled the magnate, +inhaling cigarette smoke and blowing a thin cloud toward the wanton +Bacchantes. He affected indifference, but his dull eyes brightened a +trifle in his wan face, deep-lined by the savage dissipations of the +previous night. "And you insist on dragging me out on the same fatuous +errand?" + +"Don't be an ass!" snapped the Billionaire. "Get up and come along. The +sooner we have this thing under way, the better." + +"All right, anything to oblige," conceded Waldron, inwardly stirred by +an interest he took good care not to divulge in word or look. "Give me +just time for a cold plunge, a few minutes with my masseur and my +barber, a bite to eat and--" + +Flint laid hold on his partner and shook him roughly. + +"Move, you sluggard!" he commanded. And Tiger Waldron obeyed. + +Forty-five minutes later, the two financiers were speeding down the +asphalt of the avenue at a good round clip. Flint's gleaming car formed +one unit of the never-ending procession of motors which, day and night, +year in and year out, spin unceasingly along the great, hard, splendid, +cruel thoroughfare. + +"I tell you," Flint was asserting as they swung into Broadway, at +Twenty-third Street, and headed for South Ferry, "I tell you, Wally, +the thing is growing vaster and more potent every moment. The longer I +look at it, the huger its possibilities loom up! With air under our +control, as a source of manufacturing alone, we can pull down perfectly +inconceivable fortunes. We shan't have to send anywhere for our raw +material. It will come to us; it's everywhere. No cost for +transportation, to begin with. + +"With oxygen, nitrogen and liquid air as products, think of the +possibilities, will you? Not an ice-plant in the country could compete +with us, in the refrigerating line. With liquid air, we could sweep that +market clean. By installing it on our fruit cars and boats, and our beef +cars, the saving effected in many ways would run to millions. The sale +of nitrogen, for fertilizer, would net us billions. And, above all, the +control of the world's air supply, for breathing, would make us the +absolute, undisputed masters of mankind! + +"We'd have the world by the windpipe. Its very life-breath would be at +our disposal. Ha! What about revolution, then? What about popular +discontent, and stiff-necked legislators, and cranky editors? What about +commercial and financial rivals? What about these damned Socialists, +with their brass-lunged bazoo, howling about monopoly and capitalism and +all the rest of it? Eh, what? Just one squeeze," here Flint closed his +corded, veinous fingers, "just one tightening of the fist, and--all +over! We win, hands down!" + +"Like shutting the wind off from a runaway horse, eh?" suggested +Waldron, squinting at his cigar as though to hide the involuntary gleam +of light that sparkled in his narrow-set eyes. + +"Precisely!" assented Flint, smiling his gold-toothed smile. "The +wildest bolter has got to stop, or fall dead, once you close his +nostrils. That's what we'll do to the world, Wally. We'll get it by the +throat--and there you are!" + +"Yes, there we are," repeated Waldron, "but--" + +"But what, now?" + +Waldron did not answer, for a moment, but squinted up at the tall +buildings, temples of Mammon and of Greed, filled from pave to cornice +with toiling, sweated hordes of men and women, all laboring for +Capitalism; many of them, directly or indirectly, for him. Then, as the +limousine slowed at Spring Street, to let a cross-town car pass--a car +whose earnings he and Flint both shared, just as they shared those of +every surface and subway and "L" car in the vast metropolis--he said: + +"Have you weighed the consequences carefully, Flint? Quite carefully? +This thing of cornering all the oxygen is a pretty big proposition. Do +you think you really ought to undertake it?" + +"Why not?" + +"Have you considered the frightful suffering and loss of life it might +entail? Almost certainly would entail? Are you quite sure you _want_ to +take the world by the throat and--and choke it? For money?" + +"No, not for money, Waldron. We're both staggering under money, as it +is. But power! Ah, that's different!" + +"I know," admitted Waldron. "But ought we--you--to attempt this, even +for the sake of universal power? Your plan contemplates a monopoly such +that everybody who refused or was unable to buy your product would, at +best, have to get along with vitiated air, and at worst would have to +stifle. Do you really think we ought to undertake this?" + +Keenly he eyed Flint, as he thus sounded the elder man's inhuman +determination. Flint, fathoming nothing of his purpose, retorted with +some heat: + +"Ha! Getting punctilious, all at once, are you? Talk ethics, eh? Where +were your scruples, a year ago, when people were paying 25 cents a loaf +for bread, because of that big wheat pool you put through? How about the +oil you've just lately helped me boost by a 20 per cent. increase? And +when the papers--though mostly those infernal Socialist or Anarchist +papers, or whatever they were--shouted that old men and women were +freezing in attics, last winter, what then? Did you vote to arbitrate +the D.K. coal strike? Not by a jugful! You stood shoulder to shoulder +with me, then, Wally, while _now_--!" + +"It's a bit different, now," interposed "Tiger," with an evil smile, +still leading his partner along. "Since then I've had the--ah--the +extreme happiness to become engaged to your daughter, Catherine. New +thoughts have entered my mind. I've experienced a--a--" + +"You quitter!" burst out Flint. "No, by God! you aren't going to put +this thing over on me. I'll have no quitter for _my_ son-in-law! Wally, +I'm astonished at you. Astonished and disappointed. You're not yourself, +this morning. That eighty-six thousand you dropped last night, has +shaken your heart. Come, come, pull together! Where's your nerve, man? +Where's your nerve?" + +Waldron answered nothing. In silence the partners watched the press of +traffic, each busy with his own thoughts, Waldron waiting for Flint to +reopen fire on him, and the Billionaire decided to say no more till his +associate should make some move. Thus the limousine reached the Staten +Island ferry, that glorious monument of municipal ownership wrecked by +Tammany grafting. In silence they smoked while the car rolled down the +incline and out onto the huge ferry boat. Then, as the crowded craft got +under way, a minute later, both men left the car and strolled to the +rail to watch the glittering sparkle of the sunlight on the harbor; the +teeming commerce of the port; the creeping liners and busy tugs; the +towering figure of Liberty, her flameless torch held far aloft in +mockery. + +Suddenly Waldron spoke. + +"You can't do it, I tell you!" said he, waving an eloquent hand toward +the sky. "It's too big, the air is, as I said before. Too damned big! +Own coal and copper, if you will, and steel and ships, here; own those +buildings back there," with a gesture at the frowning line of +skyscrapers buttressing Manhattan, "but don't buck the impossible! And +incidentally, Flint, don't misunderstand me, either. When I asked you if +we _ought_ to try it, I merely meant, would it be _safe_? The world, +Flint, is a dangerous toy to play with, too hard. The people are +perilous baubles, if you step on their corns a bit too often or too +heavily. Every Caesar has a Brutus waiting for him somewhere, with a +club. + +"Once let the unwashed get an idea into their low brows, and you can't +tell where it may lead them. Even a rat fights, in its last corner. +These human rats of ours have been getting a bit nasty of late. True, +they swallowed the Limited Franchise Bill, three years ago, with only a +little futile protest, so that now we've got them politically hamstrung. +True, there's the Dick Military Bill, recently enlarged and perfected, +so they can't move a hand without falling into treason and +court-martial. True again, they've stood for the Censorship and the +National Mounted Police--the Grays--all in the last year. But how much +more will they stand, eh? You close your hand on their windpipes, and by +God! something may happen even yet, after all!" + +Flint snapped his fingers with contempt. + +"Machine guns!" was all he said. + +"Yes, of course," answered Waldron. "But there may be life in the old +beast yet. They may yet kick the apple cart over--and us with it. You +never can tell. And those infernal Socialists, always at it, night and +day, never letting up, flinging firebrands into the powder magazine! +_Sometime_ there's going to be one hell of a bang, Flint! And when it +comes, _suave qui peut_! So go slow, old man--go damned slow, that's all +I've got to say!" + +"On the contrary," said Flint, blinking in the golden spring sunshine as +he peered out over the swashing brine at a raucous knot of gulls, "on +the contrary, Wally, I'm going to push it as fast as the Lord will let +me. You can come in, or not, as you see fit--but remember this, no +quitter ever gets a daughter of mine! And another thing; we're in the +year 1921, now, not 1910 or 1915. Developments, political and otherwise, +have moved swiftly, these few years past. Then, there might have been +trouble. To-day, there can't be. We've got things cinched too tight for +that! + +"Ten years ago, they might have had our blood, the people might, or +given us a hemp-tea party in Wall Street. today, all's safe. Come, be +a man and grip your courage! We can put the initial stages through in +absolute secrecy--and then, once we get our clutch on the world's +breath, what have we to fear?" + +"Go slow, Flint!" + +"Nonsense! Oxygen is life itself. There's no substitute. Vitiate the air +by removing even 10 per cent. of it, and the world will lick our boots +for a chance to breathe! Everybody's got to have oxygen, all the way +from kings and emperors down to the toiling cattle, the Henry Dubbs, as +I believe they're commonly called in vulgar speech. Shut off the air, +and 'the captains and the kings' will run to heel like the rabble +itself. Run to heel, and pay for the privilege of doing it! We've got +the universities, press, churches, laws, judges, army and navy and +everything already in our hands. We'll be secure enough, no fear!" + +"Shhhhh!" And Waldron nudged the Billionaire with his elbow. + +In his excitement, Flint had permitted his voice to rise, a little. Not +far from him, leaning on the rail, a stockily built young fellow in +overalls, a cap pulled down firmly over his well-shaped head, was +apparently watching the gulls and the passing boats, with eyes no less +blue than the bay itself; eyes no less glinting than the sunlight on the +waves. He seemed to be paying no heed to anything but what lay before +him. But "Tiger" Waldron, possessed of something of the instinct of the +beast whose name he bore, subconsciously sensed a peril in his nearness. +The man's ear--if unusually quick--might, just _might_ possibly have +caught a word or two meant for no interloper. And at that thought, +Waldron once more nudged his partner. + +"Shhh!" he repeated, "Enough. We can finish this, in the limousine." + +Flint looked at him a moment, in silence, then nodded. + +"Right you are," said he. And both men climbed back into the closed car. + +"You never can tell what ears are primed for news," said Waldron. +"Better take no chances." + +"Before long, we can throw away all subterfuge," the Billionaire replied +as he shut the door. "But for now, well, you're correct. Once our grasp +tightens on the windpipe of the world, we're safe. From our office in +Wall Street you and I can play the keys of the world-machine as an +organist would finger his instrument. But there must be no leak; no +publicity; no suspicion aroused. We'll play our music _pianissimo_, +Wally, with rare accompaniments to the tune of 'great public utility, +benefit to the public health,' and all that--the same old game, only on +a vastly larger scale. + +"Every modern composer in the field of Big Business knows that score and +has played it many times. _We_ will play it on a monstrous pipe organ, +with the world's lungs for bellows and the world's breath to vibrate our +reeds--and all paying tribute, night and day, year after year, all over +the world, Wally, all over the world! + +"God! What power shall be ours! What infinite power, such as, since time +began, never yet lay in mortal hands! We shall be as gods, Waldron, you +and I--and between us, we shall bring the human race wallowing to our +feet in helpless bondage, in supreme abandon!" + +The ferry boat, nearing the Staten Island landing, slowed its ponderous +screws. The chauffeur flung away his cigarette, drew on his gauntlets +and accelerated his engine. Forward the human drove began to press, +under the long slave-driven habit of haste, of eagerness to do the +masters' bidding. + +The young mechanic by the rail--he of the overalls and keen blue +eyes--turned toward the bows, picked up a canvas bag of tools and stood +there waiting with the rest. + +For a moment his glance rested on the limousine and the two half-seen +figures within. As it did so, a wanton breeze from off the Island +flapped back the lapel of his jumper. In that brief instant one might +have seen a button pinned upon his blue flannel shirt--clasped hands, +surrounded by the legend: "Workers of the World, Unite!" + +But neither of the plutocrats observed this; nor, had they seen, would +they have understood. + +And whether the sturdy toiler had overheard aught of their infernal +conspiring--or, having heard it, grasped its dire and criminal +significance--who, who in all this weary and toil-burdened world, could +say? + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +IN THE LABORATORY. + + +Half an hour's run down Staten Island, along smooth roads lined with +sleepy little towns and through sparse woods beyond which sparkled the +shining waters of the harbor, brought the two plutocrats to the quiet +settlement of Oakwood Heights. + +Now the blase chauffeur swung the car sharply to the left, past the +aviation field, and so came to the wide-scattered settlement--almost a +colony--which, hidden behind high, barb-wire-topped fences, carried on +the many and complex activities of the partners' experiment station. +Here were the several laboratories where new products were evolved and +old ones refined, for Flint's and Waldron's greater profit. Here stood a +complete electric power plant, for lighting and heating the works, as +well as for current to use in the retorts and many powerful machines of +the testing works. + +Here, again, were broad proving grounds, for fuel and explosives; and, +at one side, stood a low, skylighted group of brick buildings, known as +the electro-chemical station. Dormitories and boarding-houses for the +small army of employees occupied the eastern end of the enclosure, +nearest the sea. Over all, high chimney stacks and the aerials of a +mighty wireless plant dominated the entire works. A private railroad +spur pierced the western side of the enclosure, for food and coal +supplies, as well as for the handling of the numerous imports and +exports of this wonderfully complete feudal domain. As the colony lay +there basking in the sunshine of early spring, under its drifting +streamers of smoke, it seemed an ideal picture of peaceful activities. +Here a locomotive puffed, shunting cars; there, a steam-jet flung its +plumes of snowy vapor into air; yonder, a steam hammer thundered on a +massive anvil. And forges rang, and through open windows hummed sounds +of industry. + +And yet, not one of all those sounds but echoed more bitter slavery for +men. Not one of all those many activities but boded ill to humanity. For +the whole plan and purpose of the place was the devising of still wider +forms of human exploitation and enslavement. Its every motive was to +serve the greed of Flint and Waldron. Outwardly honest and industrious, +it inwardly loomed sinister and terrible, a type and symbol of its +masters' swiftly growing power. Such, in its essence, was the great +experiment station of these two men who lusted for dominion over the +whole world. + +As the long, glittering car drew up at the main gate of the enclosure, a +sharp-eyed watchman peered through a sliding wicket therein. Satisfied +by his inspection, he withdrew; and at once the big gate rolled back, +smoothly actuated by electricity. The car purred onward, into the +enclosure. When the gate had closed noiselessly behind it, the chauffeur +ran it down a splendidly paved roadway, swung to the right, past the +machine shops, and drew it to a stand in front of the administration +building. + +Flint and his partner alighted, and stood for a moment surveying the +scene with satisfaction. Then Flint turned to the chauffeur. + +"Put the car in the garage," he directed. "We may not want it till +afternoon." + +The blase one touched his cap and nodded, in obedience. Then, as the car +withdrew, the partners ascended the broad steps. + +"Good chap, that Herrick," commented Waldron, casting a glance at the +retreating chauffeur. "Quick-witted, and mum. Give me a man who knows +how to mind _and_ keep still about it, every time!" + +"Right," assented Flint. "Obedience is the first of all virtues, and the +second is silence. Well, it looks to me as though we had the whole world +coming our way, now, along that very same path of virtue. Once we get +this air proposition really to working, the world will obey. It will +have to! And as for silence, we can manage that, too. The mere turn of a +valve, and--!" + +Waldron smiled grimly, as though in derision of what he seemed to think +his partner's chimerical hopes, but made no answer. Together they +entered the administration building. Five minutes later, Herzog, their +servile experimenter, stood bowing and cringing before them. + +"Got it, Herzog?" demanded Flint, while Waldron lighted still another of +those costly cigars--each one worth a good mechanic's daily wage. + +"Yes, sir, I believe so, sir," the scientist replied, depreciatingly. +"That is, at least, on a small scale. Two weeks was the time you allowed +me, sir, but--" + +"I know. You've done it in eleven days," interrupted, the Billionaire. +"Very well. I knew you could. You'll lose nothing by it. So no more of +that. Show us what you've done. Everything all ready?" + +"Quite ready, sir," the other answered. "If you'll be so good as to step +into the electro-chemical building?" + +Flint very graciously signified his willingness thus to condescend; and +without delay, accompanied by the still incredulous Waldron, and +followed by Herzog, he passed out of the administration building, +through a covered passage and into the electro-chemical works. + +A variety of strange odors and stranger sounds filled this large brick +structure, windowless on every side and lighted only by broad skylights +of milky wire-glass--this arrangement being due to the extreme secrecy +of many processes here going forward. The partners had no intention that +any spying eyes should ever so much as glimpse the work in this +department; work involving foods, fuels, power, lighting, almost the +entire range of the vast network of exploiting media they had already +flung over a tired world. + +"This way, gentlemen," ventured Herzog, pointing toward a metal door at +the left of the main room. He unlocked this, which was guarded by a +combination lock, like that of a bank vault, and waited for them to +enter; then closed it after them, and made quite sure the metal door was +fast. + +A peculiar, pungent smell greeted the partners' nostrils as they glanced +about the inner laboratory. At one side an electric furnace was glowing +with graphite crucibles subjected to terrific heat. On the other a +dynamo was humming. Before them a broad, tiled bench held a strange +assortment of test tubes, retorts and complex apparatus of glass and +gleaming metal. The whole was lighted by a strong white light from +above, through the milk-hued glass--one of Herzog's own inventions, by +the way; a wonderful, light-intensifying glass, which would bend but not +break; an invention which, had he himself profited by it, would have +brought him millions, but which the partners had exploited without ever +having given him a single penny above his very moderate salary. + +"Is that it?" demanded Flint, a glitter lighting up his +morphia-contracted pupils. He jerked his thumb at a complicated nexus of +tubes, brass cylinders, coiled wires and glistening retorts which stood +at one end of the broad work-bench. + +"That is it, sir," answered Herzog, apologetically, while "Tiger" +Waldron's hard face hardened even more. "Only an experimental model, you +understand, sir, but--" + +"It gets results?" queried Flint sharply. "It produces oxygen and +nitrogen on a scale that indicates success, with adequate apparatus?" + +"Yes, sir. I believe so, sir. No doubt about it; none whatever." + +"Good!" exclaimed the Billionaire. "Now show us!" + +"With pleasure, sir. But first, let me explain, a little." + +"Well, what?" demanded Flint. His partner, meanwhile, had drawn near the +apparatus, and was studying it with a most intense concentration. Plain +to see, beneath this man's foppish exterior and affected cynicism, dwelt +powerful purposes and keen intelligence. + +"Explain what?" repeated the Billionaire. "As far as details go, I'm not +interested. All I want is results. Go ahead, Herzog; start your machine +and let me see what it can do." + +"I will, sir," acceded the scientist. "But first, with your permission, +I'll point out a few of its main features, and--" + +"Damn the main features!" cried Flint. "Get busy with the +demonstration!" + +"Hold on, hold on," now interrupted Waldron. "Let him discourse, if he +wants to. Ever know a scientist who wasn't primed to the muzzle with +expositions? Here, Herzog," he added, turning to the inventor, "I'll +listen, if nobody else will." + +Undecided, Herzog smiled nervously. Even Flint had to laugh at his +indecision. + +"All right, go on," said the Billionaire. "Only for God's sake, make it +brief!" + +Herzog, thus adjured, cleared his throat and blinked uneasily. + +"Oxygen," he said. "Yes, I can produce it quickly, easily and in large +quantities. As a gas, or as a liquid, which can be shipped to any +desired point and there transformed into gaseous form. Liquid air can +also be produced by this same machine, for refrigerating purposes. You +understand, of course, that when liquid air evaporates, it is only the +nitrogen that goes back into the atmosphere at 313 degrees below zero. +The residue is pure liquid oxygen. In other words, this apparatus will +make money as a liquid air plant, and furnish you oxygen as a +by-product. + +"It will also turn out nitrogen, for fertilizing purposes. The income +from a full-sized machine, on this pattern, from all three sources, +should be very large indeed." + +"Good," put in Waldron. "And liquid air, for example, would cost how +much to produce?" + +"With power-cost at half a cent per H.P. hour, about $2.50 a ton. The +oxygen by-product alone will more than pay for that, in purifying and +cooling buildings, or used to promote combustion in locomotives and +other steam engines. The liquid air itself can be used as a motive power +for a certain type of expansion engine, or--" + +"There, there, that's enough!" interposed Flint, brusquely. "We don't +need any of your advice or suggestions, Herzog. As far as the disposal +of the product is concerned, we can take care of that. All we want from +you is the assurance that that product can be obtained, easily and +cheaply, and in unlimited quantities. Is that the case?" + +"It is, sir." + +"All right. And can liquid oxygen be easily transported any considerable +distance?" + +"Yes, sir. In what is known as Place's Vacuum-jacketed Insulated +Container, it can be kept for weeks at a time without any appreciable +loss." + +Flint pondered a moment, then asked, again: + +"Could large tanks, holding say, a million gallons, be built on that +principle, for wholesale storage? And could vacuum-jacketed pipes be +laid, for conveying liquid oxygen or its gas?" + +"No reason why not, sir. Yes, I may say all that is quite feasible." + +"Very well, then," snapped Flint. "That's enough for the present. Now, +show us your machine at work! Start it Herzog. Let's see what you can +do!" + +The Billionaire's eyes glittered as Herzog laid a hand on a gleaming +switch. Even Waldron forgot to smoke. + +"Gentlemen, observe," said Herzog, as he threw the lever. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +OXYGEN, KING OF INTOXICATORS. + + +A soft humming note began to vibrate through the inner laboratory--a +note which rose in pitch, steadily, as Herzog shoved the lever from one +copper post to another, round the half-circle. + +"I am now heating the little firebrick furnace," said the scientist. "In +Norway, they use an alternating current of only 5,000 volts, between +water-cooled copper electrodes, as I have already told you. I am using +30,000 volts, and my electrodes, my own invention, are--" + +"Never mind," growled Flint. "Just let's see some of the product--some +liquid oxygen, that's all. The why and wherefore is your job, not ours!" + +Herzog, with a pained smile, bent and peered through a red glass +bull's-eye that now had begun to glow in the side of his apparatus. + +"The arc is good," he muttered, as to himself. "Now I will throw in the +electro-magnets and spread it; then switch in my intensifying condenser, +and finally set the turbine fans to work, to throw air through the +field. Then we shall see, we shall see!" + +Suiting the action to the words, he deftly touched here a button, there +a lever; and all at once a shrill buzzing rose above the lower drone of +the induction coils. + +"Gentlemen," said Herzog, straightening up and facing his employers, +"the process is now already at work. In five minutes--yes, in three--I +shall have results to show you!" + +"Good!" grunted Waldron. "That's all we're after, results. That's the +only way you hold your job, Herzog, just getting results!" + +He relighted his cigar, which had gone out during Herzog's +explanation--for "Tiger" Waldron, though he could drop thousands at +roulette without turning a hair, never yet had been known to throw away +a cigar less than half smoked. Flint, meanwhile, took out a little +morocco-covered note book and made a few notes. In this book he had kept +an outline of his plan from the very first; and now with pleasure he +added some memoranda, based on what Herzog had just told him, as well as +observations on the machine itself. + +Thus two minutes passed, then three. + +"Time's up, Herzog!" exclaimed Waldron, glancing at the electric clock +on the wall. "Where's the juice?" + +"One second, sir," answered the scientist. Again he peeked through the +glowing bull's-eye. Then, his face slightly pale, his bulging eyes +blinking nervously, he took two small flint glass bottles, set them +under a couple of pipettes, and deftly made connections. + +"Oxygen cocktail for mine," laughed Waldron, to cover a certain emotion +he could not help feeling at sight of the actual operation of a process +which might, after all, open out ways and means for the utter +subjugation of the world. + +Neither Flint nor the inventor vouchsafed even a smile. The Billionaire +drew near, adjusted a pair of pince-nez on his hawk-like nose, and +peered curiously at the apparatus. Herzog, with a quick gesture, turned +a small silver faucet. + +"Oxygen! Unlimited oxygen!" he exclaimed. "I have found the process, +gentlemen, commercially practicable. Oxygen!" + +Even as he spoke, a lambent, sparkling liquid began to flow through the +pipette, into the flask. At sight of it, the Billionaire's eyes lighted +up with triumph. Waldron, despite his assumed nonchalance, felt the +hunting thrill of Wall street, the quick stab of exultation when victory +seemed well in hand. + +"These bottles," said Herzog, "are double, constructed on the principle +of the Thermos bottle. They will keep the liquid gases I shall show you, +for days. Huge tanks could be built on the same principle. In a short +time, gentlemen, you can handle tons of these gases, if you +like--thousands of tons, unlimited tons. + +"The Siemens and Halske people, and the Great Falls, S.C., plant, will +be mere puttering experimenters beside you. For neither they nor any +other manufacturers have any knowledge of the vital process--my secret, +polarizing transformer, which does the work in one-tenth the time and at +one-hundredth the cost of any other known process. For example, see +here?" + +He turned the faucet, disconnected the flask and handed it to Flint. + +"There, sir," he remarked, "is a half-pint of pure liquid oxygen, drawn +from the air in less than eight minutes, at a cost of perhaps two-tenths +of a cent. On a large scale the cost can be vastly reduced. Are you +satisfied, sir?" + +Flint nodded, curtly. + +"You'll do, Herzog," he replied--his very strongest form of +commendation. "You're not half bad, after all. So this is liquid oxygen, +eh? Very cheap, and very cold?" + +His eyes gleamed with joy at sight of the translucent potent stuff--the +very stuff of life, its essence and prime principle, without which +neither plant nor animal nor man can live--oxygen, mother of all life, +sustainer of the world. + +"Very cheap, yes, sir," answered the scientist. "And cold, enormously +cold. The specimen you hold in your hand, in that vacuum-protected +flask, is more than three hundred degrees below zero. One drop of it on +your palm would burn it to the bone. Incidentally, let me tell you +another fact--" + +"And that is?" + +"This specimen is the allotropic or condensed form of oxygen, much more +powerful than the usual liquified gas." + +"Ozone, you mean?" + +"Precisely. Would you like to sense its effect as a ventilating agent?" + +"No danger?" + +"None, sir. Here, allow me." + +Herzog took the flask, pressed a little spring and liberated the top. At +once a whitish vapor began to coil from the neck of the bottle. + +"Hm!" grunted Waldron, smiling. "Mountain winds and sea breezes have +nothing on that!" He sniffed with appreciation. "Some gas, all right!" + +"You're right, Wally," answered the Billionaire. "If this works out on a +large scale, in all its details--well--I needn't impress its importance +on you!" + +Yielding to the influence of the wonderful, life-giving gas, the rather +close air of the laboratory, contaminated by a variety of chemical +odors, and vitiated by its recent loss of oxygen, had begun to freshen +and purify itself in an astonishing manner. One would have thought that +through an open window, close at hand, the purest ocean breeze was +blowing. A faint tinge of color began to liven the somewhat pasty cheek +of the Billionaire. Waldron's big chest expanded and his eye brightened. +Even the meek Herzog stood straighter and looked more the man, under the +stimulus of the life-giving ozone. + +"Fine!" exclaimed Flint, with unwonted enthusiasm, and nearly yielded to +a laugh. Waldron went so far as to slap Herzog on the shoulder. + +"You're some wizard, old man!" he exclaimed, with a warmth hitherto +never known by him--for already the subtle gas was beginning to +intoxicate his senses. "And you can handle nitrogen with the same ease +and precision?" + +"Exactly," answered Herzog. "This other vial contains pure nitrogen. +With enlarged apparatus, I can supply it by the trainload. The world's +fertilizer problem is solved!" + +"Great work!" ejaculated Waldron, even more excited than before, but +Flint, his natural sourness asserting itself, merely growled some +ungracious remark. + +"Nitrogen can go hang," said he. "It's oxygen we're after, primarily. +Once we get our grip on that, the world will be--" + +Waldron checked him just in time. + +"Enough of this," he interrupted sharply. "I admit, I'm not myself, in +this rich atmosphere. I know _you're_ feeling it, already, Flint. Come +along out of this, where we can regain our aplomb. We've seen enough, +for once." + +He turned to Herzog. + +"For God's sake, man," cried he, "cork that magic bottle of yours, +before all the oxygen-genii escape, or you'll have us both under the +table! And, see here," he added, pulling out his check-book, while Flint +stared in amazed disgust. "Here, take a blank check." He took his +fountain pen and scrawled his name on one. "The amount? That's up to +you. Now, let us out," he bade, as Herzog stood there regarding the +check with entire uncomprehension. "Out, I say, before I get +extravagant!" + +Herzog, perfectly comprehending the magnates' unusual conduct as due to +oxygen-intoxication in its initial stage, made no comment, but walked to +the door, spun the combination and flung it open. + +"Glad to have had the pleasure of demonstrating the process to you, +gentlemen," said he. "If you're convinced it's practicable, I'm at your +orders for any larger extension of the work. Have you any other question +or suggestion?" + +Neither magnate answered. Flint was trying hard to hold his +self-control. Waldron, red-faced now and highly stimulated, looked as +though he had been drinking even more than usual. + +Both passed out of the laboratory with rather unsteady steps. Together +they retraced their way to the administration building; and there, safe +at last in the private inner office, with the door locked, they sat down +and stared at each other with expressions of amazement. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +A FREAK OF FATE. + + +Waldron was the first to speak. With a sudden laugh, boisterous and +wild, he cried: + +"Flint, you old scoundrel, you're drunk!" + +"Drunk yourself!" retorted the Billionaire, half starting from his +chair, his fist clenched in sudden passion. "How dare you--?" + +"Dare? I dare anything!" exclaimed Waldron. "Yes, I admit it--I _am_ +half seas over. That ozone--God! what a stimulant! Must be some +wonderfully powerful form. If we--could market it--" + +Flint sank back in his chair, waving an extravagant hand. + +"Market it?" he answered. "Of course we can market it, and will! Drunk +or sober, Wally, I know what I'm talking about. The power now in our +grasp has never yet been equalled on earth. On the one side, we can +half-stifle every non-subscriber to our service, or wholly stifle every +rebel against us. On the other, we can simply saturate every subscriber +with health and energy, or even--if they want it--waft them to paradise +on the wings of ozone. The old Roman idea of 'bread and circus' to rule +the mob, was child's play compared to this! Science has delivered the +whole world into our hands. Power, man, power! Absolute, infinite power +over every living, breathing thing!" + +He fell silent, pondering the vast future; and Waldron, gazing at him +with sparkling eyes, nodded with keen satisfaction. Thus for a few +moments they sat, looking at each other and letting imagination ran +riot; and as they sat, the sudden, stimulating effect of the condensed +oxygen died in their blood, and calmer feelings ensued. + +Presently Waldron spoke again. + +"Let's get down to brass tacks," said he, drawing his chair up to the +table. "I'm almost myself again. The subtle stuff has got out of my +brain, at last. Generalities and day-dreams are all very well, Flint, +but we've got to lay out some definite line of campaign. And the sooner +we get to it the better." + +"Hm!" sneered Flint. "If it's not more practical than your action in +giving Herzog that blank check, it won't be worth much. As an +extravagant action, Wally, I've never seen it equalled. I'm astonished, +indeed I am!" + +Waldron laughed easily. + +"Don't worry," he answered his partner. "That temporary aberration of +judgment, due to oxygen-stimulus, will have no results. Herzog won't +dare fill out the check, anyhow, because he knows he'd get into trouble +if he did; and even though he should, he can collect nothing. I'll have +payment stopped, at once, on that number. No danger, Flint!" + +"I don't know," mused the Billionaire. "It may be that this man has us +just a little under his thumb. He, and he alone, understands the +process. We've got to treat him with due consideration, or he may leave +us and carry his secret to others--to Masterson, for instance, or the +Amalgamated people, or--" + +"Nothing doing on that, old man!" interrupted "Tiger." "Have no fear. +The first move he makes, off to Sing Sing he goes, the way we jobbed +Parker Hayes. Slade and the Cosmos Agency can take care of _him_, all +right, if he asserts himself!" + +"Very likely," answered Flint, who had now at last entirely recovered +his sang-froid. "But in that event, our work would be at a standstill. +No, Waldron, we mustn't oppose this fellow. Better let the check go +through, if he has nerve enough to fill it out and cash it. He won't +dare gouge very deep; and no matter what he takes, it won't be a drop in +the ocean, compared to the golden flood now almost within our grasp!" + +Waldron pondered a moment, then nodded assent. + +"All right. Correct," he finally answered. "So then, we can dismiss that +trifle from our minds. Now, to work! We've got the process we were +after. What next?" + +"First of all," answered the Billionaire, "we'll let this Herzog +understand that he's to have a share in the results; that in this, as in +everything so far, he's merely a tool--and that when tools lose their +cutting edge we break 'em. He's a meek devil. We can hold _him_ easily +enough." + +"Right. And then?" asked Waldron. + +"Then? First of all, a good, big, wide-sweeping publicity campaign. That +must begin today, to prepare opinion for the forthcoming development of +the new idea." + +"Henderson can handle that, all right," said Wally, leaning forward in +his chair. "Give him the idea, and turn him loose, and he'll get +results. A clever dog, that. He and his press bureau, working through +all the big dailies and many of the magazines, can turn this country +upside down in six months. Let him get on this job, and before you know +it the public will be demanding, be fighting for a chance to subscribe +to the new ventilating-service. That part of it is easy!" + +"Yes, you're right," replied Flint. "We'll see Henderson no later than +this afternoon. He and his writers can lay out a series of popular +articles and advertisements, to be run as pure reading matter, with no +distinguishing mark that they _are_ ads, which will get the country--the +whole world, in fact--coming our way." + +"Good," the other assented. "Meantime, we can begin installing oxygen +machines on a big scale, a huge scale, to supply the demand that's bound +to arise. Where do you think we'd best manufacture? Herzog says water +power is the correct thing. We might use Niagara--use some of the +surplus power we already own there." + +"Niagara would do, very well," answered Flint. He had once more taken +out his little morocco-covered note book, and was now jotting down some +further memoranda. "It's a good location. Pipe-lines could easily be +extended, from it, to cover practically a quarter to a third of the +United States. Eventually we'll put in another plant in Chicago, one in +Denver and one on the Pacific Coast. Then, in time, there must be +distributing centers in Europe, Africa, Asia and Australia. But for the +present, we'll begin with the Niagara plant. After we get that under +full operation, the others will develop in due course of time." + +"Our charter covers this new line of work. There will be no need of any +legal technicalities," said Waldron, with a smile. "Some charter, if I +do say it, who shouldn't. I drew it, you remember. Nothing much in the +way of possible business-extension got past _me_!" + +Flint nodded. + +"You're right," he answered. "Nothing stands in our way, now. Positively +nothing. We have land, power and capital without limit. We have the +process. We control press, law, courts, judges, military and every other +form of government. All we need look out for is to secure public +confidence and keep the bandage on the eyes of the world till our system +is actually in operation--then there will be no redress, no come back, +no possible rebellion. As I've already said, Wally, we'll have the whole +world by the windpipe; and let the mob howl _then_, if they dare!" + +"Yes, let 'em howl!" chimed in "Tiger," with a snarl that proved his +nickname no misnomer. "Inside of a year we'll have them all where we +want them. You were right, Flint, when you called oil, coal, iron and +all the rest of it mere petty activities. Air--ah! that's the talk! Once +we get the _air_ under our control, we're emperors of all life!" + +His words rang frank and bold, but something in his look, as he blinked +at his partner, might have given Flint cause for uneasiness, had the +Billionaire noticed that oblique and dangerous glance. One might have +read therein some shifty and devious plan of Waldron's to dominate even +Flint himself, to rule the master or to wreck him, and to seize in his +own hands the reins of universal power. But Flint, bending over his +note-book and making careful memoranda, saw nothing of all this. + +Waldron, an inveterate smoker, lighted a fresh cigar, leaned back, +surveyed his partner and indulged in a short inner laugh, which hardly +curved his cruel lips, but which hardened still more those pale-blue, +steely eyes of his. + +"All right," said he, at last. "Enough of this, Flint. Let's get back to +town, now, and have a conference with Henderson. That's the first step. +By tonight, the whole campaign of publicity must be mapped out. Come, +come; you can finish your memoranda later. I'm impatient to be back in +Wall Street. Come along!" + +Five minutes later, having left orders that Herzog was to attend upon +them in their private offices, next morning, they had ordered the +limousine and were making way along the hard road toward the gate of the +enclosure. + +The gate opened to let them pass, then swung and locked again, behind +them. At a good clip, the powerful car picked up speed on the homeward +way. The two magnates, exultant and flushed with the consciousness of +coming victory, lolled in the deeply-cushioned seat and spoke of power. + +As they swung past the aviation field and neared the Oakwood Heights +station, a train pulled out. Down the road came tramping a workingman in +overalls and jumper, with a canvas bag of tools swinging from his brawny +right hand. As he walked, striding along with splendid energy, he +whistled to himself--no cheap ragtime air, but Handel's Largo, with an +appreciation which bespoke musical feeling of no common sort. + +The Billionaire caught sight of him, just as the car slowed to take the +sharp turn by the station. Instant recognition followed. Flint's eyes +narrowed sharply. + +"Hm! The same fellow," he grunted to himself. "The same rascal who stood +beside us on the ferry boat, as we were talking over our plans. Now, +what the devil?" + +Shadowed by a kind of instinctive uneasiness, not yet definite or clear +but more in the nature of a premonition of trouble, Flint gazed fixedly +at the mechanic as the car swung round the bend in the road. The glance +was returned. + +Yielding to some kind of imperative curiosity, the Billionaire leaned +over the side of the car--leaned out, with his coat flapping in the +stiff wind--and for a moment peered back at the disquieting workman. + +Then the car swept him out of sight, and Flint resumed his seat again. + +He did not know--for he had not seen it happen--that in that moment the +slippery, leather-covered note-book had slid from his lolling coat +pocket and had fallen with a sharp slap on the white macadam, skidded +along and come to rest in the ditch. + +The workingman, however, who had paused and turned to look after the +speeding car, _he_ had seen all this. + +A moment he stood there, peering. Then, retracing his steps with +resolution he picked up the little book and slid it into the pocket of +his jeans. + +Deserted was the road. Not a soul was to be seen, save the crossing +flagman, musing in his chair beside his little hut, quite oblivious to +everything but a rank cob pipe. The workman's act had not been noticed. + +Nobody had observed him. Nobody knew. Not a living creature had +witnessed the slight deed on which, by a strange freak of fate, the +history of the world was yet to turn. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +ONE UNBIDDEN, SHARES GREAT SECRETS. + + +Immediately on discovering his loss--which was soon after having reached +his office--Flint, in something like a fright, telephoned down to the +Oakwood Heights laboratory and instructed Herzog, in person, to make a +careful search for it and to report results inside an hour. Even though +some of the essentials of his plan were written in a code of his own +devising, Flint paled before the possible results should the book fall +into the hands of anybody intelligent enough to fathom its meaning. + +"Damn the luck!" he ejaculated, pacing the office floor, his fists +knotted. "If it had been a pocket book with a few thousand inside, that +would have been a trifle. But to lose my plan of campaign--God grant no +harm may come of it!" + +Waldron, slyly observing him, could not suppress a smile. + +"Calling on God, eh?" sneered he. "You _must_ be agitated. I haven't +heard that kind of entreaty on your lips, Flint, since the year of the +big coal strike, when you prayed God the gun-men might 'get' the +strikers before they could organize. Come, come, man, brace up! Your +book will turn up all right; and even if it doesn't there's no cause for +alarm. It would take a man of extraordinary acumen to read _your_ +hieroglyphics! Cheer up, Flint. There's really nothing to excite you." + +The Billionaire thus adjured, sat down and tried to calm his agitation. + +"Rotten luck, eh?" he queried. "But after all, Herzog is likely to find +the book. And even if he doesn't, I guess we're safe enough. The very +boldness of the plan--supposing even that the finder could grasp +it--would put it outside the seeming range of the possible. It's hardly +a hundred to one shot any harm may come of it." + +"All right, then, let it go at that," said Waldron. "And now, to +business. Suppose, for example, you've got a perfectly unlimited supply +of oxygen-gas and liquid. How are you going to market it? Just what +details have you worked out?" + +Flint pondered a moment, before replying. At last he said: + +"Of course you understand, Wally, I can't give you every point. The +whole thing will be an evolution, and new ideas and processes, new uses +and demands will develop as time passes. But in the main, my idea is +this: The big producing stations will steadily extract oxygen from the +atmosphere, thus leaving the air increasingly poorer and less adapted to +sustaining human life. + +"I shall store the oxygen in vast tanks, like the ordinary gas-tanks to +be found in every city, only much bigger. These tanks will be fed by +pipe-lines from the central stations, thus." + +Flint drew toward him a sheet of his heavily embossed letter-paper, and, +picking up a pencil, began to sketch a rough diagram. Waldron, making no +comment, followed every stroke with keen interest. + +"From these tanks," the Billionaire continued, "smaller pipes will +convey the gaseous oxygen to every house taking our service." + +"Just like ordinary gas?" + +"Precisely. Each room will be fitted with an oxygen jet apparatus, +something like a gas burner, with a safety device to prevent over supply +and avoid the dangers of combustion." + +"Combustion?" + +"Yes. In pure oxygen, a glowing bit of wire will burst into flame. Your +cigar, there, would catch fire, from the merest spark in its inmost +folds. Too much oxygen in a room not only intoxicates the +occupants--we've already seen _that_ effect--but also develops a great +fire risk. So we shall have to make some provision for that, Wally. It +will be absolutely essential." + +"All right. Allowing it's been made, what then?" asked "Tiger," with +extraordinary interest. + +"Can't you see? We'll have every household under our absolute thumb?" +And Flint pressed his thumb on the table to illustrate. "My God, man, +think of it! Every city honeycombed by our pipes--yes, and every village +and hamlet too, and even every farm house that can afford it! At first, +the cost will be very low, till people have become accustomed to ozone +as they are to water. The whole ventilation problem will be solved, at +once and for all time. Where we can't pipe in the ozone, we can use +portable vaporizers, to be supplied once a month, and of sufficient +capacity to keep the air of an average-sized house perfectly pure for +thirty days. + +"Pure? More than pure! Exhilarating, life-giving, delicious! Under this +system, Wally, the middle and upper classes will thrive as never +before. They'll grow in size and weight, in health and intelligence, +under the steady influence of ozone, day and night. Every vital process +will be stimulated. Our invention will mark a new era in the welfare of +the world!" + +"Bunk!" sneered Wally. "That's all very well for your prospectuses and +newspaper articles, old man, but the fact is we don't give a damn +whether it helps the world or wrecks it. We're out for money and power. +My motto is, Get 'em and do good, if you can--but _get_ 'em anyhow! So +you had better can the philanthropic part of it. Just show me the cash, +and you can have all the credit!" + +Flint shot a grim look at his partner, then continued: + +"Don't be flippant, Wally. This is a serious business and must be +treated as such. In addition to the respiratory service, we can put in +water-cooling and refrigerating services, at low cost, also cold-pipes +for cooling houses in summer. In fine, we can immeasurably add to the +health and comfort of the better classes; and can at last have everybody +using our gas, which, registering through our own sealed meters, will +flood us with wealth so vast as to make that of these Standard Oil +pifflers look like the proverbial thirty cents!" + +"Fine!" exclaimed Waldron, nodding approval. "Also, any time any +rebellion develops we can merely shut off the supply in that quarter, +and quickly reduce it. Or, again, we can increase the potency of the +gas, and fairly intoxicate the people, till they stand for anything. +Just fancy, now, our pipes connected with the sacred Halls of Congress +and with the White House! Even if any difficulty could possibly be +expected from these sources, just imagine how quickly we could nip it in +the bud!" + +"Quickly isn't the word, Wally," answered the Billionaire. "I tell you, +old man, the world lies in our hands, today. And we have only to close +our fingers, in order to possess it!" + +He glanced at his own fingers, as though he visibly perceived the great +world lying there for him to squeeze. Waldron's eyes, following the +Billionaire's, saw that Flint's hand was trembling, and understood the +reason. More than three hours had passed--nay, almost four--since Flint +had had any opportunity to take his necessary dose of morphia. Waldron +arose, paced to the window and stood there looking out over the vast +panorama of city, river and harbor, apparently absorbed in +contemplation, but really keen to hear what Flint might do. + +His expectations were not disappointed. Hardly had he turned his back, +when he heard the desk-drawer open, furtively, and knew the Billionaire +was taking out the little vial of white tablets, dearer to him than ever +the caress of woman to a Don Juan. A moment later, the drawer closed +again. + +"He'll do now, for a while," thought Waldron, with satisfaction. "Let +him go the limit, if he likes--the fool! The more he takes, the quicker +I win. It'll kill him yet, the dope will. And _that_ means, my mastery +of the world will be complete. Let him go it! The harder, the better!" + +He turned back toward Flint, again, veiling in that impenetrable face of +his the slightest hint or expression which might have told Flint that he +understood the Billionaire's vice. If Flint were Vulture, Waldron was +Tiger, indeed. And so, for a brief moment, these two soulless men of +gold and power stood eyeing each other, in silence. + +Suddenly Waldron spoke. + +"There's one thing you've forgotten to speak of, Flint," he said. + +"And that is?" demanded the other, already calmed by the quick action of +the subtle, enslaving drug. + +"The effect on the world's poor--on the toiling millions! The results of +this innovation, in slum, and slave-quarter, and in the haunts of +poverty. Your talk has all been of the middle and upper classes, and of +the benefits accruing to them, from increased oxygen-consumption. But +how about the others? Every ounce of oxygen you take out of the air, +leaves it just so much poorer. Store thousands of tons of the +life-giving gas, in monster tanks, and you vitiate the entire +atmosphere. How about that? How can even the well-to-do breathe, then, +out-doors, to say nothing of the poverty-stricken millions?" + +Flint grimaced, showing a glint of his gold tooth--his substitute for a +smile. + +"That's all reckoned for," he answered. "I thought I made it quite +clear, in our previous talk. To begin with, we will withdraw the oxygen +from the atmosphere so slowly that at first there won't be any +noticeable effect on the out-door air. For a while, the only thing that +will be noticed by the world will be that our gas service, to private +residences and institutions, will result in greatly increased comfort +and health to the better classes. And the cost will be so low--at first, +mind you, only at first--that every family of any means at all can take +it. In fact, Wally, we can afford practically to give away the service, +for the first year, until we get our grip firmly fixed on the throat of +the world. Do you get the idea?" + +Waldron nodded, as he drew leisurely on his cigar. + +"Practical to a degree," he answered. "That is, until the poor begin to +gasp for breath. But what then?" + +"By the time the outer atmosphere really begins to show the effect of +withdrawing a considerable percentage of the oxygen," Flint answered, +"we will have our pocket respirators on the market. Well-to-do people +will as soon think of going out without their shoes, as they will with +their respirators. No, there won't be any visible tubes or attachments, +Wally. Nothing of that kind. Only, each person will carry a properly +insulated cake of solidified oxygen that will evaporate through the +special apparatus and surround him with a normally rich atmosphere. +And--" + +"Yes, but the poor? The workers? What of them?" + +"Devil take _them_, if it comes to that!" retorted Flint, with some +heat. "Who ever gives them any serious attention, as it is? Who bothers +about their health? They eat and drink and breathe the leavings, +anyhow--eat the cheapest and most adulterated food, drink the vilest +slop and breathe the most vitiated slum air. Nobody cares, except +perhaps those crazy Socialists that once in a while get up on the +street-corner and howl about the rights of man and all that rubbish! +Working-class? What do _I_ care about the cattle? Let them die, if they +want to! D'you suppose, for one minute, I'm going to limit or delay this +big innovation, because there's a working-class that may suffer?" + +"They'll do more than suffer, Flint, if you seriously depreciate the +atmosphere. They'll die!" + +"Well, let them, and be damned to them!" retorted Flint, already +showing symptoms of drug-stimulation. Waldron, smoking meanwhile, eyed +him with a dangerous smile lurking in his cold eyes. "Let them, I say! +They die off, now, twice or thrice as fast as the better classes, but +what difference does it make? Great breeders, those people are. The more +they die, the faster they multiply. Let them go their way and do as they +like, so long as they don't interfere with _us_! The only really +important factor to reckon on is this, that with an impoverished air to +breathe, their rebellious spirit will die out--the dogs!--and we'll have +no more talk of social revolution. We'll draw their teeth, all right +enough; or rather, twist the bowstring round their damned necks so tight +that all their energy, outside of work, will be consumed in just keeping +alive. Revolution, then? Forget it, Waldron! We'll kill _that_ viper +once and for all!" + +"Good idea, Flint," the other replied, with approbation. "Only a +master-mind like yours could have conceived it. I'm with you, all right +enough. Only, tell me--do you really believe we can put this whole +program through, without a hitch? Without a leak, anywhere? Without +barricades in the streets, wild-eyed agitators howling, machine-guns +chattering, and Hell to pay?" + +Flint smiled grimly. + +"Wait and see!" he growled. + +"Maybe you're right," his partner answered. "But slow and easy is the +only way." + +"Slow and easy," Flint assented. "Of course we can't go too fast. In +1850, for example, do you suppose the public would have tolerated the +sudden imposition of monopolies? Hardly! But now they lie down under +them, and even vote and fight to keep them! So, too, with this Air +Trust. Time will show you I'm right." + +Waldron glanced at his watch. + +"Long past lunch-time, Flint," said he. "Enough of this, for now. And +this afternoon, I've got that D. K. & E. directors' meeting on +hand. When shall we go on with our plans, and get down to specific +details?" + +"This evening, say?" + +"Very well. At my house?" + +"No. Too noisy. Run out to Englewood, to mine. We'll be quiet there. And +come early, Waldron. We've no end of things to discuss. The quicker we +get the actual work under way, now, the better. You can see Catherine, +too. Isn't that an inducement?" + +Thus ended the conference. It resumed, that night, in Flint's luxurious +study at "Idle Hour," his superb estate on the Palisades. Waldron paid +only a perfunctory court to Catherine, who manifested her pleasure by +studied indifference. Both magnates felt relieved when she withdrew. +They had other and larger matters under way than any dealing with the +amenities of life. + +Until past midnight the session in the study lasted, under the soft glow +of the Billionaire's reading-light. And many choice cigars were smoked, +many sheets of paper covered with diagrams and calculations, many vast +schemes of conquest expanded, ere the two masters said good-night and +separated. + +At the very hour of Waldron's leave-taking, another man was pondering +deeply, studying the problem from quite another angle, and--no less +earnestly, than the two magnates--laying careful plans. + +This man, sturdy, well-built and keen, smoked an old briar as he +worked. A flannel shirt, open at the throat, showed a well-sinewed neck +and powerful chest. Under the inverted cone of a shaded incandescent in +his room, at the electricians' quarters of the Oakwood Heights +enclosure, one could see the deep lines of thought and careful study +crease his high and prominent brow. + +From time to time he gazed out through the open window, off toward the +whispering lines of surf on the eastern shores of Staten Island--the +surf forever talking, forever striving to give its mystic message to the +unheeding ear of man. And as he gazed, his blue eyes narrowed with the +intensity of his thought. Once, as though some sudden understanding had +come to him, he smote the pine table with a corded fist, and swore below +his breath. + +It was past two in the morning when he finally rose, stretched, yawned +and made ready for sleep on his hard iron bunk. + +"Can it be?" he muttered, as he undressed. "Can it be possible, or am I +dreaming? No--this is no dream! This is reality; and thank God, I +understand." + +Then, before he extinguished his light, he took from the table the +material he had been studying over, and put it beneath his pillow, where +he could guard it safe till morning. + +The thing he thus protected was none other than a small note-book, +filled with diagrams, jottings and calculations, and bound in red +morocco covers. + +That night, at Englewood--in the Billionaire's home and in the +workman's simple room at Oakwood Heights--history was being made. + +The outcome, tragic and terrible, who could have foreseen? + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +DISCHARGED. + + +Almost all the following morning, working at his bench in the +electro-chemical laboratories of the great Oakwood Heights plant, +Gabriel Armstrong pondered deeply on the problems and responsibilities +now opening out before him. + +The finding of that little red-leather note-book, he fully understood, +had at one stroke put him in possession of facts more vital to the +labor-movement and the world at large than any which had ever developed +since the very beginning of Capitalism. A Socialist to the backbone, +thoroughly class-conscious and dowered with an incisive intellect, +Gabriel thrilled at thought that he, by chance, had been chosen as the +instrument through which he felt the final revolution now must work. And +though he remained outwardly calm, as he bent above his toil, inwardly +he was aflame. His heart throbbed with an excitement he could scarce +control. His brain seemed on fire; his soul pulsed with savage joy and +magnificent inspiration. For he was only four-and-twenty, and the bitter +grind of years and toil had not yet worn his spirit down nor quelled the +ardor of his splendid strength and optimism. + +Working at his routine labor, his mind was not upon it. No, rather it +dwelt upon the vast discovery he had made--or seemed to have made--the +night before. Clearly limned before his vision, he still saw the notes, +the plans, the calculations he had been able to decipher in the +Billionaire's lost note-book--the note-book which now, deep in the +pocket of his jumper that hung behind him on a hook against the wall, +drew his every thought, as steel draws the compass-needle. + +"Incredible, yet true!" he pondered, as he filed a brass casting for a +new-type dynamo. "These men are plotting to strangle the world to +death--to strangle, if they cannot own and rule it! And, what's more, I +see nothing to prevent their doing it. The plan is sound. They have the +means. At this very moment, the whole human race is standing in the +shadow of a peril so great, a slavery so imminent, that the most savage +war of conquest ever waged would be a mere skirmish, by comparison!" + +Mechanically he labored on and on, turning the tremendous problem in his +brain, striving in vain for some solution, some grasp at effective +opposition. And, as he thought, a kind of dumb hopelessness settled down +about him, tangible almost as a curtain black and heavy. + +"What shall I do?" he muttered to himself. "What can I do, to strike +these devils from their villainous plan of mastery?" + +As yet, he saw nothing clearly. No way seemed open to him. Alone, he +knew he could do nothing; yet whither should he turn for help? To rival +capitalist groups? They would not even listen to him; or, if they +listened and believed, they would only combine with the plotters, or +else, on their own hook, try to emulate them. To the labor movement? It +would mock him as a chimerical dreamer, despite all his proofs. At best, +he might start a few ineffectual strikes, petty and futile, indeed, +against this vast, on-moving power. To the Socialists? They, through +their press and speakers--in case they should believe him and co-operate +with him--could, indeed, give the matter vast publicity and excite +popular opposition; but, after all, could they abort the plan? He feared +they could not. The time, he knew, was not yet ripe when Labor, on the +political field, could meet and overthrow forces such as these. + +And so, for all his fevered thinking, he got no radical, no practical +solution of the terrible problem. More and more definitely, as he +weighed the pros and cons, the belief was borne in upon him that in this +case he must appeal to nobody but himself, count on nobody, trust in +nobody save Gabriel Armstrong. + +"I must play a lone hand game, for a while at least," he concluded, as +he finished his casting and took another. "Later, perhaps, I can enlist +my comrades. But for now, I must watch, wait, work, all alone. Perhaps, +armed with this knowledge--invaluable knowledge shared by no one--I can +meet their moves, checkmate their plans and defeat their ends. Perhaps! +It will be a battle between one man, obscure and without means, and two +men who hold billions of dollars and unlimited resources in their grasp. +A battle unequal in every sense; a battle to the death. But I may win, +after all. Every probability is that I shall lose, lose everything, even +my life. Yet still, there is a chance. By God, I'll take it!" + +The last words, uttered aloud, seemed to spring from his lips as though +uttered by the very power of invincible determination. A sneer, behind +him, brought him round with a start. His gaze widened, at sight of +Herzog standing there, cold and dangerous looking, with a venomous +expression in those ill-mated eyes of his. + +"Take it, will you?" jibed the scientist. "You thief!" + +Gabriel sprang up so suddenly that his stool clattered over backward on +the red-tiled floor. His big fist clenched and lifted. But Herzog never +flinched. + +"Thief!" he repeated, with an ugly thrust of the jaw. Servile and +crawling to his masters, the man was ever arrogant and harsh with those +beneath his authority. "I repeat the word. Drop that fist, Armstrong, if +you know what's good for you. I warn you. Any disturbance, here, +and--well, you know what we can do!" + +The electrician paled, slightly. But it was not through cowardice. Rage, +passion unspeakable, a sudden and animal hate of this lick-spittle and +supine toady shook him to the heart's core. Yet he managed to control +himself, not through any personal apprehension, but because of the great +work he knew still lay before him. At all hazards, come what might, he +must stay on, there, at the Oakwood Heights plant. Nothing, now, must +come between him and that one supreme labor. + +Thus he controlled himself, with an effort so tremendous that it +wrenched his very soul. This trouble, whatever it might be, must not be +noised about. Already, up and down the shop, workers were peering +curiously at him. He must be calm; must pass the insult, smooth the +situation and remain employed there. + +"I--I beg pardon," he managed to articulate, with pale lips that +trembled. He wiped the beaded sweat from his broad forehead. "Excuse me, +Mr. Herzog. I--you startled me. What's the trouble? Any complaint to +make? If so, I'm here to listen." + +Herzog's teeth showed in a rat-like grin of malice. + +"Yes, you'll listen, all right enough," he sneered. "I've named you, and +that goes! You're a thief, Armstrong, and this proves it! Look!" + +From behind his back, where he had been holding it, he produced the +little morocco-covered book. Right in Armstrong's face he shook it, with +an oath. + +"Steal, will you?" he jibed. "For it's the same thing--no difference +whether you picked it out of Mr. Flint's pocket or found it on the floor +here, and tried to keep it! Steal, eh? Hold it for some possible reward? +You skunk! Lucky you haven't brains enough to make out what's in it! +Thought you'd keep it, did you? But you weren't smart enough, +Armstrong--no, not quite smart enough for me! After looking the whole +place over, I thought I'd have a go at a few pockets--and, you see? Oh, +you'll have to get up early to beat _me_ at the game you--you thief!" + +With the last word, he raised the book and struck the young man a +blistering welt across the face with it. + +Armstrong fell back, against the bench, perfectly livid, with the wale +of the blow standing out red and distinct across his cheek. Then he went +pale as death, and staggered as though about to faint. + +"God--God in heaven!" he gasped. "Give me--strength--not to kill this +animal!" + +A startled look came into Herzog's face. He recognized, at last, the +nature of the rage he had awakened. In those twitching fists and that +white, writhen face he recognized the signs of passion that might, on a +second's notice, leap to murder. And, shot through with panic, he now +retreated, like the coward he was, though with the sneer still on his +thin and cruel lips. + +"Get your time!" he commanded, with crude brutality. "Go, get it at +once. You're lucky to get off so easily. If Flint knew this, you'd land +behind bars. But we want no scenes here. Get your money from Sanderson, +and clear out. Your job ended the minute my hand touched that book in +your pocket!" + +Still Armstrong made no reply. Still he remained there, dazed and +stricken, pallid as milk, a wild and terrible light in his blue eyes. + +An ugly murmur rose. Two or three of his fellow-workmen had come +drifting down the shop, toward the scene of altercation. Another joined +them, and another. Not one of them but hated Herzog with a bitter +animosity. And now perhaps, the time was come to pay a score or two. + +But Armstrong, suddenly lifting his head, faced them all, his comrades. +His mind, quick-acting, had realized that, now his possession of the +book had been discovered, his chances of discovering anything more, at +the works, had utterly vanished. Even though he should remain, he could +do nothing there. If he were to act, it must be from the outside, now, +following the trend of events, dogging each development, striving in +hidden, devious ways--violent ways, perhaps--to pull down this horrible +edifice of enslavement ere it should whelm and crush the world. + +So, acting as quickly as he had thought, and now ignoring the man Herzog +as though he had never existed, Armstrong faced his fellows. + +"It's all right, boys," said he, quite slowly, his voice seeming to +come from a distance, his tones forced and unnatural. "It's all right, +every way. I'm caught with the goods. Don't any of you butt in. Don't +mix with my trouble. For once I'm glad this is a scab shop, otherwise +there might be a strike, here, and worse Hell to pay than there will be +otherwise. I'm done. I'll get my time, and quit. But--remember one +thing, you'll understand some day what this is all about. + +"I'm glad to have worked with you fellows, the past few months. You're +all right, every one of you. Good-bye, and remember--" + +"Here, you men, get back to work!" cried Herzog, suddenly. "No +hand-shaking here, and no speech-making. This man's a sneak-thief and +he's fired, that's all there is to it. Now, get onto your job! The first +man that puts up a complaint about it, can get through, too!" + +For a moment they glowered at him, there in the white-lighted glare of +the big shop. A fight, even then, was perilously near, but Armstrong +averted it by turning away. + +"I'm done." he repeated. He gathered up a few tools that belonged to +him, personally, gave one look at his comrades, waved a hand at them, +and then, followed by Herzog, strode off down the long aisle, toward the +door. + +"Herzog," said he, calmly and with cold emphasis, "listen to this." + +"Get out! Get your time, I tell you, and go!" repeated the bully. "To +Hell with you! Clear out of here!" + +"I'm going," the young man answered. "But before I do, remember this; +you grazed death, just now. Well for you, Herzog, almighty well for you, +my temper didn't best me. For remember, you struck me and called me +'thief'--and that sort of thing can't be forgotten, ever, even though +we live a thousand years. + +"Remember, Herzog--not now, but sometime. Remember that one +word--sometime! That's all!" + +With no further speech, and while Herzog still stood there by the shop +door, sneering at him, Armstrong turned and passed out. A few minutes +later he had been paid off, had packed his knapsack with his few +belongings, and was outside the big palisade, striding along the hard +and glaring road toward the station. + +"I did it," his one overmastering thought was. "Thank heaven, I did it! +I held my temper and my tongue, didn't kill that spawn of Hell, and +saved the whole situation. I'm out of a job, true enough, and out of the +plant; but after all, I'm free--and I know what's in the wind! + +"There's yet hope. There'll be a way, a way to do this work! What a man +_must_ do, he _can_ do!" + +Up came Armstrong's chin, as he walked. His shoulders squared, with +strength and purpose, and his stride swung into the easy machine gait +that had already carried him so many thousand miles along the hard and +bitter highways of the world. + +As he strode away, on the long road toward he knew not what, words +seemed to form and shape in his strengthened and refortified mind--words +for long years forgotten--words that he once had heard at his mother's +knee: + +"_He that ruleth his spirit is better than he that taketh a city!_" + + + + +CHAPTER X. + +A GLIMPSE AT THE PARASITES. + + +The Longmeadow Country Club, on the Saturday afternoon following +Armstrong's abrupt dismissal, was a scene of gaiety and beauty without +compare. Set in broad acres of wood and lawn, the club-house proudly +dominated far-flung golf-links and nearer tennis-courts. Shining motors +stood parked on the plaza before the club garage, each valued at several +years' wages of a workingman. Men and women--exploiters all, or +parasites--elegantly and coolly clad in white, smote the swift sphere +upon the tennis-court, with jest and laughter. Others, attended by +caddies--mere proletarian scum, bent beneath the weight of cleeks and +brassies--moved across the smooth-cropped links, kept in condition by +grazing sheep and by steam-rollers. On putting-green and around bunkers +these idlers struggled with artificial difficulties, while in shops and +mines and factories, on railways and in the blazing Hells of +stoke-holes, men of another class, a slave-class, labored and agonized, +toiled and died that _these_ might wear fine linen and spend the long +June afternoon in play. + +From the huge, cobble-stone chimney of the Country Club, upwafting smoke +told of the viands now preparing for the idlers' dinner, after +sport--rich meats and dainties of the rarest. In the rathskeller some of +the elder and more indolent men were absorbing alcohol while music +played and painted nymphs of abundant charms looked down from the +wall-frescoes. Out on the broad piazzas, well sheltered by awnings from +the rather ardent sun, men and women sat at spotless tables, dallying +with drinks of rare hues and exalted prices. Cigarette-smoke wafted away +on the pure breeze from over the Catskills, far to northwest, defiling +the sweet breath of Nature, herself, with fumes of nicotine and dope. A +Hungarian orchestra was playing the latest Manhattan ragtime, at the far +end of the piazza. It was, all in all, a scene of rare refinement, +characteristic to a degree of the efflorescence of American capitalism. + +At one of the tables, obviously bored, sat Catherine Flint, only +daughter of the Billionaire. A rare girl, she, to look +upon--deep-bosomed and erect, dressed simply in a middy-blouse with a +blue tie, a khaki skirt and low, rubber-soled shoes revealing a +silk-stockinged ankle that would have attracted the enthusiastic +attention of gentlemen in any city of the world. No hat disfigured the +coiled and braided masses of coppery hair that circled her shapely head. +A healthy tan on face and arms and open throat bespoke her keen devotion +to all outdoor life. Her fingers, lithe and strong, were graced by but +two rings--a monogram, of gold, and the betrothal ring that Maxim +Waldron had put there, only three weeks before. + +Impatience dominated her. One could see that, in the nervous tapping of +her fingers on the cloth; the slight swing of her right foot as she sat +there, one knee crossed over the other; the glance of her keen, gray +eyes down the broad drive-way that led from the huge stone gates up to +the club-house. + +Beside her sat a nonentity in impeccable dress, dangling a monocle and +trying to make small-talk, the while he dallied with a Bronx cocktail, +costing more than a day's wage for a childish flower-making slave of the +tenements, and inhaled a Rotten Row cigarette, the "last word" from +London in the tobacco line. To the sallies of this elegant, the girl +replied by only monosyllables. Her glass was empty, nor would she have +it filled, despite the exquisite's entreaties. From time to time she +glanced impatiently at the long bag of golf-sticks leaning against the +porch rail; and, now and then, her eyes sought the little Cervine watch +set in a leather wristlet on her arm. + +"Inconsiderate of him, I'm sure--ah--to keep so magnificent a Diana +waiting," drawled her companion, blowing a lungful of thin blue smoke +athwart the breeze. "Especially when you're so deuced keen on doing the +course before dinner. Now if _I_ were the favored swain, wild horses +wouldn't keep me away." + +She made no answer, but turned a look of indifference on the shrimp +beside her. Had he possessed the soul of a real man, he would have +shriveled; but, being oblivious to all things save the pride of wealth +and monstrous self-conceit, he merely snickered and reached for his +cocktail--which, by the way, he was absorbing through a straw. + +"I say, Miss Flint?" he presently began again, stirring the ice in the +cocktail. + +"Well?" she answered, curtly. + +"If you--er--are really very, _very_ impatient to have a go at the +links, why wait for Wally? I--I should be only too glad to volunteer my +services as your knight-errant, and all that sort of thing." + +"Thanks, awfully," she answered, "but Mr. Waldron promised to go round +the course with me, this afternoon, and I'll wait." + +The impeccable one grinned fatuously, invited her again to have a +drink--which she declined--and ordered another for himself, with profuse +apologies for drinking alone; apologies which she hardly seemed to +notice. + +"Deuced bad form of Wally, I must say," the gilded youth resumed, trying +to make capital for himself, "to leave you in the lurch, this way!" + +Silence from Catherine. The would-be interloper, feeling that he was on +the wrong track, took counsel with himself and remained for a moment +immersed in what he imagined to be thought. At last, however, with an +oblique glance at his indifferent companion, he remarked. + +"Devilish hard time women have in this world, you know! Don't you +sometimes wish you were a man?" + +Her answer flashed back like a rapier: + +"No! Do you wish _you_ were?" + +Stunned by this "facer," Reginald Van Slyke gasped and stared. That he, +a scion of the Philadelphia Van Slykes, in his own right worth two +hundred million dollars--dollars ground out of the Kensington +carpet-mill slaves by his grandfather--should be thus flouted and put +upon by the daughter of Flint, that parvenu, absolutely floored him. For +a moment he sat there speechless, unable even to reach for his drink; +but presently some coherence returned. He was about to utter what he +conceived to be a strong rejoinder, when the girl suddenly standing up, +turned her back upon him and ignored him as completely as she might have +ignored any of the menials of the club. + +His irritated glance followed hers. There, far down the drive, just +rounding the long turn by the artificial lake, a big blue motor car was +speeding up the grade at a good clip. Van Slyke recognized it, and swore +below his breath. + +"Wally, at last, damn him!" he muttered. "Just when I was beginning to +make headway with Kate!" + +Vexed beyond endurance, he drummed on the cloth with angry fingers; but +Catherine was oblivious. Unmindful of the merry-makers at the other +tables, the girl waved her handkerchief at the swiftly-approaching +motor. Waldron, from the back seat, raised an answering hand--though +without enthusiasm. Above all things he hated demonstration, and the +girl's frank manner, free, unconventional and not yet broken to the +harness of Mrs. Grundy, never failed to irritate him. + +"Very incorrect for people in our set," he often thought. "But for the +present I can do nothing. Once she is my wife, ah, then I shall find +means to curb her. For the present, however, I must let her have her +head." + +Such was now his frame of mind as the long car slid under the +porte-cochere and came to a stand. He would have infinitely preferred +that the girl should wait his coming to her, on the piazza; but already +she had slung her bag of sticks over her strong shoulder, and was down +the steps to meet him. Her leave-taking of the incensed Van Slyke had +been the merest nod. + +"You're late, Wally," said she, smiling with her usual good humor, which +had already quite dissipated her impatience. "Late, but I'll forgive +you, this time. I'm afraid we won't have time to do all eighteen holes +round. What kept you?" + +"Business, business!" he answered, frowning. "Always the same old +grind, Kate. You women don't understand. I tell you, this slaving in +Wall Street isn't what it's cracked up to be. I couldn't get away till +11:30. Then, just had a quick bite of lunch, and broke every speed law +in New York getting here. Do you forgive me?" + +He had descended from the car, in speaking. They shook hands, while the +chauffeur stood at attention and all the gossips on the piazza, scenting +the possibility of a disagreement, craned discreetly eager necks and +listened intently. + +"Forgive you? Of course--this time, but never again," the girl laughed. +"Now, run along and get into your flannels. I'll meet you on the driving +green, in ten minutes. Not another second, mind, or--" + +"I'll be on the dot," he answered. "Here, boy," beckoning a caddy, "take +Miss Flint's sticks. And have mine carried to the green. Look sharp, +now!" + +Then, with a nod at the girl, he ran up the steps and vanished in the +club-house, bound for the locker-room. + +Fifteen minutes the girl waited on the green, watching others drive off +from the little tees and inwardly chafing to be in action. Fifteen, and +then twenty, before Waldron finally appeared, immaculate in white, +bare-armed and with a loose, checked cap shading his close-set eyes. The +fact was, in addition to having changed his clothes, he had felt obliged +to linger in the bar for a little Scotch; and one drink had meant +another; and thus precious moments had sped. + +But his smile was confident as he approached the green. Women, after +all, he reflected, were meant to be kept waiting. They never appreciated +a man who kept appointments exactly. Not less fatuous at heart, in +truth, was he, than the unfortunate Van Slyke. But his manner was +perfection as he saluted her and bade the caddy build their tees. + +The girl, however, was now plainly vexed. Her mouth had drawn a trifle +tight and the tilt of her chin was determined. Her eyes were far from +soft, as she surveyed this delinquent fiance. + +"I don't like you a bit, today, Wally," said she, as he deliberated +over the club-bag, choosing a driver. "This makes twice you've kept me +waiting. I warn you don't let it happen again!" + +Under the seeming banter of her tone lurked real resentment. But he, +with a smile--partly due to a finger too much Scotch--only answered, in +a low tone: + +"You're adorable, today, Kate! The combination of fresh air and +annoyance has painted the most wonderful roses on your cheeks!" + +She shrugged her shoulders with a little motion she had inherited from +French ancestry, stooped, set her golf ball on the little mound of sand, +exactly to suit her, and raised her driver on high. + +"Nine holes," said she, "and I'm going to beat you, today!" + +He frowned a little at the spirit of the threat, for any self-assertion +in a woman crossed his grain; but soon forgot his pique in admiration of +the drive. + +Swishing, her club flashed down in a quick circle. _Crack_! It struck +the gutta-percha squarely. The little white sphere zipped away like a +rocket, rose in a far trajectory, up, up, toward the water-hazard at the +foot of the grassy slope, then down in a long curve. + +Even while the girl's cry of "Fore!" was echoing across the green, the +ball struck earth, ricochetted and sped on, away, across the turf, till +it came to rest not twenty yards from the putting green of the first +hole. + +"Wheeoo!" whistled Waldron. "Some drive. I guess you're going to make +good your threat, today, Kate of my heart!" + +The smile she flashed at him showed that her resentment had, for the +moment, been forgotten. + +"Come on, Wally, now let's see what _you_ can do," said she, starting +off down the slope, while her meek caddy tagged at a respectful +distance. + +Waldron, thus adjured, teed up and swung at the ball. But the Scotch had +by no means steadied his aim. He foozled badly and broke his pet driver, +into the bargain. The steel head of it flew farther even than the ball, +which moved hardly ten yards. + +"Damn!" he muttered, under his breath, choosing another stick and +glancing with real irritation at Catherine's lithe, splendidly poised +figure already some distance down the slope. + +His second stroke was more successful, nearly equalling hers. But her +advantage, thus early won, was not destined to be lost again. And as the +game proceeded, Waldron's temper grew steadily worse and worse. + +Thus began, for these two people, an hour destined to be fraught with +such pregnant developments--an hour which, in its own way, vitally bore +on the great loom now weaving warp and woof of world events. + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + +THE END OF TWO GAMES. + + +Trivial events sometimes precipitate catastrophies. It has been said +that had James MacDonald not left the farm gate open, at Hugomont, +Waterloo might have ended otherwise. So now, the rupture between +Catherine Flint and Maxim Waldron was precipitated by a single unguarded +oath. + +It was at the ninth hole, down back of the Terrace Woods bunker. +Waldron, heated by exercise and the whiskey he had drunk, had already +dismissed the caddies and had undertaken to carry the clubs, himself, +hoping--man-fashion--to steal a kiss or two from Catherine, along the +edge of the close-growing oaks and maples. But all his plans went agley, +for Catherine really made good and beat him, there, by half a dozen +strokes; and as her little sphere, deftly driven by the putting-iron +gripped in her brown, firm hands, rolled precisely over the cropped turf +and fell into the tinned hole, the man ejaculated a perfectly audible +"_Hell!_" + +She stood erect and faced him, with a singular expression in those level +gray eyes--eyes the look of which could allure or wither, could entice +or command. + +"Wally," said she, "did you swear?" + +"I--er--why, yes," he stammered, taken aback and realizing, despite his +chagrin, how very poor and unsportsmanlike a figure he was cutting. + +"I don't like it," she returned. "Not a little bit, Wally. It isn't +game, and it isn't manly. You must respect me, now and always. I can't +have profanity, and I won't." + +He essayed lame apologies, but a sudden, hot anger seemed to have +possessed him, in presence of this free, independent, exacting +woman--this woman who, worst of all, had just beaten him at the game of +all games he prided himself on playing well. And despite his every +effort, she saw through the veil of sheer, perfunctory courtesy; and +seeing, flushed with indignation. + +"Wally," she said in a low, quiet tone, fixing a singular gaze upon him, +"Wally, I don't know what to make of you lately. The other night at Idle +Hour, you hardly looked at me. You and father spent the whole evening +discussing some business or other--" + +"Most important business, my dear girl, I do assure you," protested +Waldron, trying to steady his voice. "Most vitally--" + +"No matter about that," she interposed. "It could have been abridged, a +trifle. I barely got six words out of you, that evening; and let me tell +you, Wally, a woman never forgets neglect. She may forgive it; but +forget it, never!" + +"Oh, well, if you put it that way--" he began, but checked himself in +time to suppress the cutting rejoinder he had at his tongue's end. + +"I do, and it's vital, Wally," she answered. "It's all part and parcel +of some singular kind of change that's been coming over you, lately, +like a blight. You haven't been yourself, at all, these few days past. +Something or other, I don't know what, has been coming between us. +You've got something else on your mind, beside me--something bigger and +more important to you than I am--and--and--" + +He pulled out his gold cigar-case, chose and lighted a cigar to steady +his nerve, and faced her with a smile--the worst tactic he could +possibly have chosen in dealing with this woman. Supremely successful in +handling men, he lacked finesse and insight with the other sex; and now +that lack, in his moment of need, was bringing him moment by moment +nearer the edge of catastrophe. + +"I don't like it at all, Waldron," she resumed, again. "You were late, +the other night, in taking me to the Flower Show. You were late, today, +for our appointment here; and the ten minutes I gave you to get ready +in, stretched out to twenty before you--" + +He interrupted her with a gesture of uncontrollable vexation. + +"Really, my dear Kate," he exclaimed, "if you--er--insist on holding me +to account for every moment--" + +"You've been drinking, too, a little," she kept on. "And you know I +detest it! And just now, when I beat you in a square game, you so far +forgot yourself as to swear. Now, Waldron--" + +"Oh, puritanical, eh?" he sneered, ignoring the danger signals in her +eyes. Even yet there might have been some chance of avoiding shipwreck, +had he heeded those twin beacons, humbled himself, made amends by due +apology and promised reformation. For though Catherine never had truly +loved this man, some years older than herself and of radically different +character, still she liked and respected him, and found him--by his very +force and dominance--far more to her taste than the insipid hangers-on, +sons of fortune or fortune-hunters, who, like the sap-brained Van +Slyke, made up so great a part of her "set." + +So, all might yet have been amended; but this was not to be. Never yet +had "Tiger" Waldron bowed the neck to living man or woman. Dominance was +his whole scheme of life. Though he might purr, politely enough, so long +as his fur was smoothed the right way, a single backward stroke set his +fangs gleaming and unsheathed every sabre-like claw. And now this woman, +his fiancee though she was, her beauty dear to him and her charm most +fascinating, her fortune much desired and most of all, an alliance with +her father--now this woman, despite all these considerations, had with a +few incisive words ruffled his temper beyond endurance. + +So great was his agitation that, despite his strongest instinct of +saving, he flung away the scarcely-tasted cigar. + +"Kate," he exclaimed, his very tongue thick with the rage he could not +quell, "Kate, I can't stand this! You're going too far. What do you know +of men's work and men's affairs? Who are you, to judge of their times of +coming and going, their obligations, their habits and man of life? What +do _you_ understand--?" + +"It's obvious," she replied with glacial coldness, "that I don't +understand _you_, and never have. I have been living in a dream, Wally; +seeing you through the glass of illusion; not reality. After all, you're +like all men--just the same, no different. Idealism, self-sacrifice, con +true nobility of character, where are these, in you? What is there but +the same old selfishness, the same innate masculine conceit and--" + +"No more of this, Kate!" cried the financier, paling a little. "No more! +I can't have it! I won't--it's impossible! You--you don't understand, I +tell you. In your narrow, untrained, woman's way, you try to set up +standards for me; try to judge me, and dictate to me. Some old +puritanical streak in you is cropping out, some blue-law atavism, some I +know not what, that rebels against my taking a drink--like every other +man. That cries out against my letting slip a harmless oath--again, like +every other man that lives and breathes. Every man, that is, who _is_ a +man, a real man, not a dummy! If you've been mistaken in me, how much +more have I, in you! And so--" + +"And so," she took the very words from his pale lips, "we've both been +mistaken, that's all. No, no," she forbade him with raised hand, as he +would have interrupted with protests. "No, you needn't try to convince +me otherwise, now. A thousand volumes of speeches, after this, couldn't +do it. An hour's insight into the true depths of a man's character--yes, +even a moment's--perfectly suffices to show the truth. You've just drawn +the veil aside, Wally, for me, and let me look at the true picture. All +that I've known and thought of you, so far, has been sham and illusion. +Now, I _know_ you!" + +"You--you don't, Catherine!" he exclaimed, half in anger, half +contrition, terrified at last by the imminent break between them, by the +thought of losing this rich flower from the garden of womanhood, this +splendid financial and social prize. "I--I've done wrong, Kate. I admit +it. But, truly--" + +"No more," said she, and in her voice sounded a command he knew, at +last, was quite inexorable. "I'm not like other women of our set, +perhaps. I can't be bought and sold, Wally, with money and position. I +can't marry a man, and have to live with him, if he shows himself +petty, or small, or narrow in any way. I must be free, free as air, as +long as I live. Even in marriage, I must be free. Freedom can only come +with the union of two souls that understand and help and inspire each +other. Anything else is slavery--and worse!" + +She shuddered, and for a moment turned half away from him, as, now +contrite enough for the minute, he stood there looking at her with dazed +eyes. For a second the idea came to him that he must take her in his +arms, there in the edge of the woods, burn kisses on her ripe mouth, win +her back to him by force, as he had won all life's battles. He would +not, could not, let this prize escape him now. A wave of desire surged +through his being. He took a step toward her, his trembling arms open to +seize her lithe, seductive body. But she, retreating, held him away with +repellant palms. + +"No, no, no!" she cried. "Not now--never that, any more! I must be free, +Wally--free as air!" + +She raised her face toward the vast reaches of the sky, breathed deep +and for a moment closed her eyes, as though bathing her very soul in the +sweet freedom of the out-of-doors. + +"Free as air!" she whispered. "Let me go!" + +He started violently. Her simile had struck him like a lash. + +"Free--as what?" he exclaimed hoarsely. "As _air_? But--but there's no +such freedom, I tell you! Air isn't free any more--or won't be, soon! It +will be everything, anything but free, before another year is gone! Free +as air? You--you don't understand! Your father and I--we shall soon own +the air. Free as air? Yes, if you like! For that--that means you, too, +must belong to me!" + +Again he sought to take her, to hold her and overmaster her. But she, +now wide-eyed with a kind of sudden terror at this latest outbreak, this +seeming madness on his part, which she could nowise fathom or +comprehend, retreated ever more and more, away from him. + +Then suddenly with a quick effort, she stripped off the splendid, +blazing diamond from her finger, and held it out to him. + +"Wally," said she, calm now and quite herself again, "Wally, let's be +friends. Just that and nothing more. Dear, good, companionable friends, +as we used to be, long years ago, before this madness seized us--this +chimera of--of love!" + +As a bull charging, is struck to the heart by the sword of the matador, +and stops in his tracks, motionless and dazed before he falls, so +"Tiger" Waldron stopped, wholly stunned by this abrupt and crushing +denouement. + +For a moment, man and woman faced each other. Not a word was spoken. +Catherine had no word to say; and Waldron, though his lips worked, could +bring none to utterance. Then their eyes met; and his lowered. + +"Good-bye," said she quietly. "Good-bye forever, as my betrothed. When +we meet again, Wally, it will be as friends, and nothing more. And now, +let me go. Don't come with me. I prefer to be alone. I'd rather walk, a +bit, and think--and then go back quietly to the club-house, and so home, +in my car. Don't follow me. Here--take this, and--good-bye." + +Mechanically he accepted the gleaming jewel. Mechanically, like a man +without sense or reason, he watched her walk away from him, upright and +strong and lithe, voluptuous and desirable in every motion of that +splendid body, now lost to him forever. Then all at once, entering a +woodland path that led by a short cut back to the club-house, she +vanished from his sight. + +Vanished, without having even so much as turned to look at him again, or +wave that firm brown hand. + +Then, seeming to waken from his daze, "Tiger" laughed, a terrible and +cruel laugh; and then he flung a frightful blasphemy upon the still June +air; and then he dashed the wondrous diamond to earth, and stamped and +dug it with a perfect frenzy of rage into the soft mold. + +And, last of all, with lowered head and lips that moved in fearful +curses, he crashed away into the woods, away from the path where the +girl was, away from the club-house, away, away, thirsting for solitude +and time to quell his passion, salve his wounded pride and ponder +measures of terrible revenge. + +The diamond ring, crushed into the earth, and the golf clubs, lying +where they had fallen from the disputants' hands, now remained there as +melancholy reminders of the double game--love and golf--which had so +suddenly ended in disaster. + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + +ON THE GREAT HIGHWAY. + + +As violently rent from his job as Maxim Waldron had been torn from his +alliance with Catherine, Gabriel Armstrong met the sudden change in his +affairs with far more equanimity than the financier could muster. Once +the young electrician's first anger had subsided--and he had pretty well +mastered it before he had reached the Oakwood Heights station--he began +philosophically to turn the situation in his mind, and to rough out his +plans for the future. + +"Things might be worse, all round," he reflected, as he strode along at +a smart pace. "During the seven months I've been working for these +pirates, I've managed to pay off the debt I got into at the time of the +big E. W. strike, and I've got eighteen dollars or a little more in +my pocket. My clothes will do a while longer. Even though Flint +blacklists me all over the country, as he probably will, I can duck into +some job or other, somewhere. And most important of all, I know what's +due to happen in America--I've seen that note-book! Let them do what +they will, they can't take _that_ knowledge away from me!" + +The outlook, on the whole, was cheering. Gabriel broke into a whistle, +as he swung along the highway, and slashed cheerfully with his heavy +stick at the dusty bushes by the roadside. A vigorous, pleasing figure +of a man he made, striding onward in his blue flannel shirt and +corduroys, stout boots making light of distance, somewhat rebellious +black hair clustering under his cap, blue eyes clear and steady as the +sunlight itself. There must have been a drop of Irish blood somewhere or +other in his veins, to have given him that ruddy cheek, those eyes, that +hair, that quick enthusiasm and that swiftness to anger--then, by +reaction, that quick buoyancy which so soon banished everything but +courageous optimism from his hot heart. + +Thus the man walked, all his few worldly belongings--most precious among +them his union card and his red Socialist card--packed in the knapsack +strapped to his broad shoulders. And as he walked, he formulated his +plans. + +"Niagara for mine," he decided. "It's there these hellions mean to start +their devilish work of enslaving the whole world. It's there I want to +be, and must be, to follow the infernal job from the beginning and to +nail it, when the right time comes. I'll put in a day or two with my old +friend, Sam Underwood, up in the Bronx, and maybe tell him what's doing +and frame out the line of action with him. But after that, I strike for +Niagara--yes, and on foot!" + +This decision came to him as strongly desirable. Not for some time, he +knew, could the actual work of building the Air Trust plant be started +at Niagara. Meanwhile, he wanted to keep out of sight, as much as +possible. He wanted, also to save every cent. Again, his usual mode of +travel had always been either to ride the rods or "hike" it on shanks' +mare. Bitterly opposed to swelling the railways' revenues by even a +penny, Armstrong in the past few years of his life had done some +thousands of miles, afoot, all over the country. His best means of +Socialist propaganda, he had found, was in just such meanderings along +the highways and hedges of existence--a casual job, here or there, for a +day, a week, a month--then, quick friendships; a little talk; a few +leaflets handed to the intelligent, if he could find any. He had laced +the continent with such peregrinations, always sowing the seed of +revolution wherever he had passed; getting in touch with the Movement +all over the republic; keeping his finger on the pulse of ever-growing, +always-strengthening Socialism. + +Such had his habits long been. And now, once more adrift and jobless, +but with the most tremendous secret of the ages in his possession, he +naturally turned to the comfort and the calming influence of the broad +highway, in his long journey towards the place where he was to meet, in +desperate opposition, the machinations of the Air Trust magnates. + +"It's the only way for me," he decided, as he turned into the road +leading toward Saint George and the Manhattan Ferry. "Flint and Herzog +will be sure to put Slade and the Cosmos people after me. Blacklisting +will be the least of what they'll try to do. They'll use slugging +tactics, sure, if they get a chance, or railroad me to some Pen or +other, if possible. My one best bet is to keep out of their way; and I +figure I'm ten times safer on the open road, with a few dollars to stave +off a vagrancy charge, and with two good fists and this stick to keep +'em at a distance, than I would be on the railroads or in cheap dumps +along the way. + +"The last place they'll ever think of looking for me will be the big +outdoors. _Their_ idea of hunting for a workman is to dragnet the back +rooms of saloons--especially if they're after a Socialist. That's the +limit of their intelligence, to connect Socialism and beer. I'll beat +'em; I'll hike--and it's a hundred to one I land in Niagara with more +cash than when I started, with better health, more knowledge, and the +freedom that, alone, can save the world now from the most damnable +slavery that ever threatened its existence!" + +Thus reasoning, with perfect clarity and a long-headedness that proved +him a strategist at four-and-twenty, Gabriel Armstrong whistled a louder +note as he tramped away to northward, away from the hateful presence of +Herzog, away from the wage-slavery of the Oakwood Heights plant, +away--with that precious secret in his brain--toward the far scene of +destined warfare, where stranger things were to ensue than even he could +possibly conceive. + +Saturday morning found him, his visit with Underwood at an end, already +twenty miles or more from the Bronx River, marching along through +Haverstraw, up the magnificent road that fringes the Hudson--now hidden +from the mighty river behind a forest-screen, now curving on bold +abutments right above the sun-kissed expanses of Haverstraw Bay, here +more than two miles from wooded shore to shore. + +At eleven, he halted at a farm house, some miles north of the town, got +a job on the woodpile, and astonished the farmer by the amount of birch +he could saw in an hour. He took his pay in the shape of a bountiful +dinner, and--after half an hour's smoke and talk with the farmer, to +whom he gave a few pamphlets from the store in his knapsack--said +good-bye to all hands and once more set his face northward for the long +hike through much wilder country, to West Point, where he hoped to pass +the night. + +Thus we must leave him, for a while. For now the thread of our +narration, like the silken cord in the Labyrinth of Crete, leads us back +to the Country Club at Longmeadow, the scene, that very afternoon, of +the sudden and violent rupture between the financier and Catherine +Flint. + +Catherine, her first indignation somewhat abated, and now vastly +relieved at the realization that she indeed was free from her loveless +and long-since irksome alliance with Waldron, calmly enough returned to +the club-house. Head well up, and eyes defiant, she walked up the broad +steps and into the office. Little cared she whether the piazza +gossips--The Hammer and Anvil Club, in local slang--divined the quarrel +or not. The girl felt herself immeasurably indifferent to such +pettinesses as prying small talk and innuendo. Let people know, or not, +as might be, she cared not a whit. Her business was her own. No wagging +of tongues could one hair's breadth disturb that splendid calm of hers. + +The clerk, behind the desk, smiled and nodded at her approach. + +"Please have my car brought round to the porte-cochere, at once?" she +asked. "And tell Herrick to be sure there's plenty of gas for a long +run. I'm going through to New York." + +"So soon?" queried the clerk. "I'm sure your father will be +disappointed, Miss Flint. He's just wired that he's coming out tomorrow, +to spend Sunday here. He particularly asks to have you remain. See +here?" + +He handed her a telegram. She glanced it over, then crumpled it and +tossed it into the office fire-place. + +"I'm sorry," she answered. "But I can't stay. I must get back, to-night. +I'll telegraph father not to come. A blank, please?" + +The clerk handed her one. She pondered a second, then wrote: + + Dear Father: A change of plans makes me return home at once. + Please wait and see me there. I've something important to talk over + with you. + + Affectionately, + + Kate. + +Ordinarily people try to squeeze their message to ten words, and count +and prune and count again; but not so, Catherine. For her, a telegram +had never contained any space limit. It meant less to her than a +post-card to you or me. Not that the girl was consciously extravagant. +No, had you asked her, she would have claimed rigid economy--she rarely, +for instance, paid more than a hundred dollars for a morning gown, or +more than a thousand for a ball-dress. It was simply that the idea of +counting words had never yet occurred to her. And so now, she +complacently handed this verbose message to the clerk, who--thoroughly +well-trained--understood it was to be charged on her father's perfectly +staggering monthly bill. + +"Very well, Miss Flint," said he. "I'll send this at once. And your car +will be ready for you in ten minutes--or five, if you like?" + +"Ten will do, thank you," she answered. Then she crossed to the +elevator and went up to her own suite of rooms on the second floor, for +her motor-coat and veils. + +"Free, thank heaven!" she breathed, with infinite relief, as she stood +before the tall mirror, adjusting these for the long trip. "Free from +that man forever. What a narrow escape! If things hadn't happened just +as they did, and if I hadn't had that precious insight into Wally's +character--good Lord!--catastrophe! Oh, I haven't been so happy since +I--since--why, I've _never_ been so happy in all my life! + +"Wally, dear boy," she added, turning toward the window as though +apostrophizing him in reality, "now we can be good friends. Now all the +sham and pretense are at an end, forever. As a friend, you may be +splendid. As a husband--oh, impossible!" + +Lighter of heart than she had been for years, was she, with the added +zest of the long spin through the beauty of the June country before +her--down among the hills and cliffs, among the forests and broad +valleys--down to New York again, back to the father and the home she +loved better than all else in the world. + +In this happy frame of mind she presently entered the low-hung, +swift-motored car, settled herself on the luxurious cushions and said +"Home, at once!" to Herrick. + +He nodded, but did not speak. He felt, in truth, somewhat incapable of +quite incoherent speech. Not having expected any service till next day, +he had foregathered with others of his ilk in the servants' bar, +below-stairs, and had with wassail and good cheer very effectively put +himself out of commission. + +But, somewhat sobered by this quick summons, he had managed to pull +together. Now, drunk though he was, he sat there at the wheel, steady +enough--so long as he held on to it--and only by the redness of his face +and a certain glassy look in his eye, betrayed the fact of his +intoxication. The girl, busy with her farewells as the car drew up for +her, had not observed him. At the last moment Van Slyke waved a foppish +hand at her, and smirked adieux. She acknowledged his good-bye with a +smile, so happy was she at the outcome of her golf-game; then cast a +quick glance up at the club windows, fearing to see the harsh face of +Wally peeping down at her in anger. + +But he was nowhere to be seen; and now, with a sudden acceleration of +the powerful six-cylinder engine, the big gray car moved smoothly +forward. Growling in its might, it swung in a wide circle round the +sweep of the drive, gathered speed and shot away down the grade toward +the stone gates of the entrance, a quarter mile distant. + +Presently it swerved through these, to southward. Club-house, waving +handkerchiefs and all vanished from Kate's view. + +"Faster, Herrick," she commanded, leaning forward, "I must be home by +half past five." + +Again he nodded, and notched spark and throttle down. The car, leaping +like a wild creature, began to hum at a swift clip along the smooth, +white road toward Newburgh on the Hudson. + +Thirty miles an hour the speedometer showed, then thirty-five and forty. +Again the drunken chauffeur, still master of his machine despite the +poison pulsing in his dazed brain, snicked the little levers further +down. Forty-five, fifty, fifty-five, the figures on the dial showed. + +Now the exhaust ripped in a crackling staccato, like a machine gun, as +the chauffeur threw out the muffler. Behind, a long trail of dust rose, +whirling in the air. Catherine, a sportswoman born, leaned back and +smiled with keen pleasure, while her yellow veil, whipping sharply on +the wind, let stray locks of that wonderful red-gold hair stream about +her flushed face. + +Thus she sped homeward, driven at a mad race by a man whose every sense +was numbed and stultified by alcohol--homeward, along a road up which, +far, far away, another man, keen, sober and alert, was trudging with a +knapsack on his broad back, swinging a stick and whistling cheerily as +he went. + +Fate, that strange moulder of human destinies, what had it in store for +these two, this woman and this man? This daughter of a billionaire, and +this young proletarian? + +Who could foresee, or, foreseeing, could believe what even now stood +written on the Book of Destiny? + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + +CATASTROPHE! + + +For a time no danger seemed to threaten. Kate was not only fearless as a +passenger, but equally intrepid at the wheel. Many a time and oft she +had driven her father's highest-powered car at dizzying speeds along +worse roads than the one her machine was now following. Velocity was to +her a kind of stimulant, wonderfully pleasurable; and now, realizing +nothing of the truth that Herrick was badly the worse for liquor, she +leaned back in the tonneau, breathed the keen slashing air with delight, +and let her eyes wander over the swiftly-changing panorama of forest, +valley, lake and hill that, in ever new and more radiant beauty, sped +away, away, as the huge car leaped down the smooth and rushing road. + +Dust and pebbles flew in the wake of the machine, as it gathered +velocity. Beneath it, the highway sped like an endless white ribbon, +whirling back and away with smooth rapidity. No common road, this, but +one which the State authorities had very obligingly built especially for +the use of millionaires' motor cars, all through the region of +country-clubs, parks, bungalows and summer-resorts dotting the west +shore region of the Hudson. Let the farmer truck his produce through mud +and ruts, if he would. Let the country folk drive their ramshackle +buggies over rocks and stumps, if they so chose. Nothing of that sort +for millionaires! No, _they_ must have macadam and smooth, long curves, +easy grades and--where the road swung high above the gleaming +river--retaining walls to guard them from plunging into the palisaded +abyss below. + +At just such a place it was, where the road made a sharper turn than any +the drunken chauffeur had reckoned on, that catastrophe leaped out to +shatter the rushing car. + +Only a minute before, Kate--a little uneasy now, at the truly reckless +speeding of the driver, and at the daredevil way in which he was taking +curves without either sounding his siren or reducing speed--had touched +him on the shoulder, with a command: "Not _quite_ so fast, Herrick! Be +careful!" + +His only answer had been a drunken laugh. + +"Careful nothing!" he slobbered, to himself. "You wanted speed--an' +now--hc!--b'Jesus, you _get_--hc!--speed! _I_ ain't +'fraid--are--hc!--_you_?" + +She had not heard the words, but had divined their meaning. + +"Herrick!" she commanded sharply, leaning forward. "What's the matter +with you? Obey me, do you hear? Not so fast!" + +A whiff of alcoholic breath suddenly told her the truth. For a second +she sat there, as though petrified, with fear now for the first time +clutching at her heart. + +"Stop at once!" she cried, gripping the man by the collar of his livery. +"You--you're drunk, Herrick! I--I'll have you discharged, at once, when +we get home. Stop, do you hear me? You're not fit to drive. I'll take +the wheel myself!" + +But Herrick, hopelessly under the influence of the poison, which had +now produced its full effect, paid no heed. + +"Y'--can't dri' _thish_ car!" he muttered, in maudlin accents. "Too +big--too heavy for--hc!--woman! I--_I_ dri' it all right, drunk or +sober! Good chauffeur--good car--I know thish car! You won't fire +me--hc!--for takin' drink or two, huh? I drive you all ri'--drive you to +New York or to--hc!--Hell! Same thing, no difference, ha! ha!--I--" + +A sudden blaze of rage crimsoned the girl's face. In all her life she +never had been thus spoken to. For a second she clenched her fist, as +though to strike down this sodden brute there in the seat before her--a +feat she would have been quite capable of. But second thought convinced +her of the peril of such an act. Ahead of them a long down-grade +stretched away, away, to a turn half-hidden under the arching greenery. +As the car struck this slope, it leaped into ever greater speed; and +now, under the erratic guidance of the lolling wretch at the wheel, it +began to sway in long, unsteady curves, first toward one ditch, then the +other. + +Another woman would have screamed; might even have tried to jump out. +But Kate was not of the hysteric sort. More practical, she. + +"I've got to climb over into the front seat," she realized in a flash, +"and shut off the current--cut the power off--stop the car!" + +On the instant, she acted. But as she arose in the tonneau, Herrick, +sensing her purpose, turned toward her in the sudden rage of complete +intoxication. + +"Naw--naw y' don't!" he shouted, his face perfectly purple with fury +and drink. "No woman--he!--runs this old boat while I'm aboard, see? Go +on, fire me! _I_ don't give--damn! But you don't run--car! Sit down! _I_ +run car--New York or Hell--no matter which! _I_--" + +Hurtling down the slope like a runaway comet, now wholly out of control, +the powerful gray car leaped madly at the turn. + +Catherine, her heart sick at last with terror, caught a second's glimpse +of forest, on one hand; of a stone wall with tree-tops on some steep +abyss below, just grazing it, on the other. Through these trees she saw +a momentary flash of water, far beneath. + +Then the leaping front wheels struck a cluster of loose pebbles, at the +bend. + +Wrenched from the drunkard's grip, the steering wheel jerked sharply +round. + +A skidding--a crash--a cry! + +Over the roadway, vacant now, floated a tenuous cloud of dust and +gasoline-vapor, commingled. + +In the retaining-wall at the left, a jagged gap appeared. Suddenly, far +below, toward the river, a crashing detonation shattered harsh echoes +from shore to shore. + +Came a quick flash of light; then thick, black, greasy smoke arose, and, +wafting through the treetops, drifted away on the warm wind of that late +June afternoon. + +A man, some quarter of a mile to southward, on the great highway, paused +suddenly at sound of this explosion. + +For a moment he stood there listening acutely, a knotted stick in hand, +his flannel shirt, open at the throat, showing a brown and corded neck. +The heavy knapsack on his shoulders seemed no burden to that rugged +strength, as he stood, poised and eager, every sense centered in keen +attention. + +"Trouble ahead, there, by the Eternal!" he suddenly exclaimed. His eye +had just caught sight of the first trailing wreaths of smoke, from up +the cliff. "An auto's gone to smash, down there, or I'm a plute!" + +He needed no second thought to hurl him forward to the rescue. At a +smart pace he ran, halloo'ing loudly, to tell the victims--should they +still live--that help was at hand. At his right, extended the wall. At +his left, a grove of sugar-maples, sparsely set, climbed a long slope, +over the ridge of which the descending sun glowed warmly. Somewhat back +from the road, a rough shack which served as a sugar-house for the +spring sap-boiling, stood with gaping door, open to all the winds that +blew. These things he noted subconsciously, as he ran. + +Then, all at once, as he rounded a sharp turn, he drew up with a cry. + +"Down the cliff!" he exclaimed. "Knocked the wall clean out, and +plunged! Holy Mackinaw, what a smash!" + +In a moment he had reached the scene of the catastrophe. His quick eye +took in, almost at a glance, the skidding mark of the wheels, the ragged +rent in the wall, the broken limbs of trees below. + +"Some wreck!" he ejaculated, dropping his stick and throwing off his +knapsack. "_Hello, Hello, down there!_" he loudly hailed, scrambling +through the gap. + +From below, no answer. + +A silence, as of death, broken only by the echo of his own voice, was +all that greeted his wild cry. + +[Illustration: He gathered her up as though she had been a child.] + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + +THE RESCUE. + + +Gabriel Armstrong leaped, rather than clambered, through the gap in the +wall, and, following the track of devastation through the trees, +scrambled down the steep slope that led toward the Hudson. + +The forest looked as though a car of Juggernaut had passed that way. +Limbs and saplings lay in confusion, larger trees showed long wounds +upon their bark, and here and there pieces of metal--a gray mud-guard, a +car door, a wind-shield frame, with shattered plate glass still clinging +to it--lay scattered on the precipitous declivity. Beside these, hanging +to a branch, Gabriel saw a gaily-striped auto robe; and, further down, a +heavy, fringed shawl. + +Again he shouted, holding to a tree-trunk at the very edge of a cliff of +limestone, and peering far down into the abyss where the car had taken +its final plunge. Still no answer. But, from below, the heavy smoke +still rose. And now, peering more keenly, Armstrong caught sight of the +wreck itself. + +"There it is, and burning like the pit of Hell!" he exclaimed. +"And--what's that, under it? A man?" + +He could not distinctly make out, so thick the foliage was. But it +seemed to him that, from under the jumbled wreckage of the blazing +machine, something protruded, something that suggested a human form, +horribly mangled. + +"Here's where I go down this cliff, whatever happens!" decided Gabriel. +And, acting on the instant, he began swinging himself down from tree to +bush, from shrub to tuft of grass, clinging wherever handhold or +foothold offered, digging his stout boots into every cleft and cranny of +the precipice. + +The height could not have been less than a hundred and fifty feet. By +dint of wonderful strength and agility, and at the momentary risk of +falling, himself, to almost certain death, Gabriel descended in less +than ten minutes. The last quarter of the distance he practically fell, +sliding at a tremendous rate, with boulders and loose earth cascading +all about him in a shower. + +He landed close by the flaming ruin. + +"Lucky this isn't in the autumn, in the dry season!" thought he, as he +approached. "If it were, this whole cliff-side, and the woods beyond, +would be a roaring furnace. Some forest-fire, all right, if the woods +weren't wet and full of sap!" + +Parting the brush, he made his way as close to the car as the intense +heat would let him. The gasoline-tank, he understood, had burst with the +shock, and, taking fire, had wrapped the car in an Inferno of +unquenchable flame. Now, the woodwork was entirely gone; and of the +wheels, as the long machine lay there on its back, only a few blazing +spokes were left. The steel chassis and the engine were red-hot, twisted +and broken as though a giant hammer had smitten them on some Vulcanic +anvil. + +"There's a few thousand dollars gone to the devil!" thought he. But his +mind did not dwell on this phase of the disaster. Still he was hoping, +against hope, that human life had not been dashed and roasted out, in +the wreck. And again he shouted, as he worked his way to the other side +of the machine--to the side which, seen from the cliff above, had seemed +to show him that inert and mangled body. + +All at once he stopped short, shielding his face with his hands, against +the blaze. + +"Good God!" he exclaimed; and involuntarily took off his cap, there in +the presence of death. + +That the man _was_ dead, admitted of no question. Pinned under the +heavy, glowing mass of metal, his body must already have been roasted to +a char. The head could not be seen; but part of one shoulder and one arm +protruded, with the coat burned off and the flesh horribly crackled; +while, nearer Gabriel, a leg showed, with a regulation chauffeur's +legging, also burned to a crisp. + +"Nothing for me to do, here," said Gabriel aloud. "He's past all human +help, poor chap. I don't imagine there can be anybody else in this +wreck. I haven't seen anybody, and nobody has answered my shouts. What's +to be done next?" + +He pondered a moment, then, looking at the license plate of the +machine--its enamel now half cracked off, but the numbers still +legible--drew out his note-book and pencil and made a memo of the +figures. + +"Four-six-two-two, N.Y.," he read, again verifying his numbers. "That +will identify things. And now--the quicker I get back on the road again, +and reach a telephone at West Point, the better." + +Accordingly, after a brief search through the bushes near at hand, for +any other victim--a search which brought no results--he set to work once +more to climb the cliff above him. + +The fire, though still raging, was obviously dying down. In half an +hour, he knew, it would be dead. There was no use in trying to +extinguish it, for gasoline defies water, and no sand was to be had +along that rocky river shore. + +"Let her burn herself out," judged Gabriel. "She can't do any harm, now. +The road for mine!" + +He found the upward path infinitely more difficult than the downward, +and was forced to make a long detour and do some hard climbing that left +him spent and sweating, before he again approached the gap in the wall. +Pausing here to breathe, a minute or two, he once more peered down at +the still-smoking ruin far below. And, as he stood there all at once he +thought he heard a sound not very far away to his right. + +A sound--a groan, a half-inchoate murmur--a cry! + +Instantly his every sense grew keen. Holding his breath he listened +intently. Was it a cry? Or had the breeze but swayed one tree limb +against another; or did some boatman's hail, from far across the river, +but drift upward to him on the cliff? + +"Hello! _Hello_!" he shouted again. "Anybody there?" + +Once more he listened; and now, once more, he heard the sound--this time +he knew it was a cry for help! + +"Where are you?" shouted he, plunging forward along the steep side of +the cliff. "Where?" + +No answer, save a groan. + +"Coming! Coming!" he hailed loudly. Then, guided as it seemed by +instinct, almost as much as by the vague direction of the moaning call, +he ploughed his way through brush and briar, on rescue bent. + +All at once he stopped short in his tracks, wild-eyed, a stammering +exclamation on his lips. + +"A woman!" he cried. + +True. There, lying as though violently flung, a woman was half-crouched, +half-prone behind the roots of a huge maple that leaned out far above a +sheer declivity. + +He saw torn clothing, through the foliage; a white hand, out-stretched +and bleeding; a mass of golden-coppery hair that lay dishevelled on the +bed of moss and last autumn's leaves. + +"A woman! Dying?" he thought, with a sudden stab of pity in his heart. + +Then, forcing his way along, he reached her, and fell upon his knees at +her side. + +"Not dead! Not dying! Thank God!" he exclaimed. One glance showed him +she would live. Though an ugly gash upon her forehead had bathed her +face in blood, and though he knew not but bones were broken, he +recognized the fact that she was now returning, fast, to consciousness. + +Already she had opened her eyes--wild eyes, understanding nothing--and +was staring up at him in dazed, blank terror. Then one hand came up to +her face; and, even as he lifted her in both his powerful arms, she +began to sob hysterically. + +He knew the value of that weeping, and made no attempt to stop it. The +overwrought nerves, he understood, must find some outlet. Asking no +question, speaking no word--for Gabriel was a man of action, not +speech--he gathered her up as though she had been a child. A tall woman, +she; almost as tall as he himself, and proportioned like a Venus. Yet to +him her weight was nothing. + +Sure-footed, now, and bursting through the brambles with fine energy, he +carried her to the gap in the wall, up through it, and so to the roadway +itself. + +"Where--where am I?" the woman cried incoherently. "O--what--where--?" + +"You're all right!" he exclaimed. "Just a little accident, that's all. +Don't worry! I'll take care of you. Just keep quiet, now, and don't +think of anything. You'll be all right, in no time!" + +But she still wept and cried out to know where she might be and what had +happened. Obviously, Gabriel saw, her reason had not yet fully returned. +His first aim must be to bathe her wound, find out what damage had been +done, and keeping her quiet, try to get help. + +Swiftly he thought. Here he and the woman were, miles from any +settlement or house, nearly in the middle of a long stretch of road that +skirted the river through dense woods. At any time a motor might come +along; and then again, one might not arrive for hours. No dependence +could be put on this. There was no telephone for a long distance back; +and even had one been near he would not have ventured to leave the girl. + +Could he carry her back to Fort Clinton, the last settlement he had +passed through? Impossible! No man's strength could stand such a +tremendous task. And even had it been within Gabriel's means, he would +have chosen otherwise. For most of all the girl needed rest and quiet +and immediate care. To bear her all that distance in his arms might +produce serious, even fatal results. + +"No!" he decided. "I must do what I can for her, here and now, and trust +to luck to send help in an auto, down this road!" + +His next thought was that bandages and wraps would be needed for her cut +and to make her a bed. Instantly he remembered the shawl and the big +auto-robe that he had seen caught among the trees. + +"I must have those at once!" he realized. "When the machine went over +the edge, they were thrown out, just as the girl was. A miracle she +wasn't carried down, with the car, and crushed or burned to death down +there by the river, with that poor devil of a chauffeur!" + +Laying her down in the soft grass along the wall, he ran back to where +the wraps were, and, detaching them from the branches, quickly regained +the road once more. + +"Now for the old sugar-house in the maple-grove," said he. "Poor +shelter, but the best to be had. Thank heaven it's fair weather, and +warm!" + +The task was awkward, to carry both the girl and the bulky robes, but +Gabriel was equal to it She had by now regained some measure of +rationality; and though very pale and shaken, manifested her nerve and +courage by no longer weeping or asking questions. + +Instead, she lay in his arms, eyes closed, with the blood stiffening on +her face; and let him bear her whither he would. She seemed to sense his +strength and mastery, his tender care and complete command of the +situation. And, like a hurt and tired child, outworn and suffering, she +yielded herself, unquestioningly, to his ministrations. + +Thus Gabriel, the discharged, blacklisted, outcast rebel and +proletarian, bore in his arms of mercy and compassion the only daughter +of old Isaac Flint, his enemy, Flint the would-be master of the world. + +Thus he bore the woman who had been betrothed to "Tiger" Waldron, +unscrupulous and cruel partner in that scheme of dominance and +enslavement. + +Such was the meeting of this woman and this man. Thus, in his arms, he +carried her to the old sugar-house. + +And far below, the mighty river gleamed, unheeding the tragedy that had +been enacted on its shores, unmindful of the threads of destiny even now +being spun by the swift shuttles of Fate. + +In the branches, above Gabriel and Catherine, birdsong and golden +sunlight seemed to prophesy. But what this message might be, neither the +woman nor the man had any thought or dream. + + + + +CHAPTER XV. + +AN HOUR AND A PARTING. + + +Arriving at the sugar-house, tired yet strong, Gabriel put the wounded +girl down, quickly raked together a few armfuls of dead leaves, in the +most sheltered corner of the ramshackle structure, and laid the heavy +auto-robe upon this improvised bed. Then he helped his patient to lie +down, there, and bade her wait till he got water to wash and dress her +cut. + +"Don't worry about anything," he reassured her. "You're alive, and +that's the main thing, now. I'll see you through with this, whatever +happens. Just keep calm, and don't let anything distress you!" + +She looked at him with big, anxious eyes--eyes where still the full +light of understanding had not yet returned. + +"It--it all happened so suddenly!" she managed to articulate. "He was +drunk--the chauffeur. The car ran away. Where is it? Where is +Herrick--the man?" + +"I don't know," Gabriel lied promptly and with force. Not for worlds +would he have excited her with the truth. "Never you mind about that. +Just lie still, now, till I come back!" + +Already, among the rusty utensils that had served for the +"sugaring-off," the previous spring, he had routed out a tin pail. He +kicked a quantity of leaves in under the sheet-iron open stove, flung +some sticks atop of them, and started a little blaze. Warm water, he +reflected, would serve better than cold in removing that clotting blood +and dressing the hurt. + +Then, saying no further word, but filled with admiration for the girl's +pluck, he seized the pail and started for water. + +"Nerve?" he said to himself, as he ran down the road toward a little +brook he remembered having crossed, a few hundred yards to southward. +"Nerve, indeed! Not one complaint about her own injuries! Not a word of +lamentation! If this isn't a thoroughbred, whoever or whatever she is, I +never saw one!" + +He returned, presently, with the pail nearly full of cold and sparkling +water. Ignoring rust, he made her drink as deeply as she would, and then +set a dipperful of water on the now hot sheet-iron. + +Then, tearing a strip off the shawl, he made ready for his work as an +amateur physician. + +"Tell me," said he, kneeling there beside her in the hut which was +already beginning to grow dusk, "except for this cut on your forehead, +do you feel any injury? Think you've got any broken bones? See if you +can move your legs and arms, all right." + +She obeyed. + +"Nothing broken, I guess," she answered. "What a miracle! Please leave +me, now. I can wash my own hurt. Go--go find Herrick! He needs you worse +than I do!" + +"No he doesn't!" blurted Gabriel with such conviction that she +understood. + +"You mean?" she queried, as he brought the dipper of now tepid water to +her side. "He--he's dead?" + +He hesitated to answer. + +"Dead! Yes, I understand!" she interpreted his silence. "You needn't +tell me. I know!" + +He nodded. + +"Yes," said he. "Your chauffeur has paid the penalty of trying to drive +a six-cylinder car with alcohol. Now, think no more of him! Here, let me +see how badly you're cut." + +"Let me sit up, first," she begged. "I--I'm not hurt enough to be lying +here like--like an invalid!" + +She tried to rise, but with a strong hand on her shoulder he forced her +back. She shuddered, with the horror of the chauffeur's death strong +upon her. + +"Please lie still," he begged. "You've had a terrific shock, and have +lived through it by a miracle, indeed. You're wounded and still +bleeding. You _must_ be quiet!" + +The tone in his voice admitted no argument. Submissive now to his +greater strength, this daughter of wealth and power lay back, closed her +tired eyes and let the revolutionist, the proletarian, minister to her. + +Dipping the piece of shawl into the warm water, he deftly moistened the +dried blood on her brow and cheek, and washed it all away. He cleansed +her sullied hair, as well, and laid it back from the wound. + +"Tell me if I hurt you, now," he bade, gently as a woman. "I've got to +wash the cut itself." + +She answered nothing, but lay quite still. And so, hardly wincing, she +let him lave the jagged wound that stretched from her right temple up +into the first tendrils of the glorious red-gold hair. + +"H'm!" thought Gabriel, as he now observed the cut with close +attention. "I'm afraid there'll have to be some stitches taken here!" +But of this he said nothing. All he told her was: "Nothing to worry +over. You'll be as good as new in a few days. As a miracle, it's _some_ +miracle!" + +Having completed the cleansing of the cut, he fetched his knapsack and +produced a clean handkerchief, which he folded and laid over the wound. +This pad he secured in place by a long bandage cut from the edge of the +shawl and tied securely round her shapely head. + +"There," said he, surveying his improvisation with considerable +satisfaction. "Now you'll do, till we can undertake the next thing. +Sorry I haven't any brandy to give you, or anything of that sort. The +fact is, I don't use it, and have none with me. How do you feel, now?" + +She opened her eyes and looked up at him with the ghost of a smile on +her pale lips. + +"Oh, much, much better, thank you!" she answered. "I don't need any +brandy. I'm--awfully strong, really. In a little while I'll be all +right. Just give me a little more water, and--and tell me--who are you?" + +"Who am I?" he queried, holding up her head while she drank from the tin +cup he had now taken from his knapsack. "I? Oh, just an out-of-work. +Nobody of any interest to you!" + +A certain tinge of bitterness crept into his voice. In health, he knew, +a woman of this class would not suffer him even to touch her hand. + +"_Don't_ ask me who I am, please. And I--I won't ask _your_ name. We're +of different worlds, I guess. But for the moment, Fate has levelled the +barriers. Just let it go at that. And now, if you can stay here, all +right; perhaps I can hike back to the next house, below here, and +telephone, and summon help." + +"How far is it?" she asked, looking at him with wonder in her lovely +eyes--wonder, and new thoughts, and a strange kind of longing to know +more of this extraordinary man, so strong, so gentle, so unwilling to +divulge himself or ask her name. + +"How far?" he repeated. "Oh, four or five miles. I can make it in no +time. And with luck, I can have an auto and a doctor here before dark. +Well, does that suit you?" + +"Don't go, please," she answered. "I--I may be still a little weak and +foolish, but--somehow, I don't want to be left alone. I want to be kept +from remembering, from thinking of those last, awful moments when the +car was running away; when it struck the wall, at the turn; when I was +thrown out, and--and knew no more. Don't go just yet," the girl +entreated, covering her eyes with both hands, as though to shut out the +horrible vision of the catastrophe. + +"All right," Gabriel answered. "Just as you please. Only, if I stay, you +must promise to stop thinking about the accident, and try to pull +together." + +"I promise," she agreed, looking at him with strange eyes. "Oh dear," +she added, with feminine inconsequentiality, "my hair's all down, and +Lord knows where the pins are!" + +He smiled to himself as she managed, with the aid of such few hairpins +as remained, to coil the coppery meshes once more round her head and +even somewhat over the bandage, and secure them in place. + +At sight of his face as he watched her, she too smiled wanly--the first +time he had seen a real smile on her mouth. + +"I'm only a woman, after all," she apologized. "You don't understand. +You can't. But no matter. Tell me--why need you go, at all?" + +"Why? For help, of course." + +"There's sure to be a motor, or something, along this road, before very +long," she answered. "Put up some signal or other, to stop it. That will +save you a long, long walk, and save me from--remembering! I need you +here with me," she added earnestly. "Don't go--please!" + +"All right, as you will," the man made reply. "I'll rig a danger-signal +on the road; and then all we can do will be to wait." + +This plan he immediately put into effect, setting his knapsack in the +middle of the road and piling up brush and limbs of trees about it. + +"There," he said to himself, as he surveyed the result, "no car will get +by _that_, without noticing it!" + +Then he returned to the sugar-house, some hundred yards back from the +highway in the grove, now already beginning to grow dim with the shadows +of approaching nightfall. The glowing coals of the fire gleamed redly, +through the rough place. The girl, still lying on her bed of leaves and +auto-robes, with the mutilated shawl drawn over her, looked up at him +with an expression of trust and gratitude. For a second, only one, +something quick and vital gripped at the wanderer's heart--some vague, +intangible longing for a home and a woman, a longing old as our race, +deep-planted in the inmost citadel of every man's soul. But, +half-impatiently, he drove the thought away, dismissed it, and, smiling +down at her with cheerful eyes and white, even teeth, said reassuringly: + +"Everything's all right now. The first machine that passes, will take +you to civilization." + +"And you?" she asked. "What of you, then?" + +"Me? Oh, I'll hike," he answered. "I'll plug along just as I was doing +when I found you." + +"Where to?" + +"Oh, north." + +"What for?" + +"Work. Please don't question me. I'd rather you wouldn't." + +She pondered a moment. + +"Are you--what they call a--workingman?" she presently resumed. + +"Yes," said he. "Why?" + +"And are you happy?" + +"Yes. In a way. Or shall be, when I've done what I mean to do." + +"But--forgive me--you're very poor?" + +"Not at all! I have, at this present moment, more than eighteen dollars +in my pocket, and I have _these_!" + +He showed her his two hands, big and sinewed, capable and strong. + +"Eighteen dollars," she mused, half to herself. "Why, I have spent that, +and more, for a single ounce of a new perfume--something very rare, you +know, from Japan." + +"Indeed? Well, don't tell _me_," he replied. "I'm not interested in how +you spend money, but how you get it." + +"Get it? Oh, father gives me my allowance, that's all." + +"And he squeezes it out of the common people?" + +She glanced at him quickly. + +"You--you aren't a Socialist, into the bargain, are you?" she inquired. + +"At your service," he bowed. + +"This is strange, strange indeed," she said. "Tell me your name." + +"No," he refused. "I'd still rather not. Nor shall I ask yours. Please +don't volunteer it." + +Came a moment's silence, there in the darkening hut, with the fire-glow +red upon their faces. + +"Happy," said the girl. "You say you're happy. While I--" + +"Are not unhappy, surely?" asked Gabriel, leaning forward as he sat +there beside her, and gazing keenly into her face. + +"How should I know?" she answered. "Unhappy? No, perhaps not. But +vacant--empty--futile!" + +"Yes, I believe you," Gabriel judged. "You tell me no news. And as you +are, you will ever be. You will live so and die so. No, I won't preach. +I won't proselytize. I won't even explain. It would be useless. You are +one pole, I the other. And the world--the whole wide world--lies +between!" + +Suddenly she spoke. + +"You're a Socialist," said she. "What does it mean to be a Socialist?" + +He shook his head. + +"You couldn't understand, if I told you," he answered. + +"Why not?" + +"Oh, because your ideas and environments and interests and everything +have been so different from mine--because you're what you are--because +you can never be anything else." + +"You mean Socialism is something beyond my understanding?" she demanded, +piqued. "Of course, that's nonsense. I'm a human being. I've got brains, +haven't I? I can understand a scheme of dividing up, or levelling down, +or whatever it is, even if I can't believe in it!" + +He smiled oddly. + +"You've just proved, by what you've said," he answered slowly, "that +your whole concepts are mistaken. Socialism isn't anything like what you +think it is, and if I should try to explain it, you'd raise ten thousand +futile objections, and beg the question, and defeat my object of +explanation by your very inability to get the point of view. So you +see--" + +"I see that I want to know more!" she exclaimed, with determination. "If +there's any branch of human knowledge that lies outside my reasoning +powers, it's time I found that fact out. I thought Socialists were wild, +crazy, erratic cranks; but if you're one, then I seem to have been +wrong. You look rational enough, and you talk in an eminently sane +manner." + +"Thank you," he replied, ironically. + +"Don't be sarcastic!" she retorted. "I only meant--" + +"It's all right, anyhow," said he. "You've simply got the old, stupid, +wornout ideas of your class. You can't grasp this new ideal, rising +through the ruck and waste and sin and misery of the present system. I +don't blame you. You're a product of your environment. You can't help +it. With that environment, how can you sense the newer and more vital +ideas of the day?" + +For a moment she fixed eager eyes on him, in silence. Then asked she: + +"Ideals? You mean that Socialism has ideals, and that it's not all a +matter of tearing down and dividing up, and destroying everything good +and noble and right--all the accumulated wisdom and resources of the +world?" + +He laughed heartily. + +"Who handed you that bunk?" he demanded. + +"Father told me Socialism was all that, and more," + +"What's your father's business?" + +"Why, investments, stocks, bonds, industrial development and all that +sort of thing." + +"Hm!" he grunted. "I thought as much!" + +"You mean that father misinformed me?" + +"Rather!" + +"Well, if he did, what is Socialism?" + +"Socialism," answered the young man slowly, while he fixed his eyes on +the smouldering fire, "Socialism is a political movement, a concept of +life, a philosophy, an interpretation, a prophecy, an ideal. It embraces +history, economics, science, art, religion, literature and every phase +of human activity. It explains life, points the way to better things, +gives us hope, strengthens the weary and heavy-laden, bids us look +upward and onward, and constitutes the most sublime ideal ever conceived +by the soul of man!" + +"Can this be true?" the girl demanded, astonished. + +"Not only can, but is! Socialism would free the world from slavery and +slaves, from war, poverty, prostitution, vice and crime; would cleanse +the sores of our rotting capitalism, would loose the gyves from the +fettered hands of mankind, would bid the imprisoned soul of man awake to +nobler and to purer things! How? The answer to that would take me weeks. +You would have to read and study many books, to learn the entire truth. +But I am telling you the substance of the ideal--a realizable ideal, and +no chimera--when I say that Socialism sums up all that is good, and +banishes all that is evil! And do you wonder that I love and serve it, +all my life?" + +She peered at him in wonder. + +"You serve it? How?" she demanded. + +"By spreading it abroad; by speaking for it, working for it, fighting +for it! By the spoken and the printed word! By every act and through +every means whereby I can bring it nearer and nearer realization!" + +"You're a dreamer, a visionary, a fanatic!" she exclaimed. + +"You think so? No, I can't agree. Time will judge that matter. +Meanwhile, I travel up and down the earth, spreading Socialism." + +"And what do you get out of it, personally?" + +"I? What do you mean? I never thought of that question." + +"I mean, money. What do you make out of it?" + +He laughed heartily. + +"I get a few jail-sentences, once in a while; now and then a crack over +the head with a policeman's billy, or maybe a peek down the muzzle of a +rifle. I get--" + +"You mean that you're a martyr?" + +"By no means! I've never even thought of being called such. This is a +privilege, this propaganda of ours. It's the greatest privilege in the +world--bringing the word of life and hope and joy to a crushed, bleeding +and despairing world!" + +She thought a moment, in silence. + +"You're a poet, I believe!" said she. + +"No, not that. Only a worker in the ranks." + +"But do you write poetry?" + +"I write verses. You'd hardly call them poetry!" + +"Verses? About Socialism?" + +"Sometimes." + +"Will you give me some?" + +"What do you mean?" + +"Tell me some of them." + +"Of course not! I can't recite my verses! They aren't worth bothering +you with!" + +"That's for me to judge. Let me hear something of that kind. If you only +knew how terribly much you interest me!" + +"You mean that?" + +"Of course I do! Please let me hear something you've written!" + +He pondered a moment, then in his well-modulated, deep-toned voice +began: + + + _HESPERIDES_. + + + I. + + My feet, used to pine-needles, moss and turf, + And the gray boulders at the lip o' the sea, + Where the cold brine jets up its creamy surf, + Now tread once more these city ways, unloved by me, + Hateful and hot, gross with iniquity. + And so I grieve, + Grieve when I wake, or at high blinding noon + Or when the moon + Mocks this sad Ninevah where the throngs weave + Their jostling ways by day, their paths by night; + Where darkness is not--where the streets burn bright + With hectic fevers, eloquent of death! + I gasp for breath.... + Visions have I, visions! So sweet they seem + That from this welter of men and things I turn, to dream + Of the dim Wood-world, calling out to me. + Where forest-virgins I half glimpse, half see + With cool mysterious fingers beckoning! + Where vine-wreathed woodland altars sunlit burn, + Or Dryads dance their mystic rounds and sing, + Sing high, sing low, with magic cadences + That once the wild oaks of Dodona heard; + And every wood-note bids me burst asunder + The bonds that hold me from the leaf-hid bird. + I quaff thee, O Nepenthe! Ah, the wonder + Grows, that there be who buy their wealth, their ease + By damning serfs to cities, hot and blurred, + Far from thy golden quest, Hesperides!... + + + II. + + I see this August sun again + Sheer up high heaven wheel his angry way; + And hordes of men + Bleared with unrestful sleep rise up another day, + Their bodies racked with aftermaths of toil. + Over the city, in each gasping street, + Shudders a haze of heat, + Reverberant from pillar, span and plinth. + Once more, cribbed in this monstrous labyrinth + Sacrificed to the Minotaur of Greed + Men bear the turmoil, glare, sweat, brute inharmonies; + Denial of each simplest human need, + Loss of life's meaning as day lags on day; + And my rebellious spirit rises, flies + In dreams to the green quiet wood away, + Away! Away! + + + III. + + And now, and now...I feel the forest-moss... + Come! On these moss-beds let me lie with Pan, + Twined with the ivy-vine in tendrill'd curls, + And I will hold all gold, that hampers man, + Only the ashes of base, barren dross! + On with the love-dance of the pagan girls! + The pagan girls with lips all rosy-red, + With breasts upgirt and foreheads garlanded, + With fair white foreheads nobly garlanded! + With sandalled feet that weave the magic ring! + Now...let them sing, + And I will pipe a tune that all may hear, + To bid them mind the time of my wild rhyme; + To warn profaning feet lest they draw near. + Away! Away! Beware these mystic trees! + Who dares to quest you now, Hesperides? + + + IV. + + Great men of song, what sing ye? Woodland meadows? + Rocks, trees and rills where sunlight glints to gold? + Sing ye the hills, adown whose sides blue shadows + Creep when the westering day is growing old? + Sing ye the brooks where in the purling shallows + The small fish dart and gleam? + Sing ye the pale green tresses of the willows + That stoop to kiss the stream? + Or sing ye burning streets, foul with the breath + Of sweatshop, tenement, where endlessly + Spawned swarms of folk serve tyrant masters twain-- + Profit, and his twin-brother, grinning Death? + Where millions toil, hedged off from aught save pain? + Far from thee ever, O mine Arcady?... + + +His voice ceased and silence fell between the man and woman in the old +sugar-house. Gabriel sat there by the dying fire, which cast its ruddy +light over his strongly virile face, and gazed into the coals. The girl, +lying on the rude bed, her face eager, her slim strong hands tightly +clasped, had almost forgotten to breathe. + +At last she spoke. + +"That--that is wonderful!" she cried, a tremor of enthusiasm in her +voice. + +He shook his head. + +"No compliments, please," said he. + +"I'm not complimenting you! I think it _is_ wonderful. You're a true +poet!" + +"I wish I were--so I might use it all for Socialism!" + +"You could make a fortune, if you'd work for some paper or +magazine--some regular one, I mean, not Socialist." + +He shook his head. + +"Dead sea fruit," he answered. "Fairy gold, fading in the clutch, +worthless through and through. No, if my work has any merit, it's all +for Socialism, now and ever!" + +Silence again. Neither now found a word to say, but their eyes met and +read each other; and a kind of solemn hush seemed to lie over their +hearts. + +Then, as they sat there, looking each at each--for now the girl had +raised herself on the crude bed and was supporting herself with one +hand--a sudden sound of a motor, on the road, awakened them from their +musing. + +Came the raucous wail of a siren. Then the engine-exhaust ceased; and a +voice, raised in some annoyance, hailed loudly through the maple-grove: + +"Hello! Hello? What's wrong here?" + +Gabriel stepped to the sugar-house door: + +"Here! Come here!" he shouted in a ringing voice that echoed wildly from +between his hollowed palms. + +As the motorist still sat there, uncomprehending, Gabriel made his way +toward the road. + +"Accident here," said he. "Girl in here, injured. Can you take her to +the nearest town, at once? She needs a doctor." + +Instantly the man was out of his car, and hastening toward Gabriel. + +"Eh? What?" he asked. "Anything serious?" + +In a few words, Gabriel told him the outlines of the tale. + +"The quicker you get the girl to a town, and let her have a doctor and +communication with her family, the better," he concluded. + +"Right! I'll do all in my power," said the other, a rather stout, +well-to-do, vulgar-looking man. + +"Good! This way, then!" + +The man followed Gabriel to the sugar-house. They found the girl already +on her feet, standing there a bit unsteadily, but with determination to +be game, in every feature. + +Five minutes later she was in the new-comer's car, which had been turned +around and now was headed back toward Haverstraw. The shawl and robe +serving her as wraps, she was made comfortable in the tonneau. + +"Think you can stand it, all right?" asked Gabriel, as he took in his +the hand she extended. "In half an hour, you'll be under a doctor's +care, and your father will be on his way toward you." + +She nodded, and for a second tightened the grasp of her hand. + +"I--I'm not even going to know who you are?" she asked, a strange tone +in her voice. + +"No," he answered. "And now, good luck, and good-bye!" + +"Good-bye," she echoed, her voice almost inaudible. "I--I won't forget +you." + +He made no answer, but only smiled in a peculiar way. + +Then, as the car rolled slowly forward, their hands separated. + +Gabriel, bareheaded and with level gaze, stood there in the middle of +the great highway, looking after her. A minute, under the darkening +arches of the forest road, he saw her, still. Then the car swung round +a bend, and vanished. + +Had she waved her hand at him? He could not tell. Motionless he stood, a +while, then cleared away the barrier of branches that obstructed the +road, took up his knapsack, and with slow steps returned to the +sugar-house. + +Almost on the threshold, a white something caught his eye. He picked it +up. Her handkerchief! A moment he held the dainty, filmy thing in his +rough hand. A vague perfume reached his nostrils, disquieting and +seductive. + +"More than eighteen dollars an ounce, perhaps!" he exclaimed, with +sudden bitterness; but still he did not throw the handkerchief away. +Instead, he looked at it more keenly. In one corner, the fading light +just showed him some initials. He studied them, a moment. + +"C. J. F." he read. Then, yielding to a sudden impulse, he +folded the kerchief and put it in his pocket. + +He entered the sugar-house, to make sure, before departing, that he had +left no danger of fire behind him. + +Another impulse bade him sit down on a rough box, there, before the +dying embers. He gazed at the bed of leaves, a while, immersed in +thought, then filled his pipe and lighted it with a glowing brand, and +sat there--while the night came--smoking and musing, in a reverie. + +The overpowering lure of the woman who had lain in his arms, as he had +borne her thither; her breath upon his face; the perfume of her, even +her blood that he had washed away--all these were working on his senses, +still. But most of all he seemed to see her eyes, there in the +ember-lit gloom, and hear her voice, and feel her lithe young body and +her breast against his breast. + +For a long time he sat there, thinking, dreaming, smoking, till the last +shred of tobacco was burned out in the heel of his briar; till the last +ember had winked and died under the old sheet-iron stove. + +At last, with a peculiar laugh, he rose, slung the knapsack once more on +his shoulders, settled his cap upon his head, and made ready to depart. + +But still, one moment, he lingered in the doorway. Lingered and looked +back, as though in his mind's eye he would have borne the place away +with him forever. + +Suddenly he stooped, picked up a leaf from the bed where she had lain, +and put that, too, in his pocket where the kerchief was. + +Then, looking no more behind him, he strode off across the maple-grove, +through which, now, the first pale stars were glimmering. He reached the +road again, swung to the north, and, striking into his long marching +stride, pushed onward northward, away and away into the soft June +twilight. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. + +TIGER WALDRON "COMES BACK." + + +Old Isaac Flint loved but two things in all this world--power, and his +daughter Catherine. + +I speak advisedly in putting "power" first. Much as he idolized the +girl, much as she reminded him of the long-dead wife of his youth, he +could have survived the loss of her. The loss of power would inevitably +have crushed and broken him, stunned him, killed him. Yet, so far as +human affection could still blossom in that withered heart, shrunk by +cold scheming and the cruel piracies of many decades, he loved the girl. + +And so it was that when the message came in, that evening, over the +telephone, the news that Kate had been injured in an auto-accident which +had entirely destroyed the machine and killed Herrick, he paled, +trembled, and clutched the receiver, hardly able to hold it to his ear +with his shaking hand. + +"Here! You!" he cried. "She--she's not badly hurt? She's living? She's +safe? No lies, now! The truth!" + +"Your daughter is very much alive, and perfectly safe," a voice +answered. "This is Doctor MacDougal, of Haverstraw, speaking. The +patient is now having a superficial scalp wound dressed by my assistant. +You can speak to her, in a few minutes, if you like." + +"Now! For God's sake, let me speak _now_!" entreated the Billionaire; +but the doctor refused. Not all Flint's urging or bribing would turn him +one hair's breadth. + +"No," he insisted. "In ten minutes she can talk to you. Not now. But +have no fear, sir. She is perfectly safe and--barring her wound, which +will probably heal almost without a scar--is as well as ever. A little +nervous and unstrung, of course, but that's to be expected." + +"What happened, and how?" demanded Flint, in terrible agitation. + +The doctor briefly gave him such facts as he knew, ending with the +statement that a passing automobilist had brought the girl to him, and +outlining the situation of the first-aid measures in the sugar-house. At +the thought that Herrick, the drunken cause of it all, was dead and +burned, Flint smiled with real satisfaction. + +"Damn him! It's too good for the scum!" he muttered. Then, aloud, he +asked over the wire: + +"And who was the rescuer?" + +"I don't know," MacDougal answered. "Your daughter didn't tell me. But +from what I've learned, he must have been a man of rare strength and +presence of mind. It may well be that you owe your daughter's life to +his prompt work." + +"I'll find him, yet. He'll be suitably rewarded," thought the +Billionaire. "No matter what my enemies have called me, I'm not +incapable of gratitude!" + +Some few minutes later, having paced the library floor meanwhile, in +great excitement, he called the doctor's house again by long-distance, +and this time succeeded in having speech with his daughter. Her voice, +though a little weak, vastly reassured him. Once more he asked for the +outline of the story. She told him all the essentials, and finished by: + +"Now, come and get me, won't you, father dear? I want to go home. And +the quicker you come for me, the happier I'll be." + +"Bless your heart, Kate!" he exclaimed, deeply moved. "Nothing like the +old man, after all, is there? Yes, I'll start at once. I've only been +waiting here, to talk with you and _know_ you're safe. In five minutes +I'll be on my way, with the racing-car. And if I don't break a few +records between here and Haverstraw, my name's not Isaac Flint!" + +After an affectionate good-bye, the old man hung up, rang for Slawson, +his private valet, and ordered the swiftest car in his garage made ready +at once, for a quick run. + +Two hours later, Doctor MacDougal had pocketed the largest fee he ever +had received or ever would, again; and Kate was safe at home, in Idle +Hour. + +On the homeward journey, Flint learned every detail of the affair, from +start to finish; and again grimly consigned the soul of the dead +chauffeur to the nethermost pits of Hell. Yes, he realized, he must have +the body brought in and decently buried, after the coroner's verdict had +been rendered; but in his heart he knew that, save for the eye of public +opinion and the law, he would let those charred remnants lie and rot +there, by the river bank, under the twisted wreckage of the car--and +revel in the thought of that last, barbarous revenge. + +Arrived at home, Flint routed specialists out of their offices, and at a +large expense satisfied himself the girl had really taken no serious +harm. Next day, and the days following, all that money and science +could do to make the gash heal without a scar, was done. Waldron called, +greatly unnerved and not at all himself; and Kate received him with +amicable interest. She had not yet informed her father of the rupture +between Waldron and herself, nor did he suspect it. As for "Tiger," he +realized the time was inopportune for any statement of conditions, and +held his peace. But once she should be well, again, he had savagely +resolved this decision of hers should not stand. + +"Damn it, it can't! It mustn't!" he reflected, as on the third evening +he returned to his Fifth Avenue house. "Now that I'm really in danger of +losing her, I'm just beginning to realize what an extraordinary woman +she is! As a wife, the mistress of my establishment, a hostess, a social +leader, what a figure she would make! And too, the alliance between +Flint and myself simply must not be shattered. Kate is the only child. +The old man's billion, or more, will surely come to her, practically +every penny of it. Flint is more than sixty-three this very minute, he's +a dope-fiend, and his heart's damned weak. He's liable to drop off, any +moment. If I get Kate, and he dies, what a fortune! What a prize! Added +to my interests, it will make me master of the world! + +"Then, too, this new Air Trust scheme positively demands that Flint and +I should be bound together by something closer than mere financial +association. I've simply got to be one of the family. I've got to be his +son-in-law. That's a positive necessity! God, what a fool I was at +Longmeadow, to have taken those three drinks, and have been piqued at +her beating me--to have let my tongue and temper slip--in short, to have +acted like an ass!" + +Ugly and grim, he puffed at his Londres. Vast schemes of finance and of +conquest wove through his busy, plotting brain. Visions of the girl +arose, too, tempting him still more, though his chill heart was +powerless to feel the urge of any real, self-sacrificing or devoted +love. Sensual passion he knew, and ambition, and the lust of power; +nothing else. But these all opened his eyes to the vast blunder he had +committed, and nerved him to reconquest of the ground that he had lost. + +"I can win her, yet," reflected he, as his car swung into the long and +brilliant night-vista of Fifth Avenue. "I know women, and I understand +the game. Flowers, letters, telephone calls, attention every day--every +hour, if need be--these are the artillery to batter down the strongest +fortresses of indifference, even of dislike. And she shall have them +all--all and more. Wally, old chap, you've never been beaten at any +game, whether in the Street or in the pursuit of woman. You'll win yet; +you're bound to win! And Kate shall yet open the door to you, toward +wealth and power and position such as never yet were seen on earth!" + +Thus fortified by his own determination, he slept more calmly that +night. And, on the morrow, his campaign began. + +It lasted but a week. + +At the end of that time, a friendly little note from Idle Hour told him, +frankly and in the kindest manner possible, that--much as she still +liked and respected him--Catherine could not, now or ever, think of him +in any other way than as a friend. + +Stunned by this body-blow, "Tiger" first swore with hideous blasphemies +that caused his valet to retreat precipitately from the famous, +nymph-frieze bedchamber; then ordered drink, then walked the floor a +while in a violent passion; and finally knit up his decision. + +"By God!" he swore, shaking his fist in the direction of Englewood. +"She's balky, eh? She won't, eh? But _I_ say she _will_! And if I can't +make her, there's her father, who can. Together we can break this +stiff-necked spirit and bring her to time. Hm! Fancy anybody or anything +in this world setting up opposition to Flint and Waldron, combined! Just +fancy it, that's all! + +"So then, what's to do? This: See her father and have a heart-to-heart +talk with him. It's obvious she hasn't told him, yet, the real state of +affairs. I doubt if the old idiot has even noticed the absence of my +ring from her finger. And if he has, she's been able to fool him, easily +enough. But not much longer, so help me! + +"No, this very morning he shall hear from me, the whole infernal +story--he shall learn his daughter's unreasonable rebellion, the slight +she's put upon me and her opposition to his will. _Then_ we shall +see--we shall see who's master in that family, he or the girl!" + +With this strong determination in his superheated mind, Waldron rang up +Flint, asked for a private talk, at eleven, in the Wall Street office, +and made ready the mustering of his arguments; his self-defense; his +appeals to Flint's every sense of interest and liking; his whole plea +for the resumption of the broken betrothal. + +And Catherine, all this time of convalescence--what were her thoughts, +and whither were they straying? Not thoughts of Waldron, that is sure, +despite his notes, his telephoning, his flowers, his visits. Not to him +did they wander, as she sat in her sunny bedroom bay-window, looking +out over the great, close cropped lawn, through the oaks and elms, to +the Palisades and the sparkling Hudson beneath. + +No, not to Waldron. Yet wander they did, despite her; and with +persistence they followed channels till then quite unknown to her. + +What might these channels be? And whither, I ask again, did the girl's +memories and fancies, her wondering thoughts, her vague, half-formulated +longings, lead? + +You, perhaps, can answer, as well as I, if you but remember +that--Billionaire's daughter though she was, and all unversed in the +hard realities of life--she was, at heart and soul, very much a woman +after all. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. + +THOUGHTS. + + +During the long days, the June days, of her convalescence, Catherine +found herself involuntarily reverting, more often than she could +understand, to thoughts of the inscrutable and unknown man who had in +all probability saved her life. + +"Had it not been for him," she reflected, as she sat there gazing out +over the river, "I might not be here, this minute. Caught as I was, on +the very brink of the precipice, I should almost certainly have slipped +and fallen over, in my dazed condition, when I tried to get up. If I'd +been alone, if he hadn't found me just when he did--!" + +She shuddered at thought of what must almost inevitably have happened, +and covered her face with both hands. Her cheeks burned; she knew +emotion such as not once had Waldron's kiss ever been able to arouse in +her. The memory of how she, half-unconscious, had lain in that +stranger's arms, so powerful and tense; had been carried by him, as +though she had been a child; had felt his breath upon her face and the +quick, vigorous beating of his heart--all this, and more, dwelt in her +soul, nor could she banish it. + +Gratitude? Yes, and more. For the first time in her two-and-twenty +years, Catherine had sensed the power, the virility of a real man--not +of the make-believe, manicured and tailored parasites of her own +class--and something elemental in her, some urge of primitive womanhood, +grappled her to that memory and, all against her will, caused her to +live and re-live those moments, time and time again, as the most strange +and vital of her life. + +Yet, it was not this physical call alone, in her, that had awakened her +being. The man's eyes, and mouth and hair, true, all remained with her +as a subtly compelling lure; his strength and straight directness seemed +to conquer her and draw her to him; but beyond all this, something in +his speech, in his ideas and the strange reticence that had so puzzled +her, kept him even more constantly in her wondering thoughts. + +"A workingman," she murmured to herself, in uncomprehending revery, "he +said he was a workingman--and he knew that I was very, very rich. He +knew my father would have rewarded him magnificently, given him money, +work, anything he might have asked. And yet, and yet--he would not even +tell his name. And he refused to know mine! He didn't want to know! His +pride--why, in all my life, among all the proud, rich people that I've +known, I've never found such pride as that!" + +She reflected what would have happened had any man of the usual type +rescued her, even a man of wealth and position. Of course, thought she, +that man would have made himself known and would have called on her, +ostensibly to inquire after her condition, yet really to ingratiate +himself. At this reflection she shuddered again. + +"Ugh!" she whispered. "He'd have tried to take liberties, any other man +would. He'd have presumed on the accident--he'd have been--oh, +everything that _that_ man was not, and could never be!" + +Now her thoughts wandered to the brief talk they two had had there in +the old sugar-house. Every word of it seemed graven on her memory. +Disconnected bits of what he had told her, seemed to float before her +mental vision--: "I? Oh, I'm just an out-of-work--don't ask me who I am; +and I won't ask who _you_ are. We're of different worlds, I guess--don't +question me; I'd rather you wouldn't. Am I happy? Yes, in a way, or +shall be, when I've done what I mean to do!" + +Such were some of his phrases that kept coming back to her, as she sat +there in that luxurious and beautiful room, her book lying unread in her +lap, the scent of flowers everywhere, and, merely for her taking, all +the world's treasures hers to command. Strange man, indeed, and stranger +speech, to her! Never had she been thus spoken to. His every word and +thought and point of view, commonplace enough, perhaps, seemed +peculiarly stimulating to her, and wakened eager curiosity, and would +not let her live in peace, as heretofore. + +"He said he was a Socialist, too," she murmured, "whatever that may be. +But he--he didn't _look_ it! On the contrary, he looked remarkably clean +and intelligent. And the words he used were the words of an educated +man. Far better vocabulary than Waldron's, for example; and as for poor +little Van Slyke, and that set, why this man's mind seems to have +towered above them as the Palisades tower above the river! + +"Happy? Rich? He said he was both--and all he had was eighteen dollars +and his two big hands! Just fancy that, will you? He might as well have +said eighteen cents; it would have been about as much! And I--what did +I tell him? I told him I, with all my money and everything, was vacant, +empty, futile! Just those words. And--God help me, I--I am!" + +Suddenly, she felt her eyes were wet. What was the reason? Herself she +knew not. All she knew was that with her beautiful and queenly head +bowed on the arm of her Japanese silk morning gown, as its loose sleeves +lay along the edge of the Chippendale table, she was crying like a +child. + +Crying bitterly; and yet in a kind of new, strange joy. Crying with +tears so bitter-sweet that she, herself, could not half understand them; +could not fathom the deeper meaning that lay hidden there. + +"If!" she whispered to her heart. "If only I were of his class, or he of +mine!" + +And Gabriel, what of him? + +As he swung north and westward, day by day, on the long hike toward +Niagara, the memory of the girl went with him, and hour by hour bore him +company. + +He was not forgetting. Could he forget? Strive as he might, to thrust +her out of his heart and soul, she still indwelt there. + +Not all his philosophy, nor all his realization that this woman he had +saved, this woman who had lain in his two arms and mingled her breath +with his, belonged to another and an alien class, could banish her. + +And as he strode along, swinging his knotted stick at the daisies and +pondering on all that might have been and now could never be, a sudden, +passionate longing burst over him, as a long sea-roller, hurled against +a cliff, flings upward in vast tourbillions of spume. + +Raising his face to the summer sky, his bare head high with emotion and +his eyes wide with the thought of strange possibilities that shook and +intoxicated him, he cried: + +"Oh--would God she were an orphan and an outcast! Would God she had no +penny in this world to call her own!" + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. + +FLINT AND WALDRON PLAN. + + +"Tiger" Waldron's interview with old man Flint, regarding Catherine's +breaking of the engagement, was particularly electric. Promptly at the +appointed hour, Waldron appeared, shook hands with the older man, sat +down and lighted a cigar, then proceeded to business. + +"Flint," said he, without any ado, "I've come here to tell you some very +unpleasant news and to ask your help. Can you stand the one, and give me +the other?" + +The Billionaire looked at him through his pince-nez, poised on that +vulture-beak, with some astonishment. Then he smiled nervously, showing +his gleaming tooth of gold, and answered: + +"Yes, I guess so. What's wrong?" + +"What's wrong? Everything! Catherine has broken our engagement!" + +For a moment old Flint sat there motionless and staring. Then, moving +his head forward with a peculiar, pecking twitch that still further +enhanced his likeness to a buzzard, he stammered: + +"You--you mean--?" + +"I mean just what I say. Your daughter has severed the betrothal. +Haven't you noticed my ring was gone from her finger?" + +"Gone? Bless my soul, no--that is, yes--maybe. I don't know. But--but +at any rate, I thought nothing of it. So then, you say--she's broken it +off? But, why? And when? And--and tell me, Wally, what's it all about?" + +"Listen, and I _will_ tell you," Tiger answered. "And I'll give it to +you straight. I'm partly at fault. Mostly so, it may be. Let me assume +all the blame, at any rate. I'm not sparing myself and have no intention +of doing so. My conduct, I admit, was beastly. No excuses offered. All I +want to do, now, is to make the _amende honorable_, be forgiven, and +have the former status resumed." + +Thus spoke Waldron. But all the time his soul lay hot within him, at +having so to humble himself before Flint; at being thus obliged to eat +crow, and fawn and feign and creep. + +"If I didn't need your billion, old man," his secret thought was, as he +eyed Flint with pretended humility, "you might go to Hell, for all of +me--you and your daughter with you, damn you both!" + +The Billionaire sat blinking, for a moment. Then, picking up a pencil +and idly scrawling pothooks on the big clean sheet of blotting-paper +that covered his reference-book table, beside which the men were +sitting, he asked: + +"Well, what's the trouble all about? What are the facts? I must have +those, in full, before I can guarantee to do anything toward changing my +daughter's opinion. Much as I deplore her action, Wally, I don't know +whether she's right or wrong, till you tell me. Now, let's have it." + +"I will," the other answered; and he was as good as his word. Realizing +the prime futility of any subterfuge, or any misstatement of +fact--which Catherine would surely discover and tell her father, and +which would react against him--Waldron began at the beginning and +narrated the entire affair, with every detail precisely accurate. Nay, +he even exaggerated the offensiveness of his conduct, at the Longmeadow +Club, and in various ways gave the Billionaire to understand that he was +a more serious offender than in truth he really was. For, after all, the +only real offense was the lack of any compatibility between the girl and +himself--the total absence of love. + +Flint listened carefully and with a judicial expression. If he blamed +Waldron, he made no statement of that fact. A man himself, and one who +viewed man's weaknesses and woman's foibles with a cynic eye, he could +judge motives and weigh actions with considerable skill. + +"I see, I see," he commented, when Waldron had quite done, and had +poured forth a highly false declaration of his great love for the girl +and his determination that this rupture should not be permanent. "I +understand the case, I think. It all seems an unfortunate accident--just +one of those unavoidable incidents which strike into and upset human +calculations, against all expectation. + +"You're not terribly guilty, Waldron. You acted inconsiderably. +Irritatingly, perhaps, and not wholly like a gentleman--for which, blame +the rotten Scotch they _will_ persist in selling, out there at +Longmeadow. But even that's not fatal. Many men have done worse and been +forgiven. I'll have a talk with Catherine, inside a day or two, when the +psychological moment offers. And you may be sure, if a father's advice +and good offices are of any avail, this little quarrel will be all +patched up between you two. Surely will be! I can almost positively +promise you that!" + +"Promise it?" asked Waldron, leaning eagerly forward, a strange light in +those close-set, greenish eyes. + +Flint nodded. "Yes," he answered. "I've never yet failed to bring Kate +to reason and good common-sense, when I've set out to. This will be no +exception. My word and my counsel possess the greatest weight with her. +She'll listen and be advised, I'm sure. So have no uneasiness," he +concluded, holding out his hand to his partner. "Leave everything to me. +You'll see, it will all come right, in the end." + +"Tiger" shook his hand, cordially. + +"I haven't words to thank you!" he exclaimed, with as much emotion as he +could simulate from a perfectly cold heart and calculating soul. + +"Don't try to," the Billionaire replied, with seeming benevolence. "All +the thanks I want, Wally, is to patch up this little difficulty and +reunite two--that is--two loving, sympathetic hearts!" + +"You old hypocrite!" Waldron thought, eyeing him. "All _you_ want of me, +if anything, is to keep me as your partner, because you know you're +growing old and losing your grip, and I'm still in the game with all +four claws! Paternal philanthropist _you_ are--I don't think!" + +Wally was dead right. + +"I can't lose this man," the Billionaire was thinking. "Whether or no, +Kate has got to marry him. This Air Trust business demands a strong, a +quick, a perfectly unscrupulous hand. And no outsider will do. My +partner has got to be my son-in-law. Love be damned! Romantic slush can +go to Hell! Kate will marry him--she's _got_ to--or I'll know the reason +why! + +"Though, after all," he soothed his conscience, as Waldron stood up, +walked to the window and stood gazing out as he smoked, "after all, +Wally will make her as happy, I fancy, as any man. He's a fine figure in +the world, commanding, heavily propertied, energetic and successful, +also of the finest family connections. Yes, a husband any woman might +admire and be proud of. Certainly, the only son-in-law for _me_. Even if +she can't idolize and worship him, as some fool women think they must, a +man, she can respect and be respected with him. And with him she can +take the highest position in the land, without a qualm as to his +competence and manner. Beside all that, what's love? Love? Bah!" + +With which philosophy, he too arose, went back into his own office, and +returned to the dictating of some very private letters to Slade, the +Cosmos Detective Agency manager, _in re_ the ferreting-out and jailing +or deporting of all Socialists and labor leaders at Niagara. This +preparatory work on the ground of the huge new Air Trust plant, he +deemed most essential. The Cosmos people, scenting a big contract, had +fostered his belief, and now, already, the work was well under way. +Subterranean methods were still sufficing; but, should these fail, +others lay in the background. + +Flint smiled a grim, vulturine smile as he read over the finished +letters of instruction, a few minutes later. + +"And to think," he mused, as he finished them, "that these fanatics +believe--really believe--they can make headway anywhere in this country, +now! Ten years ago, yes, they might have. But that's not today. Then, +publie opinion--stupid and futile as it was--could still be aroused. +Then, there was a really effective labor and Socialist press. And the +Limited Franchise Bill hadn't gone through. Neither had the enlarged +Military Bill, the National Censorship nor even the Grays--the National +Mounted Police. While _now_--ah, thank Heaven, it's all so different and +so easy that I call myself a fool, at times, for even giving these +matters a single thought! + +"Well," he concluded, handing the letters back to his confidential +secretary, for mailing, "well, now _that's_ done, at any rate. So then, +to the S. & S. committee meeting. And tonight my little +talk with Kate. I'll soon bring her to reason, I'm sure. There's nothing +can't be accomplished by a little patience and persuasion." + +The old Billionaire chose his time well, that night, for the vital +interview with his daughter, who had so far rebelled against his +authority as to break with the man most eminently acceptable to him. +After a simple but exquisite dinner in the Venetian room, he asked the +girl to play for him, which (he knew) always pleased her and put her in +a receptive mood. + +"Play for you, father?" she answered. "Of course I will, anything and as +much as you like! What shall it be, tonight? Chopin, or Grieg, or--?" + +"Anything that pleases you, suits me, my dear," he answered, smiling +with satisfaction at his ruse. Never had he felt more masterful. He had +allowed himself a trifle more morphia than usual that day, by reason of +the approaching interview; and now the subtle drug filled him with +well-being and seemed to enhance his self-control and power. Lighting a +cigar--rare treat for him--he offered Kate his arm; and together, +unattended by any valet or domestic, they walked along the high, +paneled hallway, hung with Gobelin tapestries, and so reached the +magnificent music-room which Kate claimed, in a way, as her own special +place at Idle Hour. + +Here everything suggested harmony. The mahogany wainscotted walls were +decked with fine portraits of the world's great masters of melody. +Handsome cabinets contained costly and elaborate collections and folios +of music, a complete library of the entire world's best productions. The +girl's harp--a masterpiece by Pestalozzi of Venice--stood at one side; +on the other, a five hundred dollar Victrola, with a wonderful +repertoire of records. But the grand piano itself dominated all, +especially made for Catherine by Durand Freres, in Paris, and imported +on the Billionaire's own yacht, the "Bandit." A wondrous instrument, +this, finer even than the pipe-organ in an alcove at the far end of the +room. It summed up all that the world's masters knew of +instrument-production; and its cost, from factory to its present place +at Idle Hour, represented twenty years' wages, and more, of any of +Flint's slaves in the West Virginia mines or the Glenn Pool oil-fields +of Oklahoma. + +At this magnificent piano the girl now seated herself, on a bench of +polished teak, from Mindanao. And, turning to her father, who had sunk +down in his favorite easy-chair of Russia leather, she asked with a +smile: + +"Well, daddy, what shall I play for you, to-night?" + +He looked at her a minute, before replying. Never had she seemed to +dear, so beautiful to him. The rose-tinted light that fell softly from a +Bohemian chandelier over her head, flooded her coiled hair, her face, +her hands, with soft warm color. The slight dressing that her wound now +required was covered by a deft arrangement of her hair. She had regained +her usual tint. Nothing now told of the accident, the close call she had +had, from death, so short a time before. And old Flint smiled, as he +answered her: + +"What shall you play? Anything you like, my dear. You know best--only, +don't make it too classical. Your old father isn't up to that ultra +music, you know, and never will be!" + +She smiled again with understanding, and turned to the keyboard. Then, +without notes, and with a delicate touch of perfectly modulated +interpretation, she began to render "Trauemerei," as though she, too, had +been dreaming of something that might have been. + +Flint listened, with perfect content. The music soothed and quieted him. +Even the foreknowledge of the difficult task that lay before him, the +interview that he must have with his daughter, faded from his mind, a +little, and left him wholly calm. Eyes closed, every sense intent on the +delicious harmony, he followed the masterpiece to the end; and sighed +when the last notes had died away, and kept silence. + +Then Kate, still needing no music on the rack before her, played the +"Miserere" from "Il Trovatore," a Hungarian "Czardas," Mendelssohn's +"Fruehlingslied" and the overture from "William Tell." She followed these +with the "Intermezzo" and the "Pizzicato" from "Sylvia," and then with +"Narcissus" and "Sans Souci." And at the end of this, she paused again; +for now her father had arisen and come close to her. With a hand on her +shoulder, looking down at her with stern yet kindly eyes, he said: + +"'Sans Souci'? That means 'Without Care,' doesn't it, Kate?" + +"Yes, Daddy. Why?" she answered. + +"Oh, I was just thinking, that's all," said he. "It made me wish _I_ had +no cares, no troubles, no sorrows." + +"Sorrows, father? Why should you have sorrows?" she queried, turning to +him and taking both his shriveled hands in her warm, strong ones. + +"Sorrows? Why shouldn't I?" said he. "Every man of large affairs has +them. Every father has them, too." And he bent over her and kissed her, +with unusual emotion. + +"Every father?" asked she. "What do you mean? Am _I_ a sorrow to you?" + +"A joy in many ways," he answered. "In some, a sorrow." + +"In what ways?" she asked quickly, her eyes widening. + +"In this way, most of all," he told her, as he took her left hand up, +and pointed at the finger where Waldron's ring had been and now no +longer was. + +She looked at him a moment, hardly understanding; then bowed her head. + +"Father," she whispered. "Forgive me--but I couldn't! I--I couldn't! No, +not for the world!" + +Flint's drug-contracted eyes hardened as he stood there gazing down at +her. Once, twice he essayed to speak, but found no words. At last, +however, blinking nervously, he said: + +"This, Kate, is what I want to talk with you about, to-night. Will you +hear me?" + + + + +CHAPTER XIX. + +CATHERINE'S DEFIANCE. + + +"Hear you, best and dearest father in the world?" she cried, looking +quickly up at him again. "Of course I will! Only, I beg you, +don't--don't ask me to--" + +"I will ask you nothing, Kate, my girl, save this--to consider +everything well, and to act like a reasoning, thinking creature, not +like an impetuous and romantic school-girl!" + +Releasing her hands, he once more sat down in the easy-chair, crossed +his legs and peered keenly at her, to fathom if he could the inner +workings of that other brain and heart. + +"Well, father," she said, "I'll admit, right away, that I've done wrong +to keep this from you, or to try to. We--I--broke the engagement, that +day of the accident, out at Longmeadow. I _meant_ to tell you, tell you +everything and explain it all, but somehow--" + +"You needn't explain, my dear," said Flint, judicially. "Wally has +already done so." + +"And does he blame me, father?" cried the girl, eagerly, clasping her +hands on her knees. + +"No, not at all. On the contrary, he claims the fault is all his own. +And he's most contrite and repentant, Kate. Absolutely so. All he asks +in the world is to make amends and--well, resume the old relation, +whenever you are willing." + +Kate shook her head. + +"That's noble and big of him, father," said she, "to assume all the +blame. Really, half of it is mine. But he's acted like a true man, in +taking it. However, that can't change my decision. I want him for a +friend, in every way. But for a husband, no, no, never in this world!" + +The Billionaire frowned darkly. Already a stronger opposition was +developing than he had expected; and opposition was the one thing in all +the world that he could neither tolerate nor endure. + +"Listen, Kate," said he. "You don't grasp the situation at all. Waldron +is an extraordinary man in many ways. In refusing him, you seriously +injure yourself. Of course, he has never done any spectacular, heroic +thing for you, like--for instance--that young man who rescued you, and +whom I shall suitably reward as soon as I find him--" + +"What!" she exclaimed, peering eagerly at her father. "What do you mean? +Find him? Reward him?" + +"Eh? Why, naturally," the Billionaire replied, scowling at the +interruption. "His game of refusing his identity was, of course, just a +clever dodge on his part. He certainly must expect something out of it. +I have--er--set certain forces at work to discover him; and, as I say, +when I've done so, I will reward him liberally, and--" + +"You'd better _not_!" ejaculated Kate, with animation. "He isn't the +sort of man you can take liberties with!" + +"Hm? What now?" said Flint, with vexation. "What do _you_ know about +him?" + +"Oh, nothing, nothing, father," the girl answered quickly. "Only, I +think you're making a mistake to try and force a reward on a man who +doesn't want it. But no matter," she added, her face tinged by a warmer +glow--which Flint was quick to see. "Forgive my interruption. Now, about +Wally?" + +The old man peered intently at his daughter, a full minute, then with a +peculiar sinking at his heart, made shift to say: + +"About Wally, yes; you simply don't understand. That's all. Listen now, +Kate, and be reasonable." + +"I will, daddy. Only don't ask me to marry a man I don't and can't love, +ever, ever, so long as I live!" + +"That isn't anything, my girl. Love isn't all." + +"It is, to _me_! Without it, marriage is only--" She shuddered. "No, +daddy; a thousand times better for me to be an old maid, and--and all +that, than give myself to _him_!" + +Flint set his teeth hard together. + +"Kate," said he, his voice like wire, "now hear what I have to say! I +want you fully to understand the character and desirability of Maxim +Waldron!" + +Then in a cold, analytic voice, carefully, point by point, he analyzed +the suitor, told of his wealth and power, his connections and his +prospects, his culture, travel, political influence and world-wide +reputation. + +"Furthermore," he added, while Kate listened with an expression as cold +as her father's tone itself, "he is my partner. We are allied, in +business. I hope we may be, too, in family. This man is one that any +woman in the world might be proud to call her husband--proud, and glad! +Love flies away, in a few brief months or years. Wealth and power and +respect remain. And, with these, love too may come. Be strong, Kate! Be +sensible! You are no child, but a grown woman. I shall not try to force +you. All I want to do is show you your own best interest. Think this all +over. Sleep on it. Tomorrow, let us talk of it again. For your own sake, +and mine, do as you should, and let folly be averted. Renew the +engagement. Hush the breath of gossip and scandal. Conform. Play the +game! Do right--be strong!" + +She only shook her head; and now he saw the glister of tear-drops in +those beautiful gray eyes. + +"Father," cried she, standing up and holding out both hands to him. +"Have mercy on me! I can't--I can't! My heart refuses and I cannot force +it. All this--what is it to me?" She swept her hand at the glowing +luxury around her. "Without love, what would such another home be to me? +Worse than a prison-cell, I swear! A living death, to one like me! +Barter and sale--cold calculation--oh, horrible prostitution, horrible, +unspeakable! + +"Poverty, with love--yes, I would choose it. Without love, I never, +never can give myself! Never, as long as I live!" + +The Billionaire, too, stood up. He was shaking, now, as in a palsy, +striving to control his rage. His fingers twitched spasmodically, and +his eyes burned like firecoals behind those gleaming lenses. + +Then, as he peered at her, he suddenly went even paler than before. +Through his heart a stab of understanding had all at once gone home. The +veils were lifted, and he knew the truth. + +Her manner in speaking of that unknown, wandering rescuer; the blush +that had burned from breast to brow, when he had mentioned the fellow; +her aversion for Waldron and her reticence in talking of the +accident--all this, and more, now surged on Flint's comprehension, +flooding his mind with light--with light and with terrible anger. + +And, losing all control, he took a step or two, and raised his shaking +hand. His big-knuckled finger, shaken in denunciation, was raised almost +in her face. Choking, stammering, he cried: + +"Ah! Now I know! Now, now I understand you!" + +Terrified, she retreated toward the door of the music-room. + +"Father, father! What makes you look so?" she gasped. "Oh, you have +never looked or spoken to me this way! What--what can it be?" + +"What can it be?" he mouthed at her. "You ask me, you hypocrite, when +you well know?" + +Suddenly she faced him, stiffening into pride and hard rebellion. + +"No more of that, father!" she exclaimed, her eyes blazing. "I am your +daughter, but you can't talk to me thus. You must not!" + +"Who--who are _you_ to say 'must not?'" he gibed, now wholly beside +himself. "You--you, who love a vagabond, a tramp, scum and off-scouring +of the gutter?" + +A strange, half-choking sound was his only answer. Then, with no word, +she turned away from him, biting her lip lest she answer and betray +herself. + +"Go!" he commanded, bloodless and quivering. "Go to your room. No more +of this! We shall see, soon, who's master of this house!" + +She was already gone. + +Old Flint stood there a moment, listening to her retreating footfalls on +the parquetry of the vast hall. Then, as these died he turned and +groped his way, as though blind, back to his chair, and fell in it, and +covered his eyes with both his shaking hands. + +For a long time he sat there, anguished and crucified amid all that +unmeaning luxury and splendor. + +At last he rose and with uncertain steps sought his own suite, +above-stairs. + +Billionaire and world-master though he was, that night he knew his heart +lay dead within him. He realized that all the fruits of life were Dead +Sea fruits, withered to dust and ashes on his pale and quivering lips. + + + + +CHAPTER XX. + +THE BILLIONAIRE'S PLOT. + + +He was aroused from this bitter revery by a rapping at the door. +Opening, he admitted Slawson, his valet. The servile one handed him a +letter with a special-delivery stamp on it. + +"Excuse me for intruding, sir," said Slawson, meekly smiling, "but I +knew this was urgent." + +"All right. Get out!" growled Flint. When the man was gone, he fortified +himself with a couple of morphine tablets, and ripped the long envelope. +It was from Slade, he knew, of the Cosmos Agency. + +With a rapid eye he glanced it over. Then uttering a sudden oath, he +studied it carefully, under the electric bulb beside his dressing-table. + +"Gods and devils!" he ejaculated. "What next?" + +The letter read: + + 142A Park Row, New York City, June 28, 1921. + + Isaac L. Flint, Esq., + + Idle Hour, Englewood, N. J. + + Dear Sir: + + Reporting in the matter of the young man who rescued your + daughter, in the recent accident, let me say I have discovered his + identity and some important facts concerning him. I take the + liberty of thinking that your intention of rewarding him, when + found, will be somewhat modified by this information. + + This man's name is Gabriel Armstrong, age 24. Occupation, expert + electrical and chemical worker. A Socialist and labor agitator, of + the most dangerous type, because intellectual and well-read. A man + of considerable power and influence in Socialist and labor + circles. Has been something of a wanderer. Is well known to union + men and Socialists, all over the country. A powerful speaker, and + resourceful. + + He was last employed at your testing-works on Staten Island. + Discharged by your Mr. Herzog, about two weeks ago for having, I + understand, been in possession of a certain red-covered note-book, + which Mr. Herzog found in his pocket. This book is the same which + you commissioned me to find, but which Mr. Herzog returned to you + before I undertook the search for it. The inference is that this + Armstrong is in possession of some private information about your + work, which may make him even more dangerous. Herzog informs me + that you and Mr. Waldron have had Armstrong blacklisted. But this + seems of no importance to the man, as he is clever and can live + anywhere, by casual labor and by working with the Socialists. + + Armstrong is now at Syracuse. He has been tramping the roads. Have + had two of my operators enter his room at the Excelsior Lodging + House and search, his effects, while he was taking a bath. Can find + nothing to give me any legal means of proceeding against him. He + has some ready money, so a vagrancy-charge will not hold. If you + wish me to resort to extreme measures to "get" him, kindly give me + carte blanche, and guarantee me protection in case of trouble. The + job can be done, but it may be risky, in view of his influence and + backing among the Socialists and labor people. Before proceeding + further I want to know how far you will support me. + + Am having him shadowed. He cannot get away. As yet he suspects + nothing. On receipt of your next, will take measures to put him + away for a few months. I know that, once he lands behind bars, his + finish can be easily arranged. + + Trusting this information will prove satisfactory to you, and + awaiting your further instructions, I am, + + Very truly yours, + + THE COSMOS AGENCY, + + Dillon F. Slade, Mgr. + +Old Flint read this extraordinary communication twice through, then, +raising his head, growled in his shrunken throat, for all the world like +a wild beast. His gold tooth, gleaming in the light, made his rictus of +passion more venomous, more malevolent still. + +"The--the Hell-hound!" he stammered, his eyes narrowed with hate and +rage. "Oh, wait! Wait till we land him! And this--_this_ is the devil, +the scum, that Kate, my daughter--" + +He could not finish; but, clutching at his sparse gray hair, fell to +pacing the floor and mouthing execrations. Had he been of the sanguine +manner of body, he must inevitably have suffered an apoplexy. Only his +spare frame and bloodless type, due to the drug, saved his life, at that +first shock of rage and hate. + +Grown calmer, presently, he took quick action. Seating himself at a desk +in the corner of his bed-chamber--a desk where some of his most +important private matters had been put through--he chose a sheet of +blank paper, with no monogram, and wrote: + + Take immediate action. Will back you to the limit, and beyond. Ten + thousand bonus if you land him behind bars inside a week. Stop at + nothing, but get results. F. + +This he folded and put in an envelope which he addressed to Slade, and +was about to seal, when another idea struck him. + +"By God!" he exclaimed, smiting the desk. "It won't do to have this just +some ordinary charge. The thing has got to be disgraceful, unpardonable, +hideous! + +"There are two things to be considered now. One is to 'get' him, in +connection with that red book of my plans--to head him off from making +any possible trouble in the development of the Air Trust. + +"The other is--Kate! Nothing catches a woman, like martyrdom. If +anything happens to this cur, and she suspects that I've done it, out of +spite, all Hell can't hold her. I know her well enough for _that_. No, +this fellow has got to be put away on some charge that will absolutely +and utterly ruin him, in her eyes, for good and all--that will blast and +wreck him, forever, with her. Something that, when I tell her, will fill +her with loathing and horror. Something that will cause a terrible and +complete revulsion of feeling in her, and bring her back to Waldron, as +to a strong refuge in time of trouble. Something that will crush and +quell her, utterly cure her of those idiotic, school-girl notions of +hers, and make her--as she should be--submissive to my will and my +demands!" + +He pondered a moment, an ugly, crafty smile on those old lips of his; +then, struck by sudden inspiration, laughed a dry, harsh laugh. + +"The very thing!" he exulted, with the mirth of a vulture that has just +found a peculiarly revolting mass of carrion. "Fool that I was, not to +have thought of it before!" + +Hastily he withdrew the letter from the envelope, opened it, and with +eager hand wrote three short sentences. He read these over, nodded +approval, and this time sealed and addressed the letter. Then he pushed +an electric button over the desk. + +"Have this letter carried to this address at once," he commanded +Slawson. "Mr. Dillon Slade, 432 Highland Avenue, Rutherford, N. J. +See? Special delivery won't do. Have Sanders take it at once, in the +racer. No answer required. And after you've seen it start on its way, +come back here. I want to go to bed." + +"Yes, sir. All right, sir," the valet bowed as he took the letter and +departed. + +Ten minutes later, he was back again, helping old Flint undress. + +Long after the Billionaire was in bed, in the big, luxurious room, with +its windows open toward the river--the room guarded all night by armed +men in the house and on the lawn outside--he lay there thinking of his +plot, chuckling to himself over its infernal cunning, and filled with +joy at the prospects now opening out ahead of him. + +"Two birds with one stone, this time, for sure," he pondered. "Ha! +They'll try to beat old Isaac Flint at this or any other game, will +they? Man or woman, I don't care which, they'll never get away with +it--never, so long as life and breath remain in me!" + +Then, soothed by these happy thoughts, and by a somewhat increased +dosage of his drug, the Billionaire gradually and contentedly fell +asleep, to dream of victory, and vengeance, and power. + +Not in weeks had he slumbered so peacefully. + +But for many hours after her father was asleep, Catherine sat at her +window, in a silk kimono, and with fevered pulses and dry eyes, with +throbbing heart and leaping pulses, thought long thoughts. + +Sleepless she sat there, counting the hours tolled from the church-spire +in the town, below. + +Morning still found her at the window, her brain afire, her heart laid +desolate and waste by the consuming struggle which, that night, had +swept and ravaged it. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI. + +GABRIEL, GOOD SAMARITAN. + + +On the evening of July third, a week later, Gabriel Armstrong found +himself at Rochester, having tramped the hundred miles from Syracuse, by +easy stages. During this week, old Flint took good care not to reopen +the subject of the break with Waldron; and his daughter, too, avoided +it. They two were apparently at an impasse regarding it. But Flint +inwardly rejoiced, knowing full well the plot now under way. And though +Waldron urged him to take some further action and force the issue, Flint +bade him hold his peace, and wait, telling him all would yet be well. + +Outwardly calmer, the old man was raging, within, more and ever more +bitterly, against Armstrong. On July first, Slade had reported in person +that his operators who were trailing the quarry had--in the +night--discovered in one of his pockets a maple leaf wrapped in a fine +linen handkerchief marked "C. J. F." Flint, recognizing his +daughter's initials, well-nigh burst a blood-vessel for wrath. But he +instructed Slade not to have the handkerchief abstracted from +Armstrong's possession. By no sign or hint must the victim be made aware +that he was being spied upon. When the final blow should fall, then +(reflected the Billionaire, with devilish satisfaction) all scores would +be paid in full, and more than paid. + +July third, then, found Gabriel at Rochester, now seventy-five or +eighty miles from Niagara Falls, his goal, where--he had already +heard--ground was being actually broken for the huge new power plant of +which he alone, of all outsiders, understood the meaning. Gabriel +counted on spending the Fourth at Rochester where a Socialist picnic and +celebration had been arranged. Ordinarily, he would have taken part in +the work and volunteered as a speaker, but now, anxious to keep out of +sight, he counted merely on forming one of the crowd. There could be +little danger, thought he, in such a mass. Despite the recent stringent +censorship and military rule of the district by the new Mounted Police, +a huge gathering was expected. The big railway and lake-traffic strikes, +both recently lost, had produced keen resentment, and, as political and +economic power had been narrowed here, as all over the country, in these +last few months of on-sweeping capitalist domination, the Socialist +movement had been growing ever more and more swiftly. + +"It will be worth seeing," thought Gabriel, as he stood outside the +lodging-house where he had taken a room for the night. The workers are +surely awakening, at last. The spirit I've been meeting, lately, is +uglier and more determined than anything I ever used to find, a year or +two ago. It seems to me, if conditions are like this all over the +country, the safety-valve is about ready to pop, and the masters had +better look out, or some of them are going to land in Hell! + +"Yes, I'll stop over here, one day, and look and listen. Sorry I can't +take part, but I mustn't. My game, now, is to travel underground as it +were. I've got a bigger job in view than soap-boxing, just _now_!" + +He ate a simple supper at an "Owl" lunch-cart, totally unaware that, +across the street, a couple of Cosmos men were waiting for him to come +out. And, after this, buying a Socialist paper, he strolled into Evans +Park to sit and read, a while, by the red light of the descending sun. + +Here he remained till dark, smoking his briar, watching the dirty, +ragged children of the wretched wage-slaves at play; observing the +exploited men and women on the park-benches, as they sought a little +fresh air and respite from toil; and pondering the problems that still +lay before him. At times--often indeed--his thoughts wandered to the +maple-grove and the old sugar-house, far away on the Hudson. Memories of +the girl would not be banished, nor longings for her. Who she might be, +he still knew not. Unwilling to learn, he had refrained from looking up +the number he had copied from the plate of the wrecked machine. He had +even abstained from reading the papers, a few days, lest he might see +some account of the accident. A strange kind of unwillingness to know +the woman's name possessed him--a feeling that, if he positively +identified her as one of some famous clan of robbers and exploiters, he +could no longer cherish her memory or love the thought of how they two +had, for an hour, sat together and talked and been good, honest friends. + +"No," he murmured to himself, "it's better this way--just to recall her +as a girl in need, a girl who let me help her, a girl I can always +remember with kind thoughts, as long as I live!" + +From his pocket he took the little handkerchief, which wrapped the +leaf, once part of her bed. A faint, elusive scent still hung about +it--something of her, still it seemed. He closed his eyes, there on the +hard park bench, and let his fancies rove whither they would; and for a +time it seemed to him a wondrous peace possessed him. + +"If it could only have been," he murmured, at last. "If only it could +be!" + +Then suddenly urged by a realization of the hopelessness of it all, he +stood up, pocketed the souvenirs of her again, and walked away in the +dusk; away, through the park; away, at random, through squalid, ugly +streets, where the first electric-lights were just beginning to flare; +where children swarmed in the close heat, wallowing along the gutters, +dodging teams and cars, as they essayed to play, setting off a few +premature firecrackers and mocking the police--all in all, leading the +ugly, unnatural, destructive life of all children of the city +proletariat. + +"Poor little devils!" thought Gabriel, stopping to observe a dirty group +clustered about an ice-cream cart, where cheap, adulterated, +high-colored stuff was being sold for a penny a square--aniline poison, +no doubt, and God knows what else. "Poor little kids! Not much like the +children of the masters, eh? with their lawns and playgrounds, their +beaches and flowery fields, their gardens and fine schools, their dogs, +ponies, autos and all the rest! Some difference, all right--and it takes +a thousand of _these_, yes, ten thousand, to keep one of _those_. +And--and _she_ was one of the rich and dainty children! Her beauty, +health and grace were bought at the price of ten thousand other +children's health, and joy and lives! Ah, God, what a price! What a +cruel, awful, barbarous price to pay!" + +Saddened and pensive, he passed on, still thinking of the woman he could +not banish from his mind, despite his bitterness against her class. + +So he walked on and on, now through better streets and now through +worse, up and down the city. + +Here and there, detonations and red fire marked the impatience of some +demonstrator who could not wait till midnight to show his ardent +patriotism and his public spirit by risking life and property. The +saloons were all doing a land-office business, with the holiday +impending and the thermometer at 97. Now and then, slattern women, in +foul clothes and with huge, gelatinous breasts, could be seen rushing +the growler, at the "family entrance" of some low dive. Even little +girls bore tin pails, for the evening's "scuttle o' suds" to be consumed +on roof, or in back yard of stinking tenement, or on some fire-escape. +The city, in fine, was relaxing from its toil; and, as the workers for +the most part knew no other way, nor could afford any, they were trying +to snatch some brief moment of respite from the Hell of their slavery, +by recourse to rough ribaldry and alcohol. + +Nine o'clock had just struck from the church-spires which mocked the +slums with their appeal to an impassive Heaven, when, passing a foul and +narrow alley that led down to the Genesee River, Gabriel saw a woman +sitting on a doorstep, weeping bitterly. + +This woman--hardly more than a girl--was holding a little bundle in one +hand. The other covered her face. Her sobs were audible. Grief of the +most intense, he saw at once, convulsed her. Two or three by-standers, +watching with a kind of pleased curiosity, completed the scene, most +sordid in its setting, there under the flicker of a gas-light on the +corner. + +"Hm! What now?" thought Gabriel, stopping to watch the little tragedy. +"More trouble, eh? It's trouble all up and down the line, for these poor +devils! Nothing but trouble for the slave-class. Well, well, let's see +what's wrong _now_!" + +Gabriel turned down the alley, drew near the little group, and halted. + +"What's wrong?" he asked, in the tone of authority he knew how to use; +the tone which always overbore his outward aspect, even though he might +have been clad in rags; the tone which made men yield to him, and women +look at him with trustful eyes, even as the Billionaire's daughter had +looked. + +"Search _me_!" murmured one of the men, shrugging his shoulders. "_I_ +can't git nothin' out o' her. She's been sittin' here, cryin', a few +minutes, that's all I know; an' she won't say nothin' to nobody. + +"Any of you men know anything about it?" demanded Gabriel, looking at +the rest. + +A murmur of negation was his only answer. One or two others, scenting +some excitement, even though only that of a distressed woman--common +sight, indeed!--lingered near. The little group was growing. + +Gabriel bent and touched the woman's shoulder. + +"What's the matter?" asked he, in a gentle voice. "If you're in trouble, +let me help you." + +Renewed sobs were her only answer. + +"If you'll only tell me what's the matter," Gabriel went on, "I'm sure +I can do something for you." + +"You--you can't!" choked the woman, without raising her head from the +corner of the ragged shawl that she was holding over her eyes. "Nobody +can't! Bill, he's gone, and Eddy's gone, and Mr. Micolo says he won't +let me in. So there ain't nothin' to do. Let me alone--oh dear, oh dear, +dear!" + +Fresh tears and grief. The little knot of spectators, still growing, +nodded with approval, and figuratively licked its lips, in satisfaction. +Somewhere a boy snickered. + +"Come, come," said Gabriel, bending close over the grief-stricken woman, +"pull together, and let's hear what the trouble is! Who's Bill, and +who's Eddy--and what about Mr. Micolo? Come, tell me. I'm sure I can do +something to straighten things out." + +No answer. Gabriel turned to the increasing crowd, again. + +"Any of you people know what about it?" he asked. + +Again no answer, save that one elderly man, standing on the steps beside +the woman, remarked casually: + +"I guess she's got fired out of her room. That's all I know." + +Gabriel took her by the arm, and drew her up. + +"Come, now!" said he, a sterner note in his voice. "This won't do! You +mustn't sit here, and draw a crowd. First thing you know an officer will +be along, and you may get into trouble. Tell me what's wrong, and I +promise to see you through it, as far as I can." + +She raised her face, now, and looked at him, a moment. Tear-stained and +dishevelled though she was, and soiled by marks of drink and +debauchery, Gabriel saw she must once have been very beautiful and still +was comely. + +"Well," he asked. "Aren't you going to tell me?" + +"Tell you?" she repeated. "I--oh, I can't! Not in front of all them +men!" + +"Very well!" said he, "walk with me, and give me your story. Will you do +that? At all events, you mustn't stay here, making a disturbance on the +highway. If you knew the police as well as I do, you'd understand that!" + +"You're right, friend," said she, hoarsely. "I'm on, now. Come along +then--I'll tell you. It ain't much to tell; but it's a lot to me!" + +She glanced at the curious faces of the watchers, then turned and +followed Gabriel, who was already walking up the alley, toward the +brighter lights of Stuart Street. For a moment, one or two of the men +hesitated as though undecided whether or not to follow after; but one +backward look by Gabriel instantly dispelled any desire to intrude. And +as Gabriel and the woman turned into the street, the little knot of +curiosity-seekers dissolved into its component atoms, and vanished. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII. + +THE TRAP IS SPRUNG. + + +"It--it's all along o' that there Mr. Micolo!" the woman suddenly +exclaimed, "Him an' his rent-bill! If he'd ha' let me in, there, +tonight, I could ha' got Ed's things an' then started to my sister's, +out to Scottsville. But he wouldn't. He claimed they was +two-seventy-five still owin', and I didn't have but about fifty cents, +so I couldn't pay it. So he wouldn't let me in. Natchally, anybody'd +feel bad, like that, 'specially when a man told 'em he'd hold their +kid's clothes an' things till they paid--which they couldn't!" + +"Naturally, of course," answered Gabriel, rather dazed by this sudden +burst of details, with which she seemed to think he should already be +quite familiar--details all sordid and commonplace, through which he +seemed to perceive, dimly as in a dark glass, some mean and ugly tragedy +of poverty and ignorance and sin. + +"Are you hungry?" he asked, all at once. "If so, come in here, where we +can talk quietly and get things straight." He pointed at a cheap +restaurant, across the street. + +"Hungry? Gord, yes!" she exclaimed. Only I--I wouldn't ask, if I fell on +the sidewalk! Fifty cents--yes, I got that much, but I been tryin' to +get enough to pay Mr. Micolo, an' get hold of Ed's things, an'--" + +"All right, forget that, now," commanded Gabriel. He took her by the +arm and piloted her across the thoroughfare, then into the dingy +hash-house and to a table in a far corner. A few minutes later, pretty +much everything on the bill of fare was before them on the greasy table. + +"Not a word till you're satisfied," directed Armstrong. "I'll just take +a little bread and coffee, to keep you company." + +The woman adequately proved her statement that she was hungry. Rarely +had Gabriel seen anybody eat with such ravenous appetite. He watched her +with satisfaction, and when she could consume no more, smiled as he +asked: + +"Now, then, feel better? If so, let's tackle the next problem. What's +your grief?" + +The woman stared at him a long moment before she made reply. Then she +exclaimed suddenly: + +"You ain't no kind of 'bull,' are you? Nor plain-clothes man?" + +Gabriel shook his head. + +"No," said he, "nothing of that kind. You can trust me. Let's have the +story." + +"Hm! It ain't much, I s'pose," she answered still half-suspiciously. +"Bill and me was livin' together, that's all. No, not married, nor +nothin'--but--" + +"All right. Go on." + +"That was last winter. When the kid happened--Ed, you know--Bill, he got +sore, an' beat it. Then I--I went on the street, to keep Ed. Nothin' +else to do, Mister, so help me, an'--" + +"Never mind, I understand," said Gabriel. "What next?" + +"And after that, I gets sick. _You_ know. Almost right away. So I has +to go to St. Luke's hospital. I leaves Ed with Mrs. McCane, at the same +house. That place in the alley, you know. Well, when I gets out, the +boy's dead. _An_' they never even tells me, till I goes back! An' I +can't even get his things. Because why? Mrs. McCane's gone, Gord knows +where, an' Mr. Micolo says I still owe two-seventy-five. I want to get +down there to Scottsville, to my sister's; but curse _me_ if I'll go +till I pay that devil an' get them clothes!" + +A sudden savage light in her blurred eyes betrayed the passion of the +mother-love, through all the filth and soilure of her degradation. +Gabriel felt his heart deeply moved. He bent toward her, across the +table, touched her hand and asked: + +"Will you accept five dollars, to pay this man and get you down to +Scottsville?" + +"Huh?" she queried, gazing at him with vacant, uncomprehending eyes. + +He repeated his query. Then, as he saw the slow tears start and roll +down her wan cheeks, he felt a greater joy within his breast than if the +world and all its treasures had been his. + +"Will I take it?" she whispered. "Gord, _will_ I? You bet I will! That +is, if I can have your name, an' pay it back some time?" + +He promised, and wrote it down for her, giving as his address Socialist +Headquarters in Chicago. Then, without publicity, he slipped a V into +her trembling hand. + +"Come on," said he. "_That's_ all settled!" + +He paid the check, and they went out, together. For a moment they stood +together, undecided, on the sidewalk. + +"Couldn't I get them things to-night, an' start?" asked she, eagerly. +"There's a train at 11:08, on the B. R. & P." + +"All right," he assented. "Can you see this Micolo, now? It's after +ten." + +"Oh, _that_ don't make no difference," she answered. "He runs a pawnshop +over here on Dexter Street, two blocks east. He'll be open till +midnight, easy, tomorrow bein' the Fourth." + +"Come on, then," said Gabriel. "I'll see you through the whole business, +and onto the train. Maybe I can help you, all along." + +Without another word she started, with Gabriel at her side. They +traversed the main street, two blocks, then turned to the left down a +narrower, darker one. + +"Here's Micolo's," said she, pausing at a doorway. Gabriel nodded. "All +right," he answered. He had not noted, nor did he dream, that, at the +corner behind them, two slinking, sneaking figures were now watching his +every move. + +The woman turned the knob, and entered. Gabriel followed. + +"It's on the second floor," said she. Gabriel saw a sign, on the +landing: "S. L. Micolo, Pawn Broker," and motioned her to precede +him. + +In a minute they had reached the upper hallway. The woman opened another +door. The room, inside, was dark. + +"This way," said she. "He's in the inside office, I guess. The light +must ha' gone out here, some way or other." + +Gabriel hesitated. Some inkling, some vague intuition all at once had +come upon him, that all was not well. At his elbow some invisible force +seemed plucking. "Come away! Come back, before it is too late!" some +ghostly voice seemed calling in his ear. + +But still, he did not fully understand. Still he remained there, his +mind obsessed by the plausibility of the woman's story and by the pity +he so keenly felt. + +And now he heard her voice again: + +"Mr. Micolo! Oh, Mr. Micolo! Where are you?" + +Striking a match, he advanced into the room. + +"Any gas here?" he asked, peering about for a burner. + +Suddenly he started with violent emotion. Behind him, in some +unaccountable way, the door had been closed. He heard a key turn, +softly. + +"What--what's this?" he exclaimed. He heard the woman moving about, +somewhere in the gloom. "See here!" he cried. "What kind of a--?" + +The match burned brightly, all at once. He peered about him, wide-eyed. + +"This is no office!" shouted he. "Here, you! What's the meaning of this? +This is a bed-room!" + +Sudden realization of the trap stunned and sickened him. + +"God! They've got me! Flint and Waldron--they've landed me, at last!" he +choked. "But--but not till I've broken a few heads, by God!" + +The match fell from his burnt fingers. Whirling toward the door, he +rained powerful kicks upon it. He would get out, he must get out, at all +hazards! + +Suddenly the woman began to scream, with harsh and piercing cries that +seemed to rip the very atmosphere. + +[Illustration: Aiming at the base of the skull she struck.] + +At the third scream, or the fourth, the key was turned and the door +jerked open. + +In its aperture, three men stood--the two who had been so long trailing +Gabriel, and a policeman, burly, red-jowled, big-paunched. + +Gabriel stared at them. His mouth opened, then closed again without a +word. As well for a trapped animal to make explanations to the Indian +hunter, as for him to tell these men the truth. The truth? _They_ knew +the truth; and they were there to crucify him. He read it in their +cruel, eager eyes. + +The woman had stopped screaming now, and was weeping with abandon, +pouring forth a tale of insults and abuse and robbery, with hysterical +sobs. + +Full in the faces of the three men Gabriel sneered. + +"You've done a good job of it, this time, you skunks!" he gibed. "I'm +on. You'll get me, in the end; but not just yet. The first man through +this door gets his head broken--and that goes, too!" + +With a snarl of "You damned white slaver!" the officer raised his +night-stick and hurled himself at Gabriel. + +Gabriel ducked and planted a terrific left-hander on the "bull's" ear. +Roaring, the majesty of the law careened against the bed, crashed the +flimsy thing to wreckage and went down. + +Then, fighting back into the gloom of the trap, Gabriel engaged the two +detectives. For a moment he held them. One went to the floor with an +uppercut under the chin; but came back. The other landed hard on +Gabriel's jaw. + +He turned to strike down, again, the first of the two. He heard the bed +creaking, and saw the policeman struggling to arise. In a whirlwind of +blows, the second detective flailed at him, striving to beat down his +guard and floor him with a vicious rib-jolt. + +"All's fair, here!" thought Gabriel, snatching up a chair. For a moment +he brandished it on high. With this weapon, he knew--though final defeat +was inevitable, when reinforcements should arrive--he could sweep a +clear space. + +Perhaps he might even yet escape! He heard feet trampling on the stairs, +and his heart died within him. Well, even though escape were impossible, +he would fight to a finish and die game, if die he must! + +Down swung the chair, and round, crashing to ruin as it struck the +policeman who was just getting to his feet again. Oaths, cries, screams +made the place hideous. Dust rose, and blood began to flow. + +Armed now with one leg of the chair, Gabriel retreated; and as he went, +he hurled the bitterness of all his scorn and hate upon these vile +conspirators. + +And as he flayed them with his tongue, he struck; and like Samson +against the Philistines, he did great execution. + +Like Samson, too, he lost his power through a woman's treachery. For, +even as the attackers seemed to fall back, shattered and at a loss +before such fury and tremendous strength, behind Gabriel the woman rose, +a laugh of malice on her lips, the policeman's long and heavy +night-stick in her hand. + +A moment she poised it, crouching as he--seeing her not--swung his +weapon and hurled his defiance at the baffled men in front. + +Then, aiming at the base of the skull, she struck. + +Sudden bright lights spangled the darkness, for Gabriel. Everything +whirled about, in dizzying confusion. A strange, far roaring sounded in +his ears. + +Then he fell; and oblivion took him to its blessed peace and rest; and +all grew still and black. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII. + +THE BEAST GLOATS. + + +"Fer Gawd's sake, let's have a light here, somebody!" panted the +dishevelled policeman. Outside, the ringing of a gong became audible. +Then came a clattering of hoofs, as the police-patrol, nicely-timed by +the conspirators, and summoned by a confederate, drew up at the box on +the corner. + +Somebody struck another match, and a raw gas-light flared. From the +hallway, two or three others crowded into the wrecked room. Disjointed +exclamations, oaths and curses intermingled with harsh laughter. + +The woman--Lillian Rafter, probably the finest actress and stool-pigeon +in the whole detective world of graft and crookedness--lighted a +cigarette at the gas-burner, and laughed with triumph. + +"Some make-up, eh kid?" she demanded of the taller detective, who was +now nursing a bad "shiner," as a black eye is known in the under-world, +and whose face was battered to a bleeding pulp. "Believe me, as a job, +this is some job! From start to finish, a pippin. He was bound to fall +for it though. No help for him. Even if he hadn't butted into the +'plant' we fixed for him in the alley, there, I could have braced him in +the street with my tale of woe. He was just bound to be 'it,' this time. +We had him going, all ways for Sunday!" + +Scornfully the woman Gabriel had befriended in her seeming misery, spat +at him as he lay there stunned and scarcely breathing on the dirty +floor. + +"And just pipe this, will you, too?" she exulted, holding up the +five-dollar bill he had given her. "And this?" She exhibited his name +and address, written on a card. "In his own writing, boys. As evidence +to hold him on a white slave charge, is this some evidence or isn't it?" + +"Oh, we'll hold him, all right!" growled the other detective, whose +right arm dangled limp, where the chair had struck him. "The ---- ---- +of a ----! He'll go up for a finif, a five-spot, or I'm a liar! And once +we get him behind bars, good-night!" + +He deliberately drew back his heavy boot and kicked Gabriel full in the +face. + +"You ---- ----!" he cursed. "Try to bean _me_, will you? Damn you! +You've made _your_ last soap-box spiel!" + +"Come on, now, boys, out with him, an' no more rag-chewin'!" the +policeman exclaimed. "Git him in the wagon, an' away, before a gang +piles in here! You, Caffery, take his feet. I'll manage his head. Jesus, +but he's some big guy, though, the ---- ---- of a ----!" + +Together, the battered policeman and the detective who still had some +strength left in him, raised Gabriel's limp body and carried it from the +room. The woman, meanwhile, stood there inhaling cigarette-smoke and +laughing viciously to herself. + +"You easy mutt!" she exclaimed. "Dead baby, room-rent due, wanted to get +home to sister--and you fell for that old gag with whiskers on it! +You're some wise guy all right, all right, I don't think. Well, as a +stall it was a beaut. And I must say I never screamed better in all my +life. And that wallop I handed out, was a peach. If I don't pull down +five hundred for this night's work--" + +"Shut up, you ----!" snarled Caffery, as he turned into the stairway. +"Keep that lip o' yours quiet, will you, or--" + +The woman stared at him a moment, then laughed insolently and snapped +her smoke-yellowed fingers at him in defiance. + +"Mind you show up in court, in the mornin'!" panted the officer, +staggering downstairs under the weight of Gabriel's huge shoulders. + +"Better arrest her now," suggested Caffery, "an' hold her." + +"You will, like Hell!" retorted the woman. + +"Shhh! In one door an' out the other," the second detective whispered in +her ear, as she stood there in the doorway. "I'll see to it you get +fifty extra for _that_!" + +"Oh, if that's the game, fine business!" she smiled. "Go to it--I'm your +huckleberry!" + +Thus it befell that, while a large and growing crowd observed, under the +arc-light on the corner--a crowd where no fewer than six reporters, all +duly tipped off in advance, were taking notes--Gabriel Armstrong, the +Socialist speaker and leader, was bundled, unconscious, into a patrol +wagon of the City of Rochester; and with him, a drunken-acting harlot, +babbling charges of white-slave extortion and violence against him; and +with them both, several witnesses, who would have sworn that Heaven was +Hell, for five dollars cash in hand. + +Thus was the stage set, for the next session of the honorable court. +Thus were the wires pulled. Thus, the prison doors were swung wide open, +and, above all, the honor and the reputation of a man swept to the +garbage-heaps of life. + +True, at the morrow's great mass-meeting, there were destined to be +protests and calls for investigation. The Socialist press was destined +to take it up, defend him and demand the truth. But, swamped by a +perfectly overwhelming capitalist press, not only naturally hostile but +in this case already heavily subsidized; shattered by the close-knit, +circumstantial evidence; hamstrung and hampered in every way by the +power of unlimited money and Tammany pull, the Socialists might as well +have tried to sweep back the sea with a broom as save this man from +legal crucifixion. Worse still, they themselves, and the beaten strikers +with whom they had been fraternizing, got a black eye in the affair; and +many an editorial column, many a pulpit, unctuously discoursed thereon. +Many an anti-Socialist thug and grafter, loud-mouthed and blatant, +bellowed revamped platitudes of "immorality" and "breaking up the home," +and the "nation of fatherless children," pointing at Gabriel Armstrong +as a shining example of Socialist hypocrisy and filth. + +Press, law, church, capitalism itself nailed this man and the movement +he stood for, to the cross. And the pimps and parasites of the private +detective agency chuckled in their well-paid glee. The woman, Gabriel's +betrayer, counted her "thirty pieces of silver" and laughed in the foul +dark. The police cut a fine melon secretly handed them by Flint; and so, +too, did the local papers and more than one local pulpit. + +So, in Gabriel's grief and woe and desolation, as he sat in his grim +cell with aching head, bruised face and bleeding heart, with all his +plans now broken, with the very soul within him dead--in this grief and +anguish, I say, the foul harpy-brood of Capitalism revelled and rioted +like maggots in carrion. + +None more viciously than old Flint, himself. None with more brutal joy, +more savage satisfaction. One of the culminant moments of his life, he +felt, was on the evening after the dastardly plot had been carried to +its putrid conclusion. + +Opening the Rochester "News-Intelligencer" which Slade had sent him, his +glittering eyes seemed to sparkle joy as a blue-penciled column met his +gaze. + +Eagerly he read it all, every word, and weighed it, and re-read it, as +men do when news is dear to their souls. Already, through the New York +papers he had got the essentials of the affair. Already, by long +distance 'phone he had received the outlines of the news from Slade, as +well as a code telegram of more than 500 words, giving him additional +details. But this paper especially pleased him. The other Rochester +sheets, which Slade would send as fast as they appeared, he already was +looking forward to, with keenest pleasure. + +"Ah! _This_ is what I call efficiency!" he exclaimed, settling himself +in his big chair, adjusting the pince-nez on his hawk-bill and preparing +to read the column for the third time. "The way this thing was planned +and carried out, and the manner in which Slade has managed to get it +played up in the papers, proves to me he's a general in his line, a true +Napoleon. I may safely intrust any affair of this sort to him and his +agency. No fee of his shall ever be questioned; and as for +bonuses--well, he shall have no reason to complain. An admirable man, in +every way--a wonderful organization! With men and agencies like _these_ +at work in our interests, what have we, really, to be uneasy about?" + +Smacking his mental lips, if I may be pardoned the phrase, he once more +slowly read the delightful, gratifying news: + + _SOCIALIST WHITE-SLAVER!_ + + _Rotten Affair Unearthed by Police!_ + + _Gabriel Armstrong, Socialist Leader, Caught With the Goods!!!_ + + Rochester, July 4. + + "In one of the most sensational raids ever made in this city, by + the vice squad, under the auspices of the Purity League, what is + believed to be a well-organized white-slave business was unearthed + last night. The leader and brains of the association, Gabriel + Armstrong, a Socialist speaker and worker of national prominence, + was arrested, and is now lodged in Police Headquarters, with + serious charges pending. + + "The arrest was made as a result of the keen work of Officer + Michael P. Duffey, sergeant of the vice squad. Hearing screams in + the assignation house at 42A Belding street, he made his way up + stairs, accompanied by two or three citizens. The screams were + coming from a room on the second floor. Duffey promptly battered + the door down only to be met by a furious assault from Armstrong, + who was intoxicated and extremely violent. + + "A savage hand-to-hand struggle took place, in which furniture was + broken, the policeman badly injured and two of the volunteers + knocked out. Armstrong was finally subdued, however, by the + jiu-jitsu method, in which Duffey is an expert, and was lodged in + the Central Station, together with the woman. + + "According to her statement, the man, Armstrong, had not only been + guilty of grossly immoral practices with her, but had also been + trying to force her to share with him the proceeds of her life of + shame, thus making out against him a clear case under the Mann + White-Slave Traffic law. She has material evidence of this + fact--money which he had given her, to finance her till she could + begin bringing in revenue to him, and also his name and address, + written by his own hand. A significant fact is that the address + given by this white slaver is Socialist headquarters, in Chicago. + The police are now working on the theory that the entire Socialist + organization is honeycombed with this traffic, and that the + Socialist movement is only a blind to cover a wholesale + distribution of women for immoral purposes. Drastic Federal action + against the Socialist Party is now being considered. + + "Still further and more sensational facts are expected to develop + at the preliminary hearing, which will take place tomorrow morning. + In case Armstrong is bound over to the Grand Jury, and convicted, + he may get a heavy fine and as much as five years in a Federal + penitentiary. He is described as being a surly, low type, reticent + and vindictive, of vicious characteristics and mentally defective. + The local Socialists have already taken up arms in his defense, as + was to be expected. + + "Interest is added to the case by the fact that Armstrong is known + to be the man who, at the time of the recent automobile accident to + Miss Catherine Flint--daughter of Isaac Flint, of Englewood, + N. J.--gave the alarm. A theory is now being formed that he + was, in some way, involved in a plot with Miss Flint's chauffeur to + wreck the machine and share a big reward for rescuing the girl. The + plot, however, evidently miscarried, for the chauffeur was killed, + and Armstrong, after giving the alarm, feared to divulge his + identity but fled in disguise. + + "Public interest is greatly aroused in this matter. And if, as now + seems positively certain, this arrest and forthcoming conviction + break up the vicious white-slave gang for some time operating in + Rochester and Ontario Beach, the public will have a still greater + debt of gratitude toward the Purity League, the Vice Squad and the + untiring efforts and bravery of Sergeant Duffey." + +"That, ah that," remarked old Flint, as he finished his last reading, +"is what I call literature! It may not be Scott or Shelley or Dickens, +but it's got far more than _they_ ever had--tremendous value to--er--to +the rightful masters of society. I dare say that this article and also +others like it that are bound to be printed during the trial and after, +will do more to secure our position in society than a whole army with +machine guns. Socialism, eh? After this campaign gets through, by God, +we'll sweep up the leavings in a dustpan and throw them out the window!" + +Again he surveyed the article, smiling thinly. + +"Literature, yes," he repeated. "The writer of those lines, and the +master-minds who engineered the whole affair, must and shall be +liberally rewarded. Editors, preachers, writers, they're all on our +side. All safe and sane--that is, nearly all--enough, at any event, to +assure our safety. I rejoice that I have lived to see this day!" + +He turned the sheets of the paper, to see if any other notice of the +affair was printed; and as he looked, he pondered. + +"Imagine the effect of this, on Kate!" thought he. "It will be just as I +planned it. Nothing will be left in her mind now, but loathing, hate and +rage against this man. In two days, she and Waldron will have patched up +their little difference, and all will be well. A master-stroke on my +part, eh? Yes, yes indeed, a master-stroke!" + +His eye caught another blue-pencilling. + +"Editorial, eh?" said he, adjusting his glasses. "Better and better! +This affair will sweep those troublemakers off the map, or I'm a +beggar!" + +Then, with the keenest of satisfaction, he focussed his attention on the +sapient editorial: + + _SOCIALISM UNVEILED_. + + The arrest and impending conviction of Gabriel Armstrong, the noted + Socialist leader, on a white-slave traffic charge, will do much to + set all sane thinkers right in regard to this whole matter of + Socialist ethics. Socialists, as we have all heard, contend that + their system of thought teaches a high and pure form of morality. + How will they square this assertion with the hard, cold facts, as + brought to light in this most revolting case? + + Much more seems to lie beneath the surface than at first sight + appears. Though we desire to suspend judgment until all the data + are known, it appears conclusively proved that Armstrong is but one + of a band of white-slavers operating through the organization of, + and with the consent of the Socialist party, or at least of its + responsible officials. + + If this prove to be the case, it will substantiate the suspicion + long felt in many quarters that this whole movement, ostensibly + political, is really a menace to the moral and social welfare of + the nation. A foreign importation, openly standing against the + home, the family and religion, may well be expected to foster such + crimes and to be a "culture-medium" for the growth of such vile + microbes as this man Armstrong, and others of his kind. + + Turn on the light! Bring the social antiseptics! Let all the facts + be established; and when known, if--as we anticipate--they prove + this nasty conspiracy, let us make an end, now and forever, to this + un-American, immoral and filthy thing, Socialism! To this object + this paper now and henceforth pledges its policy; and all decent + publications, all citizens who love their country, their God, their + homes, their flag, will join with it in a nation-wide crusade to + choke this slimy monster of Anarchy and Free-love, and fling it + back into the Pit where it belongs. + + Long live religion, purity and the flag! Down with Socialism! + +Flint regarded this masterpiece with an approving eye. Then, chuckling +to himself, he arose and with slow steps advanced toward the dining-room +where already Catherine was awaiting him. + +"Now," he murmured to himself, and smiled thinly, "now for a little +scene with Kate!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. + +CATHERINE'S SUPREME DECISION. + + +The meal was almost at an end--silently, like all their hours spent +together, now--before the old man sprang his _coup_. It was +characteristic of him to wait thus, to hold his fire till what he +conceived to be the opportune moment; never to act prematurely, under +any circumstances whatever. + +"By the way, Kate," he remarked, casually, when coffee had been served +and he had motioned the butlers out of the room, "by the way, I've been +rather badly disappointed, today. Did you know that?" + +"No, father," she answered. She never called him "daddy," now. "No, I'm +sorry to hear it. What's gone wrong?" + +He looked at her a moment before replying, as though to gauge her mind +and the effect his announcement might have. Very charming she looked, +that evening, in a crepe de Chine gown with three-quarter lace sleeves +and an Oriental girdle--a wonderful Nile-green creation, very simple +(she had told herself) yet of staggering cost. A single white rose +graced her hair. The low-cut neck of the gown revealed a full, strong +bosom. Around her throat she wore a fine gold chain, with a French +20-franc piece and her Vassar Phi Beta Kappa key attached--the only +pendants she cared for. The gold coin spoke to her of the land of her +far ancestry, a land oft visited by her and greatly loved; the gold key +reminded her of college, and high rank taken in studies there. + +Old Flint noted some of these details as he sat looking at her across +the white and gleaming table, where silver and gold plate, cut glass and +flowers and fine Sevres china all combined to make a picture of splendor +such as the average workingman or his wife has never even dreamed of or +imagined; a picture the merest commonplace, however, to Flint and +Catherine. + +"A devilish fine-looking girl!" thought he, eyeing his daughter with +approval. "She'd grace any board in the world, whether billionaire's or +prince's! Waldron, old man, you'll never be able to thank me +sufficiently for what I'm going to do for you tonight--never, that is, +unless you help me make the Air Trust the staggering success I think you +can, and give me the boost I need to land the whole damned world as my +own private property!" + +He chuckled dryly to himself, then drew the paper from his pocket. + +"Well, father, what's gone wrong?" asked Kale, again. "Your +disappointment--what was it?" + +She spoke without animation, tonelessly, in a flat, even voice. Since +that night when her father had tried to force Waldron upon her, and had +taunted her with loving the vagabond (as he said) who had rescued her, +something seemed to have been broken, in her manner; some spring of +action had snapped; some force was lacking now. + +"What's wrong with me?" asked Flint, trying to veil the secret malice +and keen satisfaction that underlay his speech. "Oh, just this. You +remember about a week ago, when we--ah--had that little talk in the +music room--?" + +"Don't, father, please!" she begged, raising one strong, brown hand. +"Don't bring that up again. It's all over and done with, that matter is. +I beg you, don't re-open it!" + +"I--you misunderstand me, my dear child," said Flint, trying to smile, +but only flashing his gold tooth. "At that time I told you I was looking +for, and would reward, if found, the--er--man who had been so brave and +quick-witted as to rescue you. You remember?" + +"Really, father, I beg you not to--" + +"Why not, pray?" requested Flint, gazing at her through his pince-nez. +"My intentions, I assure you, were most honest and philanthropic. If I +had found him--_then_--I'd have given him--" + +"Oh, but he wouldn't have taken anything, you see!" the girl +interrupted, with some spirit. "I told you that, at the time. It's just +as true, now. So please, father, let's drop the question altogether." + +"I'm sorry not to be able to grant your request, my dear," said the old +man, with hidden malice. "But really, this time, you must hear me. My +disappointment arises from the fact that I've just discovered the young +man's identity, and--" + +"You--you have?" Kate exclaimed, grasping the edge of the table with a +nervous hand. Her father smiled again, bitterly. + +"Yes, I have," said he, with slow emphasis, "and I regret to say, my +dear child, that my diagnosis of his character is precisely what I first +thought. Any interest you may feel in that quarter is being applied to a +very unworthy object. The man is one of my discharged employees, a +thorough rascal and hard ticket in every way--one of the lowest-bred and +most villainous persons yet unhung, I grieve to state. The fact that he +carried you in his arms, and that I owe your preservation to him, is one +of the bitterest facts in my life. Had it been any other man, no matter +of what humble birth--" + +"Father!" she cried, bending forward and gazing at him with strange +eyes. "Father! By what right and on what authority do you make these +accusations? That man, I know, was all that innate gentleness and +upright manhood could make any man. His nobility was not of wealth or +title, but of--" + +"Nonsense!" Flint interrupted. "Nobility, eh? Read _that_, will you?" + +Leering, despite himself, he handed the paper across the table to his +daughter. + +"Those marked passages," said he. "And remember, this is only the +beginning. Wait till all the facts are known, the whole conspiracy laid +bare and everything exposed to public view! _Then_ tell me, if you can, +that he is poor but noble! Bah! Sunday-school dope, that! Noble, yes!" + +Catherine sat there staring at the paper, a minute, as though quite +unable to decipher a word. Through a kind of wavering mist that seemed +to swim before her eyes, she vaguely saw the words: "Socialist White +Slaver!" but that these bore any relation to the man she remembered, +back there at the sugar-house, had not yet occurred to her mind. She +simply could not grasp the significance of the glaring headlines. And, +turning a blank gaze on her father's face, she stammered: + +"Why--why do you give me this? What has this got to do with--_me_? With +_him_?" + +"Everything!" snarled the Billionaire, violently irritated by his +daughter's seeming obtuseness. "Everything, I tell you! That man, that +strong and noble hero of yours, is this man! This white slaver! This +wild beast--this Socialist--this Anarchist! Do you understand now, or +don't you? Do you grasp the truth at last, or is your mind incapable of +apprehending it?" + +He had risen, and now was standing there at his side of the table, +shaking with violent emotion, his glasses awry, face wrinkled and drawn, +hands twitching. His daughter, making no answer to his taunts, sat with +the paper spread before her on the table. A wine glass, overset, had +spilled a red stain--for all the world like the workers' blood, spilled +in war and industry for the greater wealth and glory of the masters--out +across the costly damask, but neither she nor Flint paid any heed. + +For he was staring only at her; and she, now having mastered herself a +little, though her full breast still rose and fell too quickly, was +struggling to read the slanderous lies and foul libels of the +blue-penciled article. + +Silently she read, paling a little but otherwise giving no sign to show +her father how the tide of her thought was setting. Twice over she read +the article; then, pushing the paper back, looked at old Flint with eyes +that seemed to question his very soul--eyes that saw the living truth, +below. + +"It is a lie!" said she, at last, in a grave, quiet voice. + +"What?" blurted the old man. "A--a lie?" + +She nodded. + +"Yes," said she. "A lie." + +Furious, he ripped open the paper, and once more shoved it at her. + +"Fool!" cried he. "Read _that_!" And his shaking, big-knuckled finger +tapped the editorial on "Socialism Unveiled." + +"No," she answered, "I need read no more. I know; I understand!" + +"You--you know _what_?" choked Flint. "This is an editorial, I tell you! +It represents the best thought and the most careful opinion of the +paper. And it condemns this man, absolutely, as a criminal and a menace +to society. It denounces him and his whole gang of Socialists or +Anarchists or White-slavers--they're all the same thing--as a plague to +the world. That's the editor's opinion; and remember, he's on the +ground, there. He has all the facts. You--_you_ are at a distance, and +have none! Yet you set up your futile, childish opinion--" + +"No more, father! No more!" cried Catherine, also standing up. She faced +him calmly, coldly, magnificently. "You can't talk to me this way, any +more. Cannot, and must not! As I see this thing--and my woman's +intuition tells me more in a minute than you can explain away in an +hour--this fabrication here has all, or nearly all, been invented and +carried out by you. For what reason? This--to discredit this man! To +make me hate and loathe him! To force me back to Waldron. To--" + +"Stop!" shouted the old man, in a well-assumed passion. "No daughter of +mine shall talk to me this way! Silence! It is monstrous and +unthinkable. It--it is horrible beyond belief! Silence, I tell +you--and--" + +"No, father, not silence," she replied, with perfect poise. "Not +silence now, but speech. Either this thing is true or it is false. In +either case, I must know the facts. The papers? No truth in _those_! The +finding of the courts? today, they are a by-word and a mockery! All I +can trust is the evidence of my own senses; what I hear, and feel, and +see. So then--" + +"Then?" gulped the Billionaire, holding the back of his chair in a +trembling grasp. + +"Just this, father. I'm going to Rochester, myself, to investigate this +thing, to see this man, to hear his side of the story, to know--" + +"Do that," cried Flint in a terrible voice, "and you never enter these +doors again! From the minute you leave Idle Hour on that fool's errand, +my daughter is dead to me, forever!" + +Swept clean off his feet by rage, as well as by the deadly fear of what +might happen if his daughter really were to learn the truth, he had lost +his head completely. + +With quiet attention, the girl regarded him, then smiled inscrutably. + +"So it be," she replied. "Even though you disinherit me or turn me off +with a penny, my mind is made up, and my duty's clear. + +"While things like these are going on in the world, outside, I have no +right to linger and to idle here. I am no child, now; I have been +thinking of late, reading, learning. Though I can't see it all clearly, +yet, I know that every bite we eat, means deprivation to some other +people, somewhere. This light and luxury mean poverty and darkness +elsewhere. This fruit, this wine, this very bread is ours because some +obscure and unknown men have toiled and sweat and given them to us. Even +this cut glass on our table--see! What tragedies it could reveal, could +it but speak! What tales of coughing, consumptive glass-cutters, bending +over wheels, their lungs cut to pieces by the myriad spicules of sharp +glass, so that we, we of our class, may enjoy beauty of design and +coloring! And the silken gown I wear--that too has cost--" + +"No more! No more of this!" gurgled old Flint, now nearly in apoplexy. +"I deny you! I repudiate you, Anarchist that you are! Go! Never come +back--never, never--!" + +Stumbling blindly, he turned and staggered out of the room. She watched +him go, nor tried to steady his uncertain steps. In the hallway, +outside, she heard him ring for Slawson, heard the valet come, and both +of them ascend the stairs. + +"Father," she whispered to herself, a look of great and pure spiritual +beauty on her noble face, "father, this had to come. Sooner or later, it +was inevitable. Whatever you have done, I forgive you, for you _are_ my +father, and have surely acted for what you think my interest. + +"But none the less, the end is here and now. Between you and me, a great +gulf is fixed. And from tonight I face the world, to battle with it, +learn from it, and know the truth in every way. Enough of this false, +easy, unnatural life. I cannot live it any longer; it would crush and +stifle me! Enough! I must be free, I shall be free, to know, and dare, +and do!" + +That night, having had no further speech with old Flint, Kate left Idle +Hour, taking just a few necessities in a suit-case, and a few dollars +for her immediate needs. + +Giving no explanation to maid, valet or anyone, she let herself out, +walked through the great estate and down Englewood Avenue, to the +station, where she caught a train for Jersey City. + +The midnight special for Chicago bore her swiftly westward. No sleeping +car she took, but passed the night in a seat of an ordinary coach. Her +ticket read "Rochester." + +The old page of her Book of Life was closed forever. A new and better +page was open wide. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV. + +THROUGH STEEL BARS. + + +True to her plan, Catherine ended her journey at Rochester. She engaged +a room at a second-rate hotel--marvelling greatly at the meanness of the +accommodations, the like of which she had never seen--and, at ten +o'clock of the morning, appeared at the Central Police Station. The +bundle of papers in her hand indicated that she had read the latest lies +and venom poured out on Gabriel's defenseless head. + +The haughty, full-fed sergeant in charge of the station made some +objections, at first, to letting her see Gabriel; but the tone of her +voice and the level look of her gray eye presently convinced him he was +playing with fire, and he gave in. Summoning an officer, he bade the man +conduct her. Iron doors opened and closed for her. She was conscious of +long, ill-smelling, concrete-floored corridors, with little steel cages +at either side--cages where hopeless, sodden wrecks of men were +standing, or sitting in attitudes of brutal despair, or lying on foul +bunks, motionless and inert as logs. + +For a moment her heart failed her. + +"Good Lord! Can such things be?" she whispered to herself. "So +this--this is a police station? And real jails and penitentiaries are +worse? Oh, horrible! I never dreamed of anything like this, or any men +like these!" + +The officer, stopping at a cell-door and banging thereon with some +keys, startled her. + +"Here, youse," he addressed the man within, "lady to see youse!" + +Catherine was conscious that her heart was pounding hard and her breath +coming fast, as she peered in through those cold, harsh metal bars. For +a minute she could find no thought, no word. Within, her eyes--still +unaccustomed to the gloom--vaguely perceived a man's figure, big and +powerful, and different in its bearing from those other cringing +wretches she had glimpsed. + +Then the man came toward her, stopped, peered and for a second drew +back. And then--then she heard his voice, in a kind of startled joy: + +"Oh--is it--is it _you_?" + +"Yes," she answered. "I must see you! I must talk with you, again, and +know the truth!" + +The officer edged nearer. + +"Youse can talk all y' want to," he dictated, hoarsely, "but don't you +pass nothin' in. No dope, nor nothin', see? I'll stick around an' watch, +anyhow; but don't try to slip him no dream powders or no 'snow.' 'Cause +if you do--" + +"What--what _on_ earth are you talking about?" the girl demanded, +turning on the officer with absolute astonishment. But he, only winking +wisely, repeated: + +"You heard me, didn't you? No dope. I'm wise to this whole game." + +At a loss for his meaning, yet without any real desire to fathom it, +Kate turned back toward Gabriel. + +A moment they two looked at each other, each noting any change that +might have taken place since that wonderful hour in the sugar-house, +each hungering and thirsting for a sight of the other's face. In her +heart, already Kate knew as well as she knew she was alive, that this +man was totally innocent of the foul charges heaped upon him. And so she +looked at him with eyes wherein lay no reproach, no doubt and no +suspicion. And, as she looked, tears started, and her heart swelled +hotly in her breast; for he was bruised and battered and a helpless +captive. + +"He, caged like a trapped animal!" her thought was. "He, so strong, and +free, and brave! Oh, horrible, horrible!" + +He must have read something of this feeling, in her face; for now, +coming close to the bars, he said in a low tone: + +"Girl--your name I don't know, even yet--girl, you mustn't pity me! +That's _one_ thing I can't have. I'm here because the master class is +stronger than my class, the working class. Here, because I'm dangerous +to that master class. This isn't said to make myself out a martyr. It's +only to make you see things right. I'm not complaining at this plight. +I've richly earned it--under Capitalism. So, then, _that's_ settled. + +"And now, what's more important, tell me how _you_ are! And did your +wound cause you much trouble? I confess I've passed many an anxious +hour, thinking of your narrow escape and of your injury. It wasn't too +bad, was it? Tell me!" + +"No," she answered, still holding to the bars, for she somehow felt +quite unaccountably weak. "It wasn't very bad. There's hardly any scar +at all--or won't be, when it's fully healed. But all this is trifling, +compared to what _you've_ suffered and are suffering. Oh, what a +horrible affair! What frightful accusations! Tell me the truth, +Boy--how, why could--?" + +He looked at her a moment, in silence, noting her splendid hair and eyes +and mouth, the firm, well-moulded chin, the confident and self-reliant +poise of the shapely head; and as he looked, he knew he loved this +woman. He understood, at last, how dear she was to him--dearer than +anything else in all the world save just his principles and stern life +work. He comprehended the meaning of all, his dreams and visions and +long thoughts. And, caring nothing for consequences, unskilled in the +finesse of dealing with women, acting wholly on the irresistible +impulses of a heart that overflowed, he looked deep into those gray eyes +and said in a tone that set her heart-strings vibrating: + +"Listen! The truth? How could I tell you anything else? I know not who +you are, and care not. That you are rich and powerful and free, while I +am poor and in captivity, means nothing. Love cares not for such +trifles. It dares all, hopes all, trusts all, believes all--and is +patient in adversity." + +"Love?" she whispered, her face paling. "How do you dare to--?" + +"Dare? Because my heart bids me. And where it bids, I care not for +conventions or consequences!" He flung his hand out with a splendid +gesture, his head high, his eyes lustrous in the half-light of the cell. +"Where it leads, I have to follow. That is why I am a Socialist! That is +why I am here, today, outcast and execrated, a prisoner, in danger of +long years of living death in the pestilential tomb of some foul +penitentiary!" + +"You're here because--because you are a Socialist?" she asked. + +He nodded. + +"Yes," said he. "I tried to help a suffering, outcast woman--or one who +posed as such. And she betrayed me to my enemies. And so--" + +"There _was_ a woman in this affair, then?" Catherine queried with +sudden pain. "The newspapers haven't made the story _all_ up out of +whole cloth?" + +"No. There _was_ a woman. A Delilah, who delivered me into the hands of +the Philistines, when I tried to help her in what she lied in telling me +was her need. Will you hear the story?" + +Still very pale, she formed a half-inarticulate "Yes!" with her full +lips. Then, seeming to brace herself by a tighter clasp on the hard +steel grating, she listened while he spoke. + +Earnestly, honestly and with perfect straightforwardness, omitting +nothing, adding nothing, he gave her the narrative of that fatal night's +events, from the first moment he had laid eyes on the +wonderfully-disguised woman, till her cudgel-blow had laid him senseless +on the floor. + +He told her the part that every actor therein had played; how the whole +drama had been staged, to dishonor and convict him, to railroad him to +the Pen for a long term, perhaps to kill him. He spoke in a low voice, +to prevent the watching officer from overhearing; and as he talked, he +thanked his stars that in all this network of conspiracy and crime +against the Party and against himself, his captors had not yet placed +him incommunicado. For some reason--perhaps because they thought their +case against him absolutely secure and wanted to avoid any appearance of +unfairness or of martyrizing him--this restriction had not yet been laid +upon him. So now his message of the truth could reach the ears of her +who, more than all the world beside, had grown dear to him and precious +beyond words. + +He told her, then, not only the story of that night, but also all that +had since happened--the newspaper attacks on him and on the Party; the +deliberate attempt to poison the community and the nation against him; +the struggle to fix a foul and lasting blot upon his name, and ruin him +beyond redemption. + +"And why, all this?" he added, while she--listening so intently that she +hardly breathed--knew that he spoke the living, vital truth. "Why this +persecution, this plotting, this labor and expense to 'get' me. Do you +want to know?" + +"Yes, tell me!" she whispered. "I don't understand. I can't! It--it all +seems so horrible, so unreal, so--so different from what I've always +believed about the majesty and purity of the law! Can these things be, +indeed?" + +He laughed bitterly. + +"Can they?" he repeated. "When you see that they _are_, isn't that +answer enough? And the reason of it all is that I'm a Socialist and know +certain secrets of certain men, which--if I should tell the +world--might, nay, surely would precipitate a revolution. So, these men, +and the System behind them, have tried to discredit me by this foul +charge. After this, if the charge sticks, I may shout my head off, +exposing what I know; and who will listen? You know the answer as well +as I! Do I complain? No, not once! What I must suffer, for this +wondrous Cause, is not a tenth what thousands suffer every day, in +silence and high courage. What has happened to me, personally, is but +the merest trifle beside what has already happened to thousands, +fighting for life and liberty, for wife and home and children; for the +right to work and live like men, not beasts!" + +"You mean the--the working class?" she ventured, wonderingly. "Is this +outrage really a minor one, compared with what they, who feed and warm +and carry the whole world, have to suffer? Tell me, for I--God help me, +I am ignorant! I am beginning to see, to half-see, awful, dim, ghostly +shapes of huge, unspeakable wrongs. Tell me the truth about all this, as +you have told it about yourself--and let me know!" + +Then Gabriel talked as never he had talked before. To this, his audience +of one, there in the dirty and ill-smelling police station, he unfolded +the sad tale of the disinherited, the enslaved, the wretched, as never +to a huge, and spell-bound audience in hall or park or city street. His +eloquence, always convincing, now became sublime. + +With master strokes he painted vast outlines of the whole sad +picture--the System based on robbery and fraud and exploitation; its +natural results in millionaire and tramp and harlot and degenerate; the +crime of armies of unemployed and starving men, of millions of women +forced into the factories and shops, there to compete with men and lower +wages and lose their finest feminine attributes in the sordid and +heartless drudging for a pittance. + +He told her of child slavery, and brought before her eyes the pictures +he himself had seen, of the pale, stunted little victims of Mammon's +greed, toiling by day and night in stifling, dangerous mines; in the +Hell-glare of the glass-factories; in the hand-bruising, +soul-obliterating Inferno of the coal-breakers; in the hot, linty, +sickening atmosphere of the southern cotton-mills. And as he talked, she +saw for the first time the figures of these bowed and bloodless little +boys and girls, giving their lives drop by drop, and cough by cough, +that _she_ might have purple and fine linen and the rich, soft, easy +paths of life. + + * * * * * + +Then, pausing not, he spoke to her of white slavery, of girls and women +by the uncounted thousand forced to barter their own bodies for a +mockery of life; and, stinging as a nagaika, he laid the lash of blame +on Capitalism, evil cause of an evil and rotten fruit, of disease and +crime, and misery, and death. He told her of political corruption beyond +belief; of cheating, lying, trickery and greed, for power. Of war, he +told her, and made all its inner, hideous motives clear. She seemed +verily to see the trenches, the "red rampart's slippery edge," the +spattered blood and brains and all the horror of Hell's nethermost +infamy--and then the blasted, wrecked and wasted homes, the long trail +of mourning and of hopeless ruin--the horror of this crime of crimes, +all for profit, all for gold and markets, all for Capitalism! + +And then, while the girl stood there listening, spell-bound by her first +insight, her first understanding of the true character of this, our +striving, slaving world, held by a few for their own inordinate pride +and power, the man's voice changed. + +With new intonations and a deeper tone, he launched into some outlines +of the great hope, the splendid vision, the Wondrous Ideal--Socialism, +the world-salvation. + +Sentence by sentence, imagery of this vast, noble thought flowed from +his inspired lips. Clearly he showed this woman all the causes of the +world's travail and pain; and clearly made her see that only in one way, +only through the ownership of the world by the world's children as a +whole, could peace and justice, life and joy and plenty and the New Time +come to pass, dreamed of and yearned for by many sages and prophets, and +now close at hand on the very threshold of reality! + +Socialism! It leaped from his spirit like a living flame, consuming +dross and waste and evil, lighting up the future with its shining +beacon, its message of hope to the hopeless, of rest and cheer and peace +to all who labored and were heavy laden. + +Socialism! The glory of the vision seemed to blind and dazzle Catherine. +In its supernal light, things grievous to be understood and borne were +now made clear. For the first time in all her life, the woman saw, and +knew, and grasped the truths of this strange nexus of conflict, pain and +sorrow, that we know as our existence. + +"Socialism! The Hope of the World!" Gabriel finished. "And for this, and +for what I know about its enemies, I stand here in this cell and may yet +go to a living death. This is my crime, and nothing else--this battle +for the freedom and the joy of the world--this struggle against the +powers of ignorance and darkness, priestcraft and greed, lust, treachery +and foulness, cruelty and hate and war! This, and this only. You have +heard me. I have spoken!" + +He fell silent, crossed his arms upon the bars of the cage that pent +him, and laid his head upon them with a motion of weariness. + +Something strangely stirred the heart of the woman. Her hand went out +and touched his thick, black hair. + +"Be of good cheer," she whispered. "Though I am ignorant and do not +fully understand, as yet, some glimmer of the light has reached my eyes. +I can learn, and I _will_ learn, and dare, and do! All my life I have +eaten the bread of this bitter slavery, taken the thing I had no right +to take, unknowingly wielded the lash on bleeding backs of men and women +and children. + +"All my life have I, in ignorance and idleness, done these things. But +never shall I do them again. That is all past and gone, an evil dream +that is no more. From now, if you will be patient and forgive and teach +me, I will stand with you and yours, and glory in the new-found strength +and majesty of this supreme ideal!" + +He made no answer, save to reach one hand to her, through the bars. +Their hands met in a long, clinging tension. The policeman, somewhat +down the corridor, moved officiously in their direction. + +"Here, now, none o' that!" he blurted. "Break away! An' say, time's up. +Yuh stayed too long, miss, as it is!" + +Their hands parted. Still Gabriel did not look up. + +"Are--are you coming back again?" he asked. + +"Yes, Gabriel. Tomorrow." + +"And will you tell me then who you are?" + +"I'll tell you now, if you want to know." + +"I do," he answered, and raised his head. Their eyes met, steadily. "I +do, now that you too have seen the light, and that you understand. Tell +me, who are you?" + +A moment's pause. + +Then, facing him, she answered: + +"I am Catherine Flint, only daughter of Isaac Flint, the Billionaire!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI. + +"GUILTY." + + +Speechless and dazed, Gabriel stared at her as though at some strange +apparition. + +"Daughter of--of Isaac Flint?" he stammered, clinging to the bars. + +"Come, come, lady, yuh can't stay no longer!" the officer again +insisted, tapping her on the shoulder. "Yuh'd oughta been out o' here +ten minutes ago! No, nuthin' doin'!" he concluded, as she turned to him +appealingly. "Not today! Time's up an' more than up!" + +Catherine stretched out her hand to Gabriel, in farewell. He took it, +silently. + +"Good-bye!" said she. "Until I come again, good-bye. Keep up a stout +heart, for I am with you. We--we _can't_ lose. We shall win--we _must_ +win! Don't condemn me for being what I am and who I am, Gabriel. Only +think what--with your help--I may yet be! And now again, good-bye!" + +Their hands parted. Gabriel, still silent, stood there in his cell, +watching her till she vanished from his sight down the long corridor of +grief and tears. The officer, winking wisely to himself, thrust his +tongue into his cheek. + +"Daughter of Isaac Flint, th' Billionaire!" he was thinking, with +derision. "Oh, yes, billionaires' daughters would be visitin' Socialists +an' bums an' red-light con-workers like this geezer. Oh yes, sure, sure +they would--I should worry!" + +Which mental attitude was fortunate, indeed; for it, and it alone, +preserved the girl from a wild blare of newspaper notoriety. Had the +truth been known, who could have imagined the results? + +For a long time after the girl had departed, Gabriel sat there in his +cell, motionless and sunk in deepest thought. His emotions passed +recording. That this woman, his ideal, his best-beloved, the cherished, +inmost treasure of his heart and soul--she whom he had rescued, she who +had lain in his arms and shared with him that unforgettable hour in the +old sugar-house--should now prove to be the daughter of his bitterest +enemy, surpassed belief and stunned all clear understanding. + +Flint! The very name connoted, for Gabriel, all that was cruel and +rapacious, hateful, vicious and greedy; all that meant pain and woe and +death to him and his class. Visions of West Virginia and Colorado rose +before his mind. He heard again the whistle of the "Bull Moose Death +Special" as it sped on its swift errand of barbarism up Cabin Creek, +hurling its sprays of leaden death among the slaves of this man and his +vulturine associates. + +Flint! He whispered the name; and now he seemed to see the burning tents +at Ludlow; the fleeing women and children, shot down by barbarous thugs +and gunmen, ghouls in human form! He saw the pits of death, where the +charred bodies of innocent victims of greed and heartless rapacity lay +in mute protest under the far Colorado sky. And more he saw, east and +west, north and south, of this man's inhuman work; and his thoughts, +projected into the future, dwelt bitterly on the Air Trust now already +under way--the terrible, coming slavery which he, Gabriel, had struggled +to checkmate, only to find himself locked like a rat in a steel trap! + +"And this woman," he groaned in agony of soul, "this woman, all in all +to me, is--is _his_ daughter!" + +Flinging himself upon his hard and narrow bunk, he buried his head in +his powerful arms, and tried to blot out thought from his fevered brain; +but still the current ran on and on and on, endlessly, maddeningly. And +to the problem, no answer seemed to come. + +"She must know who I am," he pondered. "Even if her father has not told +her, the papers have. True, she doesn't believe the infamous charge +against me; but what then? Can she, on the other hand, believe the +truth, that her father has conspired with Slade and those Cosmos thugs, +and with the press and courts and the whole damnable prostituted system, +to suppress and kill me? + +"Can she believe her father guilty of all that? And of all the horrors +of this capitalist Hell, that I have told her about? No! Human nature is +incapable of such vast turnings from all the habits and environments of +a lifetime. In her veins flows the blood of that arch-criminal, Flint. +Her thoughts must be, to some extent, his thoughts. She must share his +viewpoint, and be loyal to him. After this first flush of reaction +against her father, she will go back to him. It is inevitable. Betwixt +her and me is fixed a boundless space, wider than Heaven and earth. She +is one pole, and I the other. If I have any strength or resolution or +philosophy, now is the hour for its trial. + +"This woman must be, shall be put away from every thought and wish and +hope. And the word FINIS must be written at the end of the one brief +chapter where our life-stories seem to have run along together in a +false harmony and a fictitious peace!" + +Thus pondered Gabriel, in the gloom of his harsh cell, branded with +crime and writhing in the agony of soul that only those who love +hopelessly can ever know. + +And Catherine, what of her? What were her thoughts, emotions, +inspirations as--seeming to live in a dream, with Gabriel's eloquence +and the new vision of a better, saner, kindlier world shining through +her soul--she made her way back to the dingy hotel where now, shabby as +it was, she felt she had no right to stay, while others, homeless, +walked the brutal streets? + +Who shall know them? Who shall tell? A blind man, suddenly made to see, +can find no words to express the wonder and bright glory of that sudden +sight. A deaf man, regaining his lost sense, cannot describe the sudden +burst of sound that fills the new, strange world wherein he finds +himself. So, now, this cultured, gently bred woman, for the first time +in her life understanding the facts, glimpsing the tragedy and grasping +the answer to it all, felt that no words could compass her strange +exultation and enlargement. + +"It--it's like a chrysalis emerging into the form of a light, swift +butterfly!" she pondered, as, back in her room once more, she prepared +to write two letters. "Just for the present, I can't understand it all. +I don't know, yet, whether I'm worthy to be a Socialist, to be one of +that company of earnest, noble men and women striving for life and +liberty and joy for all the world. But with the help of the man I trust +and honor and believe in, and--and love--perhaps I may yet be. God +grant it may be so!" + +She thought, a few minutes more, her face lighted by an inner radiance +that made its beauty spiritual and pure and calm. Then, having somewhat +composed her thoughts, she wrote this letter to Maxim Waldron: + + My Dear Wally: + + I am writing you without date or place, just as I shall write my + father, because whatever happens, I insist that you two let me go + my way in peace, without trying to find, or hamper, or importune + me. My mind is fully made up. Nothing can change it. We have come + to the parting of the ways, forever. + + Though I may feel bitterly toward you for what I now understand as + your harsh and cruel attitude toward the world, and the role you + play as an exploiter of human labor, I shall not reproach you. You + simply cannot see these things as I have come to see them since my + feet have been set upon the road toward Socialism. Don't start, + Wally--that's the truth. Perhaps I'm not much of a Socialist yet, + because I don't know much about it. But I am learning, and shall + learn. My teacher is the best one in the world, I'm sure; and added + to this, all my natural energy and innate radicalism have flamed + into activity with this new thought. So, you see, the past is even + more effectively buried than ever. How could anything ever be + possible, now, between you and me? + + Cease to think of me, Wally. I am gone out of your life, for all + time, as out of that whole circle of false, insincere, wicked and + parasitic existence that we call "society." That other world, where + you still are, shall see me no more. I have found a better and a + nobler kind of life; and to this, and to all it implies, I mean to + be forever faithful. I beg you, never try to find me or to answer + this. + + Good-bye, then, forever. + + Catherine. + +After having read this over and sealed it, she wrote still another: + + Dear Father: + + It is hard to write these words to you. I owe you a debt of + gratitude and love, in many ways; yet, after all, your will and + mine conflict. You have tried to force me to a union abhorrent and + impossible to me. My only course is this--independence to think, + and act, and live as I, no longer a child but a grown woman, now + see fit. + + I shall never return to you, father. Life means one thing to you, + another to me. You cannot change; I would not, now, for all the + world. I must go my way, thinking my own thoughts, doing my own + work, living up to my own ideals, whatever these may be. Your money + cannot lure me back to you, back to that old, false, sheltered, + horrible life of ease and idleness and veiled robbery! The skill + you have given me as a musician will open out a way for me to earn + my own living and be free. For this I thank you, and for much else, + even as I say good-bye to you for all time. + + I have written Wally. He will tell you more about me, and about + the change in my views and ambitions, which has taken place. Do not + think harshly of me, father, and I will try to forgive you for the + burden I now know you have laid upon the aching shoulders of this + sad, old world. + + And now, good-bye. Though you have lost a daughter, you may still + rejoice to know that that daughter has found peace and joy and vast + outlets for the energies of her whole heart and soul and being, in + working for Socialism, the noblest ideal ever conceived by the mind + of man. + + Farewell, father; and think sometimes, not too unkindly, of + + Your + + Kate. + +One week after these letters were mailed, "Tiger" Waldron, fanning the +fires of the old man's terrible rage, had decided Flint to disinherit +Catherine and to name him, Waldron, as his executor. Gabriel's fervent +wish that she might be penniless, was granted. + +On the very day this business was put through, practically delivering +the Flint interests into Waldron's hands in the case of the old man's +death, a verdict was reached in Gabriel's case, at Rochester. + +This case, crammed through the calendar, ahead of a large jam of other +business, proved how well unlimited funds can grease the wheels of Law. +It proved, also, that in the face of infinitely-subsidized witnesses, +lawyers, judge and jurymen, black becomes white, and a good deed is +written down a crime. + +Catherine, working incognito, co-operated with the Socialist defense, +and did all that could be humanely done to have the truth made known, to +overset the mass of perjury and fraud enmeshing Gabriel, and to force +his acquittal. + +As easily might she have bidden the sea rise from its bed and flood the +dry and arid wastes of old Sahara. Her voice and that of the Socialists, +their lawyers and their press, sounded in vain. A solid battery of +capitalist papers, legal lights, private detectives and other +means--particularly including the majority of the priests and +clergy--swamped the man and damned him and doomed him from the first +word of the trial. + +Money flowed in floods. Perjury overran the banks of the River of +Corruption. Herzog branded the man a thief and fire-eater. Dope-fiends +and harlots from the Red-Light district, "madames" and pimps and +hangers-on, swore to the white-slave activities of this man, who never +yet in all his four and twenty years had so much as entered a brothel. + +Forged papers fixed past crimes and sentences on him. By innuendo and +direct statement, dynamitings, arsons, violence and rioting in many +strikes were laid at his door. His Socialist activities were dragged in +the slime of every gutter; and his Party made to suffer for evil deeds +existing only in the foul imagination of the prosecuting attorneys. The +finest "kept" brains in the legal profession conducted the case from +start to finish; and not a juryman was drawn on the panel who was not, +from the first, sworn to convict, and bought and paid for in hard cash. + +After three days--days in which Gabriel plumbed the bitterest depths of +Hell and drank full draughts of gall and wormwood--the verdict came. +Came, and was flashed from sea to sea by an exulting press; and preached +on, and editorialized on, and gloated over by Flint and Waldron and +many, many others of that ilk--while Catherine wept tears that seemed to +drain her very heart of its last drops of blood. + +At last she knew the meaning of the Class Struggle and her terrible +father's part in it all. At last she understood what Gabriel had so long +understood and now was paying for--the fact that Hell hath no fury like +Capitalism when endangered or opposed. + +The Price! Gabriel now must pay it, to the full. For that foul verdict, +bought with gold wrung from the very blood and marrow of countless +toilers, opened the way to the sentence which Judge Harpies regretted +only that he could not make more severe--the sentence which the +detectives and the prison authorities, well "fixed," counted on making a +death-sentence, too. + +"Gabriel Armstrong, stand up!" + +He arose and faced the court. A deathlike stillness hushed the room, +crowded with Socialists, reporters, emissaries of Flint, private +detectives and hangers-on of the System. Heavily veiled, lest some of +her father's people recognize her, Catherine herself sat in a back seat, +very pale yet calm. + +"Prisoner at the bar, have you anything to say, why sentence should not +be pronounced upon you?" + +Gabriel, also a little pale, but with a steadfast and fearless gaze, +looked at the legal prostitute upon the bench, and shook his head in +negation. He deigned not, even, to answer this kept puppet of the ruling +class. + +Judge Harpies frowned a trifle, cleared his throat, glanced about him +with pompous dignity; and then, in a sonorous and impressive tone--his +best asset on the bench, for legal knowledge and probity were not +his--announced: + +"_It is the judgment of this court that you do stand committed to pay a +fine of three thousand dollars into the treasury of the United States, +and to serve five years at hard labor in the Federal Penitentiary at +Atlanta!_" + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII. + +BACK IN THE SUNLIGHT. + + +Four years and two months from the day when this iniquitous verdict fell +from the lips of the "bought and paid for" judge, a sturdily built and +square jawed man stood on the steps of the Atlanta Penitentiary and, for +the first time in all these weary months and years, faced the sun. + +Pale with the prison-pallor that never fails to set its seal on the +victims of a diseased society, which that society retaliates upon by +shutting away from God's own light and air, this man stood there on the +steps, a moment, then advanced to meet a woman who was coming toward him +in the August glare. As he removed his cheap, convict-made cap, one saw +his finely shaped head, close cropped with the infamous prison badge of +servitude. Despite the shoddy miserable prison-suit that the prostituted +government had given him--a suit that would have made Apollo grotesque +and would have marked any man as an ex-convict, thus heavily +handicapping him from the start--Gabriel Armstrong's poise and strength +still made themselves manifest. + +And the smile as they two, the woman and he, came together and their +hands clasped, lighted his pale features with a ray brighter than that +of the blistering Southern sunshine flooding down upon them both. + +"I knew you'd come, Catherine," said he, simply, his voice still the +same deep, vibrant, earnest voice which, all that time ago, had thrilled +and inspired her at the hour of her great conversion. Still were his +eyes clear, level and commanding; and through his splendid body, despite +all his jailers had been able to do, coursed an abundant life and strong +vitality. + +Gabriel had served his time with consummate skill, courage and +intelligence. Like all wise men, he had recognized _force majeure_, and +had submitted. He had made practically no infractions of the prison +rules, during his whole "bit." He had been quiet, obedient and +industrious. His work, in the brush factory, had always been well done; +and though he had consistently refused to bear tales, to spy, to inform +or be a stool-pigeon--the quickest means of winning favor in any +prison--yet he had given no opportunity for savagery and violence to be +applied to him. Not even Flint's eager wish to have his jailers force +him into rebellion had succeeded. Realizing to the full the sort of +tactics that would be used to break, and if possible to kill him, +Gabriel had met them all with calm self-reliance and with a generalship +that showed his brain and nerves were still unshaken. On their own +ground he had met these brutes, and he had beaten them at their own +game. + +Their attempt to make a "dope" out of him had ignominiously failed. He +had detected the morphine they had cleverly mixed with his water; and, +after his drowsiness and weird dreams had convinced him of the plot, had +turned the trick on it by secretly emptying this water out and by +drinking only while in the shop, where he could draw water from the +faucet. The cell guards' intelligence had been too limited to make them +inquire of the brush shop guards about his habits. Also, Gabriel, had +feigned stupefaction while in the cell. Thus he had simulated the +effects of the drug, and had really thrown his tormentors off the track. +For months and months they were convinced that they were weakening his +will and destroying his mentality, while as a matter of fact his +reasoning powers and determination never had been more keen. + +By bathing as often as possible, by taking regular and carefully planned +calisthenics, by reading the best books in the prison library, by +attention to every rule of health within his means, and by allowing +himself no vices, not even his pipe, Gabriel now was emerging from the +Bastile of Capitalism in a condition of mind and body so little impaired +that he knew a few weeks would entirely restore him. The good conduct +allowance, or "copper," which they had been forced to allow him for +exemplary conduct, had cut ten months off his sentence. And now in +mid-August of 1925, there he stood, a free man again, with purpose still +unshaken and with a woman by his side who shared his high ambition and +asked no better lot than to work with him toward the one great +aim--Socialism! + +Now, as these two walked side by side along the sunbaked street of the +sweltering Southern town, Gabriel was saying: + +"So I haven't changed as much as you expected? I'm glad of that, Kate. +Only superficial changes, at most. Just give me a little time to pull +together and get my legs under me again, and--forward march! Charge the +forts! Eh, Catherine?" + +She nodded, smiling. Smiles were rare with her, now. She had grown +sober and serious, in these years of work and battle and stern endeavor. +The Catherine Flint of the old times had vanished--the Catherine of +country club days, and golf and tennis, and the opera--the Catherine of +Newport, of the horse show, of Paris, of "society." In her place now +lived another and a nobler woman, a woman known and loved the length and +breadth of the land, a woman exalted and strengthened by new, high and +splendid race-aspirations; by a vision of supernal beauty--the vision of +the world for the workers, each for all and all for each! + +She had grown more mature and beautiful, with the passing years. No mark +of time had yet laid its hand upon her face or figure. Young, still--she +was now but five-and-twenty, and Gabriel only twenty-eight--she walked +like a goddess, lithe, strong and filled with overflowing vigor. Her +eyes glowed with noble enthusiasms; and every thought, every impulse and +endeavor now was upward, onward, filled with stimulus and hope and +courage. + +Thus, a braver, broader and more splendid woman than Gabriel had known +in the other days of his first love for her--the days when he had wished +her penniless, the days when her prospective millions stood between +them--she walked beside him now. And they two, comrades, understood each +other; spoke the same language, shared the same aspirations, dreamed the +same wondrous dreams. Their smile, as their eyes met, was in itself a +benediction and a warm caress. + +"Charge the forts!" Gabriel repeated. "Yes, Kate, the battle still goes +on, no matter what happens. Here and there, soldiers fall and die. Even +battalions perish; but the war continues. When I think of all the +fights you've been in, since I was put away, I'm unspeakably envious. +You've been through the Tawana Valley strike, the big Consolidated +Western lockout and the Imperial Mills massacre. You were a delegate to +the 1923 Revolution Congress, in Berlin, and saw the slaughter in Unter +den Linden--helped nurse the wounded comrades, inside the Treptow Park +barricades. Then, out in California--" + +She checked him, with a hand on his arm. + +"Please don't, Gabriel," she entreated. "What I have done has been so +little, so terribly, pitiably little, compared to what _needs_ to be +done! And then remember, too, that in and through all, this thought has +run, like the red thread through every cable of the British navy--the +thought that in my every activity, I am working against my own father, +combatting him, being as it were a traitor and--" + +"Traitor?" exclaimed the man. "Never! The bond between you two is +forever broken. You recognize in him, now, an enemy of all mankind. +Waldron is another. So is every one of the Air Trust group--that is to +say, the small handful of men who today own the whole world and +everything in it. + +"Your father, as President of that world-corporation which potentially +controls two thousand millions of human beings--and which will, +tomorrow, absolutely control them, is no longer any father of yours. + +"He is a world-emperor, and his few associates are princes of the royal +house. Your life and thought have forever broken with him. No more can +bonds and ties of blood hold you. Your larger duty calls to battle +against this man. Treachery? A thousand times, no! Treason to tyrants +is obedience to God! Or, if not God, then to mankind!" + +He paused and looked at her. They had now reached a little park, some +half mile from the grim and dour old walls of the Federal Pen. Trees and +grass and playing children seemed to invite them to stop and rest. +Though strong, moreover, Gabriel had for so long been unused to walking, +that even this short distance had tired him a little. And the oppressive +heat had them both by the throat. + +"Shall we sit down here and wait a little?" asked he. "Plan a little, +see where we are and what's to be done next?" + +She nodded assent. + +"Of course," she said, "even if I could have got word in to you, I +wouldn't have given you our real plans." + +"Hardly!" he exclaimed. Then, coming to a fountain, they sat down on a +bench close by. Nobody, they made sure, was within ear-shot. + +"Thank God," he breathed, "that you, Kate, and only you, met me as I +came out! It was a grand good idea, wasn't it, to keep my time of +liberation a secret from the comrades? Otherwise there might have been a +crowd on hand, and various kinds of foolishness; and time and energy +would have been used that might have been better spent in working for +the Revolution!" + +She looked at him a trifle curiously. + +"You forget," said she, "that all public meetings have been prohibited, +ever since last April. Federal statute--the new Penfield Bill--'The +Muzzler' as we call it." + +"That's so!" he murmured. "I forgot. Fact is, Kate, I _am_ out of touch +with things. While you've been fighting, I've been buried alive. Now, I +must learn much, before I can jump back into the war again. And above +all, I must lose my identity. That's the first and most essential thing +of all!" + +"Of course," she assented. "They--the Air Trust World-corporation--will +trail you, everywhere you go. All this, as you know, has been provided +for. You must vanish a while." + +"Indeed I must. If they 'jobbed' me like that, in 1921, what won't they +do now in 1925?" + +"They won't ever get you, again, Gabriel," she answered, "if your wits +and ours combined, can beat them. True, the Movement has been badly shot +to pieces. That is, its visible organization has suffered, and it's +outlawed. But under the surface, Gabriel, you haven't an idea of its +spread and power. It's tremendous--it's a volcano waiting to burst! Let +the moment come, the leader rise, the fire burst forth, and God knows +what may not happen!" + +"Splendid!" exclaimed Gabriel. "The battle calls me, like a +clarion-call! But we must act with circumspection. The Plutes, powerful +as they now are, won't need even the shadow of an excuse to plant me for +life, or slug or shoot me. Things were rotten enough, then; but today +they're worse. The hand of this Air Trust monopoly, grasping every line +of work and product in the world, has got the lid nailed fast. We're all +slaves, every man and woman of us. Even our Socialists in Congress can +do nothing, with all these muzzling and sedition and treason bills, and +with this conscription law just through. Now that the government--the +Air Trust, that is to say--is running the railways and telegraphs and +telephones, a strike is treason--and treason is death! Kate, this year +of grace, 1925, is worse than ever I dreamed it would be. Oh, infinitely +worse! No wonder our movement has been driven largely underground. No +wonder that the war of mass and class is drawing near--the actual, +physical war between the Air Trust few and the vast, toiling, suffering, +stifling world!" + +She nodded. + +"Yes," said she, "it's coming, and soon. Things are as you say, and even +worse than you say, Gabriel. I know more of them, now, than you can +know. Remember London's 'Iron Heel?' When I first read it I thought it +fanciful and wild. God knows I was mistaken! London didn't put it half +strongly enough. The beginning was made when the National Mounted Police +came in. All the rest has swiftly followed. If you and I live five years +longer, Gabriel, we'll see a harsher, sterner and more murderous +trampling of that Heel than ever Comrade Jack imagined!" + +"Right!" said he. "And for that very reason, Kate, I've got to go into +hiding till my beard and hair grow and I can reappear as a different +man. Don't look, just now, but in a minute take a peek. Over on that +third bench, on the other side of the park, see that man? Well, he's a +'shadow.' There were three waiting for me, at the prison gates. You +couldn't spot them, but I could. One was that Italian banana-seller that +stood at the curb, on the first corner. Another was a taxi driver. And +this one, over there, is the third. From now till they 'get' me again, +they'll follow me like bloodhounds. I can't go free, to do my work and +take part in the impending war, till I shake them. Look, now, do you +see the one I mean?" + +Cautiously the girl looked round, with casual glance as though to see a +little boy playing by the fountain. + +"Yes," she murmured. "Who is he? Do you know his name?" + +"No," answered Gabriel. "His name, no. But I remember him, well enough. +He's the larger of the two detectives I knocked out, in that room in +Rochester. Beside his pay, he's got a personal motive in landing me back +in 'stir,' or sending me 'up the escape,' as prison slang names a +penitentiary and a death. So then," he added, "what's the first thing? +Where shall I go, and how, to hide and metamorphose? I'm in your hands, +now, Kate. More than four years out of the world, remember, makes a +fellow want a little lift when he comes back!" + +She smiled and nodded comprehension. + +"Don't explain, Gabriel," said she. "I understand. And I've got just the +place in mind for you. Also, the way to get there. You see, comrade, +we've been planning on this release. When can you go?" + +"When? Right now!" exclaimed Gabriel, standing up. "The quicker, the +better. Every minute I lose in getting myself ready to jump back into +the fight, is a precious treasure that can never be regained!" + +"Go, then," said she, with pride in her eyes. "I will wait here. Don't +think of me; leave me here; I am self-reliant in every way. Go to the +Cuthbert House, on Desplaines Street. Everything has been arranged for +your escape. Every link in the chain is complete. Remember, we are +working more underground, now, than when you were sentenced. And our +machinery is almost perfect. Register at the hotel and take a room for a +week. Then--" + +"Register, under my own name?" asked he. + +"Under your own name. Stay there two days. You won't be molested so +soon, and things won't be ready for you till the third day. On that +day--" + +"Well, what then?" + +"A message will come for you, that's all. Obey it. You have nothing more +to do." + +He nodded. + +"I understand," said he. "But, Kate--who's paying for all this? Not +_you_? I--I can't have _you_ paying, now that every dollar you have must +be earned by your own labor!" + +She smiled a smile of wonderful beauty. + +"Foolish, rebellious boy!" said she. "Have no fear! All expense will be +borne by the Party, just as the Party paid your fine. It needs you and +must have you; and were the cost ten times as great, would bear it to +get you back! Remember, Gabriel, the Party is far larger than when you +were buried alive in a cell. Even though in some ways outlawed and +suppressed, its potential power is tremendous. All it needs is the +electric spark to cause the world-shaking explosion. All that keeps us +from power now is the Iron Heel--that, and the clutch of the Air Trust +already crushing and mangling us! + +"Go, now," she concluded. "Go, and rest a while, and wait. All shall be +well. But first, you must get back your strength completely, and find +yourself, and take your place again in the ranks of the great, +subterranean army!" + +"And shall I see you soon, again?" he asked, his voice trembling just a +little as their hands clasped once more, and once more parted. + +"You will see me soon," she answered. + +"Where?" + +"In a safe place, where we can plan, and work, and organize for the +final blow! Now, you shall know no more. Good-bye!" + +One last look each gave the other. Their eyes met, more caressingly than +many a kiss; and, turning, Gabriel took his way, alone, toward +Desplaines Street. + +At the exit of the park, he looked around. + +There Catherine sat, on the bench. But, seemingly quite oblivious to +everything, she was now reading a little book. Though he lingered a +moment, hoping to get some signal from her, she never stirred or looked +up from the page. + +Sighing, with a strange feeling of sudden loneliness and a vast, empty +yearning in his heart, Gabriel continued on his way, toward what? He +knew not. + +The detective on the other side of the park, no longer sat there. +Somehow, somewhere, he had disappeared. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII. + +IN THE REFUGE. + + +Far on the western slopes of Clingman Dome in the great Smoky Mountains +of North Carolina, a broad, low-built bungalow stood facing the setting +sun. Vast stretches of pine forest shut it off from civilization and the +prying activities of Plutocracy. The nearest settlement was Ravens, +twenty miles away to eastward, across inaccessible ridges and ravines. +Running far to southward, the railway left this wilderness untouched. +High overhead, an eagle soared among the "thunder-heads" that presaged a +storm up Sevier Pass. And, red through the haze to westward, the great +huge sunball slid down the heavens toward the tumbled, jagged mass of +peaks that rimmed the far horizon. + +Within the bungalow, a murmur of voices sounded; and from the huge stone +chimney a curl of smoke, arising, told of the evening meal, within, now +being made ready. On the wide piazza sat a man, writing at a table of +plain boards roughly pegged together. Still a trifle pale, yet with a +look of health and vigor, he sat there hard at work, writing as fast as +pen could travel. Hardly a word he changed. Sheet by sheet he wrote, and +pushed them aside and still worked on. Some of the pages slid to the +porch-floor, but he gave no heed. His brow was wrinkled with the +intensity of his thought; and over his face, where now a disguising +beard was beginning to be visible, the light of the sinking sun cast as +it were a kind of glowing radiance. + +At last the man looked up, and smiled, and eyed the golden mountain-tops +far off across the valley. + +"Wonderful aerie in the hills!" he murmured. "Wonderful retreat and +hiding-place--wonderful care and forethought to have made this possible +for me! How shall I ever repay all this? How, save by giving my last +drop of blood, if need be, for the final victory?" + +He pondered a moment, still half-thinking of the poem he had just +finished, half-reflecting on the strange events of the past week--the +secret ways, by swift auto, by boat, by monoplane which had brought him +hither to this still undiscovered refuge. How had it all been arranged, +he wondered; and who had made it possible? He could not tell, as yet. No +information was forthcoming. But in his heart he understood, and his +lips, murmuring the name of Catherine, blessed that name and tenderly +revered it. + +At last Gabriel bent, picked up the pages that had fallen, and arranged +them all in order. + +"Tomorrow this shall go out to the world," said he, "and to our +press--such of it as still remains. It may inspire some fainting heart +and thrill some lagging mind. Now, that the final struggle is at hand, +more than guns we need inspiration. More than force, to meet the force +that has ravished our every right and crushed Constitution and Law, +alike, we need spiritual insight and integrity. Only through these, and +by these, come what may, can a true, lasting victory be attained!" + +In the doorway of the bungalow a woman appeared, her smile illumined by +the sunset warmth. + +"Come, Gabriel," said she. "We're waiting--the Granthams, Craig, and +Brevard. Supper's ready. Not one of them will sit down, till you come." + +"Have I been delaying you?" asked Gabriel, turning toward the woman, +with a smile that matched her own. + +"I'm afraid so, just a little," she answered. "But no matter; I'm glad. +When you get to writing, you know, nothing else matters. One line of +your verse is worth all the suppers in the world." + +"Nonsense!" he retorted. "I'm a mere scribbler!" + +"We won't argue that point," she answered. "But at any rate, you're +done, now. So come along, boy--or the comrades will begin 'dividing up' +without us; for this mountain air won't brook delay." + +Gabriel took a long breath, stretched his powerful arms out toward the +mountains, and raised his face to the last light of day. + +"Nature!" he whispered. "Ever beautiful and ever young! Ah, could man +but learn thy lessons and live close to thy great heart!" + +Then, turning, he followed Catherine into the bungalow. + +Beautiful and restful though the outside was, the interior was more +restful and more charming still. + +In the vast fireplace, to left, a fire of pine roots was crackling. The +room was filled with their pitchy, wholesome perfume, with the dancing +light of their blaze and with the warmth made grateful by that mountain +height. + +Simple and comfortable all the furnishings were, hand-wrought for use +and pleasure. Big chairs invited. Broad couches offered rest. No +hunting-trophies, no heads of slaughtered wild things disfigured the +walls, as in most bungalows; but the flickering firelight showed +pictures that inspired thought and carried lessons home--pictures of +toil and of repose, pictures of life, and love, and simple joy--pictures +of tragedy, of reality and deep significance. Here one saw Millet's +"Sower," and "Gleaners" and "The Man with the Hoe." There, Fritel's "The +Conquerors," and Stuck's "War." A large copy of Bernard's "Labor,"--the +sensation of the 1922 Paris Salon--hung above the mantelpiece, on which +stood Rodin's "Miner" in bronze. Portraits of Marx, Engels, LaSalle and +Debs, with others loved and honored in the Movement, showed between +original sketches by Walter Crane, Balfour Kerr, Art Young and Ryan +Walker. And in the well-filled bookshelves at the right, Socialist books +in abundance all told the same tale to the observer--that this was a +Socialist nest high up there among the mountains, and that every thought +and word and deed was inspired by one great ideal and one alone--the +Revolution! + +At a plain but well-covered table near the western windows, where fading +sunlight helped firelight to illumine the little company, sat three +men--two of them armed with heavy automatics--and a woman. Another +woman, Catherine, was standing by her chair and beckoning Gabriel to +his. + +"Come, Comrade!" she exclaimed. "If you delay much longer, everything +will be stone cold, and _then_ beg forgiveness if you dare!" + +Gabriel laughed. + +"Your own fault, if you wait for me," he answered, seating himself. "You +know how it is when you get to scribbling--you never know when to stop. +And the scenery, up here, won't let you go. Positively fascinating, +that view is! If the Plutes knew of it, they'd put a summer resort +here, and coin millions!" + +"Yes," answered Craig, once Congressman Craig, but now hiding from the +Air Trust spies. "And what's more, they'd mighty soon confiscate this +resting-up place of the Comrades, and have us back behind bars, or +worse. But they _don't_ know about it, and aren't likely to. Thank +Heaven for at least one place the Party can maintain as an asylum for +our people when too hard-pressed! Not a road within ten miles of here. +No way to reach this place, masked here in the cliffs and mountains, +except by aeroplane. Not one chance in a thousand, fellows, that they'll +ever find it. Confusion take them all!" + +The meal progressed, with plenty of serious and earnest discussion of +the pressing problems now close at hand. Brevard, a short, spare man, +editor of the recently-suppressed "San Francisco Revolutionist" and now +in hiding, made a few trenchant remarks, from time to time. Grantham and +his wife, both active speakers on the "Underground Circuit" and both +under sentence of long imprisonment, said little. Most of the +conversation was between Catherine, Craig and Gabriel. Long before the +supper was done, lamps had to be brought and curtains lowered. At last +the meal was over. + +"Dessert, now, Gabriel!" exclaimed Grantham. "Your turn!" + +"Eh? What?" asked Armstrong. "My turn for what?" + +"Your turn to do your part! Don't think that you're going to write a +poem and then put it in your pocket, that way. Come, out with it!" + +Gabriel's protests availed nothing. The others overbore him. And at +last, unwillingly, he drew out the manuscript and spread it open on his +knee. + +"You really want to hear this?" he demanded. "If you can possibly spare +me, I wish you would!" + +For all answer, Craig pushed a lamp over toward him. The warm light on +Gabriel's face, now slightly bearded, and on his strong, corded throat, +made a striking picture as he cast his eyes on the manuscript and in +vibrant and harmonious voice, read: + + + _I SAW THE SOCIALIST_ + + I saw the Socialist sitting at a great Banquet of Men, + Sitting with honored leaders of the blind, unwitting Multitude; + I saw him there with the writers, editors, painters, men of letters, + Legislators and judges, the Leaders of the People, + Leaders flushed with the wines of price, eating costly and rare + foods, + Making loud talk, and boastful, of that marvel, American Liberty! + Thinking were they no thought of hunger and pinching cold; + Of the blue-lipped, skinny children, the thin-chested, coughing men, + The dry-breasted mothers, the dirt, disease and ignorance, + The mangled workmen, the tramps, drunkards, pickpockets, + prostitutes, thieves, + The mad-houses, jails, asylums and hospitals, the sores, the blood + of war, + And all the other wondrous blessings that attend our civilization-- + That civilization through which the wines and foods were given them. + + I saw the Socialist there, calm, unmoved, unsmiling, thoughtful, + Sober, serious, full of dispassionate and prophetic vision, + Not like the other men, the all-wise Leaders of the People. + The political economists, the professors, the militarists, heroes + and statisticians; + Not like the kings and presidents and emperors, the nobles and + gold-crammed bankers, + But mindful, more than they, of the cellars under the House of Life + Where blind things crawl in the dark, things men and yet not human, + Things whose toil makes possible the Banquets of the Leaders of Men, + Things that live and yet are not alive; things that never taste of + Life; + Things that make the rich foods, themselves snatching filthy crumbs; + Things that produce the wines of price, and must be content with + lees; + Things that shiver and cringe and whine, that snarl sometimes, + That are men and women and children, and yet that know not Life! + + I saw the Socialist there; I sat at the banquet; beside him, + Listened to the surging music, saw all the lights and flowers, + Flowers and lights and crystal cups, whereof the price for each + Might have brought back from Potter's Field some bloodless, + starving baby. + I heard the Leaders' speeches, the turgid oratory, + The well-turned phrases of the Captains, the rotund babble of + prosperity, + (Prosperity for whom? Nay, ask not troublesome questions!) + The Captains' vaunting I heard, their boasts of glory and victory, + While red, red, red their hands dripped red with the blood of the + butchered workers. + I heard the Judges' self-glorification, Quixotic fighting of + windmills, + Heard also the unclean jests that those respected Leaders told. + And as I looked and listened, I still observed the Socialist, + Unmoved and patient and serious, calm, full of sober reflections. + + Then there spake (among many others) an honored and full-paunched + Bishop. + Rubicund he was, and of portly habit of body, + Shepherd of a well-pastured flock, mightily content with God, + Out of whose omnipotent Hand (no doubt) the blessings of his life + descended. + I heard this exponent of Christ the Crucified, Christ the Carpenter, + Christ the Leader of Workingmen, the Agitator, the Disturber, + Christ the Labor-organizer, Christ the Archetypal Socialist, + Friend of the dwellers in the pits of Life, Consoler of earth's + exploited, + Who once with the lash scourged from the Temple the unclean + graft-brood of usurers. + And the rotund Bishop's words were as the crackling of dry thorns + Under a pot, bubbling without use in the desert of dreary + platitudes. + The story he told was spiced and garnished with profane words, + Whereat the Leaders laughed in their cups, making great show of + merriment, + So that the banquet-hall rang, and wine was spilt on the linen. + Wine as red as blood--the blood of the shattered miner, + Blood of the boy in the rifle-pits, blood of the coughing + child-slave, + Blood of the mangled trainman, blood that the Carpenter shed. + + And still I watched the Socialist. Sober, judicial, observant + And full of greater wisdom he was than to laugh with the tipsy + Leaders. + His eyes were fixed on the Bishop, vice-regent of God upon earth. + And as I watched the Socialist, the unmoved, the contemplative one, + He thoughtfully took his pencil, he took the fine and large card + Whereon the names of the rich foods and all the costly wines were + printed, + And made a few notes of the feast, notes of the Bishop's speech, + Notes to remind him to search the slums for the great, God-given + prosperity, + Which all the Judges, Lawmakers, Captains and Leaders knew to be + "our" portion; + Notes of the flowers, the wine, the lights, the music, the splendor, + Notes of the Leaders' oratory, notes of the Bishop's deep-voiced + unctiousness, + Notes he made; and as I looked at the notes he was carefully + writing, + The words ran red like wine and blood, they blazed like the blazing + lights! + Words they were of blood and fire, that spread, that filled the + banquet-hall. + Words of old, I read them--"MENE, MENE, TEKEL, UPHARSHIN!-- + Weighed in the Balance you are, ye Leaders respected of men, + You Statesmen, Lawmakers, Judges, Captains, Bishops, vice-regents of + God! + Weighed and tried and found wanting. Give way, now, to what shall + come after! + Make ye way for the Men who shall do what ye have but neglected and + shirked! + Make ye way for a Time which hath more than Power and Greed for its + watchwords! + Soon your day shall decline forever, your sun shall sink and shall + vanish. + Then from the Cellars of Life the darkness-dwellers shall issue, + Greeting another daunt which shall have more than pain for its + portion. + Then no more shall the humble, the lowly, the friends of the + Nazarene Carpenter + Be starved, be mangled for gold, be crucified, slaughtered, bled. + Make ye way!...Make ye way!..." + + Such was the message I read, the words of that fire-writ warning. + Then peace came back to my spirit, calm peace, and hope and + patience: + Then, through my anger and heat, I thought of the Retribution. + But even more clearly I saw the New Birth of this weary world, + This world now groaning in chains, with the bloody sweat of + oppression. + These things and many more, such as were hard to write of, + I read in the words of the Socialist, patient, peaceful and sober, + Full of prophetic vision, above all things hopeful and patient, + Written in living flame at the Feast of the Leaders of Men.... + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX. + +"APRES NOUS LE DELUGE!" + + +As Gabriel's voice fell to silence, after the last words, a stillness +came upon the lamp-lit room, a hush broken only by the snapping of the +pine-root fire on the hearth and by the busy ticking of the clock upon +the chimneypiece. Then, after a minute's pause, Craig reached over and +took Gabriel by the hand. + +"I salute you, O poet of the Revolution now impending!" he cried, while +Catherine's eyes gleamed bright with tears. "Would God that _I_ could +write like that, old man!" + +"And would God that my paper was still being issued!" Brevard added, +making a gesture with the pipe that, in his eagerness to hear, he had +allowed to die. "If it were I'd give that poem my front page, and fling +its message full in the faces of Plutocracy!" + +Gabriel smiled a bit nervously. + +"Don't, please don't," he begged. "If you really do like it help me +spread it. Don't waste words on praise, but plan with me, tonight, how +we can get this to the people--how we can perfect our final +arrangements--what we must do, now, at once, to meet the Air Trust and +defeat it before its terrible and unrelenting grip closes on the throat +of the world!" + +"Right!" said Craig. "We must act at once, while there's yet time. +today, all seems safe. The Air Trust spies haven't ferreted this place +out. A week from now, they may have, and one of the most secure and +useful Socialist refuges in the country may be only a heap of +ashes--like the ones at Kenwyck, Hampden, Mount Desert and Loftiss. +Every day is precious. Every one helps to perfect Gabriel's disguise and +adds materially to his strength." + +"True," assented Gabriel. "We mustn't wait too long, now. That last +report we got yesterday, by our wireless, ought to stimulate us. +Brainard says, in it, that the Air Trust people are now putting the +finishing touches on the Niagara plant. That will give them condensing +machinery for over 90,000,000 horsepower, all told. As I see the thing, +it looks absolutely as though, when _that_ is done, the whole Capitalist +system of the world will center right there--focus there, as at a point. +Let kings and emperors continue to strut and mouth vain phrases; let our +own President and Congress make the motions of governing; even let Wall +Street play at finance and power. All, all are empty and meaningless! + +"Power has been sucked dry, out of them all, comrades. You know as well +as I know--better, perhaps--that all real power in the world, today, +whether economic or political--nay, even the power of life and death, +the power of breath or strangulation, has clotted at Niagara, in the +central offices of the Air Trust; nay, right in Flint and Waldron's own +inner office!" + +Gabriel had stood up, while speaking; and now, pacing the floor of the +big living-room, glanced first at one eager and familiar face, then at +another. + +"Comrades," said he, "we should not sleep, tonight. We should get out +all our plans and data, all the dispatches that have come to us here, +all the information at hand about our organization, whether open or +subterranean. We should make this room and this time, in fact, the place +and the hour for the planning of the last great blow on which hangs the +fate of the world. If it succeed, the human race goes free again. If it +fail--and God forbid!--then the whole world will lie in the grip of +Flint and Waldron! With our other centers broken up and under espionage, +our press forced into impotence--save our underground press--and +political action now rendered farcical as ever it was in Mexico, when +Diaz ruled, we have but one recourse!" + +"And that is?" asked Catherine. "The general strike?" + +"A final, general, paralyzing strike; and with it, the actual, physical +destruction of the colossal crime of crimes, the Air Trust works at +Niagara!" + +A little silence followed. They all drew round the reading-table, now, +near the fireplace. Mrs. Grantham brought a lamp; and Brevard, opening a +chest near the book-case, fetched a portfolio of papers, dispatches, +plans, reports and data of all kinds. + +"Gabriel's right," said he. "The time is ripe, now, or will be in a week +or so. Nothing can be gained by delaying any longer. Every day adds to +their power and may weaken ours. Our organization, for the strike and +the attack on the works, is as complete as we can make it. We must come +to extreme measures, at once, or world-strangulation will set in, and we +shall be eternally too late!" + +"Extreme measures, yes," said Gabriel, while Brevard spread the papers +out and sorted them, and Craig drew contemplatively at his pipe. "The +masters would have it so. Our one-time academic discussion about ways +and means has become absurd, in the face of plutocratic savagery. We're +up against facts, now, not theories. God knows it's against the dictates +of my heart to do what must be done; but it's that or stand back and see +the world be murdered, together with our own selves! And in a case of +self-defense, no measures are unjustifiable. + +"Whatever happens our hands are clean. The plutocrats are the attacking +force. They have chosen, and must take the consequences; they have sown, +and must reap. One by one, they have limited and withdrawn every +political right. They have taken away free speech and free assemblage, +free press and universal suffrage. They have limited the right to vote, +by property qualifications that have deprived the proletariat of every +chance to make their will felt. They have put through this National +Censorship outrage and--still worse--the National Mounted Police Bill, +making Cossack rule supreme in the United States of America, as they +have made it in the United States of Europe. + +"Before they elected that tool of tools, President Supple, in 1920, on +the Anti-Socialist ticket, we still had some constitutional rights +left--a few. But now, all are gone. With the absorption and annexation +of Canada, Mexico and Central America, slavery full and absolute settled +down upon us. The unions simply crumbled to dust as you know, in face of +all those millions of Mexican peons swamping the labor-market with +starvation-wage labor. Then, as we all remember, came the terrible +series of strikes in 1921 and 1922, and the massacres at Hopedale and +Boulder, at Los Angeles and Pittsburg, and, worst of all, Gary. That +finished what few rights were left, that killing did. And then came the +army of spies, and the proscriptions, and the electrocution of those +hundred and eleven editors, speakers and organizers--why bring up all +these things that we all know so well? _We_ were willing to play the +game fair and square, and _they_ refused. Say that, and you say all. + +"No need to dwell on details, comrades. The Air Trust has had its will +with the world, so far. It has crushed all opposition as relentlessly as +the car of Juggernaut used to crush its blind, fanatical devotees. True, +our Party still exists and has some standing and some representatives; +but we all know what _power_ it has--in the open! Not _that_ much!" And +he snapped his fingers in the air. + +"In the open, none!" said Craig, blowing a cloud of smoke. "I admit +that, Gabriel. But, underground--ah!" + +"Underground," Gabriel took up the word, "forces are now at work that +can shatter the whole infernal slavery to dust! This way of working is +not our choice; it is theirs. They would have it so--now let them take +their medicine!" + +"Yes, yes," eagerly exclaimed Catherine, her face flushed and intense. +"I'm with you, Gabriel. To work!" + +"To work, yes," put in Craig, "but with system, order and method. My +experience in Congress has taught me some valuable lessons. The +universal, all-embracing Trust made marionettes of us, every one. Our +strength was, to them, no more than that of a mouse to a lion. Their +system is perfect, their lines of supply and communication are without a +flaw. The Prussian army machine of other days was but a bungling +experiment by comparison with the efficiency of this new mechanism. I +tell you, Gabriel, we've got to give these tyrants credit for being +infernally efficient tyrants! All that science has been able to devise, +or press and church and university teach, or political subservience make +possible, is theirs. And back of that, military power, and the courts +and the prisons and the electric chair! And back of all _those_, the +power to choke the whole world to submission, in a week!" + +Gabriel thought, a moment, before replying. Then said he: + +"I know it, Craig. All the more reason why we must hit them at once, and +hit hard! These reports here," and he gestured at the papers that +Brevard had spread out under the lamp-light, "prove that, at the proper +signal, every chance indicates that we can paralyze transportation--the +keynote of the whole situation. + +"True, the government--that is to say, the Air Trust, and _that_ is to +say, Flint and Waldron--can keep men in every engine-cab in the country. +They can keep them at every switch and junction. But this isn't France, +remember, nor is it any small, compact European country. Conditions are +wholly different here. Everywhere, vast stretches of track exist. No +power on earth--not even Flint and Waldron's--can guard all those +hundreds of thousands of miles. And so I tell you, taking our data +simply from these reports and not counting on any more organized +strength than they show, we have today got the means of cutting and +crippling, for a week at least, the movements of troops to Niagara. And +that, just that, is all we need!" + +A little silence. Then said Catherine: + +"You mean, Gabriel, that if we can keep the troops back for a little +while, and annihilate the Air Trust plant itself, the great revolution +will follow?" + +He nodded, with a smouldering fire in his eyes. + +"Yes," said he. "If we can loosen the grip of this monster for only +forty-eight hours, and flash the news to this bleeding, sweating, +choking land that the grip _is_ loosened--after that we need do no more. +_Apres nous, le deluge_; only not now in the sense of wreck and ruin, +but meaning that this deluge shall forever wash away the tyranny and +crime of Capitalism! Forever and a day, to leave us free once more, free +men and women, standing erect and facing God's own sunlight, our +heritage and birthplace in this world!" + +Catherine made no answer, but her hand clasped his. The light on her +magnificent masses of copper-golden hair, braided about her head, +enhanced her beauty. And so for a moment, the little group sat there +about the table--the group on which now so infinitely much depended; and +the lamp-glow shone upon their precious plans, reports and diagrams. + +Into each others' eyes they looked, and knew the moment of final +conflict was drawn very near, at last. The moment which, in failure or +success, should for long years, for decades, for centuries perhaps, +determine whether the world and all its teeming millions were to be +slave or free. + +They spoke no word and took no oath of life-and-death fidelity, those +men and women who now had been entrusted with the fate of the world. But +in their eyes one read unshakable devotion to the Cause of Man, +unswerving loyalty to the Great Ideal, and a calm, holy faith that would +make light of death itself, could death but pave the way to victory! + + + + +CHAPTER XXX. + +TRAPPED! + + +Brevard was the first to speak. "Gabriel," said he, "we have agreed that +you must be the leader in this whole affair. The actual, personal +leader. To begin with, you're younger and physically stronger than any +of us men. Your executive ability is, without any question whatever, far +and away ahead of ours--for we are more in the analytical, compiling, +organizing, preparing line. To cap all, your personality carries more, +far more, with the mass of the comrades than any of ours. Your career, +in the past, your conflict with Flint and Waldron, and your long +imprisonment, have given you the necessary following. You, and you +alone, must issue the final call, lead the last, supreme attack, and +carry the old flag, the Crimson Banner of Brotherhood, to the topmost +battlement of an annihilated Capitalism!" + +Gabriel demurred, but they overruled him. So, presently, he consented; +and pledged his life to it; and thrilled with pride and joy at thought +of what now lay written in the Book of Fate, for him to read. + +Catherine's eyes shone with a strange light, as she looked upon him +there, so modest yet so strong. And he, smiling a little as his gaze met +hers, foresaw other things than war, and was glad. His heart sang within +him, that memorable and wondrous night, up there in the hiding-place +among the Great Smokies--there with Catherine and the other +comrades--there planning the last great blow to strike away forever the +shackles from the bleeding limbs of all the human race! + +But serious and urgent things were to be thought of, and at once, for on +the morrow Brevard was going down, disguised, to Louisville, in one of +the two monoplanes, to attend a final secret meeting of the North-middle +Section Committee. From this he would proceed to the refuge near Port +Colborne, Ontario. + +"Let us make that our meeting-place, one week from tonight," said +Gabriel, "in case anything happens. Should we be detected, or should any +accident befall, we must have some time and place to rally by. Is my +suggestion taken?" + +They all agreed, after some discussion. + +"But," added Mrs. Grantham, "let's hope we're still secure here, for a +while. It doesn't seem possible they could find us _here_, in this broad +mountain wilderness!" + +Brevard, meanwhile, was spreading out diagrams and plans. + +"The plant at Niagara," said he. "Gabriel, study this, now, as you never +yet have studied anything! For on your intimate knowledge of these +plans--which, by the way, have been obtained only at the cost of eight +lives of our comrades, and through adventures which alone would make a +wonderful book--depends everything. With all communications cut, and +troops kept away, and our own people storming the works, you will yet +fail, Gabriel, unless you know every building, every courtyard, wall and +passage, every door and window, almost, I might say. For the place is +more than a manufacturing plant. It's a fortress, a city in itself, a +wonderful, gigantic center to the whole web of world-domination! + +"So now, to the plans!" + +For hours, while Gabriel took notes and listened keenly, asked questions +and made minute memoranda, Brevard explained the situation at the great +Air Trust works. The others looked on, listened, and from time to time +made suggestions; but for the most part they kept silent, unwilling to +disturb this most important work. + +Carefully and with painstaking accuracy he showed Gabriel how the plant +now embraced more than two square miles of territory around the Falls, +all guarded by tremendous barricades mounting machine-guns and +search-lights. On both sides of the river this huge monster had +squatted, effectually shutting out all sight of the Falls and depriving +the people of their birthright of beauty, at the same time that it had +harnessed the vast waterpower to the task of enslaving the world. + +"From the Grand Trunk steel arch bridge up to and including the former +plant of the Niagara Falls Power Company," said Brevard, "you see the +plant extends. And, on the Canadian side--or what was the Canadian, +before 'we' absorbed Canada--it stretches from the Ontario Power +Company's works to those of the Toronto-Niagara Power Company, including +both. In addition to having absorbed these, it has taken over the +Niagara Falls Hydraulic Power and Manufacturing Company, the Canadian +Power Company and half a dozen others, and has, as you see, established +its central offices and plant on Goat Island. + +"Here Flint and Waldron have what may be called a citadel within a +citadel--twelve acres of administration buildings, laboratories (in +charge of your old friend Herzog, by the way!) and experimental works, +including also the big steel chambers, vacuum-lined, where they are +already storing their liquid oxygen to be turned into their pipe-lines +and tank-cars. This Goat Island central plant will be the real kernel in +the nut, Gabriel. Once _that_ is gone, you'll have ripped the heart out +of the beast, smashed the vital ganglia, and given the world the +respite, the breathing-space it must have, to free itself!" + +"And if I don't?" asked Gabriel. "If anything happens to upset our +blockading tactics, or if our attacking forces are defeated or our +aeroplanes shot down, what then?" + +"Then," said Brevard, slowly, "then the world had better die than +survive under the abominable slavery now impending. Already the +pipe-lines have been laid to Buffalo, Cleveland, Albany and Scranton. +Already they're under way to New York City itself, and to Cincinnati. +Already other plants have been projected for Chicago, Denver, San +Francisco and New Orleans, to say nothing of half a dozen in the Old +World. At this present moment, as we all sit here in this quiet room on +this remote mountain-slope, the world's air is being cornered! All the +atmospheric nitrogen is planned for, by Flint and Waldron, to pass under +their control--and with it, every crop that grows. All the oxygen will +follow. They're already having their domestic-service apparatus +manufactured--their cold-pipe radiators, meters, evaporators and +respirators. I tell you, comrades, this thing is close upon us, not as a +theory, now, but as a terrible, an inconceivably ghastly reality! + +"Even as we talk this thing over, those devils in human form are at +work impoverishing the atmosphere, the very basis of all life. My +oxymeter, today, showed a diminution of .047 per cent. in the amount of +free oxygen in the air right on this mountain. And their plant is hardly +running yet! Wait till they get it under full swing--wait till their +pipe-lines and tanks and instruments and all their vast, infernal +apparatus of exploitation and enslavement are in operation! Even in a +week from now, or less, by the time you issue the call, Gabriel, you may +see wretches gasping in vain for breath, in some dark alley of Niagara +where the air is being drained!" + +"Oh, devilish and infernal plot against the world!" said Gabriel, +bitterly. "Yet in essence, after all, no different from the system of +ten years ago, which kept food and shelter, light and fuel, under lock +and key--and made the dollar the only key to fit the lock! Yet this +seems worse, somehow; and though I die for it, my last supreme blow +shall be against such unutterable, such murderous villainy! So then, +comrades--" + +He paused, suddenly, as Kate laid a hand on his arm. + +"Hark! What's that?" she whispered. + +Outside, somewhere, a sound had made itself heard. Then on the porch, a +loose board creaked. + +Gabriel sprang to his feet. The others stood up and faced the door. + +"In heaven's name, what's that outside?" demanded Craig. + +On the instant, a heavy foot crashed through the panels of their door. +The door, burst open, flew back. + +In the aperture, stood a man, in aviator's dress, with another dimly +visible behind him. Both these men held long, blue-nosed, +oxygen-bullet-shooting revolvers levelled at the little group around the +table. + +"My God! Air Trust spies!" cried Grantham, pale as death. + +"Hands up, you!" shouted the man in the doorway, with a wild triumph in +his voice. "You're caught, all of you! Not a move, you ---- ---- ----! +Hands up!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI. + +ESCAPE! + + +Quick as thought, at sound of the imperative summons and sight of the +levelled weapons, Gabriel swept up most of the papers and crammed them +into the breast of his loose flannel shirt, then dashed the lamp to the +floor, extinguishing it. The room grew dark, for now the fire had burned +down to hardly more than glowing coals. + +There was no panic; the men did not curse, neither did the women scream. +As though the tactic had already been agreed on, Craig tipped the table +up, making a kind of barricade; and over it Grantham's revolver, +snatched from his belt, spat viciously. + +It all happened in a moment. + +The foremost spy grunted, coughed and plunged forward. As he fell, he +fired his terrible weapon. + +The bullet--a small, thin metal shell, filled with a secret chemical and +liquid oxygen--went wild. It struck the wall, some feet to the left of +the fireplace, and instantly the wood burst into vivid flame. Flesh +would crisp to nothing, solid stone would crumble, metal would gutter +and run down, under that awful incandescence. + +Again Grantham's revolver barked, while Bevard tugged at his own, which +had unaccountably got stuck in its holster. But this second shot missed. +And even as Grantham's bullet snicked a long splinter from the +door-jamb, the second spy fired. + +Brevard's choking cry died as the gushing flame enveloped him. He +staggered, flung up both arms and fell stone dead, the life seared clean +out of him, as a lamp sears a moth. + +Gasping, blinded, the others scattered; and for the third time--while +the room now glowed with this unquenchable blossoming of flame--Grantham +shot. + +The spy's body burst into a sheaf of fire. Up past the lintel streamed +the burning swirl. Mute and annihilated, his charred body dropped beside +that of his mate. + +The total time from challenge to complete victory had not exceeded ten +seconds. + +"I exploded some of his cartridges!" choked Grantham. shielding his wife +from the glare, while Gabriel protected Catherine. + +"His--his cartridge belt!" gasped Craig. + +"Yes! And now, out--out of here!" + +"Brevard? We must save his body!" cried Gabriel, pointing. + +"Impossible!" shouted Grantham. "That hellish compound will burn for +hours! And in three minutes this whole place will be a roaring furnace! +Out of here--out--away! We must save the hangar, at all hazards!" + +Against their will, but absolutely unable to approach the now +wildly-roaring fire on the floor that marked the spot where Brevard had +fallen in the Battle with Plutocracy, the comrades quickly retreated. + +Raging fire now hemmed them on three sides. Their only avenue of escape +was through the eastern windows, eight or ten feet above the ground. +Hastily snatching up such of the plans and papers as he had not already +secured--and some of these already were beginning to smoke and turn +brown, in the infernal heat--Gabriel shielded Catherine's retreat. The +others followed. + +Craig and Grantham first jumped from the windows, then caught Mrs. +Grantham and Catherine as Gabriel helped them to escape. He himself was +the last to leave the room, now a raging furnace. Together they all ran +from the building, and none too soon; for suddenly the roof collapsed, a +tremendous burst of crackling flames and sheaved sparks leaped high +above the tree-tops, and the walls came crashing in. + +In the welter of incandescence, where now only the stone chimney +stood--and this, too, was already cracking and swaying--Brevard had +found his tomb, together with the two Air Trust spies. All that +pleasant, necessary place was now a mass of white-hot ruin; all those +books and pictures now had turned to ash. + +The five remaining comrades paused by the hangar, and looked mournfully +back at the still-leaping volcano of destruction. + +"Poor Brevard! Poor old chap!" said Craig. He peered at the women. +Neither one was crying--they were not that type--but both were pale. + +"I don't feel that way," said Gabriel. "Brevard is not to be pitied. +He's to be envied! He died in the noblest war we can conceive--the war +for the human race! And his last act was to take part in a battle that +stamped out two vipers, Air Trust spies, who would have joyed to burn us +all alive!" + +[Illustration: The spy's body burst into a sheaf of fire.] + +"Thank God, I got the Hell-hounds!" muttered Craig. "Two less of Slade's +infamous army, anyhow." Though Gabriel knew it not, the first one to +fall was the same who had battled with him in the trap at Rochester, the +same who had trailed him when he, Gabriel, had left the Federal pen. So +one score, at least, was settled. + +"They're gone, anyhow," said Gabriel, "and five of us still live--and +I've still got the plans and all. Moreover, the monoplanes are safe. The +quicker we get away from here, now, the better. Away, and to our last +remaining refuge near Port Colborne, on the shores of Lake Erie. Other +Air Trust forces may be here, before morning. We must get away!" + +A frightful shock awaited them when, entering the hangar--eager now to +escape at once from the scene of the tragedy--they beheld their +aeroplanes. + +By the ruddy light which shone in through the wide doors, from the fire, +they saw long strips and tatters of canvas hanging from the 'planes. + +"Smashed! Broken! Wrecked!" cried Gabriel, starting back aghast. + +The others stared. Only too true; the monoplanes were practically +destroyed. Not only had the spies, before attacking the refuge, slashed +the 'planes to rags, but they had also partly dismantled the motors. +Bits of machinery lay scattered on the floor of the hangar. + +Stunned and unable to gather speech or coherent thought, the five +Socialists stood staring. Then, after a moment, Craig made shift to +exclaim bitterly: + +"A good job, all right! The curs must have got in at the window, and +spent an hour in this work. Whatever happened, they didn't intend we +should have any means of retreat--for of course it's out of the question +for anybody to get away from here through the forest over the ridges +and down the cliffs!" + +"They meant to trap us, this way, that's certain," added Gabriel. "There +surely will be others of the same breed, here before morning. They must +not find us here!" + +"But Gabriel, how shall we escape?" asked Catherine, her face illumined +by the leaping flames of the bungalow. + +"How! In their own machine! The machine that Slade and the Air Trust +secret-service gave them, to come here and catch or murder us!" + +"By the Almighty! So we will!" cried Grantham. "Come on, let's find it!" + +The little party hurried off toward the landing-ground, a cleared and +levelled space further up the mountainside. The light of the burning +bungalow helped show them their path; and Craig had also taken an +electric flash-lamp from the hangar. With this he led the way. + +"Right! There it is!" suddenly exclaimed Gabriel, pointing. Craig +painted a brush of electric light over the vague outlines of the Air +Trust machine, a steel racer of the latest kind. + +"A Floriot biplane," said he. "Will hold two and a passenger. Familiar +type. I guess all of us, here, can operate it." + +They all--even the women--could. For you must understand that after the +Great Massacres had foreshown the only possible trend the Movement could +take, practically all the leaders in the work had studied aeronautics, +also chemistry, as most essential branches of knowledge in the +inevitable war. + +"Two, and a passenger," repeated Gabriel, as though echoing Craig's +words. "Who goes first?" + +"You!" said Grantham. "You and Catherine, with Craig to bring the +machine back. You're needed, now, at the front--imperatively needed. +Freda and I," gesturing at his wife, "will hold the fort, here--will +keep watch over our dead, over poor old Brevard, the first to fall in +this great, final battle!" + +A spirited argument followed. Gabriel insisted on being left for the +second trip. A compromise was made by having him get the two women out +of danger, at once, leaving Craig and Grantham on the mountain. + +"I'll send Hazen or Keyes back with the 'plane, for you," said he, as he +climbed into the driving seat, after the passengers had been stowed. +"That will be tomorrow night. Of course, we daren't fly by day. And +mind," he added, adjusting his spark and throttle, "mind you meet me +with this very same machine, safe and sound, at the Lake Erie refuge!" + +"Why this same machine?" inquired Craig. + +"Why? Because I intend to use this, and no other, in the final attack. +Could poetic justice be finer than that the Air Trust works be destroyed +with the help of one of their own 'planes?" + +No more was said, save brief good-byes. Those were times when +demonstrativeness, whether in life or death, was at a discount. A +hand-clasp and a few last instructions as to the time and place of +meeting, sufficed. Then Gabriel pressed the button of the self-starter +and opened the throttle. + +With a sudden gusty chatter, the engine caught. A great wind sprang up, +from the roaring, whirling blades. The Floriot rolled easily forward, +speeded up, and gathered headway. + +Gabriel suddenly rotated the rising-plane. The great gull soared, +careened and took the air with majestic power. The watchers on the +mountain-side saw its hooded lights, that glowed upon its compass and +barometric-gauge, slowly spiralling upward, ever upward, as Gabriel +climbed with his two passengers. + +Then the lights sped forward, northward, in a long tangent, and, as they +swiftly diminished to mere specks, the echo of a farewell hail drifted +downward from the black and star-dusted emptiness above. + +Craig turned to Grantham, when the last gleam of light had faded in a +swift trajectory. + +"God grant they reach the last remaining refuge safely!" said he, with +deep emotion. "And may their flight be quick and sure! For the fate of +the world, its hope and its salvation from infinite enslavement, are +whirling through the trackless wastes of air, to-night!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII. + +OMINOUS DEVELOPMENTS. + + +The first intimation that Flint and Waldron had of any opposition to +their plans, of any revolt, of any danger, was at quarter past three on +the afternoon of October 8th, 1925. All that afternoon, busy with their +final plans for the immediate extension of their system, they had been +going over certain data with Herzog, receiving reports from branch +managers and conferring with the Congressional committee that--together +with Dillon Slade, their secret-service tool, now also President +Supple's private secretary--they had peremptorily summoned from +Washington to receive instructions. + +In the more than four years that had passed since they had put Gabriel +behind bars--years fruitful in strikes and lockouts, in prostitutions of +justice, in sluggings and crude massacres--both men had altered notably. + +Though the National Censorship now no longer permitted any cartooning of +a "seditious" nature, i.e., representing any of the Air Trust notables, +old Flint's features tempted the artist's pencil more than ever. Save +for a little white fringe of hair at the back of his head, he had become +almost bald, thus adding greatly to his strong suggestion of a vulture. +His face was now more yellow and shrunken than ever, due to a rather +heavier consumption of his favorite drug, morphine; his nose had hooked +more strongly, and his one gold tooth of other days now had two more to +bear it company. His eyes, too, behind his thick pince-nez, had grown +more shifty, cold and cruelly calculating. If it be possible to conceive +a fox, a buzzard and a jackal merged in one, old Isaac Flint today +represented that unnatural and hideous hybrid. + +Now, as he stood facing "Tiger" Waldron, in the inner and sancrosanct +office of the Air Trust plant at Niagara--the office that even the +President of these United States approached with deference and due +humility--the snarl on his face revealed the beast-soul of the man. + +"Damnation!" he was saying, as he shook a newly-received aerogram at his +partner. "What's this, I'd like to know? What does this mean? All +telegraphic communication west of Chicago has suddenly stopped, and from +half a dozen points in the Southern States news is coming in that +railway service is being interrupted! See here, Waldron, this won't do! +Your part of the business has always been to carry on the publicity end, +the newspaper end, the moulding of public opinion and political thought, +_and_ the maintenance of free, clear rail and aero communication +everywhere, all over the world. But now, all at once, see here?" + +Waldron raised red, bleared eyes at his irate partner. He, too, was more +the beast than four years ago. No less the tiger, now, but more the pig. +High, evil living had done its work on him. An unhealthy purple suffused +his heavily-jowled face. Beneath his eyes, sodden bags of flesh hung +pendant. His lips, loose and lascivious, now sucked indolently at the +costly cigar he was smoking as he sat leaning far back in his +desk-chair. And so those two, angry accuser and indifferent accused, +faced each other for a moment; while, incessant, dull, mighty, the +thunders of the giant cataract mingled with the trembling diapason of +the stupendous turbines in the rock-hewn caverns where old Niagara now +toiled in fetters, to swell their power and fling gold into their +bottomless coffers. + +"See here!" Flint repeated angrily, once more shaking the dispatches at +his mate. "Even our wireless system, all over the west and southwest, +has quit working! And you sit there staring at me like--like--" + +"That'll do, Flint!" the younger man retorted in a rough, hoarse voice. +"If there's any trouble, I'll find it and repair it. Very well. But I'll +not be talked to in any such way. Damn it, you can't speak to me Flint, +as if I were one of the people! If you own half the earth, I'll have you +understand I own the other half. So go easy, Flint--go damned easy!" + +Malevolently he eyed the old man's beast-like face. The scorn and +dislike he had conceived for Flint, years ago, when Flint had failed to +win back Catherine to him, had long grown keener and more bitter. +Waldron took it as a personal affront that Flint, apparently so worn and +feeble, could still hang on to life and brains enough to dominate the +enterprise. A thousand times, if once, he had wished Flint well dead and +buried and out of the way, so that he, Waldron, could grasp the whole +circle of the stupendous Air Trust. This, his supreme ambition, had been +constantly curbed by Flint's survival; and as the months and years had +passed, his hate had grown more deep, more ugly, more venomous. + +"Why, curse it," Waldron often thought, "the old dope has taken enough +morphine in his lifetime to have killed a hundred ordinary men! And yet +he still clings on, and withers, and grows yellow like an old dead leaf +that will not drop from the tree! When _will_ he drop? When _will_ +Father Time pick the despicable antique? My God, is the man immortal?" + +Such being the usual tenor of his thoughts, concerning Flint, small +wonder that he took the old man's chiding with an ill grace, and warned +him pointedly not to continue it. Now, facing the Billionaire, he fairly +stared him out of countenance. An awkward silence followed. Both heard, +with relief, a rapping at the office door. + +"Come!" snapped Flint. + +A clerk appeared, with a yellow envelope in hand. + +"Another wireless, sir," said he. + +Flint snatched it from him. + +"Send Herzog and Slade, at once," he commanded, as he ripped the +envelope. + +"Well, more trouble?" insolently drawled "Tiger" happy in the paling of +the old man's face and the sudden look of apprehension there. + +For all answer, Flint handed him the message. Waldron read: + + Southern and Gulf States all seemingly cut off from every kind of + communication this P.M. Can get no news. Is this according to your + orders? If not, can you inform me probable cause? I ask + instructions. "K." + +Silence, a minute, then Waldron whistled, and began pulling at his thick +lower lip, a sure sign of perturbation. + +"By the Almighty, Flint" said he. "I--maybe I was wrong just now, to be +so confoundedly touchy about--about what you said. This--certainly looks +odd, doesn't it? It _can't_ be a series of coincidences! There must be +something back of it, all. But--but _what_? Rebellion is out of the +question, now, and has been for a long time. Revolution? The way we're +organized, the very idea's an absurdity! But, if not these, what?" + +Flint stared at him with drug-contracted eyes. + +"Yes, that's the question," he rapped out. "What can it mean? Ah, +perhaps Slade can tell us," he added, as the secret-service man quietly +entered through a private door at the rear of the office. + +"Tell you what, gentlemen?" asked Slade, smirking and rubbing his hands. + +"The meaning of that, and that, and _that_!" snapped old Flint, +thrusting the telegrams at the newcomer. + +"Hm!" grunted the secret-service man, as he glanced them over. "That's +damned odd! But it's of no real moment. If--if there's really any +trouble, any outbreak or what not, of course it can't amount to +anything. All you have to do is order the President to call out the +troops, and--" + +"Yes, I can order him, all right," snarled Flint, "but in case all our +wires are down and all our wireless plants put out of commission, to say +nothing of our transport service interrupted, what then? There's no +doubt in _my_ mind, Slade, that another upheaval is upon us. The fact +that we stamped out the 1918 and 1922 uprisings, and that rivers ran red +and city streets were flushed with blood, apparently hasn't made any +impression on the cattle! Damn it all, I say, _can't_ you keep things +quiet? _Can't_ you?" + +In a very frenzy he paced the office, his face twitching, his bony +fingers snapping with the extremity of his agitation. Suddenly he faced +Slade. + +"See here, you!" he exclaimed. "This certainly means another uprising. +It can't mean anything else! And you've allowed it, you hear? No, no, +don't deny the fact!" he cried, as the detective tried to oppose a word +of self-defense. "It's your fault, at last analysis; and if anything +happens, you and the President, Supple, have got to answer to me, +personally, do you hear? You've got to pay!" + +"Pay, and with devilish big interest, too!" growled "Tiger," fixing his +bleared, savage eyes on Slade. + +"What did I make that man President for, anyhow?" snarled Flint, "if not +to do my bidding and keep things still? Why did I put you in as his +private secretary, if not to have you watch him and see that he _did_ do +my bidding? Why did I have Congress pass all those bills and things, +except to give you the weapons and tools to hold the lid on? + +"You've had a huge army and a conscripted militia given you; and +hundreds of wireless plants, and military roads and war-equipment beyond +all calculating. You've had thousands of spies organized and put under +your control. At your suggestion I've had all political power taken away +from the dogs--and everything done that you've asked for--and this, +_this_ is the kind of work you do!" + +Livid with rage, the old Billionaire stood there shaking by his desk, +his face a fearful mask of passions and evil lusts for vengeance and +power. Slade, recognizing his master, even as President Supple on more +than one occasion had been forced in terrible personal interviews to +recognize him, said no word; but in the secret-service man's eyes a +brutal gleam flashed its message of hate and loathing. Foul as Slade +was, he balked at times, in face of this man's cruel and naked savagery. + +"I tell you," continued Flint, now having recovered his breath, "I tell +you, you're worse than useless, you and your President, ha! +ha!--President Puppet, indeed! Take that great Smoky Mountain clue, for +instance! On the rumor that the ring-leaders of the swine were up there, +somewhere, in the North Carolina mountains, you sent your two best men. +And what's the latest news? What have you to tell me? _You_ know! Other +airmen of yours have just reported that nothing can be found but ruins +of the Socialist refuge, there--nothing but those, and the half-melted +vanadium steel identification-tags of your best scouts! _And_ their +machine is gone--and with it, the birds we wanted! Then, close on the +heels of this, all wires go flat, all wireless breaks down, all rails +are interrupted, and--and Hell's to pay!" Fair in Slade's face he shook +his trembling first. + +"Urrh! You devilish, impotent faker! You four-flusher! You toy +detective! You and your President, too, aren't worth the liquid oxygen +to blow you to Hades! See here, Slade, you get out on this job, now, and +do it damned quick, you understand, or there'll be _some_ shake-up in +your office and in the White House, too. When I buy and pay for tools, I +insist that the tools work. If they don't--!" + +He snatched up a pencil from the desk, broke it in half and threw the +pieces on the floor. + +"Like that!" said he, and stamped on them. + +Waldron nodded approval. + +"Just like that," he echoed, "and then some!" + +"Go, now!" Flint commanded, pointing at the door. "Inside an hour, I +want some reports, and I want them to be satisfactory. If you and Supple +can't get things open again, and start the troops and machine-guns +before then, look out! That's all I've got to say. Now, _go_!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII. + +"NOW COMES THE HOUR SUPREME." + + +Hardly had the secret-service man taken his leave, slinking away like a +whipped cur, yet with an ugly snarl that presaged evil, when Herzog +appeared. + +"Come here," said Flint, curtly, heated with his burst of passion. + +"Yes, sir," the scientist replied, approaching. "What is it, sir?" + +Still shifty and cringing was he, in presence of the masters; though +with the men beneath him, at the vast plant--and now his importance had +grown till he controlled more than eight thousand--rumor declared him an +intolerable tyrant. + +"Tell me, Herzog, what's the condition of the plant, at this present +moment?" + +"Just how do you mean, sir?" + +"Suppose there were to be trouble, of any kind, how are we fixed for it? +How's the oxygen supply, and--and everything? Good God, man, unlimber! +You're paid to know things and tell 'em. Now, talk." + +Thus adjured, Herzog washed his hands with imaginary soap and in a +deprecating voice began: + +"Trouble, sir? What trouble could there be? There's not the faintest +sign of any organization among the men. They're submissive as so many +rabbits, sir, and--" + +"Damn you, shut up!" roared Flint. "I didn't summon you to come up here +and give me a lecture on labor conditions at the works! The trouble I +refer to is possible outside interference. Maybe some kind of wild-eyed +Socialist upheaval, or attack, or what not. In case it comes, what's our +condition? Tell me, in a few words, and for God's sake keep to the +point! The way you wander, and always have, gives me the creeps!" + +Herzog ventured nothing in reply to this outburst, save a conciliatory +leer. Then, collecting his thoughts, he began: + +"Well, sir, in a general way, our condition is perfect. We've got two +regiments of rifle and machine gunmen, half of them equipped with the +oxygen bullets. I guarantee that I could have them away from their +benches and machines, and on the fortifications, inside of fifteen +minutes. Slade's armed guards, 2,500 or so, are all ready, too. + +"Then, beside that, there are eight 'planes in the hangars, and plenty +of men to take them up. If you wish, sir, I can have others brought in. +The aerial-bomb guns are ready. As for the oxygen supply, Tanks F and L +are full, K is half filled, and N and Q each have about 6,000 gallons, +making a total of--let's see, sir--a total of just about 755,000 +gallons." + +"How protected? Have you got those bomb-proof overhead nets on, yet?" + +"Not yet, sir. That is, not over all the lines of tanks. We ran short of +steel wire, last week, and have only got eight of the tanks under +netting. But the work is going on fast, sir, and--" + +"Rush it! At all hazards, get nets over the rest of the tanks. If +anything happens, through this delay, remember, Herzog, I shall hold +you personally responsible, and it will go hard with you!" + +"Yes, sir; thank you, sir," murmured the servile wretch. "Anything else, +sir?" + +Flint thought a moment, glaring at Herzog with angry eyes, then shook +his head in negation. + +"Very well, sir," said Herzog, withdrawing. "I'll go to work at once. By +tomorrow, everything will be safe, I guarantee." + +He closed the door softly--as softly as he had spoken--as softly as he +always did everything. + +Flint glared at the door. + +"The sneaking whelp!" he murmured. "He makes my very flesh crawl. I wish +to heaven he weren't so essential to us; we'd let him go, damned quick!" + +"You forget," put in Tiger, "that he knows too much to be let go, ever. +No, he's a fixture. And now, dismiss him from your mind, and let's go +over those telegrams and radiograms again. If there _is_ a new Socialist +revolt under way--and I admit it certainly begins to look like it--we've +got to understand the situation. Slade will have some more reports for +us, in an hour or so. Till then, these must suffice." + +Flint, curbing his agitation, sat down at the big table and turned on +the vacuum-glow light, for the October afternoon was foggy--a fog that +mingled with the spray of the vast Falls and hung heavy over the +world--and already daylight was beginning to fail. + +"Fools!" he muttered to himself. "Fools, to think they can rebel against +_us_! Ants would have just as much show of success, charging elephants, +as _they_ have against the Air Trust! By tomorrow they'll be wiped out, +smeared out, shattered and annihilated, whoever and wherever they are. +By tomorrow, at the latest. Again I say, blind, suicidal fools!" + +"Right you are," assented Waldron, drawing up his chair. "They don't +seem to realize, even yet, that we own the whole round earth and all +that is in it. They don't understand that their rebelling is like a +tribe of naked savages going against a modern army with explosive +bullets. Ah, well, let them learn, let them learn! It takes a whip to +teach a cur. Let them feel the lash, and learn!..." + + +At this same hour, in the last retreat, near Port Colborne, in the State +of Ontario--once a province of Canada--half a dozen grim and determined +men were gathered together. We already recognize Craig, Grantham and +Gabriel. The other three, like them, all wore the Socialist button and +the little tab of red ribbon that marked them as members of the Fighting +Sections. + +"Tonight," Gabriel was saying, as he stood there in the gathering +dusk--they dared not show a light, even behind the drawn curtains of +their refuge--"tonight, comrades, the final die is cast. Everything is +ready, or as nearly ready as we shall ever be able to make it. Our +reports already show that every line of communication has been broken by +one swift, sharp blow. True, in a few hours all these avenues can be +opened up again. By morning, the Niagara works will be in receipt of +messages; trains will be running; the troop-planes will be carrying +their hordes at the command of Flint. By morning, yes. But in the +meantime--" + +He spread his fingers, upward, with an expressive gesture. + +"By morning," Craig mumbled, "what will there be left to protect?" + +A little silence followed. Each was busy with his own thoughts. + +All at once, one of the three newcomers spoke--a tall, light-haired +fellow, he seemed, in that dim light, with a strong Southern accent. + +"Pardon me for asking, Gabriel," said he, removing a pipe from his +mouth, "or for discussing details familiar to you all. But, coming as I +_have_ come direct from the New Orleans refuge--they blew it up, last +week, you know--of course I haven't got things as clearly in mind yet, +as you-all have. Now, as I understand it, while we manoeuvre over the +plant, blow up the barricades and, if possible, 'get' the oxygen-tanks, +our men on the ground will pour in through the gaps and storm the place, +under the command of Edward Hargreaves. Is that the idea?" + +"Exactly, Comrade Marion," answered Gabriel. "You've hit it to a T." + +Craig laughed grimly, as he drew at his pipe. + +"Just as we're going to hit those big tanks!" said he. "It's tonight or +never, comrades. They're putting steel nets over them, already. By +tomorrow the whole place will be protected by huge grill-work fully a +hundred feet above the tops of the tanks. Oh, they seem to have thought +of everything, those plutes! But they'll be just a shade too late, this +time; just a shade too late!" + +Another silence, broken again by the tall Southerner. + +"Just let me get this thing quite clear," said he. "We're to start at +5:30, you say, walk past the Welland Canal Feeder out to the Monck +Aviation Grounds, and find everything ready there?" + +"Correct," said Gabriel. "All six of us. That's our part of the program. +Comrades you don't know, out there--comrades in the employ of the Air +Trust itself--will have six machines ready. One of them will be the very +machine that they tried to get us with, in the Great Smokies! So you +see, we're going to use the Air Trust equipment, their field and even +their own telenite, to put them out of business forever and to free the +world!" + +"Poetic justice, all right enough!" laughed Marion. "At the same time +that we're attacking from an elevation of perhaps three thousand feet, +the lateral attack will be delivered. About how many men do you count, +on, for that?" + +"Well," judged Gabriel, "within a ten-mile radius of the plant, at least +a hundred thousand men are waiting, this very instant, with every nerve +keyed up to fighting tension. Scattered in a vast variety of ingenious +and cleverly-devised hiding places, with their chlorine grenades and +their revolvers shooting little hydrocyanic acid gas bullets, they're +waiting the signal--a rocket in mid-heaven." + +"Hydrocyanic acid gas!" exclaimed Marion, forgetting to smoke. "Why, one +whiff of that is death!" + +"It is," agreed Gabriel. "Remember, this is a war of extermination. It's +a case of _them_ or _us_! And if we're worsted, the whole world loses; +while if they are, then liberty is born! That's why this gas is +justifiable. They'll try to use oxygen-bullets on us, never fear. But +where they can kill ten, with those, we can annihilate a hundred with +our kind. Swine, they have called us, and fools and apes. Well, we +shall see, we shall see, when it comes to an out-and-out fight between +Plutocrat and Proletarian, who is the better man!" + +Again came silence. And this time it was Grantham who broke it. + +"Comrades," said he, "after you've seen as many Socialists shot down as +_I_ have--shot down and burned, as Brevard was--you'll lose any +lingering ideas of civilized warfare you may still retain. They hunt us +like beasts, prison us in foul traps, ride us down, crush us, break and +tear us, and burn us alive, because we struggle to be free men and +women, not slaves. Now that our hour has struck, now that their lines of +communication and defense are breached, and they--though they still +don't fully understand it--are penned there in their heaven-offending, +monstrous, horrible plant at the Falls, no true man can hesitate to +smash them down with no more compunction than as though they were so +many rattlesnakes or scorpions! + +"This isn't 1915, when political and civil rights still existed, and we +weren't hunted outlaws. This is 1925, and conditions are all different. +It's war, war, war to the death, now; and if war is Hell, then _they_ +are going to get Hell this time, not we." + +Nobody spoke, for a little while; but Marion and Craig smoked +contemplatively, and the others sat there in the dusk, sunk in thought. + +All at once a door opened, and the vague form of a woman became visible. + +"Comrades, you must go," said she. "It's nearly half past five. By the +time you've got everything in readiness, you'll have no time to lose." + +"Right, Catherine," answered Gabriel. "Come, comrades! Up and at it!" + +Ten minutes later they all issued forth into the soft gloom. All were in +aviator's dress, and each carried a parcel by a handle held with stout +straps. Had you seen them, you would have noticed they took particular +pains not to jar or shake these parcels, or approach unduly near each +other. + +At the door of the refuge, Catherine said good-bye to each, and added +some brave word of cheer. Her farewell to Gabriel was longer than to the +others; and for a moment their hands met and clung. + +"Go," she whispered, "go, and God bless you! Go even though it be to +death! Their airmen will take toll of some of the attackers, Gabriel. +Not all the Comrades will return. Oh, may _you_--may _you_!" + +"What is written on the Book of Fate, will be," he answered. "Our petty +hopes and fears are nothing, Catherine. If death awaits me, it will be +sweet; for it will come, tonight, in the supreme service of the human +race! Good-bye!" + +With a sudden motion, the girl took his face between her hands, and +kissed his forehead. For all her courage and strength, he sensed her +heart wildly beating and he felt her tears. + +"Good-bye, Gabriel," she breathed. "Would I might go with you! Would +that my duty did not hold me here! Good-bye!" + +Then he was gone, gone with the others, into the thickening obscurity of +the fog-shrouded evening. Now Catherine stood there alone, head bowed +and wet face hidden in both hands. + +As the little fighting band disappeared, back to the girl drifted a few +words of song, soft-hummed through the dusk--the deathless chorus of the +International: + + "Now comes the hour supreme! + To arms, each in his place! + The new dawn's International + Shall be the human race!..." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV. + +THE ATTACK. + + +"Halt! Who goes there?" + +The challenge rang sharply on the night air, outside a small gate in the +barricade of the Monck Aviation Grounds. + +"Liberty!" answered Gabriel, pausing as he gave the password. + +"All right, come on," said a vague figure at the gate. The little group +approached. The gate opened. Silently they entered the enclosure. + +Another man stepped from a hangar. In his hand he held an electric +flash, which he threw upon the newcomers, one by one. + +"Right!" he commented, and took Gabriel by the hand. "This way!" + +Ten minutes later, all of them were in the air, save only Gabriel, who +insisted on staying till his entire squad had made a clean getaway. Then +he too rose; and now in a long, swift line, the fighting squadron +straightened away to north-eastward, on the twenty-mile run to Niagara. + +The night was foggy, chill and dark. All the aviators had instructions +to fly not less than 2,500 feet high, to keep a careful lookout lest +they collide, and to steer by the lights of the great Air Trust plant. +For, misty though the heavens were, still Gabriel could see the dim glow +of the tremendous aerial search-lights dominating Goat Island--lights +of 5,000,000 candle-power, maintained by current from the Falls, +incessantly sweeping the sky on the lookout for just such perils as now, +indeed, were drawing near. + +Momently, as he flew, Gabriel perceived these huge lights growing +brighter, through the mist, and apprehension won upon him. + +"Incredibly strong!" he muttered to himself, as he glanced from his +barometer to the shining fog ahead. "Even though the mist will be +thicker over the Falls than anywhere else, there's a good possibility +they may pierce it and pick us up--and _then_, look out for their +'planes and swift, fighting dirigibles!" + +He rotated the rising-plane, and now soared to 2,800 feet. Below and on +either side of him, nothing but tenuous fog. Ahead, the +swiftly-approaching fan of radiance, white, dazzling, beautiful, that +seemed to gush from earth so far below and to the eastward. Already the +thunders of the Falls were audible. + +"Where are the others?" Gabriel wondered, his thoughts seeming to hum +and roar in his head, in harmony with the shuddering diapason of the +muffler-deadened exhaust. "No way of telling, now. Each man for +himself--and each to do his best!" + +And then his thoughts reverted to Catherine; and round his heart a +sudden yearning seemed to strengthen his stern, indomitable +resolve--"Victory or death!" + +But now there was scant time for thought. The moment of action was +already close at hand. Far below there, hidden by night and dark and +mist, Gabriel knew a hundred thousand comrades, of the Fighting +Sections, were lying hidden, waiting for the signal to advance. + +"And it's time, now!" he said aloud, thrilled by a wondrous sense of +vast responsibility--a sense that on this moment hung the fate of the +world. "It's time for the signal. Now then, up and at them!" + +Taking the rocket--a powerful affair, capable of casting an intense, +calcium light--he touched the fuse to a bit of smouldering punk fastened +in a metal cup at his right hand. Then, as it flared, he launched the +rocket far into the void. + +Below, came a quick spurt of radiance, in a long, vivid streak that shot +away with incredible rapidity. Gabriel followed it a moment, with his +gaze, then smiled. + +"The Rubicon is crossed," said he. "The gates of the Temple of Janus are +open wide--and now comes War!" + +He rose again, skimming to a still higher altitude as the glare of the +great Works drew closer and closer underneath. The wind roared in his +ears, louder than the whirling propellers. The whole fabric of the +aeroplane quivered as it climbed, up, up above the rushing, bellowing +cataract. + +"Where are the others?" thought he, and reached for a thanatos +projectile, in the rack near the metal cup where the punk still +glowered. + +All at once, a glare of light burst upward through the white-glowing +mist; and the 'plane reeled with the air-wave, as now a thunderous +concussion boomed across the empty spaces of the sky. + +At the same moment, a faint, ripping noise mounted to Gabriel--a sound +for all the world like the tearing of stout canvas. Then followed a +chattering racket, something like distant mowing-machines at work; and +now all blent to a steady, determined uproar. Gabriel almost thought to +hear, as he launched his own projectile, far sounds as of the shouts and +cries of men; but of this he could not make sure. + +"They're at it, anyhow!" he exulted. "At it, at last! By the way our men +have launched the attack, the first explosion must have breached a wall! +God! What wouldn't I give to be down there, in the thick of it, rather +than here! I--" + +_Crash_! + +Again a spouting geyser of light and uproar burst into mid-air. + +"That was _my_ thanatos speaking!" cried Gabriel. "Now for another!" + +Before he could drop it, as he circled round and round, directly over +the great, flailing beams of the Air Trust search-lights, a third +detonation shattered the heavens, nearly unseating him. Up sprang the +roar, with wonderful intensity, reflected from the earth as from a giant +sounding-board. And Gabriel noted, with keen satisfaction, that one of +the huge light-beams had gone dark. + +"Put out _one_ of them, anyway, so far!" thought he, and swung again to +westward, and once more dropped a messenger of death to tyranny. + +Now the bombardment became general. Trust aerial-gun projectiles began +bursting all about. Every second or two, terrible concussions leaped +toward the zenith; and the earth, hidden somewhere down there below the +fog-blanket, seemed flaming upward like a huge volcano. One by one the +search-lights, whipping the sky, went black; and now the glow of them +was fast diminishing, only to be replaced by a ruddier and more +intermittent glare. + +"The plant's burning, at last," thought Gabriel. "Heaven grant the fire +may spread to the oxygen-tanks! If we can only get _those_--!" + +Again he launched a projectile, and again he circled over the doomed +plant. + +A swift black shape swooped by him. He had just time to exchange a yell +of warning, when it was gone. The near peril gripped his heart, but did +not shake it. + +"Close call!" said he. + +If that machine and his had met, good-bye forever! But after all, the +danger of collision in mid-air, or of being struck by a projectile from +some other machine, above, was no greater than his comrades on the +ground were facing. Not so great, perhaps. Many a one would meet his +death from the aerial attack. In a war like this, a thousand perils +threatened. Gabriel only hoped that Hargreaves, down below there, could +hold them back, away, till the walls should have been destroyed. + +Circling, ever circling, now hearing some echoes of the earth-battle, +some grenade-volleys and rapid-fire clattering, now deafened and all but +blinded by the vast, up-belching explosions of the thanatos projectiles, +Gabriel flew among the drifting mists and vapors. Still was he guided by +one or two search-lights; but most of these were gone, now. Yet the +glare of the conflagration, below, was luridly shuddering through the +fog, painting it all a dull and awful red. + +Red! Suddenly words came into Gabriel's mind--the words of his own poem: + + ... Red as blood, red as blood! The blood of the shattered miner, + Blood of the boy in the rifle pits, blood of the coughing child-slave, + Blood of the mangled trainman, blood that the Carpenter shed! + +"For your sake! For the world's sake, this!" he cried, and hurled +another thanatos. "If ever war of liberation was holy, this is that +war!" + +Suddenly, through all the turmoil of shattering explosions, tossing +air-currents and drifting, acrid smoke, he became conscious of a sudden, +swift-flying pursuer. + +By the light of the burning Plant, down there somewhere in the vapors of +the thunderous Falls, he saw a hawk-like 'plane that swooped toward him +with incredible velocity, savage and lean and black. + +Off to the right, a sudden spattering of shots in mid-air told him the +battle in the sky was likewise being engaged. He saw vague, veiled +explosions, there, then a swift, falling trail of flame. A pang shot +through his heart. Had one of his companions fallen and been dashed to +death? He could not tell--he had no time to wonder, even, for already +the attacker was upon him, the swift Air Trust _epervier,_ one of the +dreaded air-fleet of the world-monopoly! + +Gabriel had just time to swerve from the attack, and swoop +aloft--dropping his next to last projectile as he did so--when the +whirling shape zoomed past, swung round and once more charged. He saw, +vaguely, two men sat in it. One was the pilot, a "Gray" or Cosmos +mercenary. The other--could it be? Yes, there was no mistaking! The +other was Slade himself, commander of the hireling army of Plutocracy! + +Out from the attacking 'plane jetted sadden spurts of fire. Gabriel +heard the zip-zip-zip of bullets; heard a ripping tear, as one of his +canvas wings was punctured--God help him, had that explosive bullet +struck a wire or a stay! + +Then, maddened to despair; and burning with fierce rage against this +monster of the upper air that now was hurling death at him, he once more +"banked," brought his machine sharp round, and charged, full drive, at +the attacker! + +This tactic for a second must have disconcerted the Air Trust +mercenaries. Gabriel's speed was terrific. With stupefying suddenness, +the _epervier_ loomed up ahead of him. + +"Now!" he shouted. "Take this, from me!" + +Half rising from his seat, he hurled his last remaining projectile full +at Slade, then wrenched his own 'plane off sharply to the left. + +A thunderous concussion and a dazzling burst of light told him his +chance shot had been effective. + +He got a second's vision of a shattered black mass, a tangle of girders, +wires, collapsed planes, that seemed to hang a moment in midair--of +whirling bodies--of wreckage indescribable. Then the broken debris +plunged with awful speed and vanished through the red-glowing mist. + +Even as he shuddered, sickened at the terrible, though necessary deed, +the deed which alone could save him from swift death, an overwhelming +air-wave from the terrible explosion struck his speeding machine, the +machine captured in the Great Smokies from the Air Trust itself. + +It heeled over like an unballasted yacht under the lash of a hurricane. +Vainly Gabriel jerked at wheel and levers; he could not right it. + +As it seemed to come under control, a stay snapped. The 'plane swooped, +yawned forward and stuck its nose into an air-hole, caused by the vast, +uprising smoke and heat of the huge conflagration beneath. + +Then, lost and beyond all guidance, it somersaulted, slid away down a +long drop and, whirling wildly over and over, plunged with Gabriel into +the glowing, smoking, detonating void! + + + + +CHAPTER XXXV. + +TERROR AND RETREAT. + + +When, despite Flint's imperative orders, Slade failed to reopen the +lines of communication for him, before nightfall, and when President +Supple wired in code for a little more time in obeying Air Trust orders, +the Billionaire recognized that something of terrible menace now had +suddenly broken in upon his dream of universal power. + +He summoned Waldron and Herzog for another conference and together they +feverishly planned to put the works under defense, until such time as +troops could be got through to them. + +The plant regiment was mustered and the Cosmos mercenaries and scabs +were made ready. The machine-guns were unlimbered for action and large +quantities of ammunition were delivered to them and to the aerial-bomb +guns, as nightfall lowered. Herzog set eight hundred men to work +covering all the tanks possible, with wire netting of heavy steel. The +search-lights were all ordered into use; steam and electrical +connections were made, the air-fleet was manned, and everything was done +that unlimited wealth and bitter hate of the Workers could suggest. + +With curses on the fog, which hid the upper air from view, the old man +now stood at one of the west windows of his inner office--the office on +the top floor of the main Administration Building, overlooking nearly +the whole Plant. + +"Damn the weather!" he snarled, his gold teeth glinting. "In addition to +all this mist from the Falls, there's a regular cloud-bank settling +down, tonight! Under cover of it, what may not happen? Nothing could +have been worse, Waldron. Though we shall soon control the air, that +won't be enough, so long as fogs and mists escape us. Our next +problem--hello! Now what the devil's _that_?" + +"What's what?" retorted Waldron, testily. He had been drinking rather +more heavily than usual, that day, both because of the dull weather and +because the Falls invariably got on his nerves, during his brief +sojourns there. Away from New York and his favorite haunts, Waldron was +lost. "What's what?" he repeated with an ugly look. "This roaring, +glaring, trembling place gives me--" + +"That! That light in the sky!" cried Flint, excitedly pointing. "See? +No--it's gone now! But it looked like--like a rocket! A signal, of some +kind, thrown from an aeroplane! A--" + +Waldron laughed harshly. + +"Seeing things, eh?" he sneered, coming across to the window, himself, +and peering out. "_I_ don't see anything! Nothing here to worry about, +Flint. With all these walls and guns, and netting, and air-ships and a +private army and all, what more do you want? Not getting nervous in your +old age, are you, eh?" he gibed bitterly. "Or is your conscience +beginning to wake up, as the graveyard becomes more a probability +than--" + +"Enough!" Flint snapped at him. "When you drink, Waldron, you're an +idiot! Now, forget all this, and let's get down to work. I tell you, I +just now saw a signal-light up there in the mist. There's trouble coming +tonight, as sure as we own the earth. Trouble, maybe big trouble. +Merciful God, I--I rather think we oughtn't to be here, in person, eh? +We'd be much better off out of here. If there--there should be any +fighting, you know--" + +His voice broke in a falsetto pipe. Waldron laughed brutally. + +"Bravo!" cried he, with flushed and mottled face. "You'll do, Flint! I +see, right now, the firing-line is the life for you! Well, let the row +come, and devil take it, say I. Better anything than--" + +The sentence was never finished, For suddenly a shattering explosion +hurled a vast section of the western encircling wall outward, out into +the River, and, where but a moment before, the partners had been gazing +at a high concrete-and-steel barrier, with electric lights on top, now +only a huge gap appeared, through which the foam-tossed current could be +seen leaping swiftly onward toward the Falls. + +Hurled back from the window by the force of the explosion, both men were +struck dumb with terror and amaze. Flint rallied first, and with a cry +of rage, inarticulate as a beast's howl, sprang to the window again. + +Outside, a scene of desolation and wild activity was visible. The great, +paved courtyard, flanked by the turbine houses and the wall, on one +hand, and on the other by the oxygen tanks' huge bulk that loomed +vaguely through the electric-lighted mist, now had begun to swarm with +men. + +Flint saw a few forms lying prone under the hard glare of the arcs and +vacuum lights. Others were crawling, writhing, making strange +contortions. Here, there, men with rifles were running to take their +posts. Hoarse orders were shouted, and shrill replies rang back. + +Then, all at once, a kind of sputtering series of small explosions began +to rip along the edge of the south wall. And now, machine-guns began to +talk, with a dry, hard metallic clatter. And--though whence these came, +Flint could not see--grenades began flying over the wall and bursting in +the court. Though unwounded, men fell everywhere these gas-projectiles +exploded--fell, stone dead and stiffening at once--fell, in strange, +monstrous, awful attitudes of death. + +Steam began billowing up; and crackling electrical discharges leaped +along the naked wires of the outer barricades. + +The whole Plant shook and rattled with the violent concussions of the +aerial-bomb guns, already searching the upper air with shrapnel. + +Somewhere, out of the range of vision, another terrible shock made the +building tremble to its nethermost foundation; and wild yells and cries, +as of a charge, a repulse, a savage and determined rush, echoed through +the vast enclosure. Came a third detonation--and, blinding in its +intensity, a globe of fire burst almost beneath the window, five stories +below. + +The partners, shaking and pale, retreated hastily. A swift, +upward-rising shape swept over the courtyard and was gone--one of the +air-fleet now launched to meet the attackers. + +Far below a sudden crumbling shudder of masonry told the Billionaire +not a moment was to be lost, for already one wing of the Administration +Building was swaying to its fall. + +"Quick, Waldron! Quick!" he shouted, in the shrill treble of senility, +and ran into the corridor that led to the north wing. Waldron, suddenly +sobered, followed; and from the offices, where the night-shift of clerks +were laboring (or had been, till the first explosion), came crowding +pale and frightened men. Not the fighting cast of Air Trust slaves, +these, but the anaemic chemists and experimenters and clerical workers, +scabs, to a man. Now, in the common sentiment of fear, they jostled +Flint and Waldron, as though these plutocrats had been but common clay. +And in the corridor a babel rose, through which fresh volleys and ever +more and more violent explosions ripped and thundered. + +Flint struck savagely at some who barred his way; and Waldron elbowed +through, with curses. + +"Get out of the way, you swine!" shrilled the old Billionaire. "Make +way, there! Way!" + +The two men reached a door that led by a private passage, through to the +steel-and-concrete laboratories. + +"Here, this way, Flint!" shouted Waldron. "If those Hell-devils drop a +bomb on us, this building will cave in like jackstraws! Our only safety +is here, _here_!" + +Thoroughly cowed now, with all the brutal bluster and half-drunken +swagger gone, Waldron whipped out a bunch of keys, tremblingly unlocked +the door and blundered through. Flint followed. Behind them, others +tried to press, on toward the armored laboratories; but with vile +blasphemies the plutocrats beat them back and slammed the door. + +"To Hell with _them_!" shouted Flint, perfectly ashen now and shaking +like a leaf, the fear of death strong on his withered soul. "We've got +all we can do to look after ourselves! Quick, Waldron, quick!" + +Both men, sick with panic, with fear of the unknown terror from above, +stumbled rather than ran along the passage, and presently reached the +laboratory. + +Here Waldron unlocked another door, this time a steel one, and--as they +both crowded through--pressed a hand to his dizzy head. + +"Safe!" he gulped, slamming the door again. "They can't get us _here_, +at any rate, no matter what happens! This place is like a fort, and--" + +His speech was interrupted by a dazing, deafening tumult of sound. The +earth trembled, and the laboratory, steel though it was, with concrete +facing, rocked on its foundation. A glare through the windows, quickly +fading, told them the building they had just quitted was now but a +smoking pile of ruin. + +Flint gasped, unable to speak. Waldron, shaking and cowed, tried to +moisten his dry lips with a thick tongue. + +"We--we weren't any too soon!" he gulped, without one thought of the +doomed scabs in the Administration Building. Stern justice was now +overtaking these wretches. False to the working-class, and eager to +serve the Air Trust--not only eager to serve, but zealous in any attack +on the proletariat, and by their very employment serving to rivet the +shackles on the world--now they were abandoned by their masters. + +Between upper and nether millstone, moving with neither, they were +caught and crushed. And as the great building quivered, gaped wide +open, swayed and came thundering down in a vast pile of flame-lit ruin, +whence a volcanic burst of fire, smoke and dust arose, they perished +miserably, time-servers, cowards and self-seekers to the last. + +But Flint and Waldron still survived. Though the very earth shook and +trembled with the roar of bombs, the crumbling of massive walls, the +rattle of volley-fire and the crashing of the terrible grenades that +mowed down hundreds as they spread their poisonous gas abroad--though +the shriek of projectiles, the thunder of the air-ship guns now sweeping +the sky in blind endeavor to shatter the attackers all swelled the +tumult to a frightful storm of terror and of death; they still lived, +cowered and cringed there in the bomb-proof steel-and-concrete of the +inner laboratories. + +"Come, come!" Flint quavered, peering about him at the deserted room, +still glaring with electric light--the room now abandoned by all its +workers, who, members of Herzog's regiment, had run to take their posts +at the first signal of attack. "Come--this isn't safe enough, even here. +In--in there!" + +He pointed toward a vault-like door, leading to the subterranean steel +chambers where Herzog eventually counted on storing some hundreds of +thousands of tons of liquid oxygen--the reserve-chambers, impregnable to +lightning, fire, frost or storm, to man's attacks or nature's--the +chambers blasted from the living rock, deep as the Falls themselves, +vacuum-lined, wondrous achievement of the highest engineering skill the +world could boast. + +"There! There!" repeated Flint, plucking at the dazed Waldron's sleeve. +"Tool-steel and concrete, twenty-five feet thick--and vacuum chambers +all about--_there_ we can hide! There's safety! Come, come quick!" + +Staring, white-faced (he who had been so red!) and dumb, Waldron +yielded. Together, furtive as the criminals they were, these two +world-masters slunk toward the steel door, while without, their empire +was crashing down in smoke, and flame, and blood! + +They had almost reached it when a smash of glass at the far end of the +laboratory whipped them round, in keener terror. + +Staring, wild-eyed, they beheld the crouching figure of Herzog. Running, +even as he cringed, he had upset a glass retort, which had shattered on +the concrete floor. And as he ran, he screamed: + +"_They're in! They're coming! Quick--the steel vaults! Let me in, there! +Let me in!_" + +The coward was now a maniac with terror, his face perfectly white, +writhen with panic, and with staring eyes that gleamed horribly under +the greenish vacuum-lights. + +"Back, you! Get out!" roared Waldron, raising a fist. "We--" + +A sudden belch of flame, outside, split the night with terrible +virescence. The whole steel building trembled and swayed. Some of its +girders buckled; and the east wall, nearest the oxygen-tanks, caved +inward as a mass of many tons was hurled against it. + +A stunning concussion flung all three men to the floor; and, as they +fell, a withering heat-wave quivered through the place. + +"The oxygen-tanks!" gasped Flint. "They're blown up--they're +burning--God help us!" + +Scorching, yet still eager to live, he crawled on hands and knees toward +the steel door. Waldron dragged himself along, half-dead with terror. +Now, dripping gouts of inextinguishable fire were raining on the roof of +the building. A whirlwind of flame was sweeping all its eastern side; +and a glare like that of Hell itself seared the eyes of the fugitives. + +Quivering, trembling, slavering, the old man and Waldron wrenched the +steel door open. + +"_Me! Me! Let me in! Me! Save me!_" howled Herzog, dragging himself +toward them. + +They only laughed derisively, with howls of demoniacal scorn. + +"You slave! You cur!" shouted Waldron, and spat at him as he drew the +vault door shut. "You cringing dog--stay there, now, and face it!" + +The great door boomed shut. In the cool of the winding stairway of steel +which led, lighted by electricity, to the trap-door and the ladder down +into the tremendous vaults, the world-masters breathed deeply once more, +respited from death. + +Herzog, screaming like a fiend in torment, clawed at the impenetrable +steel door, raved, begged, entreated, and tore his fingers on the lock. + +No answer, save the muffled echo of a jeer, from within. + +_Boom!_ + +What was that? + +Mad with terror though he was, he whirled about, and faced the room now +quivering with heat. + +Even as he looked, a great gap yawned in the western wall, farthest from +the flame-belching oxygen-tank that had been struck. + +Through this gap, pouring irresistibly as the sea, swept a tide of +attackers, storming the inner citadel of the infernal, world-strangling +Air Trust. + +At the head of this victorious army, this flood triumphant of the +embattled proletaire, Herzog's staring eyes caught a moment's glimpse of +a dreaded face--the face of Gabriel Armstrong. + +Gasping, the coward and tool of the world-masters made one supreme +decision. Close by, a rack of vials stood. He whirled to it, snatched +out a tiny bottle and waiting not even to draw the cork--craunched the +bottle, glass and all, in his fang-like, uneven teeth. + +An instant change swept over him. His staring eyes closed, his head fell +forward, his whole body collapsed like an empty sack. He fell, twitched +once or twice, and was dead--dead ere the attackers could reach the door +of steel where his bestial masters had betrayed him. + +Thus perished Herzog, coward and tool, a victim of the very forces he +himself had helped create. + +And at the moment of his death, the masters he had cringed to and had +served, sneering with scorn at him even in their mortal terror, were +tremblingly descending the long metal ladder to the impregnable vaults +of steel below. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVI. + +THE STORMING OF THE WORKS. + + +Plunged into the abyss of mist and flame by the attack of the Air Trust +_epervier_, Gabriel had abandoned himself for lost. Death, mercifully +swift, he had felt could be his only fate; and with this thought had +come no fear, but only a wild joy that he had shared this glorious +battle, sure to end in victory! This was his only thought--this, and a +quick vision of Catherine. + +Then, as he hurtled down and over, whirling drunkenly in the void, all +clear perception left him. Everything became a swift blur, a rushing +confusion of terrible wind, and lurid light, and the wild roar of myriad +explosions. + +Came a shock, a sudden checking of the plunge, a long and rapid glide, +as the DeVreeland stabilizer of the machine, asserting its automatic +action, brought it to a level keel once more. + +But now the engine was stopped. Gabriel, realizing that some chance +still existed to save his life, wrenched madly at his levers. + +"If I can volplane down!" he panted, sick and dizzy, "there may yet be +hope!" + +Hope! Yes, but how tenuous! What chance had he, coasting to earth at +that low level, to avoid the detonating bombs, the aerial shrapnel being +hurled aloft, the poisonous gas, the surface-fire? + +Here, there and yonder, terrific explosions were shattering the echoes, +as the Air Trust batteries swept the fog with their aeroplane-destroying +missiles. Whither should he steer? He knew not. All sense of direction +was lost, nor could the compass tell him anything. A glance at the +barometric gauge showed him an altitude of but 850 feet, and this was +decreasing with terrible rapidity. + +Strive as he might, he could not check the swift descent. + +"God send me a soft place to fall on!" he thought, grimly, still +clinging to his machine and laboring to jockey it under control. + +Close by, a thunderous detonation crashed through the mist. His machine +reeled and swerved, then plunged more swiftly still. All became vague, +to Gabriel--a dream--a nightmare! + +_Crash!_ + +Flung from the seat, he sprawled through treetops, caught himself, fell +to a lower limb, slid off and landed among thick bushes; and through +these came to earth. + +The wrecked 'plane, whirling away and down, fell crashing into the river +that rushed cascading by, and vanished in the firelit mist. + +Stunned, yet half-conscious, Gabriel presently sat up and pressed his +right hand to his head. His left arm felt numb and useless; and when he +tried to raise it, he found it refused his will. + +"Where am I, now, I'd like to know?" he muttered. "Not dead, anyhow--not +_yet_!" + +A continuous roar of explosions shuddered the air, mingled with the +booming of the mighty Falls. Shouts and cheers and the rattle of +machine-guns assailed his ear. The glare of the search-lights, through +the mist and steam, was darkened momentarily by thick, greasy coils of +smoke, shot through by violent flashes of light as explosions took +place. + +Gabriel struggled to his feet, and peered about him, + +"Still alive!" said he. "And I must get back into the fight! That's all +that matters, now--the fight!" + +He knew not, yet, where he was; but this mattered nothing. His machine +had, in fact, fallen near the river bank, in the eastern section of +Prospect Park, beyond the Goat Island bridge--this region of the Park +having been left outside the fortifications, in the extension of the Air +Trust plant. + +The trees, here, had saved his life. Had he smashed to earth a hundred +yards further north, he would have been shattered against high walls and +roofs. + +Still giddy, but sensing no pain from his injured left arm, Gabriel made +way toward the scene of conflict. He knew nothing of how the tide of +battle was going; nothing of his position; nothing as to what men he +would first meet, his comrades or the enemy. + +But for these considerations he had no thought. His only idea, fixed and +grim, was "The fight!" Dazed though he still was, he nerved himself for +action. + +And so, pressing onward through the livid glare, through the night +shattered by stupendous detonations, he drew his revolver and broke into +a run. + +Strange evidences of the battle now became evident. He saw an unexploded +grenade lying beside a wounded man who grasped at him and moaned with +pain. Over a wrecked motor-car, greasy smoke was rising, as it burned. +Louder shouting drew him down a path to the left. Masses of moving +figures became dimly visible, through the mist. And now, stabs of fire +pierced the confusion and clamorous night. + +Gabriel jerked up his revolver, as he ran, the terrible weapon shooting +bullets charged with hydrocyanic-acid gas. + +A man rose before him, shouting. + +Gabriel levelled the weapon; but a glimpse of red ribbon in the other's +coat brought it down again. + +"Comrade!" cried he. "Where's the attack?" + +The other pointed. + +"Gabriel! Is that you?" he gasped, staring. + +"Yes! I fell--machine smashed--come on!" + +"Hurt?" + +"No! Arm, maybe. No matter! God! What's this?" + +Toward them a sudden swirl of men came sweeping, stumbling, shouting, in +pandemonium. + +"Our men!" cried Gabriel, starting forward again. "We're being driven! +Rally, here! Rally!" + +Beyond, a louder crackling sounded. Here, there, men plunged down. The +retreat was becoming a rout! + +Yelling, Gabriel flung himself upon the men. + +"Back there!" he vociferated. "Back, and at the walls! Come on, boys, +now! Come on!" + +His voice, well known to nearly all, thrilled them again with new +determination. A shout rose up; it swelled, deepened, roared to majestic +volume. + +Then the tide turned. + +Back went the fighting men of the great Revolution. back at the +machine-guns, mounted in the breached walls. + +Gabriel was caught and whirled along in that living tide. He found +himself at its crest, its foremost wave. Behind him, a roaring, rushing +river of men. Before the Inner Citadel. + +Gathering speed and weight as it rolled up, the wave broke like an ocean +surge over a crumbling dyke. + +Down went the Air Trust gunners and the guns, down, down to +annihilation! + +Through the breach, foaming and swelling with irresistible power burst +the tides of victory. + +Silenced now were the Trust guns. The steam-jets had none to man them. +Far aloft, a last explosion told the death story of the final +_epervier_. + +Here and there, from windows and corners of the wrecked and blazing +plant, a little intermittent firing still continued; but now the hearts +of these Air Trust defenders--scabs, thugs and scourings of the +slum--had turned to water, in face of the triumphant army of the working +class. + +They fled, those mercenaries, and all the ways and inner +strongholds--such as still were left--now lay open to Gabriel and his +comrades. + +Lighted by the blazing buildings and the vast fire torch of an +oxygen-tank off to eastward, they stormed the final citadel, the steel +and concrete laboratories, heart and soul and center of the hellish +world-conspiracy. + +Stormed it, as it began to blaze and crumble; stormed it, in search of +Flint and Waldron, would-be murderers of the world. + +Stormed it, only to see Herzog gnash his teeth upon the flask, and +fall, and die; only to know that there, within the rock-hewn, +steel-lined tanks, below, their enemies had still outwitted them! + +The swift onrush of the fire drove the victors back. + +"_Out, comrades! Out of here_!" shouted Gabriel, facing the attackers. + +None too soon. Hardly had they beaten a retreat, back into the vast +courtyard again, strewn with the dead, when a second oxygen tank +exploded, overwhelming the laboratory building with tons of flying +steel. + +Leaping toward the zenith, a giant tongue of flame roared heavenward. So +intense the heat had now become, that the solid brick and concrete +walls, exposed to the direct verberation of the flame, began to crack +and crumble. + +Gabriel ordered a general retreat of the attacking army. Victory was +won; and to stay near that gushing tornado of flame, with new explosions +bound to occur as the other oxygen tanks let go, must mean annihilation. + +So the triumphant Army of the Proletaire fell back and back still +further, out into the wrecked and trampled Park, and all through the +city, where shattered buildings, many of them ablaze, and broken trees, +dead bodies, smashed ordnance and chaos absolute told something of the +story of that brief but terrible war. + +Ringed round the perishing ruins of the Air Trust they stood, these +mute, thrilled thousands. Silence fell, now, as they watched the +roaring, ever-mounting flames that, whipped by the breeze, crashed +upward in long and cadenced tourbillions of white, of awful +incandescence. + +And the river, ever-hurrying, always foaming on and downward to its +titanic plunge, sparkled with eerie lights in that vast glow. Its voice +of thunder seemed to chant the passing and the requiem of the Curse of +the World, Capitalism. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVII. + +DEATH IN THE PIT OF STEEL. + + +And Flint, now, what of him! And Waldron? + +While the Air Trust plant was burning, crumbling, smashing down, what of +its masters, the masters of the world? + +A sense of vast relief possessed them both, at first, as the steel door +clanged after them. + +Now, for a time at least, they realized that they were safe, safe from +the People, safe from the awakened and triumphant Proletariat. Even now, +had they surrendered, they would have been spared; but nothing was +further from their thoughts than any treating with the despised and +hated enemy. + +Foremost in the mind of each, now, was the thought that if they could +but stand siege, a day or so, the troops of the government--their +government and their troops, their own personal property--would +inevitably rescue them. + +With this comforting belief, together they descended the long steel +staircase to the trap-door, passed through this, and climbed down the +metal ladder to the vast storage-vaults. + +Here, everything was cool and quiet and well-lighted. Not yet had the +electric-generating plant been put out of action. Though all its workers +had either been drafted into the ranks of the Cosmos mercenaries, or +Herzog's regiments, or else had fled to hiding, still the huge turbines +and enormous dynamos were whirling, unattended. Thus, for the first few +minutes, in their living tomb, down over which the ruins of the now +white-hot laboratory-building had crashed, the world-masters had +electric light. + +Reassured a little, they descended to the very bottom of the first huge +tank. + +"God!" snarled Flint, as he breathed deeply and glared about him. "The +curs! The swine! To think of this, _this_ really happening! And to think +that if we hadn't got here just in time, they'd actually have--have used +violence on _us_--" + +Waldron laughed brutally, his body still trembling and his face chalky. +His laugh echoed, hollowly, from the metal walls. + +"You old fool!" he spat. "Canting old hypocrite to the last, eh? +Violence? What the devil do you expect? Rosewater and confetti? Violence +was all that ever held 'em, wasn't it? And when they slipped the leash, +naturally they retorted--that's all! Violence? You make me sick! Damned +lucky for us if we get through this yet, without violence, you whining +cur!" + +Flint, for the first time hearing Waldron's honest opinion of him, +failed even to note it. All his panic-stricken ear had caught was the +note of hope, of survival. + +Clutching eagerly at Waldron's sleeve, he cackled: + +"If we get through? If we get through, you say? Then, in your opinion, +there _is_ a chance to get through? They can't get us here? We surely +shall be rescued?" + +"Bah!" Waldron flung at him, some latent spark of courage still +smouldering in his sodden breast, whereas old Flint was craven to the +marrow. "You nauseate me! Afraid to die, eh? Well, so am I; but not so +damned paralyzed and sick with panic as all that! If you'd taken less +dope, the last twenty years, you'd have more nerve now, to face the +music! World-master, you? Eh? Playing the biggest game on earth--and +now, when things break bad, you squeal! Arrrh! You called me a quitter +once, you mealy-mouthed old Pecksniff! We'll see, now, who quits! We'll +see, at a show-down, who can face it, you or I!" + +[Illustration: His fingers lost their hold--he dropped like a Plummet.] + +Waldron's brutality, the hard, savage quality that all his life had made +him "Tiger" Waldron, now was beginning to reassert itself. His first +sheer panic over, a little manhood was returning. But as for Flint, no +manhood dwelt in him to be awakened. Instead, each moment found him more +abject and more pitiable. Like an old woman he now wrung his hands and +groaned, hysterically; and now he paced the steel floor of the vault +that was destined to be his tomb; and now he stopped again and stared +about him with wild eyes. + +On all sides, sheer up a hundred feet or more, the smooth steel sides of +the vast oxygen tank rose, studded with long lines of rivets. + +Near the top a dark aperture showed where the six-inch pipe joined the +tank; the pipe destined to fill it, when Herzog's last process--never, +now, to be completed--should have been done. + +The huge floor, 150 feet in diameter, sloped gently downward toward the +center; and here yawned another pipe, covered by a grating--the pipe to +drain the liquid oxygen out to the pumping station. + +So deeply set in the rock of the Niagara cliff was this stupendous +tank, and so cunningly surrounded by vacuum-chambers, that now no +faintest sound of the Falls was audible. All that betrayed the nearness +of the cataract was a faint, incessant trembling of the metal walls, as +though the solid ribs of Earth herself were shuddering with the impact +of the plunge. + +Old Flint surveyed this extraordinary chamber with mingled feelings. It +surely offered absolute protection, for the present--or seemed to--but +his distressed mind conjured alarming pictures of the future, in case no +rescue came. Death by starvation, thirst and madness loomed before him. +Nervously he recommenced his pacing. Another terribly serious factor was +to be considered. He had now been three hours without his dose of +morphia, and his nerves were calling, tugging insistently for it. + +"Rotten luck," he grumbled, "that I've got none with me!" Even there, in +the imminent presence of disaster and death, his mind reverted to the +poison, more necessary to him than food. + +Waldron now had grown fairly calm. He stood leaning against the steel +ladder, down which they had descended. Choosing a cigar, he proceeded to +light up. + +"Might as well be comfortable while we wait," said he. "I only wish we +had a couple of chairs, down here. Oversight on our part that we didn't +have some steel ones put in, and a line of canned goods and a few quarts +of Scotch. The floor's a bit damp and cold to sit on, and I want a drink +damn bad!" + +Flint swung about and faced him, pale and shaking, tortured with fear +and with longing for his dope. + +"You--you don't think it _will_ be long, eh, do you?" he demanded. "Not +long before we're taken out?" + +Waldron shrugged his shoulders and blew a long, thin arrow of smoke +athwart the brightly-lighted air. + +"Search me!" he exclaimed. "To judge by what was happening when we made +our exit, the Plant must be a mess, by this time. We seem to have been +checked, even if not mated, Flint. I must admit they caught us by +surprise. Caught us napping, damn them, after all! They were stronger +than we thought, Flint, and cleverer, and better organized. And so--" + +"Don't say 'we,' curse you!" snarled Flint. "Blame yourself, if you want +to, but leave me out! _I_ knew there was trouble due, I tell you. _I_ +saw it coming! Who's been trying to crush the swine completely, if not +I? Who's worked night and day to have those bills put through, and who +had the army increased, and conscription started? Who's driven the +President to back all sorts of things? Who's forced them? Who made the +National Mounted Police a reality, if not I? Damn you, don't include +_me_ in your blame!" + +Waldron shrugged his shoulders, and smoked contemplatively. + +"Suit yourself," he answered. "If we both die, down here, it won't +matter much either way." + +"Die?" quavered the old jackal, suddenly forgetting his rage and peering +about with furtive eyes. "Did you say die, Wally? No, no! You didn't say +that! You didn't mean that, surely!" + +Waldron smiled, evilly, joying in this abject fear of his hated partner. + +"Oh, yes, I did, though," he retorted. "It's quite possible, you know. +In case our government--yours, if you prefer--can't get troops through, +here, or a big general revolution sweeps things, inside a day or two, +we're done. We'll starve and stifle, here, sure as shooting!" + +"No, no, no! Not that, not _that_!" whimpered Flint, shuddering. "I +can't die, yet. I--I'm not ready for it! There's all that missionary +work of mine not yet done, and my huge international Sunday School +League to perfect; and there's the tremendous ten-million-dollar +Cathedral of Saint Luke the Pious that I'm having built on Riverside +Drive, and there's--" + +"Cut it!" gibed Waldron, spitting with very disgust. "If your time's +come, Flint, you'll die, cathedrals or no cathedrals. Your Sunday +schools won't save you any more than my investments will--which have +largely been wine, women and song. As a matter of fact, if it comes to +starvation, if we aren't rescued and taken out from under the red-hot +wreckage that's on top of us, I'll outlive _you_! I can exist on my +surplus adipose tissue, for a while; but you--_you're_ nothing but skin +and bone. You'll starve far quicker than I will, old man." + +"Don't! Don't!" implored the shaking wretch, covering his eyes with both +trembling hands. + +"Moral, you oughtn't to have been a dope-fiend, all these years," +continued Waldron, cuttingly, determined that now, once for all, his +despised partner should hear the truth. "How you've lived so long, as it +is, I don't understand. When I tried to marry Kate, and failed, I +reckoned you'd pass over in almost no time--and, by the way, that's why +I was so insistent. But you've disappointed me, Flint. Disappointed me +sorely. You still live. It won't be long, however. Down here, you know, +you simply can't get any dope. In a little while you'll begin to suffer +the torments of Hell. You'll die of starvation and drug 'yen,' Flint, +and you'll die mad, mad, _mad_! Understand me! Mad, for morphine! And I, +I shall watch you, and exult!" + +Flint cringed, shuddering and stopped his ears. His partner, gloating +over him, smoked faster now. A strange light shone in his eyes. His +pulse beat faster than usual, and a certain extravagance of thought and +speech had become manifest in him. + +He tried to compose himself, feeling that he must not push the cowardly +Flint too far, but his ideas refused to flow in orderly sequence. +Wonderingly he stared at his cigar, the tip of which was now glowing +more brightly than before. + +And then, suddenly sniffing the air he understood. His eyes widened with +horror absolute. He started forward, gasped and cried: + +"_Flint! Flint! The oxygen is coming in!_" + +Uncomprehending, the old man still stood there, mumbling to himself. His +face was now tinged with unusual color, and his heart, too, was thumping +strangely. + +"_Oxygen_!" shouted Waldron, shaking him by the shoulder. "It--it's +leaking in, here, somewhere! If we can't stop it--_we're dead men_!" + +"Eh? _What_?" stammered the Billionaire, staring at him with eyes of +half-intoxicated fear. "What d'you mean, the oxygen? In--in here?" + +"_In here_!" cried "Tiger," casting a wild and terrible gaze about him +at the vast, empty trap of steel. "Can't you smell it? That ozone +smell? My God, we're lost! We're lost!" + +"You're crazy!" retorted Flint, with vigor. "Nothing of the sort could +happen!" His head was held high, now, and new life seemed surging +through that spent and drug-wrecked body. "There's no way those curs +could have turned on any gas, here. You're crazy, ha! ha! ha! Insane, +eh? A good joke--capital joke, that! I must tell it at the Union League +Club! 'Tiger' Waldron, suddenly insane, and--ha! ha! ha!" + +He burst into a long, shrill cacchination. Already his face was scarlet +and his mind a whirl. Though neither man understood the reason, yet the +fact remained that one of the last great explosions had ruptured a +subterranean check-valve closing the six-inch pipe that was to feed the +storage-tanks; and now a swift, huge stream of pure oxygen gas was +rushing at tremendous velocity into the vast chamber of steel. + +Waldron, his heart leaping as though it would burst his ribs, raised a +fist to strike down his insulter; then, with drunken indecision, joined +in the maniacal laughter of the staggering old man. + +In their ears a strange, wild humming now became audible. Lights danced +before their eyes; their senses reeled, and violent, extravagant ideas +surged through their drunken brains. + +"_Ha! Ha! Ha!_" rang Waldron's crazy laughter, echoing the old man's. +All at once, his cigar broke into flame. Cursing, he hurled it away, +staggering back against the ladder and stood there swaying, clutching it +to hold himself from falling. + +There he stood, and stared at Flint, with eyes that started from his +head, with panting breath and crimson face. + +The old man, in a sudden revulsion of terror, was now grovelling along +the floor, by one of the massive walls, clawing at the steel with +impotent hands and screaming mingled prayers and oaths. His ravings, +horrible to hear, echoed through the great tank, now swiftly filling +with gas. + +"Help! Help!" he screamed. "Save me--my God--save me--. Let me out, let +me out! A million, if you let me out! A billion--_the whole world_! The +world, ha! ha! ha! Damn it to Hell--the world, I say! I'll give the +world to be let out! It's mine--I own it--_all, all mine!_ Ha! Dogs! You +would rise up against your master and your God, would you? But it's no +use--we'll beat you yet--out! _out_!--the world--I own it! All this +plant--this gas, all mine! My oxygen--ah! it chokes me! _Help! +Help!_--Swine! I'll scourge you yet--_absolute power_--_the world_--!" + +With one final spark of energy, panting, his heart flailing itself to +death under the pitiless urge of the oxygen, old Flint sprang up, ran +wildly, blindly straight across the steel floor, and, screaming +blasphemies like a soul in Hell, dashed into the opposite wall. + +He recoiled, staggered, spun round and fell sprawling most +horribly--stone dead. + +Waldron, at sight of this awful end, felt an uncontrollable terror sweep +over his drunk and maddened senses. Though all his blood was leaping in +his arteries, and his breath coming so fast it choked him, yet a +moment's seeming sanity possessed his reeling brain. + +"The door! The door, up there!" he screamed, with a wild, terrible +curse. + +Then, turning toward the ladder, in spite of his fat and flabby muscles +quivering in terrible spasms, he ran up the long steel structure with a +supreme and ape-like agility. + +Fifty feet he made, seventy-five, ninety-- + +But, all at once, something seemed to break in his overtaxed heart. + +A blackness swam before his dazzled eyes. His head fell back. Unnerved, +his fingers lost their hold. And, whirling over and over in midair, he +dropped like a plummet. + +By one wall lay Flint's body. At the foot of the ladder, like a crushed +sack of bones, sprawled the corpse of "Tiger" Waldron. + +And still the rushing oxygen, with which they two had hoped to dominate +the world, poured through the six-inch main, far, far above--senseless +matter, blindly avenging itself upon the rash and evil men who impiously +had sought to cage and master it! + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVIII. + +VISIONS. + + +Thus perished Flint and Waldron, scourges of the earth. Thus they died, +slain by the very force which they had planned would betray mankind and +deliver it into their chains. Thus vanished, forever, the most sinister +and cruel minds ever evolved upon this planet; the greatest menace the +human race had ever known; the evil Masters of the World. + +And as they died, massed around their perished Air Trust plant, a throng +of silent, earnest watchers stood, with faces illumined by the symbolic, +sacrificial flames--a throng of emancipated workers, of toilers from +whose bowed shoulders now forever had been lifted the frightful menace +of a universal bondage. + +Explosion after explosion burst from the tortured Inferno of the vast +plant. Buildings came crashing, reeling, thundering down; walls fell, +amid vast, belching clouds of dust and smoke; a white, consuming sheet +of flame crackled across the sinister and evil place; and in its wake +glowed incandescent ruins. + +Then, in one final burst of thunderous tumult, the hugest tank of all, +exploding with a roar like that of Doom itself, hurled belching flames +on high. + +For many miles--in Buffalo, Rochester, Toronto and scores of cities on +both sides of the Great Lakes--silent multitudes watched the glare +against the midnight sky; and many wept for joy; and many prayed. All +understood the meaning of that sight. The light upon the heavens seemed +a signal and a beacon--a promise that the Old Times had passed away +forever--a covenant of the New. + +And, as the final explosion shattered the Temple of Bondage to wreckage, +flung it far into the rushing river and swept it over the leaping, +thundering Falls, the news flashed on a thousand wires, to all cities +and all lands; and though the mercenaries of the two dead world-masters +still might struggle and might strive to beat the toilers back to +slavery again, their days were numbered and their powers forever broken. + +Together in the doorway of the refuge at Port Colborne, Catherine stood +with Gabriel, watching the beacon of liberty upon the heavens. The +light, a halo round her eager face, showed his powerful figure and the +smile of triumph in his eyes. His left arm, broken by the fall in the +aeroplane, now rested in a sling. His right, protecting in its strength, +was round the girl. And as her head found shelter and rest, at length, +upon his shoulder, she, too, smiled; and her eyes seemed to see visions +in the glory of the sky. + +"Visions!" said she, softly, as though voicing a universal thought. "Do +you behold them, too?" + +He nodded. + +"Yes," he answered, "and they are beautiful and sweet and pure!" + +"Visions that we now shall surely see?" + +"Shall surely see!" he echoed; and a little silence fell. Far off, they +seemed to hear a vast and thousand-throated cheering, that the +night-wind brought to them in long and heart-inspiring cadences. + +"Gabriel," she said, at last. + +"Well?" + +"I wish _he_ might have seen them, and have understood! In spite of all +he did, and was, he was my father!" + +"Yes," answered Gabriel, sensing her grief. "But would you have had him +live through this? Live, with the whole world out of his grasp, again? +Live, with all his plans wrecked and broken? Live on in this new time, +where he could have comprehended nothing? Live on, in misery and rage +and impotence? + +"Your father was an old man, Catherine. You know as well as I +do--better, perhaps--the whole trend of his life's thought and ambition. +Even if he'd lived, he couldn't have changed, now, at his age. It would +have been an utter impossibility. Why say more?" + +Catherine made no reply; but in her very attitude of trust and +confidence, Gabriel knew he read the comfort he had given her. + +Silence, a while. At last she spoke. + +"Visions!" she whispered. "Wonderful visions of the glad, new time! How +do you see them, Gabriel?" + +"How do I see them?" His face seemed to glow with inspiration under the +shining light in the far heavens. "I see them as the realization of a +time, now really close at hand, when this old world of ours shall be, as +it never yet has been, in truth civilized, emancipated, free. When the +night of ignorance, kingcraft, priestcraft, servility and prejudice, +bigotry and superstition shall be forever swept away by the dawn of +intelligence and universal education, by scientific truth and light--by +understanding and by fearlessness. + +"When Science shall no longer be 'the mystery of a class,' but shall +become the heritage of all mankind. When, because much is known by all, +nothing shall be dreaded by any. When all mankind shall be absolutely +its own master, strong, and brave, and free!" + +"Like you, Gabriel!" the girl exclaimed, from her heart. + +"Don't say that!" he disclaimed. "Don't--" + +She put her hand over his mouth. + +"Shhhh!" she forbade him. "You mustn't argue, now, because your arm's +just been set and we don't want any fever. If my dreams include you, +too, Gabriel, don't try to tell me I'm mistaken--because I'm not, to +begin with, and I _know_ I'm not!" + +He laughed, and shook his head. + +"Do you realize," said he, "that when it comes to bravery, and strength, +and the splendid freedom of an emancipated soul, I must look to _you_ +for light and leading?" + +"Don't!" she whispered. "Look only to the future--to the newer, better +world now coming to birth! The time which is to know no poverty, no +crime, no children's blood wrung out for dividends! + +"The future when no longer Idleness can enslave Labor to its tasks. When +every man who will, may labor freely, whether with hand or brain, and +receive the full value of his toil, undiminished by any theft or +purloining whatsoever!" + +"The future," he continued, as she paused, "when crowns, titles, swords, +rifles and dreadnaughts shall be known only by history. When the earth +and the fulness thereof shall belong to all Earth's people; and when its +soil need be no longer fertilized with human blood, its crops no longer +be brought forth watered by sweat and tears. + +"Such have been my visions and my dreams, Catherine--a few of them. Now +they are coming true! And other dreams and other visions--dreams of you +and visions of our life together--what of them?" + +"Why need you ask, Gabriel?" she answered, raising her lips to his. + +The sound of singing, a triumphal chorus of the accomplished Revolution, +a vast and million-throated song, seemed wafted to them on the wings of +night. + +And the pure stars, witnessing their love and troth, looked down upon +them from the heavens where shone the fire-glow of the Great +Emancipation. + + +THE END. + + + +[Transcriber's note: In the following paragraph, I corrected the second +"Flint" to "Waldron": + +"Very likely," answered Flint, who had now at last entirely recovered +his sang-froid. "But in that event, our work would be at a standstill. +No, Flint, we mustn't oppose this fellow. Better let the check go +through, if he has nerve enough to fill it out and cash it. He won't +dare gouge very deep; and no matter what he takes, it won't be a drop in +the ocean, compared to the golden flood now almost within our grasp!"] + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Air Trust, by George Allan England + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE AIR TRUST *** + +***** This file should be named 12826.txt or 12826.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/2/8/2/12826/ + +Produced by Steven desJardins and Distributed Proofreaders + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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